The morning offered a cold and cloudy ride. Metaphor? Maybe, but this time, nothing was at stake but a return to the concentration, immersive beauty and solace that a long ride offers. Not having been successful with meditation, McCovey delivers a magical, powerful alternative.

Lynn video’d my departure as I wobbled off. Immediately following the warmth of a heartfelt parting with, expectedly, “I really don’t know why you’re doing this, ya crazy bastard….” 

Ah normality…, all was well!

McCovey and I rode conservatively as we’ve not been seriously tested since our first Desert Caballeros horse adventure in Wickenburg almost 3 years ago. And we haven’t been out for more than 3 days since the Dakotas (chronicled here in ‘21.)

On Day 1, we passed our 25,000^th mile, at lonely mile marker 99. Or should I say “milestone.”

I was, for once, a conservative in state, as the binary nature of success and failure on a bike in the desert loomed. Throughout the morning, we swooped long twisties at 40, not 55, and lounged on long straights with visibility for miles at a dogged 75, not 90. You’ve heard of “getting your legs under you.?”
Think higher.

We got gas in Fallon and prepared to leave civilization for America’s loneliest road – Highway 50 across Nevada. The clouds were moments in and of themselves.

The last time I was on this road, Lynn and I had visited Ichthyosaur State Park. Today, the clouds were messin’ with me….

All of the glamor that has over-infused south Austin, Texas with ever more Road-AY-Oh Drive, in a karmic parallel universe, may have been sucked from the formerly charming town of Austin, Nevada. The people were insular, friendly, and…, well, haunted. They’re only a couple handful of ghosts short of, well, you know. Not new news for small rural towns, but this one was shocking.

As we got higher it got colder. But I was NOT expecting this:

Eureka, Nevada presented as thriving. Home of an annual fiddlers festival, the brick Opera House and it’s old hotel have been spiffed and shined. The fiddler thing may be worth a visit!

On the ride, I don’t listen to anything but the bike and the wind. And my own internal, rattle-trap processor as I scout the road ahead. But I like to learn from experts, so let’s tip a cap to a few that have offered and were called forward on the ride…. 

• Rich Moore, perhaps the world’s nicest person, calls it “Quality Time Remaining,” and we are trying to pile it on. I like it here! On this earth, with my family, in our communities, with these missions, I am all in. The vast West offers perspective on scale and scope, though…. 
• My multi-faceted renaissance buddy Doug Gould taught me that the best two words in the English language are “Yes, let’s!” That, and “Play LaBamba!” or “Sweet Beaver.” He’s a happy, joyful man.
• Willy Braun’s “Desolations Angels” keeps showing up in this blog — clearly my favorite road song EV-er. He, I suppose, relates Saint Theresa’s “Little Way” and her “do the little things of love NOW” ethic to a road song, pledging to “keep the rubber on the road, and the blood inside.” I don’t know all the depths he plumbed, but I hear their echos on the road anyway. That song, and “Pancho and Lefty,”* and “Trains I Missed” (Walt Wilkins), “Holy Days” (Sean McConnell), Micky Braun’s “Long & Lonely Highway” seem to be the songs that the wind is always able to play. I DID eventually get back to Slip, Slidin’ Away on Day 3, see “Day 12: Zig Zaggin’ Away, McCovey Gets His Stripes“, Aug 2021.

*[In a crazy side note, I saw Emmy at about this age sing this song live TWICE, In Kuteztown, PA and in Palo Alto, CA. It’s a top memory.]

Finally, I am far from the only conservative on this particularly lonely road, and I intend mine own label expire completely after for one or two rehab riding days and my short term throttle policy. Perhaps we all should have a broader throttle policy.

There are too many metaphors to make, but I don’t wanna. I’m ok being lonely out here.

I will say that, now in my 8^th decade, as I rode into Ely, NV, I had never, ever seen roads and towns fly flags in such unanimity when it was not the 4^th of July. I’d ask if it’s fueled with the tolerance and love of Saint Theresa’s way, because so often, I fear, it is not. I’ll just continue to engage, try to make sense of it, and keep the rubber on the road and the blood inside. 

Even when it boils.