A Weekend in Nevada

Rosey and I decided to get out of town this weekend and head to Great Basin National Park in Nevada to do a little camping, hiking and caving. We got up early on Saturday morning, packed up the Harley and rode the 200 miles across the desolate Utah desert. This isn't the first trip that we've taken on the Harley, but it was probably the coldest. It was barely above 60 degrees when we left Spanish Fork at 7 in the morning and didn't get much warmer all the way to Nevada.


Our Furry Friends
Although the ride was mostly uneventful, we did manage to see quite a bit of wildlife. There were a herd of cattle grazing by the side of the road near the dry Sevier lake bed, an antellope that looked like it was fixing to jump out in front of us, a coyote that actually did run out in the road in front of us (although far enough ahead that it wasn't a threat) and a massive eagle that we scared away from some carrion that it was picking away from the asphalt.

Bike Trouble
For the duration of the trip, the bike felt a little odd to me. It wasn't cornering quite right and I was just generally uneasy about the way it was riding. I tried not to worry about it too much and just chalked it up to the fact that it was loaded down pretty heavy. A Harley cruiser loaded down with two passengers and a hundred pounds of food, clothes, hiking and camping equipment is bound to be a little less responsive.


It wasn't until we got to the campsite in Great Basin and got off the bike that Rosey asked, "How do you check for a flat tire on a motorcycle... because your tires looked pretty low as you were riding those corners up the mountain". All of the sudden it made sense to me why the bike had been riding funny all day. I didn't even have to check the front tire to know that it was flat. But I checked it anway... and was frightened to discover that the air pressure was so low that I could make a depression in the tire just by poking at it with my finger.

I was freaked out, we were 200 miles from anywhere, and 20 miles up a mountain... this would be one of the worst possible places to get stuck on a motorcycle. Fortunately, there was still some air left in the tire and I was still able to ride it. My hope was that I could ride back down the mountain to a gas station to fill the tire with air. I was concerned that the tire wouldn't hold pressure, but I figured that it was at least worth a shot.

What really scared me about going to get more air, was that it meant leaving Rosey behind at the camp site. I didn't dare put both of us back on the bike with the tire that low, but leaving her behind meant taking a chance that I would get stuck on the bike somewhere down the mountain and that she would be stuck back at the campsite with no transporation. The matter was made worse by the fact that neither of us had cell reception. So, once I was gone I had no way of communicating with her to let her know what was going on.

Fortunately, this story has a happy ending. I carefully drove the bike down the mountain, rode the 10 miles back down to the gas station at the Utah-Nevada stateline, filled the tire with air and didn't have any more problems for the remainder of the weekend. But you can bet that I checked the air pressure every time that we stopped on the way home :)

Walking in Her Shoes
By the time we got the problems with the bike squared away, camp setup and had lunch it was going on 1 in the afternoon. We had planned on hiking Wheeler Peak that morning, but the bike trouble had delayed our start. I was beginning to lose motivation and didn't really want to start an 8.4 mile hike that late in the afternoon. It was Rosey nudged me a little and convinced me to make the assault on Wheeler Peak that afternoon.

Shortly after moving to Utah, Rosey bought a new pair of hiking boots. They were fancy and expensive but they had gotten good reviews on all of the online hiking website. Unfortunately, like many high-end hiking boots they needed to be broken in. She had worn them once or twice but had avoided taking them on really long hikes because she was afraid that they would end up hurting her feet. Nobody really likes breaking in hiking boots because it's like asking to be in pain.

I was starting to be concerned that unless the hiking boots got broken in soon, that they were going to turn into a wasted investment. So, being the concerned and caring boyfriend that I am, I offerred to break in Rosey's boots for her. My feet are pretty tough (literally calloused in some places) and I figured that I could hack the pain. Besides, how bad could it be?

Less than a mile into the hike I realized that bad things were happening to my feet. And yet, I decided to forge onward. I really wanted to get to the top of the mountain and besides, I was tough; I could take it. The pain grew steadily as I climbed further and further up the mountain. But with each step that I took, I got closer to the summit and found it harder and harder to convince myself to turn around.


When we finally made it to the top of the mountain, I decided that it had been worth the pain to get there. We had an incredible view of the surrounding mountains and valleys. Not to mention that it's just a wonderful feeling to be standing on the top of a mountain (our fourth one this year). The good thing about starting the hike so late in the day was that everyone else had started earlier in the day, leaving Rosey and I all alone on the top of the mountain. We took a few minutes to enjoy the solitude (nudge, nudge, wink, wink) before heading back down the mountain.


It didn't take long to come down from my high (no pun intended) once we started descending from the summit. I was quickly reminded of the pain that my feet were in. The descent became something of a Zen-like experience for me as I tried to drown out the pain by keeping my mind focused on the hike. I envisioned myself back at the campsite finally able to take the shoes off. I found myself walking faster and faster in pursuit of this goal.


We averaged between 3.5 and 4 miles per hour on the way down the mountain. In retrospect, I almost feel a little bad because we were walking so fast that we didn't get a chance to enjoy the hike on the way down. But I did what I had to, to survive :)

Being able to finally take the shoes off back at the campsite was almost orgasmic. It would almost be worth doing it all over again, just to be able to experience that sweet elation and relief as I slid my feet out from their leathery oppressors. Almost, but not really.

Upon assessing the damage, I discovered that in the course of nearly 10 miles of hiking I had blistered, popped, and then rubbed the skin away leaving a patch of blood and puss. It was really quite unpleasant to look at. But hey, I was right: I was tough, I could hack it, and I did. Thankfully there's no rule that says that I can't bitch about it afterwards... that would just take all of the fun out of it :)

To be continued... maybe... but probably not :) Just in case, here's a link to the rest of the pictures. We also did a short hike through a bristlecone forest on Sunday morning, and then took a tour of Lehman Caves. All in all it was a pretty damned good weekend.