Sounds at night fill the void left by limited vision and humanless contact. For example, I dearly love the sound of premium gasoline being burned at a high rate of speed inside of an aluminum engine designed and build while I was in high school. The purring generates various levels of harmonics which matches the audio wavelengths in certain songs. Boredom will never take a ride on Mozi. My speedometer cable broke about 12 states back and I really never know how fast I am going to the accuracy level needed by some to prevent a speeding ticket, offered by someone who is here to "Serve and Protect". I have nothing against policemen or policewomen. I have a sense of security knowing a simple phone call from just about anywhere will summon the assistance of one of these public servants to provide a blanket of protection against the evils that lurk out there. And in their spare time, they hunt down and shoot the bad guys. well, don't they?
Wow, this started out as a lesson on harmonics and somehow I went off on a tangent. You know me, to make a long story short...would be a shame.
Back to the sounds. I imagined one night, as I was riding my vintage bike, that Paul Simon was singing these lyrics: "Hello Mozi, my old friend. I've come to ride with you again." I could sing this one for hours as a cowboy must have sang to his horse and cattle on this same trail. Granted, the cowboy and his herd traveled at a much slower pace. His speedometer was the weather moving in from the north and west.
Without a speedometer and riding many hours alone without a chance of boredom taking over my soul, I have created a playlist on my Blackberry cellphone, which can be sent, via Bluetooth, to my helmet communication system along with incoming and outgoing phonecalls while my hands remain glued to the handlebar grips. This playlist contains 1954 songs from many different styles, years and artists. Some of these songs have harmonics that match the sound of Mozi at various speeds in high gear. Seriously, why would I want to match music to Mozi while accelerating? However, at cruising speeds, I can play a certain song and match the engine sound to it for a speed of 55mph. James Taylor's "Steamroller" provides a wide range of pitches which run up and down the scale and allows me to set the throttle for whatever speed I desire for a long cruise across the flats of Nevada.
Remember way back when you started reading this page, I wrote about riding across Nevada late at night on Route 50? Let's go back there. It was cold. I was not dressed for a cold ride at 60mph, but continued on my journey, knowing that Austin, NV has hotel rooms and I was going to get me one! The anticipation grew with each dozen or so miles we traveled and when I finally caught a glimpse of the city lights glowing in the mountains and a warning sign on the road which indicated "35mph ahead", I was there. I had arrived and would pay premium for a hot bath and a soft bed. However, every single hotel had the word "No" illuminated in neon just before the word "Vacancy". Are you serious? Did someone on the outskirts of town call ahead about a lone biker in a black jacket approaching from the west? "Stranger, Danger!" One if by land. Two if by sea...
I waved back as I rode out of town, not on a rail, but on Mozi, "Let's go, old girl...We are not welcome here."
There is a summit just east of Austin that is peaceful and quiet. A wide place off to the south side of the road would serve me well. I parked Mozi and did a dismount that would guarantee me a spot in the Olympics, were there such an event as Motorcycle etiquette. Stars filled the clear, crisp air and no other lights were visible. It was as close to heaven as I have been on this trip, until reality set in. I didn't stop here for coffee or a hot meal. Not even a steamy shower. I stopped because I knew I had to carry on to find a hotel, but it would be 2 hours and 41 minutes away, according to Google Maps. I needed more clothes inside of my current garments. This required removing everything and starting with the thermals. Well, after a few minutes of partial nudity in the great outdoors on a summit about a sleepy little town which more than likely did have an empty room or two, I was once again fully dressed and on my way east on the Loneliest Highway in Nevada. "50 is Nifty!"
Sometime before 4AM, I was riding through a mountain pass on the downhill side on my final approach to Ely, NV. As Mozi was leaning over to the right to the point of scraping her running board, some gigantic animal appeared in the headlights and I counter-steered to pass within 3 feet of this monsterous Elk on his left side, only to have to counter-steer again in the other direction to avoid smashing into the next Elk on the Loneliest highway in Nevada.
There were no impacts and no mishaps on this night between an Italian Motorcycle and wildlife and that makes me happy. I stopped right in front of the Hotel Nevada and turned Mozi off. She would spend the next few hours leaking a little hard-churned oil onto the towel which I had placed under her engine and transmission. She was now allowed to rest and be admired by people who would walk out of the this famous casino with much less money that they earlier possessed.
These people would stop and look. The license plate says it all, "FREE".
On the bottom of this plate are the following words: "The Spirit of America".
Free is our spirit, but there are no guarantees of the Freedom.
Freedom is to be explored
Mozi on...
Good story. Your close encounter with the Elk was fortunate. You could have very easily become much more familiar with those beast.
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