Riding on the Sun

So, I realize that this is supposed to be a blog about a very specific event (that being the ride up the Continental Divide from Mexico to Canada) but I have to report on my long, hot ride from Las Vegas to Phoenix for a week of coursework (I am working on my Phd).

I said goodbye to my lovely wife at six-thirty and headed out to pack up my moto. This in itself is no easy task when the temperature is already 94 degrees in the parking garage. Dripping with sweat, I proceeded to cram all of my belongings into the trusty metal boxes and screeched my way out onto the Vegas Strip one last time.

As I pulled up to the first stop light, I was looking around watching people admire me (or at least that's what I like to think the pointing and smiling means), when suddenly the light turns green. Great, right? Not so much. I tried to accelerate out of a stand still, when suddenly the bike jerked and jolted to a halt. Apparently I was still in third gear. No big deal, until the bike wouldn't stop and the pointing became very specific.

Eventually the bike started and I hit the open road south. It was a fairly uneventful ride through blistering heat and boring countryside. I detoured around the Hoover Dam, adding 23 miles to my route, but saving six hours.

When I reached the sign that read 22 miles to Phoenix, I let out my own private triumphant cheer in my steamy helmet. This proved to be a bit premature. As the bike slowed to a snail's pace, I carefully balanced myself on the two melting tires and prayed that the traffic wouldn't last.

Unfortunately, God must have been busy because for the last 22 miles into Phoenix and through the Valley of the Sun, I lost twelve pounds of water weight. Inching along on the cluttered highway provides no wind to cool one down on a motorcycle. I kept looking at my watch and wondering if the temperature gauge that was reading 108.5 degrees was off by two or three degrees like the manual says is possible. Does it really matter?

I made it to Phoenix, right on time, or at least I thought. It turns out that Phoenix is on Mountain Standard Time (which I knew), but doesn't observe daylight savings time. This meant that I was an hour early. No big deal. At least I am not lying on the side of the road somewhere baking in the hot sun like the dead rattlesnake I saw on the way down. Could be worse I guess.