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November 15, 2017
Day 3 - The Salton Sea
Starting Odometer: 5,423 miles
Ending Odometer: 5,731 miles
Today's Mileage: 308 miles
Total Trip Mileage: 1,128 miles [4,603 - 5,731]
Update: I am alive and well and resting peacefully on the shores of the Salton Sea in Brawley, California.
This is roughly what my ride looked like today.
I changed timezones when I crossed the Colorado River into California. So, now, I'm trying to change all of my electronics so that they have the right time. Here's what I have to update:
iPhone 4S
iPhone 6S Plus - Changed automatically from MST to PST.
MacBook Air - Changed automatically from MST to PST.
Canon EOS 50D w/ 17-85mm lens - Updated manually from MST to PST.
Canon EOS 50D w/ 100-400mm lens - Updated manually from MST to PST.
Garmin Montana 600 GPS - Updated automatically from MST to PST.
GoPro Hero 5 - Updated manually from MST to PST.
2017 Honda Africa Twin - Updated manually from MST to PST.
Today, we leave Steve's place to go meet some of his buddies for lunch at the Pinnacle Grill in Scottsdale, Arizona.
On the way there, I'm following Steve, and suddenly this large suitcase/briefcase object comes bouncing down the road towards me. I slow down, not sure of what is going on. It stops, and I see that it says BMW on it. So, I'm assuming that it's a case that came off of Steve's bike. I stop in the middle of traffic, pick up the case, as cars stop around me.
"Are you OK?" they ask. Thinking, no doubt, that I've wrecked.
Somehow, I balnce the large case precariously on my gas tank, along with all of my other gear, and take off after Steve. He's only gone a short distance, and I find him stopped on the side of the road.
"Are you missing this?"
Apparently, he put the case back on the bike, but it wasn't locked properly for whatever reason? I dunno. He re-fastened it, and we rode on without further issues.
At lunch, all of his buddies are there - this big motorcycle gang that meets every Wednesday. Generally, they go for a ride, and then they meet for lunch somewhere. But today, they're just meeting for lunch. I thought that I'd be the oldest guy there, but somehow I was the youngest.
They're somewhat interested in my little trip down to South America. I don't think anyone is under any delusions that I'll make it, but I intend to give it a boy-scout try, anyway.
After lunch, Steve said that he'd go with me for some distance, to see me off on my journey.
So, we're riding off out of Scottsdale, sort of North and West, it seems. We ride for some time, and the scenery is very nice. Like, it's warm and partly cloudy, but there's no chance of snow. So, that's why lots of people come down here, I think. There's countless RV parks for people escaping colder weather up north.
Eventually, Steve pull over and we stop to talk.
"It's really hard to believe that you and I were riding across the continental divide in Colorado a month ago. And now, we're riding around in Arizona. We've got to stop meeting this way," I offer.
He laughs and we part ways. Now, I'm sort of heading towards Slab City. Like...why? I dunno. No real reason. Because I saw a documentary on it, I think. Because I flew over the Salton Sea 64 times in the last year? It's hard to say. But, certainly, flying across this Great American Desert twice a week for the last 14 months made me want ot see it on the ground, instead of from the air.
This part of Arizona is almost indescribably dry. I carry 3 chapsticks with me for a reason. I mash them onto my lips until they create a sort of thick creamy paste that you wear, proudly, on your lips. The road I'm on is straight now. It doesn't turn or bend and it reminds me of the roads in Texas. Where you're just driving down long straight flat roads and it's like you're not even really riding at all, but more like sitting inside of a hairdryer and watching a simulator, the way people peddle stationary bikes while watching TV and imagining that they're going somewhere.
I do get on I-10 and go west only for a few miles though.
I'm rolling west towards the California border and I start crossing a bridge over a fairly large waterway. I realize it's the California border. After crossing the river, they have a little illegal search-and-rape border control point. But they just wave me through.
I'm in California now. Still heading roughly west-south/west.
I turn south, following my GPS.
Generally, I have 2 GPS units and I set them for the same destination and then I'm belt-and-suspenders safe when I'm following their directions. But the Garmin Montana has never heard of "Slab City", so I turn it off and I focus on the iPhone 6S Plus and he's sending me towards Slab City.
Now, the road turns south, and then west, and then south, and then west. I'm going down these random roads, through all of this irrigated farmland, which is a lot different from Arizona. Arizona was just a desert, really. Somehow, California is irrigating the shit out of everything, and they're growing fileds of cotton....I don't know what all they're growing. But it's as green as Vietnam, everywhere you look.
Really a very dramatic change from Arizona, for whatever reason.
As I get closer to my destination, I realize that I'm not going to make it before dark.
And see, this is really what's wrong with riding your motorcycle cross-country. It's no that it's hard. It isn't. It's very easy. What's hard is to do it consistently without making a mistake.
Today, I sort of deferred on my normal route planning, because Steve was planning about 1/2 of the day, and I wasn't sure where I'd end up. So, I sort of called an audible, and headed for Slab City in the afternoon. But now, the sun is setting, and I'm a long way from Slab City, and I'm not clear that there's any place to stay there anyway. It's basically a squatter's camp full of meth addicts, as best I can tell.
I roll past one of those illegal checkpoints where they stop and search people without probable cause in clear violation of our 4th Amendment Rights. Then, I decide to turn back and ask for some guidance. I do a U-turn, cut across a strip of sand, nearly crashing the bike.
Somehow, I don't go down and I pull up to the illegal search-and-seize checkpoint. Young men with machine guns. German Shephards that want to chew your calves off. I roll up to a young man that appears to be in charge.
"Where can I find a place to stay tonight? Is there a place to stay in Glamis?" I ask.
"No. There's nothing in Glamis..." he offers. "Where are you heading to?"
"Slab City?"
"Well, your best bet is to go to Brawley," he explains.
"There's a place to stay there?"
"Yes."
"OK .Thanks boss." And with that I take off. Now, I'm following the road west across these large sand dunes in the near dark. This is not good planning. I might hit a deer, or an armadillo. No telling.
As it gets darker and darker, I decide to follow another vehicle, as I'm hoping the car in front of me will hit anything that jumps out in the road (deer, rabbit, fox, coyote, etc).
Like...I'm not kidding when I say I saw a coyote on this trip that was cut in half on the highway. Like...you think about what has to happen to cut a coyote in two. That would easily make a motorcycle go down.
As I descend from the dunes towards the Salton Sea, I smell the rotten stench of the Salton Sea. It doesn't smell pleasant like the ocean. More like it stinks, like it's polluted and festering. Not a place you'd want to spend any time. I had imagined that it would be this nice beach with people boating and fishing and swimming. Instead, as the air blows the scent over me, I feel the urge to gag.
I roll into town, see about 3 hotels. And I check into the Motel 6 for the night. I still need ot copy some photos off of the cameras in the morning, but at least I know how.
This is roughly what my ride will look like tomorrow, me thinks.
Posted by Rob Kiser on November 15, 2017 at 7:00 PM
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