Leaving Pierce's place I felt terrific. I was refreshed from a fantastic weekend (refreshed means that I had finally recovered from the perpetual hangover) and was charged and ready to ride. The first 30 minutes on the bike felt like 5 minutes. And the first hour came and went so quickly I hardly remember a minute of it. I do remember that the morning air in Arizona is wonderfully refreshing and the landscape is beautiful. It's still the wild west in this part of the world.
I pulled through my first real town western town about and hour and a half into the ride. I could imagine an old west gun fight taking place at high noon in the middle of the street. I slowed down and was really enjoying the ride, taking in all the scenery. I saw the local police officer standing next to his car so I politely gave him a wave as I passed by. He responded by blasting me with his radar gun. What a cock sucker. I think a wave back or a nod might have been a more appropriate response. Fucker.
My goal was to reach Kingman, AZ then make the turn and head for southern California. By the time I reached Kingman it was getting cold. Really cold. And windy. REALLY windy. At a fuel stop I put the jacket liner in and fired up the heated grips.
The headwind was absolutely brutal and I was heading right towards it! As a matter of fact, the source of the wind was a small storm system off the coast of California, meaning it had to travel across so-cal, up the Cajon pass, towards Barstow, then up the canyon towards Kingman. Literally my route in reverse. So basically I had 45-50 mph headwinds the entire trip. My only relief was to sneak up behind big trucks and hide in their wind shadow for a few minutes. But those guys all have CB radios, so you really have to be cool about not drafting too much or they'll gang up on you.
In normal conditions, no windscreen is no worries. With 50 mph headwinds and no windscreen, even at 60 mph, the wind blast was unbearable. So my best course of action was to just keep my 80-85 pace. The difference was the probably the difference between a Force 4 hurricane and a Force 5... i.e. either speed delivered hurricane force winds so I might as well cowboy-up and just ride faster and get home sooner.
Somewhere along the way, in a tiny little shit hole between Kingman and Ludlow, at the only gas station in 85 miles I reluctantly paid 5 bucks for a gallon of gas. Fortunately, I only needed 2-1/2 gallons. But bloody hell...
Long story short, it was the ride from hell. This ride was armed combat training. It was literally worse case scenarios on the longest ride I've ever done. It was eye opening and alarming.
If I'm going to do this cross country trip this summer, on a naked R1200R, I had better get my arse in shape. Because it's been three days since I've returned home and I'm still sore. So, no more drinking, chocolate, junk food, extra calories, soda. I really need to focus on core strength (probably a little yoga), upper body strength (surfing), cardio (walking/running), and weight loss (portion control). I'm 217 today. I think I'll need to hit 199 before I leave on June 19th, or I'm in big trouble.
Reality check.
