Day One: Coalville, UT

Phew!

First, I have to give my heartfelt thanks to the tremendous team at High Country Harley Davidson. They’ve been my local shop since I guess 2009.  I rolled up and the owner, Scott, saw my face and had the bike up on the lift pretty much before I could get my helmet off. Mica, Rob, and Brett took great care of me. Brett was like my grandmother, Sally, with burritos and gatorade for the ride, practically stuffing them in my saddle bags.  

The check engine light turned out to be a throttle code, triggered by a low battery or a weak current.  I guess even the best of bikes need a little primping before a big trip.

Thank you gentlemen. I am humbled by your dedication to my ride.

Second, let me just say how much I love reading your comments. Absolutely delightful. 

I gassed up in Rawlins under dark clouds and they turned darker yet. I have a way of hunkering down on the bike. I also have some heated grips. I’ll tell you, no matter how cold it gets, how wet you are, those grips give you hope, they do. So I turned them up to six (I dunno why Harley made them go up to six—they should have labeled it to eleven, I’d be that much more hopeful) and looked further down the road where the sky is always a lot brighter, and rolled on that throttle.

Twenty miles West out of Green River the sky turned dark again but fast. The wind was hitting me about has hard as I’ve felt when damn if hail didn’t set in. I tell you, I was Bruce Springsteen’s tragic hero driving headlong into the darkness, hail coming at me horizontal-wise, and I was leaning so heavily into the wind that I was practically horizontal myself. So much for hunkering and heated grips.

But then it turned from Springsteen to Van Morrison—“Then the rain let up and the sun came up / And we were gettin’ dry”—and it turned out both of us were still intact—me a little peppered and the bike’s fender a little chipped—but I rolled back on the throttle and here I am: Coalsville, UT. 466 miles.

I am going to hit the Best Western jacuzzi.