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March 2007
Hot.
Really hot and you’re riding somewhere in the middle of Utah.
Desert country.
No shade to be seen.
Your leathers are baking onto your skin and the wind is barely cooling you down at a luke warm 40 degrees. It’s scorching and you’re riding.
Water.
You start fantasizing about it.
Cold, wet water. Yum.
You reach inside your jacket for your bottle of water and find only drops left.
Damn.
You wonder where you are because it’s been over an hour since you’ve seen a car or a tree or any real sign of life on earth.
You shrug it off and with a simple statement - it’s Utah.
True.
But there has to be water in Utah.
You finally arrive into a small community - population five hundred. A few trees, a few buildings and a number of homes. You pull up to the only gas station which also serves itself as the local grocer and café.
You look longingly at the sprinkler on the four feet by four feet bit of lawn across the street. A young teen steps out of the shade and asks about your bike but you’re not feeling so good with the heat and lack of water and pretty much fall down on the sidewalk.
Water.
Need water.
Sitting in the little café, you start to feel better but you need to get wet. All over. Not just inside. You always jump in a river or a lake or the ocean when you ride. It’s part of your way. Part of your riding way. But where?
You head over to the cute boy who gave you gas. Is there a place to swim around here?
He seems amused. Well, we have a watering hole about 1 mile up that dirt road but it’s just our local place – not fancy. You are genuinely excited. You love local stuff – getting down with the people, hanging out in realtime. Plus, it’s a place to swim.
You head up the dirt road, it’s a rough ride and it’s very unclear where you are supposed to go nevermind where to park the bike. You take a guess and then trudge out into the blistering sun, sweat pouring down your back and the weight of your bag making the walk through the brushes almost unbearable. |
