Salt Lake Saga
Out early again, riding north on fine Highway 89, hardly a vehicle on the road. One goal today: Oil change. The Crow needs fresh blood.
Just before 8:30am I found a McDonald's (the best Wifi and most reliable... hard to find it here) and resumed calling motorcycle shops.
Over the past couple of days I've spent every food stop making a call or two to different shops. Zero luck. All booked solid and won't help me, or they don't have fully synthetic oil of the kind the Crow pumps through an iron heart.
Woke up with a nasty muscle pinch between my shoulder blades that stretching couldn't relieve. Oh well. As Russians say, "If you wake up and feel no pain, that means you are dead." As I rode, I was feeling a bit bummed, an hour or two of downer that has hit me on every long solo trip at some point, always when I become aware I'm approaching the final leg of the adventure.
Then - a golden break. Someone recommended I try these guys. http://www.themotostation.com/
A guy named Cory said 'come on over, we got ya covered.' Three hours later, some of it on gnarly Highway 15, I arrived at their shop. Just in time... my head was exploding. An accident had the highway down to a crawl and the heat was almost unbearable... but then it all got better.
The guys at Moto Station handed me a couple of ice cold water bottles, asked me what I wanted to watch on the big screen TV (Moto GP!) and after a brief conversation I could tell the Crow was in great hands. They are an import shop, Ducati, Triumph, BMW and they had two other Scrammies in the shop bay.
I sort of wished they had taken longer to do the oil change, it was so nice and cool in their clean, well equipped showroom. But in less than two hours I had to roll. The heat hit me like a molten hammer as I merged back onto Highway 15.
I decided to call it a day early, pulling into a dodgy hotel in Brigham City. Being a weekend, every other hotel I checked was full, as were the campgrounds I called. I'm too close to civilization to sleep off the roadside, so here I am. I'm pretty sure there is a drug den operating across the lot - cars in and out every few minutes, tattooed skinny white bangers with a couple of monstrously large pit bulls on huge chains slouching near a dark open doorway.
I took a walk. Found a drug store and pulled a foam roller off the shelf. Layed down in the aisle and rolled out my aching back. My spine cracked like an oak tree falling down a mountain. Instant relief. I bought a baseball and took it back to my room, and doing what I learned from my bro Libman, crushed out the pressure points between my shoulder blades.
I saw a map of the USA on a wall today and realized just how far I've come. I'm looking forward to taking it slow, snapping some more pics, and discovering some little known back roads over the next few days as I head northwest through Idaho.
Till then, I'll tackle these.
Just before 8:30am I found a McDonald's (the best Wifi and most reliable... hard to find it here) and resumed calling motorcycle shops.
Over the past couple of days I've spent every food stop making a call or two to different shops. Zero luck. All booked solid and won't help me, or they don't have fully synthetic oil of the kind the Crow pumps through an iron heart.
Woke up with a nasty muscle pinch between my shoulder blades that stretching couldn't relieve. Oh well. As Russians say, "If you wake up and feel no pain, that means you are dead." As I rode, I was feeling a bit bummed, an hour or two of downer that has hit me on every long solo trip at some point, always when I become aware I'm approaching the final leg of the adventure.
Then - a golden break. Someone recommended I try these guys. http://www.themotostation.com/
A guy named Cory said 'come on over, we got ya covered.' Three hours later, some of it on gnarly Highway 15, I arrived at their shop. Just in time... my head was exploding. An accident had the highway down to a crawl and the heat was almost unbearable... but then it all got better.
The guys at Moto Station handed me a couple of ice cold water bottles, asked me what I wanted to watch on the big screen TV (Moto GP!) and after a brief conversation I could tell the Crow was in great hands. They are an import shop, Ducati, Triumph, BMW and they had two other Scrammies in the shop bay.
I sort of wished they had taken longer to do the oil change, it was so nice and cool in their clean, well equipped showroom. But in less than two hours I had to roll. The heat hit me like a molten hammer as I merged back onto Highway 15.
I decided to call it a day early, pulling into a dodgy hotel in Brigham City. Being a weekend, every other hotel I checked was full, as were the campgrounds I called. I'm too close to civilization to sleep off the roadside, so here I am. I'm pretty sure there is a drug den operating across the lot - cars in and out every few minutes, tattooed skinny white bangers with a couple of monstrously large pit bulls on huge chains slouching near a dark open doorway.
I took a walk. Found a drug store and pulled a foam roller off the shelf. Layed down in the aisle and rolled out my aching back. My spine cracked like an oak tree falling down a mountain. Instant relief. I bought a baseball and took it back to my room, and doing what I learned from my bro Libman, crushed out the pressure points between my shoulder blades.
I saw a map of the USA on a wall today and realized just how far I've come. I'm looking forward to taking it slow, snapping some more pics, and discovering some little known back roads over the next few days as I head northwest through Idaho.
Till then, I'll tackle these.
Another fantastic find in my almond saga. Taste like Salvadoran cocoa beans with a tiny bit of honey. Well done, USA.
But for right now, the Wifi is great, there's a show about Alaskan bushmen on TV, I've got my almonds, and through my open hotel door I'm entertained by shuffling local thuggery conducting business. Life is good.
But for right now, the Wifi is great, there's a show about Alaskan bushmen on TV, I've got my almonds, and through my open hotel door I'm entertained by shuffling local thuggery conducting business. Life is good.