adventure touring in nevada's black rock desert region

[Istvan Szlany]

NKLR MC sign language (was: hand signals) Hello all! I'm just curious whether anybody knows about any other signs and signals than "hello" and "left turn" and "right turn" and "stop" and "f...finger".  There is this book called "Motorcycle Sign Language", but I never had a chance to browse it.  Does somebody on the list have this book? Thanks for the info!  Cheers,                         istvan+Eh13

[mrob1515@aol.com]

My story begins last November, when at the time, I had absolutely no interest whatsoever in Dual sport motorcycles. I had been reading a story in Frommers Budget Travel about La Paz, Mexico and thinking it would be a great place to visit in my retirement starting next year. I mentioned it to my friend Dennis who said that he has been planning a dual sport ride down the Baja Peninsula. After much discussion, and reading about Baja Mexico, I started my search for a Dual Sport Motorcycle. The KLR650 list had the most influence and by January, I had purchased a used Y2K Kawasaki KLR650, with 210 miles on the clock. Now, my friend Dennis invites me on a warm up ride with him through the Black Rock Desert and NW Nevada in the spring to follow the Applegate and Lassen wagon train trails. I eagerly accepted his invitation. We set our departure date for the Thursday before Memorial Day weekend, and left Portland, Oregon with our first destination being Cedarville California, which is in the very northeastern corner of California, four miles from Nevada. We arrived early enough to take a short riding excursion to Lake City where we found an abandoned flour mill that was over 100 years old, with a large colony of bats in the rafters. A few miles north was Fort Bidwell complete with a general mercantile store that still looks the same as it did 140 years ago. On the way back, we rode to the top of Fandango Pass, so named by the pioneer immigrants because they had mistakenly thought they were crossing the summit of Sierra Nevada's and danced a popular dance of the time called the Fandango. Friday morning, we rode into Nevada over gravel roads to Steven's Camp, which is near the entrance to High Rock Canyon, a place first discovered by John Fremont and Kit Carson in 1843 on a quest to discover the mythological Bonaventura River. Later, both the Applegate and Lassen trails went through High Rock Canyon between 1848 and 1860. This was my first experience ever riding on rough trails covered with deep sand and gravel with several water crossings requiring a different level of riding experience that I wasn't prepared for. Ten miles into the canyon, my front wheel washed out in deep sand and I fell, causing minimal damage. Five miles further, my front wheel washed out again, resulting in a fall to the other side of the bike, which left me with road rash on my elbow and knee, and a very sore leg from being crushed under the gas tank. My brand new Kawasaki was trashed. Dennis was riding ahead of me, and was unaware of my misfortune and I was too embarrassed to say anything to him until that evening over dinner. As we rode deeper into the canyon, we found ruts worn into the rocky surface of the trail by the wagon wheels of 150 years ago, and immigrant graffiti scrawled on canyon walls and other places that were so esoteric and unique, that Dennis swore me to secrecy to never tell any one of their whereabouts. Dennis has been through this area 5 times on his Honda XR 600, and his Land Rover. He is an expert rider and is intimately familiar with the desert's history and terrain. I am fortunate to have him for my guide. As we leave High Rock Canyon, we come to an area described by Dennis as the 1900 camp site of Shoshone Mike, a notorious Bannock Indian who massacred four settlers after being accused of killing their livestock. Dennis tells the story with great detail, providing actual photographs of the time to bring his story to life. We continue on toward Soldier Meadows, a working ranch and B&B in the Nevada plains, and then turn south to the actual Applegate trail that leads to Black Rock. We ride in a large valley between the Black Rock Range and the Calico Mountains on a trail that drops in elevation on a flat plain enabling you to see the actual wagon trail for miles into the horizon. Along the way we pass an old ghost town called Hardin City, then Double Hot Springs and finally to Black Rock Springs where there are several people skinny dipping in the 105 degree water. Dennis characterized them as Burning Man worshipers. The landsca pe with its remote primitiveness, wildlife, sweeping vistas, and vegetation is similar to that seen by 1840s immigrants. The elevations range from 4.800 to 8,400 feet. There are kit foxes, antelope, wild horses and wild burros on the desert's edge, and a healthy population of about 100 big horned sheep in the Calico Mountains. What happens next is an experience that I will never forget. From sand and gravel and pucker brush, we ride out on to the Playa, (ply-yah, Spanish for intermittent dry lake), where the land speed record of 763 MPH (or mach 1.02) was set in 1997. This is also known as the Black Rock Desert, and is a 60,000 year old lake bed. (Lake Lahontan was 500 feet deep). Recently, a 20,000 year old mammoth skeleton was excavated at an old shore area. The area represents the culmination of events beginning 15 million years ago. There is virtually no vegetation and it is so flat and smooth, it is like driving on a new paved highway. The Playa is 12 miles wide and 27 miles long and unlike the Bonneville Salt Flats, it is composed of fine clay silt up to a mile deep. It is one of the largest, flattest places on earth. Riding a motorcycle on the Playa is an amazing experience-it's so smooth, one has the feeling of being in a boat speeding across a lake with no waves or resistance. The playa has a phenomenon in the form of an evident curvature across it's surface. The curvature lends itself to astonishing mirages, such that a vehicle three miles distant seems like a low flying aircraft. Small distant bushes look like large trees. Dennis and I race 27 miles across the playa at maximum speed on our dual sport bikes. With our ear plugs and the smooth surface, it reminds me of gliding silently through space. As we reach the end of the playa, we are looking for the access road from the paved highway on to the playa. Dennis is riding ahead, and I am noticing that his tire ruts are getting deeper, and a mud rooster tail is starting to emanate from his rear tire. I begin to feel my bike fish tailing. Before leavi ng on this ride, Dennis told me stories of how he had gotten stuck on a previous trip and it took three hours to get out. The night before, I read warnings to stay out of the mud bogs of the playa. It was evident that we were riding into the bogs and we both instinctively slow down and make a gradual turn in the opposite direction. By now we are slowed to a speed of five miles an hour with our bikes in second gear and our throttles wide open. Slowly, we regain our speed and traction and leave the bog area without ever looking back. Within a half mile of turning around, we find the "off ramp" to the highway and ride five miles into the desert town of Gerlach. This town is practically owned by a man named Bruno. He owns the motel, gas station, restaurant, saloon and a place he calls "Bruno's Country Club" which is a small casino. After cleaning the mud off our boots, we secured lodging for the night at Bruno's and then cleaned up for dinner at Bruno's and drinks at Bruno's. Our motel room would have been rated a negative 5 diamonds by AAA, and when I asked Dennis why it was so expensive ($50) he replied that Bruno had a monopoly: it was the only place in town! At dinner, I confessed to Dennis that I had taken some spills, and told him that I wasn't afraid of crashing, just afraid that I might break some bones or dislocate a shoulder. His only comment was that I should slow down. I told him that if I slowed down any further, I would be going backwards. So ends the first day of my first dual sport adventure. Day two. As we leave the town of Gerlach the next day, I am hoping and praying that today's ride will bring no accidents. I realize that deep sand and gravel are my enemies. Our first stop is a town called Empire, home of US Gypsum, where 90% of all the dry wall in America is manufactured. We stop for supplies and then head out across the desert on highway 49, and although Nevada calls it a highway, it is nothing more than a gravel road. As we ride, I remember what I had learned several years ago: your bike goes where your eyes go. I start to look down the road 100 to 200 feet ahead instead of directly in front of me. My dirt and gravel skills immediately improve. I am able to race in between ruts and bumps with no fear. I also find out that if I gas the throttle through deep sand and gravel, it lightens my front wheel giving more stability. I am feeling more confident. Along the way, we stop at Frog Pond Hot Springs to do some target practicing at the dump across the street. After killing several refrigerators, washing machines, a 49 Mercury sedan and a 50 Ford 2 door, we ride on to the ghost town of Sulfur and then north into the Jackson Mountain range in search of old gold mines. We found no mines, but did find some spectacular scenery at 7,000 feet elevation. The air was so clear you could see forever. After coming down off the Mountain, we picked up Highway 49 (AKA Jungo Road) and rode 58 miles to Winnemucca, Nevada. Dennis had made advance reservations at the Motel 6 where we showered and changed before going out for dinner. I managed to work in a car wash along the way to get all the mud off my already trashed KLR, and Dennis declined a wash stating that he kind of liked the "desert patina" on his bike. With a shower, clean clothes and a clean bike, "I was good to go" It was Dennis' choice for dinner, and he picked the Winnemucca Hotel. This place is a whole story in and of itself. Built in 1860, it survives today unchanged with pressed tin ceilings, a huge 150 year old mahogany back bar, a 6 foot high antique safe, antique bar, and an exterior that looks exactly the same as the pictures on the wall that were taken 140 years ago. It's like walking into a time capsule. The bartender and owner is Miguel Olano, a Basque gentleman in his 70's who speaks with a distinctive Basque accent in a low thundering voice. Miquel always has a smile on his face and delights in telling the story of how Butch Cassidy robbed the First National Bank at Fourth and Bridge Street in downtown Winnemucca in 1900. Miquel's son, Michael is the chef and just before the first seating for dinner, he appears behind the bar in his red apron, pours himself a straight shot of whiskey, downs it in one gulp, washes the glass, and dries it with a dish towel, and then rings the dinner bell to announce that dinner is ready. Dinner was served family style at long tables for 12, and was truly a vegetarians worst nightmare. Starting with French bread and butter, chilled red wine, our Basque server then brought us onion soup, tossed green salad, sausage and beans, Spanish rice, then beef stew. But wait! There's more. The entr e was a huge porter house steak, dredged in flour, seasoned with garlic, salt and pepper, and pan fried to perfection. Basque food has a unique flavor all it's own. I have never tasted anything like it. Sitting across from us was a single Basque gentleman who has lived in the hotel upstairs for 3 years and takes his evening meal in the dining room nightly. Next to him were some truckers. As we were finishing up, a group of about 16 Harley bikers came in for the second seating, then a few minutes later, a third seating comprised of 14 Gold Wing riders. Our bill for this marvelous dining experience was $10.00 each. BTW, overnight lodging at the Winnemucca Hotel is $16.00 a night, with a bathroom down the hall. After dinner, Dennis took me on a riding tour of Winnemucca, beginning with the red light district. You ride down a dirt alley and when you see a big sign that says "truckers parking" you turn left into a dead end alley with four brothels, named "My Place", "Simone's of Paris", "Moonlight Ranch", and the fourth place didn't seem to have a name, just a red neon sign that said "Girls Girls open 24 hours". As we slowed down to take a closer look, a lady of the evening at Simone's, clad in a see through negligee, ran to the door and waved us in. I gave her a thumbs up and then got the hell out of there. Our next stop was for drinks at the Martin Hotel, another Basque establishment, and then down to Fourth and Bridge streets to look at the bank that Butch Cassidy had robbed 100 years ago. Later that evening, we noticed there was a Gold Wing convention in progress at Winners Casino Hotel. Day three. We have a long day ahead of us so we get an early start beginning with breakfast at Mickey Dees and then we head north out of town on Highway 95 to Paradise Hill. We stop momentarily as Dennis points out the Road side bar where cop killer, Claude Dallas hung out in the early eighties. Dennis tells the Claude Dallas story in great detail; a self styled modern day trapper killing two fish and game wardens in Idaho after being caught poaching and then evading The FBI for over a year. Our next stop is Paradise Valley, founded in 1860 and home of the Micca House Saloon. I have always been fascinated by Victorian architecture, so I got out my camera and started taking pictures. There were a lot of young adults and children around the old saloon. A young lady asked me if I would like to take a tour, and introduced us to her mother, Anita Tietjen, who was the grand matriarch of a family from Sparks, comprised of about 23 children and grand children who had all come to spend Memorial Day week end. Anita and her husband bought the building 30 years ago after it had been abandoned in 1950, and now use it as a summer cabin. There is no electricity, and no plumbing, but oh, what a beautiful building. Anita took us through the 5,000 square foot structure built by an Italian emigrant named Alfonse Pasquali who named it after his wife Mecca (pronounced mee-ka). It was originally like an indoor shopping mall complete with a saloon, dining room, doctors office, barbershop, dress maker, harness and saddle shop, butcher shop, hair stylist, and had one resident who owned a piano. She would roll it out onto the balcony and play music as the town residents would dance in the streets below. The basement was built with beautiful brick arches, and had two giant brick wood burning bread ovens. Just when I thought I had seen it all, Dennis announced that we was going to take me on his favorite dual sport ride up into the Santa Rosa Mountains of the Humbolt National Forest. We rode to Hinkey summit, elevation 7,800 feet, through large groves of quaking aspen and alpine meadows filled with yellow, purple and red wildflowers. Dennis and I returned to the highway and rode north to Denio Junction which has to be the most boring stretch of Road in the country-3 turns in 65 miles. We had a nice lunch with several other touring bikers and then began the last leg of our journey home, through the Charles Sheldon Antelope Wildlife Refuge, over 60 miles of dirt and gravel roads, back to Cedarville. My thanks to my friend and guide, Dennis, for introducing me to adventure touring and what real dual sport riding is all about. The Black Rock Desert and surrounding area is fascinating and will always be remembered as one of my greatest adventures. Dennis doesn't know it yet, but our next touring adventure will be a ride down the Baja Peninsula. My Y2K KLR 650 ran flawlessly for the 665 mile ride, despite the abuse that it took. Its performance was exceptional. A smooth, fast ride on or off Road. The only modification to the bike was 8 oz of slime in each tire with 21 PSI in the front, and 26 PSI in the rear. I packed my gear in a small back pack and secured it with a bungee net. I used a Moose front fender bag to carry a 21" tube, tire irons, extra CO2 and zip ties. After researching the KLR650 list archives extensively, I chose a Chase Harper 1150 Tank bag for carrying my raingear, camera, binoculars, pistol, safety glasses and goggles. It worked very well for me, and I like it because, unlike the Kawasaki tank bag, I can use it on my other bikes. I was able to replace the damaged parts resulting from my two crashes for $46.00 by ordering surplus Y2K KLR parts from Dual Star. Yes, life is good.