NEVADA ADVENTURE: John Wayne would be turning in his grave!

The Wild West is still alive, but the horses have been let loose for Suzuki trail bikes!

       I’m at the top of a 10,000ft mountain, that’s more than a third of the way up Everest. It’s May, but there are deep snow drifts all around and miles of narrow, trails bordered by sheer drops. Somehow, I managed to ride here, but that way was the easy part.  Now I’ve got to get back down without taking any untimely short cuts. The way up was tough.  Some of the climbs were so steep the mountain goats were giving me an “are you mad?” kind of look. The only way was to keep changing down whenever the gradient began to get the better of the gearing. But while the problem then was struggling not to lose too much speed, now it’s going to be a matter of not gaining too much.

       Some of the other riders are telling me I should just let it roll and ride it, and they’re probably right. But at this altitude, with this many drop-offs, my survival instinct is telling me to push the thing. Then again, I’m on the Nevada Motorcycle Adventures tour led by blokes who chew rocks instead of gum. It’s only a couple of miles to the bottom, but on this terrain it feels like I’m riding to Pluto. By the time I get to the bottom, I’m exhausted, but jubilant.

      We still had about an hour to ride through hills, forests and open plains before we reach the back-up vehicle, but the views and the thought of a cool Bud while soaking in a natural hot spring – make the home journey!

      It’s the fourth day of a six-day trek and so far I’ve spent most of it tailing the other riders, all of whom have far more off-road experience than me. Earlier today I got ahead of most of them for the first time on a twisty, woody hill climb, but they soon caught up to find me on my back and my bike parked in a tree. I got away with a bruised backside thanks to all the protective kit I was wearing, and amazingly my Suzuki DR350 escaped with the odd scuff. After my encounters with the undergrowth, I decided I might go on a little faster if I went a little slower, so I adjusted by pace accordingly. So far the trek had taken me through some of the most extraordinary places and spectacular scenery I’ve ever seen, but it’s not a place to get all bleary-eyed and sentimental. This is a man’s land, where cowboys are well hard and their horses are worried.

      To say the hot spring is a welcome respite is quite a major understatement. It’s a steaming rock pool offering a reprieve from what has become a decidedly chilly evening. After we’ve all been in there for about half an hour, gradually getting hotter as the steam rises around us, snow starts to fall on our heads.

      Nevada is a state of contradictions, the temperature fluctuations being just one of them. During the day the sun bakes the landscape with temperatures of over 30 degrees Celsius. Yet at night, when the chorus of crickets and coyotes pierce the gloom, a jumper is a must as the air cools. The landscape is also at odds with convention. Miles of “sagebrush” is bordered by some of the most awesome mountain ranges in the United States! Even the laws are weird. You won’t get done for speeding, but you can’t legally drink until you’re 21, I can’t help but think what’s contained in the two padlocked metal cases (ammo boxes) in the back of one of the trucks. But it’s not long before I find out. The only thing I’ve ever shot is a pellet gun at the fair and a water pistol, but hey, it would be rude to refuse. So I slip on my Stetson hat (a compulsory purchase at the airport) and mosey on over to the rest of the group. I get my eye in on the targets. I am having fun!

   The towns wouldn’t look out of place in a western movie. The sort of places you’ve seen a thousand times before, but never in real life. In one saloon, I half expected Clint Eastwood to be sitting there as I ambled through the swinging doors. Dick, the landlord, told me they don’t get much trouble in these parts. He said, “We sort things out ourselves, everybody has guns and knows we’re prepared to use them”. I believed every word, and not just because he had a Magnum behind the bar, next to the dusty bottles of whisky and gin.

     Many of the towns we visited in Nevada were less than a sprawling metropolis, yet the people are like nothing I’ve ever seen anywhere. On the first night we went to see a band playing traditional western music. All the locals were dressed in their Sunday best and that meant cowboy hats and boots, leather waistcoats and holsters- with guns. At the end of the performance, a woman dressed in a Wild West costume (1860’s dress) stood on a stool and demanded silence from “the gunfighter section”. We looked around, expecting to see a bunch of stubbled match-chewers ready to draw, but everybody was just sipping their Jack Ds. The woman handed out U.S. flags to everybody in the bar, who waved them and sung along with the band’s final number, America The Beautiful. As the song wound up to its crescendo, the behaviour of the locals grew more alarming, Almost everyone drew their guns and proceeded to fire them at the ceiling. I looked up, expecting bits of plaster to come crashing down, before being informed that the rounds were blanks. Phew.

     The morning after my “night out” I felt terrible. The novelty of downing whiskies in an authentic Western saloon had taken its toll. What I needed was real blast- and we were due to go to a dry lake. With more than eight miles of bone-dry mud to go at, it wasn’t long before my hangover was a distant memory – as were my colleagues. I just picked a spot on the horizon, opened it to the stop and disappeared in a cloud of dust. There are times when you just need to get away from people, and Nevada offers more opportunities to do that than anywhere I’ve been before. Just give me the scenery and a bike and I’ll be happier than a punter. I visited the States with Nevada Motorcycle Adventures and you should to!

Written by: Steve Farrell, from MCN - Motor Cycle News (England) and published in MCN, May 31, 2000. )