Wed 18 Aug 2010
Living A Virtual Rally Life in Nevada – Wild Wild West Style
Posted by Matt under Other RidesNo Comments
The Cognoscente…..Making The Illuminati Seem Like Pussies
The Cognoscente are a group of hardcore LD riders that decided the state of Nevada is a pretty good place to pile on large amounts of miles in various competitive rally settings. Invented over a decade ago people can sometimes find snippets of events on the Internet like “Dog Eat Dog”, “Mile, Inc.”, “Mass Gold”, “Blister!” and divine out a shadowy rumor of what may have happened….none of which are prosecutable in a court of law.
More recent events that I’ve been involved including the life-changing “White Pine Fever” or mind-bending “WORD!” rallies. Each of these yield a few more concrete hits as the Internet, forums, and blogs have matured. But they’re all still a bit vague…which is entirely on purpose to protect the allegedly guilty from becoming acquainted with the inside of a Eureka County courtroom.
Regardless of rumor, innuendo, hype, hyperbole, and/or bald-face lies about these rides…I’m here to tell you they generate a serious smirk on one’s face when you’re invited to attend.
And posers need not apply. You show up to this event with a well prepared rally bike, fresh rubber, fresh brain, and wallet full of credit cards as what happens in the 32 hours after 6:00 a.m. is guaranteed to make the security systems at American Express say in binary, “He CAN’T have been to all those places in that amount of time. Turn his card off…NOW!”.
The Setup
Arriving in Ely, Nevada Thursday afternoon it’s always helpful to have a day to recover from the 800 mile commute, confirm riding supplies including MetRx meal bars & jerky, and violate the Archive of Wisdom by installing a set of brake pads in the parking lot at the relative last minute. It’s best to change brake pads early in the Friday a.m. as it’s still cool and you encounter far less derision and mocking by rally organizers because most of them are still hungover from the scotch the night before.
Friday becomes odo check day and as the evening approaches staff drop subtle hints like, “Man, you’re not going to get any sleep tonight….Bryan is going to spend the whole night having to explain how this thing works.”
But, inevitably dinner approaches, pleasantries exchanged, people introduced, and you get down to business.
Paraphrased Bryan announced, ‘You’re going to live a lifetime as a Nevadan, making money, spending money, dying, getting taxed, and leaving your mark life…..all in 32 hours…..all in the ultimate Capitalist style.’
What followed was a combination smorgasbord rally of about 85 bonuses almost entirely in Nevada that you couldn’t possibly all visit in 32 hours. He provided a rubber-banded stack of cards that you could conveniently lay out on a bed and illicit a fire in your head trying to solve puzzle.
While I’ll probably fail to summarize the full mechanics of it all…or at least in simple and understandable terms…rest assured if you read through it you’ll be equally confused as I was when I started. And hopefully, as you read this report it will begin to make sense to you….as it did to me over the course of 32 hours. I’m convinced that the “stewing factor” was a deliberate part of the puzzle.
About half the cards represented ways to make money in 4 broad themes or “threads”. I chose the first fairly quickly to make my mark in my 32 hour life:
The Comstock Mother Lode
18 possible bonuses…principally by visiting various mines in the state and taking pictures of “No Trespassing” signs, markers hailing their history, and occasionally a piece of equipment used by a mine (the archaic rescue basket at Tonopah sent shivers down my spine).
The first 5 were worth $15,000, the next 5 worth $30,000 each, and the last 3 worth $100,000 each. This progressive theme was very important to consider as scrounging out a few from the Comstock Lode, a few from Ride ‘Em Cowboys, and a few from the other wasn’t necessarily the most efficient used of miles.
If life is a balance sheet then for every bit of income you need to show an expense. Since the end of life you wanted zero you were encouraged….nee….REQUIRED to spend everything you spent…..life would have been much easier to have an accountant as riding pillion.
It’s as if our tombstones would read, “Here lies Matt Watkins….a successful capitalist. Made $700,000, spent $650,000, taxed $62,500 for a total of $637,500.“ That’s $637,500 is the final measure of a Nevadan….not the original $700,000. It was a device for the rally that illustrated Bryan’s penchant for accounting and that the Tax Man is far more grim than any Reaper could be.
There were a few more twists including more threads for making money (Outlaws and Rustlers, Ride ‘Em Cowboys, and Smoke the Peace Pipe); a higher tax rate (1.75 instead of 1.25) if you ended up in a pine box spending more than you made in life, and whether you “bought” an electronic set of waypoints for $20,000 or missed a checkpoint and penalized $50K.
Nevada Poker Run and Whores ‘R Us
There were also four threads (Nevada Poker Run, Whores ‘R Us, Camels Spit Too, and Life on the Trail) that you could spend money. Two struck my interest. Nevada Poker Run was even more geometrically progressive for spending my wads of cash earned from mining, but required a visit to a majority of 8 casinos scattered all around the state (since many are near borders of adjoining states….a fact that added to this rally being genuinely educational about how Nevada became the state it is). If I visited 6 of the 8 I could spend $500K very easily and it was looking like to me that a score between $500K and $1M was going to do very well.
The other thread that jumped out at me was Whores R’ Us and had you visit up to 14 whorehouses in the state (again educational as you learn most houses of ill-repute are along I-80 for trucker convenience with a few closer to Vegas). The 10 north of Tonopha were $10K each and the four south were $25K each.
There were other earning and spending threads, but I quickly decided the most doable route generally speaking was an overlay of Comstock earnings with Brothel and Casino spending. In my mind’s eye I could spot earning and spending about $700-800K. And I could imagine riding 1800 or 1900 miles to the 40 or so bonus locations in the 32 hours.
The “Jim Owen Method” Foiled?
Bryan deliberately tried to counter all the little Jim Owen disciples out there and blunty said with airquotes, “The ‘Jim Owen Method‘ won’t work on this rally. Streets and Trips probably won’t work. Time, common sense, and seeing the big picture will be your best bet. ”
While I heeded his advice generally about common sense and big picture I couldn’t help but try and imagine putting things into Streets and Trips and do the Owen treatment on things. I could imagine sitting there digesting my hastily consumed terra-me-sous how I’d overcome the progressive values of certain threads and fact that some bonuses were in the same location on multiple cards, but meant different things in the whole balance sheet of life. I could also imagine colors, techniques, and tricks to try and prove Bryan wrong. After all, the reputation of Jim Owen as a routing god and my skills as a software engineer and system analyst were being tested and I wanted to rise to the occasion. I wanted to be a true pioneer Nevadan…with a laptop and colored pushpins!
Observant readers may notice I’ve highlighted the 8 themes in varying colors. Us in the blog industry call that literary foreshadowing. Read along to get the “Aha!” moment.
I even went with the seemingly unpopular option of having $20,000 deducted from my score to “buy” the electronic waypoints. In hindsight that was probably one of the smartest purchases I ever made and found Bryan conveniently provided EXACT GPS coordinates as well as additional information I could port over to my GPS and S&T analysis. If I’ve learned anything from the IBR it’s riding directly to GPS coordinates saves time over having to stop, pull out a packet or card, interpret street directions, and then navigate.
Call me lazy, but it was the best $20,000 I’d ever spend!
As a bonus he included in a spreadsheet additional information than just the bonus name and coordinates. Each thread was listed, how much a bonus was worth, and lots of other info.
Since I’m in the software business and love Excel I did some light-duty programming and tweaked things a bit with CONCATENATE (B2, ” “, A2, ” “, G2, ” “, F2, ” “, C2) line so I’d assemble all sorts of information that would upload well to Streets and Trips and eventually to my GPS. Tweaked with the the codes would look like this:
Let’s take one line and analyze it.
23 WR -x -10000 Stardust Ranch Whores ‘R Us
- 23 is the bonus number and would match the cards. I’d put the cards in order for the route.
- WR means it’s from the Whore ‘R Us thread…even though it’s duplicated in the title I wanted a shorter notation on the GPS later. I’d use ML for the Comstock Mother Lode, NP for Nevada Poker Run, etc.
- -x means it’s nearby another bonus…don’t forget to zoom in or look around and not miss one. x means one more nearby. y would mean 2 others and z is 3 others. That would pay HUGE dividends later.
- -10000 is the points it’s worth
- Stardust Ranch is obviously the bonus. More notation for me to look for signs as I drive to the coordinates.
Bryan said one thing at the meeting, but his attention to detail in the electronic bonus just screamed at me to go digital!
The Balance Sheet of Sleep vs. Route Planning
To ride 32 hours straight you really would like to be well rested, but to know where you’re going to go for the next 32 hours requires having a comprehensive big picture view of the whole….or at least if you’re trying to be a Big Dog and win it.
It wasn’t until after 1 a.m. that I felt comfortable with my route to go to bed and drift off for about 4 hours of sleep. I was locked in with this general route…at least until late afternoon when I’d be in the the mish-mash that was Reno and a critical checkpoint at 7 p.m. I uploaded the mess to my GPS, transcribed the first leg to a piece of paper easily visible in my tank bag, and drifted into an uneasy sleep.
I’d have options and time to figure out the last half of the rally, but it looked like I’d have to ride 1850 miles to pull it off.
I’d get up at 5:40 a.m…..20 minutes before the 6 a.m. mandatory riders meeting my buddy who shall remain nameless…George….reminded me incorrectly the time for. Departure would be at 6:30.
Immediately in the Deficit Column
About 4:40 I partially awoke to the sound of a door slamming, happy feet descending the motel stairs, and a Schnauser barking forlornly at it’s missing master. I knew it was the puzzle master of course, Bryan Roberts, who was rooming next door to me. The staff had even opined two days earlier as he outlined the rally to them at a private dinner, “Dude! This rally is evil genius! They’re going to steal your dog and hold it for ransom! ”
I chuckled as I remembered placing a note on his door at midnight, “$600K of mining income and $500K in poker spending…..in small unmarked bills….or the dog gets it! We’re serious! Sincerely, WWW Contestants.”
And I promptly rolled over and went back to sleep for another hour.
At 5:20 I was awoken again to the sound of an aftermarket exhaust pipe brapping rudely in the morning air. Who the fuck would be doing that 40 minutes before a riders’ meeting?
As I parted the curtains to shoot eye-daggers at the offender I saw the entire field standing outside suited up and beginning to form a line.
Phuck! The meeting was at 5:00…not 6:00. The starting line would open in 10 minutes and I’m not ready!
Phuck! I scrambled to put on gear and haul things to the bike. Just how were they doing this starting line thing? It couldn’t be that 35 people would all tear out of the parking lot and head to the first bonus 1000 feet away? I’d know if I had made the meeting. What number was I?
I ambled over to Warchild and asked what my number was…he noticed I had missed the rider meeting and gave me one of those looks, but not quite as meanly as it could have been. My only credit was that he had missed me in the initial list for the event as I was the one that helped him sort out his website and actually the first one to sign up and pay. I had a bit of karma credit and #37 meant I’d be one of the very last to leave and have about 18 extra minutes to “get my shit in one sock”.
As I made up for lost time….which not coincidentally was another homage to the rally theme of ‘plus and minus’ as I had gotten extra sleep time…..I mounted the bike and immediately found a sense of calm being back at home on the FJR again. I Sharpied my rider number onto my SuperBrace hat and realized I’d be away from this place for about 32 hours.
Go!
As the timekeeper gives you the 5….4….3…2…1….Go! countdown you always have this urge to make like a Top Fuel dragster and leave a long stringy burnout. But there’s something more satisfying about waiting for an extra second, giving a jaunty salute and smirk, slowly letting out the clutch to a mere idle, and and inch away from the line as if doughty senior citizen on a Sunday morning ride in Florida in search of IHOP and all-you-can-eat pancakes.
There’s plenty of time for exploring the upper bands of your motorcycle performance envelope and those roads are many, many dozens of miles away from Ely. Heh.
Bagged the first bonus and I was 10 grand in the hole. I had no clue previously there was a brothel in Ely…that it was 4 blocks from my motel…and there was a second one across the street.
Headed northeast I zoomed towards the sin capital of Utah…..Wendover, Nevada. Mormons make this pilgrimage regularly across the I-80 salt flats and with the paying of $1 (actual money) I had subtracted $1 more off my score (virtual money). The irony did not escape me.
Heading west I stopped in Wells, Nevada and subtracted another $10K off my score taking a picture of Donna’s Ranch. I’d like to say I had no clue about this bordello either, but in this case I had been in Donna’s some years earlier……..at the insistence of my Mormon companion on the way to Wendover…..purely as a cultural and educational opportunity. Again the irony was dripping from me, my motorcycle, and my friend’s burning ears.
Heading to the next town on I-80 I went even farther into the hole and visited my third brothel by snagging Inez’s Dancing and Diddling….which name just made me laugh. It was quite the shithole from the outside and I was already in the red $31,000 and hadn’t made a dime. I was also beginning to feel dirty as I’d been to two whorehouses and it wasn’t even lunch yet.
Turning north on a very unused road I began to wick up the bike and scored my first $15K by weaving by mining trucks to snap a picture of the Carlin Mine. And so a regular them would emerge. Mine, whorehouse, mine, whorehouse, the occasional casino. The theme would be interrupted by the occasional oddity or dirt road to an obscure landmark.
Talking to The Man
I had to stop and have a small discussion with the Nevada Highway Patrol. Just short of Battle Mountain I’d be zooming along and reconcile a dark blue car parked in the median, rapid stacatto of my radar detector, and my speedometer displaying a rather embarrassing number, but completely reasonable for this stretch of road. He and I would talk for about 10 minutes and we’d come to an understanding that I’d continue moving west with a piece of paper in my pocket saying 80 in a 75. Of course the reality involved a colorful story about me being in a hurry to visit the next whorehouse, my buddy the trooper in the next town over, me really liking law enforcement as evidenced by my plate and plate cover, and that I might have been a Mayor somewhere.
While I hate tickets–I was rather impressed with his hidey hole and that he was able to get me. No other Nevada PoPo had bagged this Big Game so far.
Down the road in Winnemucca I snagged another diddle house and for the first time interacted with one of it’s contractors. With ear plugs in a rather chunky woman came outside and said something I couldn’t hear.
When I gave the universal sign of earplugs…which looks suspiciously like I have a yellow jacket flying around my head…I said loudly, “Sorry, but I can’t hear you.”
Undaunted the lady mimed the universal pointing signals, “Do you?” …….”Want this?”………”In There?”
Blushing I smiled and apologized, “Sorry, I’m on a scavenger hunt and just don’t have time.”
I felt dirtier….and hornier.
Off the Beaten Path
As I did my dual sport impersonation riding the chalky roads to Lovelock Caves I started to ponder the puzzle-within-a-puzzle that was going to be the Reno area in a few hours. Lots of little points that probably meant something, but also a checkpoint that my GPS said I’d be very close to 7 p.m. visiting and 4 p.m. Virginia City bonus. I hadn’t cracked open my laptop and was running off memory of my asset and expense column and was hoping things would end up close in the end. And there just wasn’t time to open things up…I was determined to stick to my plan.
Reordering some things I planned to go to Fallon first and pick up my second poker chip worth -$10 and then on to Virginia City. Since the casino tables didn’t open until 6 p.m., the cage wouldn’t sell me a chip, and nobody had one I was forced to wander around for a while and call Bryan for guidance. He let me off the hook to take a picture of the casino instead.
Behind the curve the GPS teased me with an ETE of 4:02 at Virginia City by and literally had to move a bonus 5 minutes out of my way to later where it would cost me 20 minutes. Heat was also starting to get to me and the climb up to Virginia City was welcome relief. Snagging a picture of a big wooden and iron contraption I started north to another bordello and minor point item in Reno. However, me ETE to the checkpoint was also getting passed 7 p.m. and I hadn’t really factored in the people and traffic factor of Harrah’s at Lake Tahoe. After descending the high mountain town to the north I rethought my Reno sidetrip and decided to skip them in favor of the checkpoint….which proved later to be the wise thing to do.
I did spend the 20 minutes circling back around to the other bordello, but as I cleared Gardnerville and hooked a right to head up the Sierras I got a kick out of a little nearby bonus in Nevada’s first settlement, Genoa. Snowshoe Thompson in bronze with his ancient skiis and wood staff as a a uni-ski pole. Genoa also had some history as the first settlement in Nevada and I felt another string connecting myself historically to this state and rally concept. Well done Bryan!
Climbing up from the valley to Tahoe I again enjoyed the relief in temperature if not mildly more frustrated because of the increased traffic. And Harrah’s was worse than I expected with a sea of humanity walking the streets, blocking my way, a gruff valet yelling at me to park somewhere else, and security accosting me to take off my helmet while in the casino. If not for a very nice roulette dealer taking pity on me and selling me a $1 chip…I mighta been pretty grumpy with this bonus, but I was up to -$1,000 and halfway to my poker goal of -$500K.
Descending back into the heat I made a bit of time getting to Smith, NV and would have made the checkpoint right at 7 if I didn’t stop for fuel break at a convenient station. Both Doug C and Roger V on FJRs were just finishing up and we said Hi.
Checkpoint – The Best Burger of My Life
The checkpoint for me was merely a stop to grab a card taking off $45,000 off my score. By my internal spreadsheet, and a quick laptop review I was aiming for $700-800K of income and only really was going to have $700K of expenses….a bit less since I missed the Reno brothel.
Warchild was there and I signed in realizing it was somebody’s house. He showed me to a smoker where I grabbed a meaty looking burger, slapped it between two buns, squirted on a little mayo & ketchup, and started to inhale my first meal of the rally….about 24 hours since I’d last had a proper one. Gulping a glass of ice tea I paused just long enough to realize that the burger wasn’t something from the frozen section of Wal-Mart, but some concoction of meat and spices that had smoked to a ruby perfection on this man’s iron smoker.
I even said, “I think this burger is the best I’ve ever had in my life! I’d really like to have enjoyed it more.”…and he smiled.
I popped the last bite, grabbed a bottle of water, and headed out to ride the next 1200 miles of the rally. I had bagged 800, but saw my night was going to become slightly more aggressive than I initially planned and could imagine a full 1900-2000 miles if several things went right from this point on. Highway 95 at night, south of Vegas, and miscellaneous two-laners including the Extraterrestrial Highway in the Sunday morning all were prime candidates to pile on serious miles and pick up the pace. Plus doing a BBG pace for 32 hours AND stopping 47 times for bonuses had some serious symmetry in my twisted logic.
It’s the Wild Wild West baby! Hooh-ah!
Evening, Dusk, Twilight, Dark, and REALLY Dark
I blazed on to Yerrington snagging a picture of a mine truck tire, snapped a picture of a Wovoka’s gravesite (an Indian prophet), and through the army town of Hawthorne with perfectly spaced building housing “munitions” of some sort, as the sun dropped over the horizon. Before Tonopah it had grown dark and I found myself going down a very unused Highway 265 to Silver Peak and a strange little town with a dusty coating and haphazard appearance. Even with my HID flamethrowers it seemed like this place was a ghosttown…..or population rejuvenating in their pods until feasting time. This place mines lithium…and I never thought about that before, but wondered what this particular element does to the human body when breathed in for generations as mining towns often do.
Snapping a picture of a stereotypical mileage totem I followed my GPS to find there was supposedly another route out of town to the east, identified as “Silverpeak Rd”. I’d find that this road was more surreal than the ghostly shell of a town I’d left.
As I road it looked like a poorly maintained gravel road with ruts and I compensated for what I expected some rear-end drift through gravel, but found it actually was hard pack of some substance that looked like a tractor had driven through freshly laid hot asphalt and it all set into place. I found my rear tire hooking up solidly and I became ae a sick and demented rollercoaster. More than once I felt the front end go one way, the rear end another, and me in the middle like taffy bending in physics equations that made my stomach heave.
It was also disconcerting that the road was lined by hastily set telephone polls that weren’t actually buried into the ground, but with big wooden brackets like Christmas tree bases secured to the bottom. Backfill poured over the top to hold them in place. A state road this wasn’t!
It was actually pretty safe and all, but just NOT what I’d ever seen before and as I literally hadn’t seen a live soul or disgorging pod of an alien in the last hour. Eerie.
25 miles later I turned onto 95 and relished old-fashioned bituminous asphalt with a smattering of traffic miles away and telephone polls firmly planted in the ground. That’s more like normal Nevada!
As I thumbed through my next card I took a closer look and see I had goofed. Goldfield Mine was the sole mine bonus that was daylight only…and it wasn’t daylight anymore….it was 10:30 at night and in no way could I even ignorantly suggest or capture enough photons to fake it being light. I skipped the bonus and added another 30 miles to my route to come back by tomorrow when I was in Tonopah. Inefficient, but I thought it was doable and I’d find out weeks later from Bryan that it was a goof he had made in preparing the rally. All of this was par for the course though.
I blasted on down 95 through Beatty snagging -$10K for my fourth poker chip, -$25K for a brothel in Amargosa Valley (I’d be returning to this town for SPANK 3 weeks later), -$25K at Madam Butterfly’s in the middle of nowhere, and -$50K for a pair of Sheri’s and Chicken Ranch in Pahrump (say that 3 times fast).
Arcing west and then south I did the outskirts of Vegas and started the last pitch down 95 to Needles for a 5th poker stop at the Mohican Casino, and weird foray into Tea Party/Harry Reid/Yucca Mountain politics by stopping in Searchlight, NV for a photo of a school.
I’d have snagged a $84K bonus, but it required daylight and I just didn’t have time to wait. I’d find out later this bonus was an important part to the #1 rider plan and was more efficient. And I think Jeff and I passed each other as I slogged back up to Vegas.
Hello Mr. Sun!
Slogging through the surface streets of Henderson and Vegas I was still hot from the 101 degree crap in Needles at 2 a.m. The prospect of another warming morning and I found myself gulping water that made me felt bloated, but I new I was still dehydrated a bit. Heading up 93 for my last of civilization I enjoyed a great sunrise and began smiling about the prospect of riding the E.T. Highway at about 7 a.m.
And it didn’t disappoint! I had last been there 3 years earlier in the White Pine Fever rally where I had done some mondo miles in 24 hours..by doing 7 laps across the E.T. Highway. This road is designed for big horsepower motorcycles, tucking behind the windshield, and really hard for cops to mess up your day…mainly because you can see them for miles. The only way a cop could get you is if they wear a cow suit and surprise you amongst one of the many cows crossing the highway of this open range for breakfast.
There is a downside though…at least if you’re a bird. I think their DNA is wired to dodge a vehicle doing normal highway speeds, but not wired to dodge a bike at FJR nominal speeds. They make a weirdly entertaining “thump” when they hit the front end of the bike or glance off your helmet. The puff of feathers in the rear view mirror is rather enjoyable though…much like Randy Johnson’s pitch years ago. Fun for the crowd, but very bad if you’re the bird.
My Butt’s Tired!
As I cleared Tonopah and started towards Highway 50 I felt like in was in the home stretch. But, doing 1800 miles so far….the last 200 miles were the toughest. It wasn’t that I was sleepy or anything…I just didn’t want to be on the bike anymore. I had enough riding…it was getting to be not so much fun anymore.
But 200 miles to the barn is the shortest distance and I knew they were the most critical.
Eureka was where I scooped up my 16th Comstock Lode for $600K and my very last stop was for that 6th poker chip (a picture of the building in this case) that meant I got to lop off $500K in one fell swoop.
I still didn’t have an exact accounting total in my head, but I was thinking or hoping I was between $700-800K with about the same in expenses.
Ideally, I wanted to get back an hour earlier and take a little nap before I crunched the numbers, but rolling into the finish line I urged to get in line for scoring and balked at my buddy George when I stripped nude in the hotel room and committed myself to taking a shower.
Making Excel Sing Like a Fat Lady
George wanted to demonstrate the process he used to balance points out and I pretty much already had it planned out, but to use Excel to take out some of the arithmetic. I’d actually go through “initial scoring” which would certify which bonuses I went to and potentially get credit, but I could then take that list back to my room and tweak what I’d finally turn in to maximize my score.
I’d actually been pondering all this during the rally and quickly came up with a scenario to balance income and expenses to within $200. Note: these pictures are for report purposes and far more polished than I actually had in my room…..but the same basic idea of columns for comparison and formulas to help my fatigued brain. This list is what I planned to turn in at final scoring:
My memory of the rally of being between $700 and 800K was a bit off though, but not being able to hang around until dawn for that Queho Cave bonus for $83,850 just wasn’t feasible.
As I sat down with final scoring with my perennial “Newman!” character of Tom Austin…I began laughing. Tom’s the straightest shooter in this business and I have a perennial habit of losing points at the table with him. And weird thing is that I love him for it. He makes me a better rallier…and certainly didn’t disappoint on this round.
He had a template he went through and I had my laptop. He’d read off a value and I’d have it in my spreadsheet. The other scorer would verify with a calculator. No suprises.
But, then all of a sudden he blurted out a value of 55,500 (actually it was a slightly different value, but for purposes of this story it’s close enough) and I was puzzled.
I was puzzled enough to say, “What’s that?”
He said, “It’s the combo bonus for Camels Spit Too. You got both bonuses so you get to take off more from your score.”
….long pause by me…..
“But I don’t want it.”
….short pause by Tom……
“You have to take it.”
….long pause and furrowed brow by me with no actual response….and a medium pause with furrowed brow by Tom….
“You’ve been riding 32 hours. Face it. You’re fried and you missed it.”, Tom said soothingly and authoritatively.
….short pause by me as I relaxed like a cow resigned to going through a shoot into a big building with reefer trucks coming out the back
“You’re totally right.”, I responded, “Next item.”
And I was really fine with it. Even with my fried brain I could do the easy math of how it would lop off nearly a hundred grand from my score. I had completely ignored the fundamental rule of reading the packet before and after you do the ride…..especially before scoring. I had seen it initially and remembered Bryan talking about it at the meeting, but completely forgot it when it came to the scoring table.
Maybe not a rookie mistake as it was a fairly arcane combo, but absolutely a mistake Jeff or Jim wouldn’t make….and that’s the difference between 1st place that I was gunning for and whatever place I’d end up in. Another rally lesson learned and I’m increasingly convinced this motorcycle rallying is the hardest AND most rewarding thing I’ve done in life. And that long distance ralliers are the best sportsmen in the biz.
So, here’s how the final score shook out…..with my one big goof in red. $587, 828.75.
Still pretty good!
Maybe I’d still end up on the podium, because talking around there were lots and lots of scores in the $200K range, but nobody other than Jeff or I in the $500K+ range….that I knew of anyway. I eyeballed Dick Peek because he’s quietly efficient…and even though he looked as fried as I felt he sneeks onto the podium with regularity.
Drinking commenced and about two tequila drinky thingies later from my buddy Eric V. and I retired to my room for a nap before dinner. Instead of sheep I counted whorehouses and got to 6 before I fell asleep.
View From The Podium
Lurching out of bed, donning my favorite motorcycle t-shirt, and rolling over the old post office we were treated with a second scrumptious feedbag and everybody looked a little more weathered and punchy than two days earlier. It was already a great rally with stories, shouts, and wild arm gestures flying freely around the room describing individual rides the previous two days. Everybody had a smile on their face and back slaps and hugs were everywhere. The room of old friends were about to break bread.
As dinner plates were stacked from the buffet, emptied, and dessert plates attacked the staff went through some of the highlights of the event and Top 10. FJR’s littered the top, but then they also dominated the parking lot. Testament that the model is the preferred choice for Nevada runs, but also #1 would prove to be a BMW and a legendary pilot.
Wendy Crockett would bag 7th place….like her fourth Top 10 this year. She’s one to watch as a relative rookie.
Lahmans as a couple would crack the Top 10 also….great competitors and genuinely nice people.
Dick Peek would get called out as #3 at $398,749 and I knew then I was going to be next.
My $587K and high mileage of 2034 corrected miles was a testament to the, “Ride harder, not smarter” credo. But, I’ll take 2nd any day of the week in this group and relished my stylish trophy.
And Jeff Earls, one of my heroes and increasingly one of the people I’m trying to compete with scored $732,098 with 1903 miles under his belt. We saw each once during the whole rally and although had both broken open the basic puzzle…he took it to a higher level by the order that he ran things as well as the way he picked poker chips and hybrid of Comstock bonuses plus from other threads. He was able to stay until dawn at the $83K Queho Cave bonus and made it work for him….I simply couldn’t.
Here’s a smart analysis of points showing #1 and #2 well above the pack…and the distribution of miles to accomplish those points.
Woulda Coulda Shoulda
Just for giggles weeks later I played a game of Woulda Coulda Shoulda….or as pilots call it, “Flight Debrief” to see if I had rearranged points I gotten differently with the single change of choosing to add points instead of subtract points at the checkpoint. I still would have been 3,000 under him.
We partied some more and everybody had that 100 mile stare of riders that came to Nevada, left lots of rubber on the rode via mega miles of its breadth and width, gained a bit of history and sense of this interesting state, and took great memories home with them.
Until the next Cognoscente event.
Matt – LD Rider and Newly Minted Nevada History Buff
Post Script – Changing Gears
Where it took me only 32 hours to pile on 2000 miles…the next two days I didn’t have to be anywhere particularly quickly so ended up taking the long way to Eureka by hanging out with RenoJohn and taking 2 days to go about 315 miles. While we turned it into about 600 miles of asphalt, gravel, and goat trail….it was a great contrast to the rally.
Home On the Range
First visit was a hard-scrabble ranch in the mountains near Eureka. John with friends with a couple of locals and thought I’d appreciate visiting the rustic style of two brothers ranches and I was exactly that.
These guys eek out a living grazing cattle on range land and although they have phone service..aren’t exactly the kind of personalities you’d find hanging out at Studio 54. The little berg of Eureka seems to be a city with a bit too much to these guys, but peeking into their lives and homes I was struck by the quiet simplicity, the settling breeze on the Dutch Elms, the well of life given by a shallow dug water supply, and imagined the appeal to this alternative style of living.
I couldn’t hack it certainly because there isn’t 20 megabit internet access and electricity…..but to each his own.
What I could appreciate from my own irrigated farm upbringing was the unique sound the afternoon breeze makes on dutch elms in the yard, the artistic elegance and lines of an old Farmall, the loyalness of a scruffy old farm dog, and knowing you’re a producer of product in a country founded on the backs, strong hands, and hard work of ranchers and farmers.
Thanks John for the visit.
We Don’t Need No Stinkin’ Asphalt
Turning South on 376 John suggested we route around Austin by lopping off 10 road miles with about 100 forest trail miles. Sure….I think Austin is a shithole anyway.
Also, I knew that FJR is really Japanese for FujiJamotoRamoko…which translates into English as “Gnarly Dual Sport”. It’s just a myth that this sport-touring bikes is supposed to be burning up two-lane asphalt roads and is most at home on 9000 foot passes herding sheep, forging streams, and making dirt bike riders shake their heads in disbelief.
Heading up into the mountains we stopped for a refreshing little plunge into a mountain reservoir, got a couple quick videos of splashing through streams, and annoyed the crap out of a bunch of meadow maggots, and rode up one pitch that was probably 20% grade.
Descending the west side of the mountain we quickly were returned to flat roads and wicked it up to 85 mph and some very decent gravel roads.
Middlegate
Stopping off at Middlegate I treated us to a couple burgers and we sketched out the evenings plans. We could blast to RJ’s house in Sparks, but he wasn’t ready to go home yet. That left a southerly turn that put us in the army town and casino-trap shithole of Hawthorne on a Monday night.
We accepted our fate grudgingly and lamented the sun’s long shadow on yet another Nevada road I hadn’t been before.
We stopped by watering hole in Gabbs for a beer and were chastised by a local for our disrespect for a stop sign that probably hadn’t been used for hours or days earlier. He tattled on us to the local deputy sitting at the bar drinking from a water bottle and we felt like quite the uncomfortable tourists…sorely disappointed we didn’t see one single tarantula and had also missed Gabbs Days by scarcely a week.
The House Usually Wins
Rolling into Hawthorne John and I did our best impression of Easy Rider meets Almost Famous we could and wheeled into the El Capitan Motel. $54 later we had a room, a place to stash our crap, take a shower, and walk across the street to fritter away our hard earned money playing video poker.
John gave me several lessons about how to properly not play video poker when the attendant isn’t looking and play while she is looking. Apparently, this behavior will net you free drinks at a pace that will preserve Jacksons in your wallet while still getting largely phucked up.
I was the novice at it and found myself putting first a $10, then a $5, then my reserve stashed $100 bill. An hour later I was three gin and tonics up and $28 down….well behind the more professional curve of John with multiple beers and a specially negotiated shot of tequila.
Then a streak happened and I pulled off a straight flush rejuvenating my count to just under $150. A fourth drink and cash-out later I took my $40 in surplus winnings and drunk self back to the room to catch up a bit more on my REM deficit.
Wandering the Sierras
Waking up with a mild traditional hangover John and I refilled our guts with scrumptious McD’s breakfast and made our way farther down the road. Our first stop was the ghost town of Bodie, CA and I was mesmerized by the patina of a ghost town turned state managed in “delayed decay”. What it makes is a great opportunity to use the dSLR set to sepia tone setting.
Oh, and the road to get there……we took the back way. I still have a filling that’s loose.
Brodie was a lawless town where the people worked hard, played hard, and regularly killed one another.
After Brodie we wandered by Gardnerville where I scooped another one of my county seats. This area is also where my stepfather’s grandfather was a cattle baron and Nevada Senator a century earlier…and still lots of moo moos in the land in the area. With a little side excursion to Twin Lakes, John was obviously proud of his home state.
I also spotted a Honda Trail 70…the very model of motorcycle I had FIRST ridden at the ripe age of 4 or 5 years old. I wasn’t tall enough to reach the pegs or pull in the clutch, but dad would get me going and I’d ride around in the field.
We meandered up to Sparks, I got to meet his wife, his mother, and new daughter. The latter had stunned me as I had missed the memo somehow and when I asked if he had any kids and age….he said, “A daughter…she’s 16.”
I had responded knowing John’s my age, “Well,she’ll be out of the house in a few years.”
He looked at me with a puzzled look and said, “16 months.”
I returned a puzzled look.
Well, after two minutes of shyness I had a new best friend that liked the tennis ball and crawling game.
After a home-cooked meal I was dispatched to the local hotel where John had already scored me a room. Nice guy…too bad I used it just to sleep.
On to Cali…and Beyond
As I arced northwest from the Reno area to my next destination I waxed nostalgically of my week in Nevada…the battleborn state. The place with legal brothels, sketchy casinos, and roads that aim straightly to the horizon and beyond. Nevada had left a mark on my sense of history, sense of self, and psyche as a motorcycle rider.
/ Matt
2.9
