Bikes & Byways - Travelling North
US Road Trips

US 4: The Mojave’s Searing Heat and Nuclear Fallout

On Monday morning, I woke while it was still dark. This was the day we would head north towards Utah, experience first hand the searing heat of the Mojave Desert, and discover the tragic consequence of nuclear fallout.

Now, if you’re into motorcycles, a road trip like this one is something you fantasise about; and sometimes even put on your bucket list. But, on this day, our road trip was no longer a fantasy or a bucket list item. We’d not only purchased our Anniversary Harleys, we’d collected them. We’d done a shake down ride and parked our trusty steeds in the Hotel’s carpark building. And there they were, just waiting for us to get them on the road.

Morning people . . . and those who aren’t

If you haven’t worked it out yet, I’m a morning person. I like to be out of bed well before dawn for a quiet smoke and strong black Arabica. Being up and about early also gives me a chance to think – or not – in quiet solitude. The pre-dawn is tranquil, silent, uncluttered. It is generally too early in the day for anyone, including me, to have screwed things up.

Apart from the fact that it’s an ingrained habit, something programmed into my internal clock by years of running third world boarding schools, there are a couple of compelling reasons why I’m consistently awake so early.  There is the fact that I have an old man’s bladder. Once you’ve got up to relieve pressure, there’s not much point going back – might as well just get on with it. Almost as important is the fact that by early morning, I’m running on empty; nicotine and caffeine wise. 

As much as I like early mornings, Mel definitely doesn’t. He’s seriously slow out of the blocks in the morning. His day starts late and tends to end late. So, within the first couple of days, we reached the first of our many accommodations; compromises if you will.

Accommodating idiosyncrasies

Though mystified by my habits, he readily accepted that I got out in the mornings while it was still dark. He was tolerant of the fact that by early evening I’d have run out of steam; and could sleep any time I got horizontal. I, on the other hand, readily accepted that in the mornings he liked to avoid getting out of bed. But, long after I’d quit for the day, he would continue to potter about. Invariably he’d be reviewing the day or posting updates on our progress to his Facebook account.

Early on, we also agreed to quit apologising to each other for the volume and resonance of our  snoring. Mel, though, steadfastly claimed that he didn’t snore; but often dreamt of being a motorcycle though – apparently. 

On the morning of our third day in Vegas, there was an additional reason for being up and about early. There was a definite compulsion to check our motorcycles, and admire the polished paintwork and gleaming chrome. I was chafing at the bit to be on the road.

Sunday morning coming down

Slipping stealthily out of bed, I hauled on jeans, T-shirt and boots; and paused for a moment to see if Mel was awake too. He wasn’t. So, I eased open the door and stepped out into the hallway. Mel was still in the middle of one of those motorcycle dreams; I could hear his sonorous rumble through the door. 

Jack’s Irish Pub was closed so cleaners could wipe down the tables; empty the ashtrays; and mop last night’s slops from the dark slate floor. So, I headed off to Starbucks for an Americano before going out for a cigarette.

With coffee in hand, I wandered through Reception; greeted the doorman; and stepped out into the half-light. Away in the east the sky behind the mountains was showing early signs of incipient dawn; though that would still be forty-five minutes or so away. I could hear the sound of freeway traffic: trucks heading south west to Los Angeles and San Diego; and, professionals, sales people and tradies making an early start to their working week. Yesterday’s residual heat had been swept away by a gentle breeze; a katabatic wind that slipped down the slopes of the mountain range and pushed out across the valley floor.

Packing . . . the way not to do it

Strolling in the cool, half-light of the morning, I thought of Mel’s goods: in draws; in the bar fridge; and, distributed liberally across the spare bed in our room. I’d basically packed before going to bed; leaving out only the items that I’d planned to wear for the day’s ride. In contrast, Mel would need time to organise, fold and pack his stuff. That done, we’d need to get something to eat. Then, we had to check out; get our luggage to the bikes; and load. All this was going to burn up a fair chunk of the morning. So, we needed to get our crap organised fairly soon.

I sauntered back to Starbucks, ordered another Americano, and a Cappuccino for Mel, and went back to the room; it was time to be up and at it. An hour later we headed out to the hotel restaurant in search of something to eat. Notwithstanding the fact that I’d woken him at what he would have considered to be a very ungentlemanly hour, Mel was in good spirits. I’m pretty sure that the same excitement about getting on the road that had woken me, had infected him. The anticipation of our road trip northward through the Mojave to Utah fired both of us.

Entertainment

US 4: Mojave's Searing Heat and Nuclear Fallout - Mel's Packing
Mel’s Packing

Breakfast was just as good as it had been on Sunday. In fact, it was probably better because we’d had a decent sleep and generally felt almost human again.

It was mid to late morning before we were loaded, strapped down and ready to roll. In my case, this meant heaving my T-Bag onto the pillion pad and securing one strap to each pillion peg housing. My work was done and dusted in a couple of minutes

Mel’s packing routine, however, was not quite so straightforward. I stood back to allow him some elbow room, and lit a cigarette. In awe, I watched as he crammed stuff into his two saddlebags, and heaved his T-Bag onto the pillion seat. Then, he hitched a backpack onto the luggage rack behind the sissy-bar. 

Even before he started strapping the load down, he was sweating profusely. Undeterred, he set about securing this not-too-small mountain of luggage with what seemed like about half a kilometre of strapping. Once complete, the whole set-up was truly a wonder to behold; it looked like the aggregated possessions of a ‘rag and bone’ man.

Time to get on the road

I’d managed to polish off a coke and a couple of leisurely cigarettes by the time he was done. Mellow and laid back, I could feel a growing excitement about getting on the road. Mel poured sweat however, and looked for all the world as if he needed a little lie down. His T-shirt was soaked; and, the front of his jeans looked as though he hadn’t made it to the bathroom in time.

We checked each other’s fuel, fluids, tyres and tie-down straps and then climbed aboard and fired up.

US 4: Mojave's Searing Heat and Nuclear Fallout - Mesquite
Travelling North from Las Vegas

By the time we rolled out of the Palace Station Hotel and Casino carpark building, the ambient air temperature was well north of 100 ℉  [38℃]. 

We turned right on Sahara West, proceeded under the overpass, and veered left towards the on-ramp to Interstate 15. Under another cloudless expanse of faded blue, we accelerated north through the city outskirts. The Mojave stretched out ahead of us towards the Utah State Line.

With the exception of massive fields of solar panels and expansive wind farms, there was not a lot to see. The air was bone dry and heat radiated from the road surface with punishing intensity. In very short order we discovered that, if we didn’t want to be run down by eighteen wheelers, we’d need to cruise at eighty plus miles per hour [130 kph]. The advantage of staying in front of the truckers was that we wouldn’t get buffeted by the turbulence from the rigs.

Mesquite

So, we powered on ahead of the truckers northward across the flat, desolate, northern reaches of the Mojave towards Utah. The mountain range seemed to float above the glaring heat of the desert until we reached Mesquite; a cool, green oasis well up towards the Nevada State Line. 

US4: Northward through the Mojave to Utah - Mesquite
Mesquite, Nevada

Mesquite, with a population of around eighteen thousand, is sited on the Virgin River in the north east Mojave Desert. A group of Mormons originally settled this area in the 1880s and called it Mesquite Flat. More recently, the area had become home to a growing retirement community. The town boasted a casino and a couple of impressive golf courses. Nestled in the river valley, the city, if it could be called that, is just east of Interstate 15 North.

Virgin River and the Gorge

We stopped for fuel and a couple of ice-cold cokes. But, rather than taking the off-ramp for Mesquite, we opted for punching on northward through the Mojave towards the Utah State Line and St George. We’d found ourselves caught on the horns of a dilemma. On a blistering ride through the desert, do you look for respite or do you move on so that you can get the ordeal over and done with? We opted to move on.

US4: Mojave's Searing Heat and Nuclear Fallout - Virgin River Gorge
Heading towards Virgin River Gorge

Interstate 15 North cuts across the north western corner of Arizona; and, we crossed the State Line shortly after leaving our Mesquite fuel stop. The Interstate follows the Virgin River as far as Littlewood. Then, it crosses the river and climbs into the Virgin River Gorge on its way to the Utah State Line.

Virgin River Gorge

Magnificent riding

To say that the ride through the Virgin River Gorge was spectacular would be an understatement of truly grand proportions. Shortly after passing Littleford, we had to twist our throttles to maintain speed through miles of sweeping curves that worked their way steadily up through the Gorge towards Utah’s high country. The road is a masterpiece of civil engineering as it winds its way upward through precipitous cuttings and over towering viaducts.

US4: Mojave's Searing Heat and Nuclear Fallout - I-15 through Virgin River Gorge
I-15 through the Virgin River Gorge

We probably should have taken time out to visit the Beaver Dam; but we didn’t. The midday sun was merciless and the road surface extremely efficient at radiating heat. Added to this, the heat coming off our V-Twins meant that we were tiring quickly; our bodies were showing very clear signs of dehydration.

St George . . . and a break

As we crested the northern rim of the gorge, we could see St George. In the distance it lay, spread out under the baking high plains sun. My mouth was arid and my eyes, notwithstanding the excellent polarised sunglasses, gritty and sore. As we backed off our throttles and decelerated we noted a set of golden arches that stood sentinel above what was probably the city’s business district. We knew that at Maccas there would be cold drinks, ice, air conditioning, and free WiFi.

Mojave's Searing Heat and Nuclear Fallout
St George, Utah

St George is situated near the Tri-State Junction of Utah, Nevada and Arizona in the Sun Belt of the northern Mojave Desert. Well, we’d discovered that already hadn’t we? We’d been beating our way north through the Mojave for the best part of three hours.

Fallout . . . what fallout?

What we didn’t know at the time was that St George was originally founded as a Cotton Mission in 1861 under the direction of Latter Day Saints Apostle, Erastus Snow. What I did know was that, in the early 1950s, St George had received the brunt of fallout from the Yucca Flats Nuclear Testing Facility. The prevailing winds routinely carried this fallout directly over and through St George and Southern Utah.

As a consequence of exposure to fallout, marked increases in the occurrence and frequency of cancers including Leukemia, Lymphoma, Thyroid Cancer, Breast Cancer, Melanoma, Bone Cancer, Porain Tumours, and Gastro-Intestinal Tract Cancers, were documented in the area from the mid-1950s through until the late 1980s.

It occurred to me that this was another deeply disturbing instance of a government irreparably damaging the very people it should have been legislating to protect. Having said that, our own government actively abetted British atmospheric testing in South Australia. This had resulted in Aboriginal homelands around Maralinga being rendered uninhabitable for several thousand years.

But, I digress.

Down Town – St George

Towards Red Canyon

After lounging around in air conditioning, and downing a few large cokes and several buckets of ice, we crept cautiously back out into the sun. Firing up the motorcycles, we continued north on Interstate 15. Until, just past the Coral Canyon Golf Course, we took the exit for US 9 and headed for Red Canyon.

As we merged onto US 9 and picked up speed towards the Canyonlands, I took note, as I am wont to do, of a Harley Davidson Dealership off to the right in what looked like a fairly recently developed industrial estate. As things turned out, this observation was to become very useful in the next day or two.

Canyonlands

US 9 is a dual lane, single carriageway frequented by slower traffic and countless Recreation Vehicles. I was beginning to get the idea that Americans were pretty serious about their RVs. They’re big, bulky and, in tight corners, pretty slow. While I’ve never been inside one, I have no doubt they have all the bells and whistles; all the comforts of home.

Lengthening shadows

It was almost 4pm and shadows were starting to lengthen. But, this did nothing to ameliorate the air temperature or heat being radiated from the road surface; it was hot.

Towards Red Canyon
Towards Red Canyon

The afternoon sun highlighted shades of ochre and red in the roadside gravel and rock walls. The bark and thump of our exhausts echoed from the canyon walls as we leaned into successive corners and switchbacks. The epic vistas were jaw-dropping but we were worn, dehydrated and focussed on getting to a point where, if accommodation was available, we could end our odyssey for the day.

A test of character

The first day of any road trip is a bit of a test of character. Your butt gets sore, then it aches and finally goes numb. Your fingers initially get numb from transferred engine vibration and then, as the hours pass, they begin to cramp. As a younger bloke, I put in a lot of time running; training for long distance road race competitions. Now, some forty years and thousands of miles down the track, the cartilage in my knees was pretty well shot; the right one more so than the left.

By mid-afternoon, my right knee had been aching for the best part of an hour and the left one gave every indication that it was about to go out in sympathy. So, when we throttled back just before reaching the Hatch town limit and noted the welcoming presence of Motel Cabins, a Gas Station and Diner, it was a no-brainer. The decision to stop was both unspoken and unanimous.

Hatch, Utah

Room Key

We checked in and were issued with a key attached to a horseshoe; no real chance of losing that I suppose. 

With motorcycles parked and unloaded, we walked the fifty or so yards to the Galaxy Diner. It was small and welcoming, with red vinyl seats in booths and authentic, probably original, 1950s decor. The service was outstanding; the waitress friendly though rather bemused by our accents; and, the food was simple, well cooked, hearty and satisfying. It’s funny about accents isn’t it, you never see yourself as having one.

Now, isn’t it always the way? Just when you think you have things all squared away and you’re kicking back, something unexpected happens; and things go completely sideways. I mention this because, right then, while we were cooling at the Galaxy Diner, a tech tragedy was taking place in our cabin.

Information technology disaster

Mel had brought his MacBook with him and, to this point, had transported it in his T-Bag completely trouble free. On this day, however, an unforeseen catastrophe occurred. Before leaving Vegas, Mel had slipped his MacBook into a compartment in the front zip cover of his bag. This was not the problem because he always did that. Also into his bag, he’d stowed a cooler bag packed with insulin and ice; this to keep his medication cool during our long, hot day in the sun. The strategy had worked well for his trip from San Diego to Vegas. As long as the T-Bag was upright, water from the melting ice remained contained in the cooler bag.

Our arrival in Hatch, though, had been late in the afternoon. When checking in, reception had advised us that the only Diner in town would close within the next thirty minutes. We’d parked our motorcycles and had both slung our T-Bags onto our beds. Then, we headed out and down the road to the Galaxy Diner.

Now, here’s the tragedy. Because Mel’s bag was left lying on its face, the melting ice water that had pooled during the day, seeped out through the zippered top. The net result was a saturated Macbook.

Dealing with adversity

You can tell a fair bit about someone by observing the way they react when things don’t go well. In circumstances like these, I tend to get angry, swear a lot, and generally beat myself up about lack of forethought, foresight or both; my fury tends to go pretty deep and lasts a long time. In more rational moments, I know that my fury changes nothing about any given adverse situation. But, this knowledge usually does little to ameliorate my poor behaviour. I am getting better at managing this idiosyncrasy – but I have a long road left to travel.

Mel, on the other hand, even at the worst of times is fairly even tempered. I don’t think he even realised what had happened; until he decided to post a few updates to his Facebook account. It was then that he hauled his MacBook out of his bag, and noticed water seeping from the laptop ports. Bugger, he said, and that was about the long a short of his fury. Amazing! 

Rubbing it in

This is not intended to imply that he doesn’t care about or is negligent with his belongings. The MacBook itself was near new and probably worth in the vicinity of three thousand dollars. Worse still, the device contained hundreds, perhaps thousands, of photographs, professional files, sermon notes and a myriad of other documents integral to his working life.

Over the next few days and from time to time throughout nearly eight weeks on the road, he did everything he could think of to resurrect his laptop. He propped the device on edge overnight to drain the water; applied hotel hair dryers and put the device on any and all available air conditioners; and placed it in the sun the next afternoon while we lazed by the pool – but nothing seemed to work.

For the remainder of our road trip, and notwithstanding the gravity of the damage and the loss of data, I focussed regular attention on the misfortune by asking Mel, with a completely straight face, whether he’d remembered to pack ice with his laptop or if he needed ice for his MacBook. Brothers can be such bastards, can’t they?

Later, we lounged in a pair of Adirondack chairs and let the sun set, unwatched, behind a craggy mountain chain in the West. It hadn’t really been a long day and we hadn’t covered many miles but we were tired and more than a little sore. As darkness settled over Hatch, I savoured the pleasure of gentle night after a day of new sensations and sights.

Not a bad bloke

Our Accommodation in Hatch, Utah

Although it was early days on our road trip, I was beginning to learn a few things about my brother. I’d done quite a few road trips in Australia and had the packing thing well sorted; this was not the case with Mel. His approach to packing was a source of amazement, and more than a little amusement, to me. On the other hand, I was learning that he had an almost uncanny sense of direction; he could, it seemed, find his way into and out of almost anywhere.

More importantly I was beginning to discover that, during the forty years that had slipped by, Mel had matured into an admirable human being. In bars, coffee shops, restaurants, and motels, he was a reader of name tags. Without exception he addressed the people we met by name. And, in circumstances where there were no name-tags, he would introduce himself and ask for the other person’s name.

He laughed easily and, for a clergyman, had a wicked sense of humour. I guess this should not have come as a surprise to me, given the father we shared: but it did. I was learning that, like our Dad, he was good natured, compassionate, genuinely interested in people; and always ready to listen to their stories. I was, in fact, beginning to discover that Mel was most things that I am not. In short, I was beginning to find that, although we were very different in terms of  personality and temperament, this was a bloke I could really like. 

Las Vegas – Mesquite – St George
St George – Hurricane – Virgin – Hatch

Just a thought . . .

The worst Day on the road will beat

the best day in the office . . . every time

Click to continue reading: US 5 Unexpected Return to Washington

I have worked in education for over 40 years as a teacher, subject head, and principal. Since retiring, I provide consulting services to schools and systems in the Northern Territory. Currently, I am spending much more time taking motorcycle road trips, and have now set up a website and blog to share stories and experience from roads less travelled.