Kathy Marie's Adventure

It's been a restless night and finally I give up on sleep, look at the clock: 4 am.

So do I go to Bonneville to watch or not???

It's the money that's eating at me.

I sigh, get up carefully so as not to wake Dave, pad into the living room. Russ O'Daly's voice is echoing in my head: “If you can't run this year, then come to watch.” And my reply: “I will Russ—I promise.”

I grab calculator, journal and put the pencil to it.

First up, gas. We're paying $3.29 a gallon here but Jim who owns the neighborhood gas station just got back from out west and told me he paid $3.75 a gallon!! The papers are saying prices are going higher, they're talking about $4 a gallon and Bonneville is ~1200 miles. 38 driving hours according to the website but that's straight thru and there's no way...

Wait a minute--something from Selden's trip web site is scratching at my brain pan... Hostel?? Hostels!!

Maybe a hostel in Salt Lake City instead of a hotel?

So now it's by car or by bike?

The wagon has rear brake issues and no AC.

The Plymouth has suspension issues and working AC.

The Hawk will need a tire midway, no AC and with the small tank there's a short fuel range.

Plymouth and wagon both get low twenties on the highway, call it 22 mpg.

1200/22 mpg = 54.5 gall x $3.20 per gallon =$174.50, call it $175 but only two nights in a hotel.

Hawk mileage is reliably mid 50's call it 55 mpg.

1200/55 = 21 gall x $3.20 = $69.80 call it $70.

Nights in a hotel, say $60 per. I can do 1,000 miles in a car or at least 750, that's 15 hrs of driving.

It's 3 days on the bike and that's riding hard.

But if I can get hostels for the nights in Cheyenne and Salt Lake, the bike wins. And besides it's been a long time (8 years! Dear God, is it really 8 years??) since my last trip out west.

I want to ride under those big skies again...

Later Dave sez: 'Orbitz—check on hotels in Wendover. My concern: You'll be fried starting out, you'll be riding hard and fried.'

Of course, later I find out that my guess at the mileage is low but I still want to ride.

THE THIRD DAY

I've gotta make tracks!!! 100 miles before breakfast

Making a mess when getting gas for the hawk, Rex applies oil dry (show pic)

MEETING FRED

I'm back on I-80 heading for Rawlins and I'm sharing the road with lots of big trucks. There's some wind so I'm giving them even more room than usual when I see a situation developing ahead that I don't like--three trucks jockeying for position with a couple of cars thrown into the mix on a downhill and picking up speed.. I don't want to be around for this one but no problemo: I move the Hawk into the left lane for the pass.

I'm midpack when all of a sudden there's a big rig RIGHT on my tailpipe—holy smokes, where did HE come from??!!??? I twist her tail for all she's worth but that just gets me even, he's still right with me when I dodge right and let him roar by.

What the..? I didn't think big rigs could go that fast!!! Don't they have governors on them or something??!!???!!! Whew!

Hey, waitaminnit...

Who IS that?????

I need gas for the bike, food for moi and Rawlins is coming up. He's probably on a tight schedule but it doesn't hurt to ask..

The truck has slowed now on the level but it still takes a few moments to catch up. I pace him at cab-level in the left lane, wave and he rolls down the window.

I point at my tank. He hollers above the windblast, “GAS!”

I point at my helmet chin bar, am rewarded with, “FOOD!”

I flip up my faceshield and yell to the face far above, “Rawlins!”

“WHAT?”

“RAWLINS!!!!!” I scream—wow, I think I broke my vocal cords.

“I CAN'T HEAR YOU—PULL OVER!!” and an arm above waves toward a rest area I hadn't noticed. I drop anchor and follow him in, then noodle toward the opening door...

He's tallish, pushing 6 feet I reckon, with a great smile, strawberry blond hair, blue eyes, way less paunch than normal for a trucker and it's all topped off with a baseball cap. He's also laughing as I greet him with, “I didn't think trucks could GO that fast, aren't there govenors on that thing or something?!?!?!”

“Aw heck no!!” he grins.

“I'm Kathy Marie,” I say, pulling off my glove and extending my hand.

“Fred,” he says and we shake.

“I don't imagine you've got time for lunch? I'm starving, I've GOT to eat something...”

As the open road is his office, Fred knows a place. We mosey on out and the sign for Rawlins clicks past shortly. Four exits and I'm counting them off with an eye on the odo cause I'm pushing her tank range. When the fourth exit appears with no trace of a turn signal, I get nervous and pull up to the cab but Fred makes me understand our destination is just ahead.

And there it is, a Flying J truckstop a few miles west of the city. Whew! I make a bee line for the gas pumps (no spill this time! ;-) then we head in for lunch.

Fred's full name is Fred Fox, and as things turn out, he's always loved speed and been good at it—he was an Indy racer. (!!!) He retired afer being badly hurt in a crash that put his car in the catch fence. (find pic if possible) I admitted I knew nothing of Indy racing and guess I must have looked a little doubtful, because he let me feel the metal plate in his hand. <shiver> :-( That crash really hurt him... :-(

But he's ebullient and buoyant now, with a light-hearted sense of humor and a wicked gift for a yarn! :-)

He spins tales of Indy while lunch goes slipping by. Then comes the tidbit that makes me choke on my salad...

He's going racing again.

Yes, the God Of Speed has called and Fred has heard. And that man climbed into a

by-God-Indy car and did 225 mph testing at the same track where he crashed.

'Stanfox' Fox is coming back!!!

(And gave his OK to put it on this website, incidentally.)

Refreshed, renewed and filled with admiration for the blithe spirit of the man, I climb back into my gear and we head out. Unlike moi, Fred can read maps and suggests I ride with him on a better route to Salt Lake City.

“It's pretty, it's a lower altitude than the pass and it's shorter,” he informs me. Sold! I also get a tour of his trailer (? term?) which sports experimental tires he's testing for Michelin. (show pic) And I climb up to see the inside of the rental cab, although Fred informs me his cab is much much nicer.

And I also get a snapshot of Fred: (show pic)

We roll out and dance along the highway together for the rest of the day. Fred is (as you might imagine) a highly skilled driver but he also notices *everything.* A real outdoorsman, he sees wildlife, vegetation AND geology, not just the road. After being queried about antelope herds, I start to keep watch and finally spot a pair right next to the road. I pull up to the cab and invent an “antelope” signal (hands on top of helmet with index fingers for horns) and Fred laughs and waves.

We did see a thunderstorm and my mouth went dry pulling on my rain gear at a rest stop. But following Fred's rig, we skip through the edge which kept the rain reasonable, thank goodness. Not to another trucker, though! Fred laughed about a CB conversation at our next stop:

Trucker: “That's a GIRL on that bike!”

Fred: “I know.”

Trucker: “She's NUTS!”

As promised, the new route was pretty—stunning in fact, with some lovely curves to play in. I was so happy to see them I let myself get carried away, just loving to lean and using both lanes (no traffic but still, naughty Kathy.) Fred noticed, started taking both lanes too and we pirouetted in rhythm until pausing for Devil's Slide.

The Utah highway dept. squeezed a scenic overlook in here for a good reason, the view is spectacular. Fred's opinion holds Utah as the loveliest state in the union and Devil's Slide argues his case well. Turn around and across the highway is Devil's Backbone, which made my jaw drop!

This page was last updated on:

09/27/2008