I didn't toss and turn around nearly as much this night, but it's debatable which was colder. The water in my bottle was MUCH more solid. The stars were brighter than at home, but night was still a bit overcast to compare with the night before. It had rained shortly after I climbed into the sack, and so I got up to drape my rainpants over the mesh on my tent (I left the rainfly at home to lighten the load) and to put the raincovers on my saddlebags. That might explain the extra ice on everything. And I think it qualified as ice. It took work to SCRAPE it off the speedo for a reading.
As you can see, I took the site suggestion very seriously
It was around 6:30 when I got up, and I peeked through the window of the Inn to check the temperature. The reading was 17 degrees F, so it was probably in the low teens overnight. I shook the ice off my tent as best I could, as I waited for things to warm up a bit, and the Little A'Le'Inn to open at 8. A zipper broke on my duffel bag due to being way too stiff from the temperature, but it was still functional. Two hours later, my water still hadn't thawed!
Breakfast was good! Practically the same stuff as yesterday, and at around 9, I was ready to hit the road. As I was headed out, one of the guys I saw briefly with his wife the night before came to talk to me as he headed for breakfast. He noted that I was riding a Bonneville, and mentioned that he "wanted a Bonneville sooo bad." He also seemed very unenthusiastic about sport bikes, and just loved the old style of British bikes. I mentioned something about Harleys, and he admitted "That's something else I just can't get into." Ah. A kindred spirit.
I snapped a picture of the welcoming sign, that had the population listed as "Humans: 89" (Devin claims it's more like 70, and that he's number 70), "Aliens: ?" Also grabbed one of the ID4 monument, that marks a time capsule that was buried as part of the movie hoohah.
As I headed out Rachel, I noticed how straight the highway was, and stopped for a picture opportunity. At the time, I realized it was my only backwards looking shot, and I thought to myself "Sometimes you have to look where you've been, not just what lies ahead." Yeah, I know, I'm pretty sappy at times. But that sure is some purty asphalt.
I stopped off at the infamous black mailbox, a site famed for its UFO sightings. It was covered in graffiti from visitors around the globe (I don't believe I saw any from off the globe). Another artifact highlighted by the ID4 fanfare, the original black version was auctioned off as part of that. This white version still bears its predecessor's name. As I geared up to continue riding, I realized that the moisture that had covered my glove liners (and frost, since I had been packing with them on to combat the cold) caused the inner lining of my winter gloves to pull out. And I couldn't get my hand back in! I sat there struggling and worried that I'd have to ride barehanded, and a truck pulled up, and a man popped open the mailbox, and put in mail. So, it really does serve a functional purpose for Steve Medlin (a rancher). After struggling with the glove for awhile, I decided to make use of my Swiss Army knife and cut out the lining. My problem turned out to be the plastic middle layer that became tangled up as well. That is the extent of weirdness I encountered there. Woo.
I made it to Highway 93, and topped off the tank in Alamo. Highway 93 doesn't change much in scenery, but it is one hell of a long, straight road. It's amazing how used to a "tonne" you get, although it is rather tiring after 30 minutes or so. The road got busier and busier, as I approached Las Vegas, and for the first time in days, I was back in real traffic. Having no idea where I was going, I pull off on a side street when I saw the name for a picture opportunity.
Upon returning to my motorcycle, a gracious police officer offered help. I explained that I was just stopping to get a picture, and asked her where Circus Circus was (it was the cheapest hotel I saw of the big resorts), and got directions. You can bet the first thing I did was take a shower, and then I headed towards the Venetian to visit the Guggenheim. It was nice to have the bike unburdened, although I think my spare oil bounced off without the duffel bag to support it. I hope it didn't make a mess. I circled the block for parking and pulled in with the other outlaws.
I found out that the Guggenheim is open until 8pm, which meant I had lots of time, as I arrived at around 3. I thought the exhibit would be cool, but I had no idea how incredibly impressive this collection was in person. The bikes were not only beautiful works of machinery, but these were immaculate examples of them. Despite the fact that I thought the woman at the front said "No pictures", I sneaked one of the Bonneville on display, and was consequently reprimanded. So I left my camera stowed, and enjoyed the exhibit. The installation was great, and I enjoyed the looped film they had of clips of motorcycles in movies, and throughout history. I especially liked the huge murals of familiar images, such as Marlon Brando on his Triumph, but dearest to my heart is the one of Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn on a Vespa from Roman Holiday (you can see her ankle here).
I was pretty damn tired at this point, so I headed back to my room to chill out for awhile, before venturing back out on foot to tour the Strip. I wasn't forbidding myself to gamble, I just limited myself, and I lost more than planned, but not much more. It would've paid for a room at the Little A'Le'Inn and breakfast though.
I wasn't quite in the mood to enjoy Vegas' night life. Not after a few days of solitude. But the streets were littered with people, the lights much brighter than the stars. The brochure pushers on the street thrusting adult pamphlets were terribly annoying, but then I wondered about the fact that the Venetian had two such pushers encouraging people to go to the Guggenheim. This town is weirder than Rachel. I did stop off to enjoy a free concert at the Sands, and the performers were great, and played hard, despite the small, yet enthusiastic audience. I had dinner at the Venetian, and had a craving for steak, but settled for a burger, and did splurge on some fantastic red wine. Wow, the coffee was fantastic too. The Venetian is quite an elaborate hotel, and in a different state of mind, I may have enjoyed the canals and the ceiling that resembled the sky more. But this time, it just seemed like a classy hotel, but not all that different than any other on the Strip in nature. I walked back to my hotel, and turned in for the night after a second shower, and thought about how being surrounded by a throng of people made me feel lonelier than the Loneliest Highway in America ever had.
