Triumphing over Summer Boredom

Just north of the McGill, Nevada a sign reads 114 miles to the next gas station. I cursed aloud, having only a quarter-tank, made a 3-point-turn on Highway 93, and limped back to McGill’s only gas station: the Pony Express Gas Mart. The store was shuttered but the pump offered mid-grade octane and diesel. It was a little past 9 AM and I was already fried. I circled the pump to stretch my legs; I had been awake since 4 AM. I lost an hour heading east because highway 318 was inexplicably closed to through traffic. The lone highway patrolman barely lifted his attention from his cellular phone when I reached the barricade.

I had spent the last couple of months hunting for a vintage motorcycle. I scoured the local shops and hunted online. Eventually, I found a 73 Triumph at a price that sounded reasonable on Craigslist. Of course, the seller lived in Idaho.

I met Steve on the shoulder of an off ramp near Burley, Idaho, and followed him a couple of miles into town. We came to a building that once belonged to him. The front of the building held construction supplies while the back-half of the building held 3 vintage Triumphs and two half finished hot rods. Steve explained that he had sold the building but the new owners were allowing him another couple of months to sell off his toys. Steve was a recent retiree; one too many heart attacks had forced him to stop all the fun stuff.

I pushed the Triumph into the light of day. Its handlebars were out of true, the paint was chipped here and there, but the tires were fresh. I handed cash over to Steve and he signed over the title.

“You do much on Craigslist?” He asked.
“I’ve had good luck buying things,” I told him. “Selling can be tough.”
“Yeah. I’ve gotten all sorts of responses. Hell, I was shocked when I received your phone call.“

He helped me load the motorcycle into the back of my truck and we parted ways. I worked my west on Interstate 84 and crossed Snake River and parked near the monument erected to Evel Knievel’s infamous attempt to jump the canyon. The inconspicuously placed monument stands nearly 6’ tall and looked like a tombstone. I couldn’t help but wonder if its appearance was intended. Was this grand failure the end of something?

I then turned south and crossed back into Nevada. As I reached the town of Jackpot, the skies opened up and everyone began to crawl in front me. I let out an audible sigh; I had another 8 hours on the road before me.