Kev was up early. He'd made coffee and packed most of his stuff. Bruce had wanted to ride at least as far as the California line with us, but hadn't appeared by the time our bikes were loaded and in the street. However, when Kevin pushed the garbage bins back into the yard, the noise flushed Bruce out. He got ready to ride with us and we all set off for breakfast at the Aliante Casino buffet - our last breakfast in Vegas and our last in a casino.
.Kev tried his luck for the last time, too.
We followed Bruce around and out of Las Vegas, heading south and west on Interstate15. Unfortunately, just before the Halloran Summit exit, Bruce coasted onto the hard shoulder. Electrical gremlins had struck again and Bruce's bike was dead. Also, his coil had completely cracked around its circumference, but nothing had leaked from it and it wasn't the cause of the complete lack of electricity. Poor Bruce, 80 miles from home and just keeping us company on the road.
In his usual determined fashion, Kev wanted to fix it, but Bruce just wanted it off the road and hidden. It was hot and bleak there, in the Mojave Desert. We tried for a tow truck, but they wanted $400 to take it 20 miles, the robbing bastards. Eventually, Kev had to stop trying to fix it, at Bruce's request. He was feeling bad because he was delaying our trip and we felt bad because his bike was buggered and 20 miles from a town. We (mainly Kevin) pushed the bike the four hundred yards, or so, off the Interstate and up the off ramp at exit 265. there was a small highway maintenance depot a bit further along the road and Bruce freewheeled the bike in there.
We waited with Bruce until Shirley finished work and got their son in law to pick up the Explorer and trailer. Once we knew it was all set, at Bruce's insistence that it was pointless three of us just hanging around, we left to head south. We felt really shitty that this was how we had to say farewell to Bruce, but there was nothing we could do except leave him water. We said our goodbyes and hit the super slab again.
He had shade from the gravel hoppers and could sit on one of the machines, while he waited for rescue. We stopped 70 odd miles down the road, at Peggy Sue's 1950s Diner, at Yermo, CA, but didn't think much to it. We phoned Bruce from there, tho', and he confirmed things were happening as planned, so he was reasonably OK. Another downer at Peggy Sue's was that the first Englishman we'd met in the States, arrived with his wife as we were leaving - and they were NORTHERNERS, bloody Yorkies. As you can imagine, we left, as quickly as we could!
We went just a few miles further until we found a McDonalds where we could have WiFi. We put a couple of posts up on the forum and looked up nearby accommodation. The Days.Inn, at Barstow, seemed a good bet, so we headed there. We were greeted by some guys at the pool, who'd ridden down to Laguna Seca, from Delaware. They were interested because of our Pennsylvania plates. There were also three Aussies there - well one was a Kiwi who lives in Oz - who were touring on Twinkies.
Of course, their humour is very much on a par with ours, so we struck up an instant rapport. Eddy, races Sportsters and a Buell back home and owns Australia's largest bike hire business and runs Aussie Bike Tours. Eddy very knowledgeable about Burt Munro, of 'The World's fastest Indian. Eddy rode in some scenes in the film, which starred Anthony Hopkins. Sebastian was quieter than the other two, when we met him, but also races Sportsters. The other guy, Ern, has a long affiliation with circuit racing. He was a close friend of Kirk McCarthy, the Australian Grand Prix, Supersport and Superbike rider, who was killed racing in Australia about 8 years ago. I wish my mate Gladys could have met Ern, who has been part of the various World Championship circuses. Gladys has been a huge racing fan for years and could have had a good chinwag with Ern.
We went to dinner with them at Los Domingos, the bar and restaurant of the Quality Inn, next door to Days. They were great company and we had a really good laugh. My steak was good, too. Ern smokes even more than me, so that was cool, too. Here they are with Kev and Kay, our waitress:
We kept the bar going until 02.00, finishing off with tequilas, which was clever. A very sociable evening all round and Bruce had called to let us know he got home OK.
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