The road turns into a giant banana peel with the first rain of the season. It comes down hard and I laugh at the fact that two hours ago I was baking at 110 in that oven of the Mojave and now I’m 70 or so miles from Flagstaff, playing a game of Chicken with a thunder-storm. Momma would be proud! Probably not.
As I’m riding I look to my left; nothing but trees and beautiful jagged mountains of orange, purple, and blue colors through rain splashed glasses. I almost wish I was heading north. To the east, where I’m going; clouds, rain, the smell of the highway and electricity in the air. I keep going; soaked, tired, sunburnt, and smiling like a complete fool. It takes a special breed of stupid to be enjoying this; and I’m glad to see that I’m still just as stupid as I was the day I kick-started my first bike. Only 20 miles to Flagstaff and a place to sleep.
The “VACANCY” sign hanging from the window of the Budget Bonanza Hotel flashes like a lighthouse beacon in the rain; and I haven’t been this happy to see a run down, old hotel in a while. The bored, fat, annoyed, comb-over king, manager hands me a room key, tells me where to go , and where to park. Not a bad place really. Across the street; a Circle K and Mc Shit.
The smell of old, cum stained hotel room hits and that humid familiarity sets in when the dim lamp shudders to life. Just about as inviting as my own sad bed; this one’s just bigger. The smoke stained walls give the room an eerie, sort of orange/tan, color in the dim, annoying, flickering light. I throw my jacket and helmet on the far side of the Las Vegas casino carpet - comforter. “Looks like I’m stayin’ at the fuckin’ Biltmore” I say with a half-way welcome home smile.