We leave the hotel and casino at close to 8:00 AM to be in Boise to pick-up Bill’s repaired motorcycle and return his rental Harley. Bob, the ever cheerful purveyor of doom, tells the group that there will only be gas available on a very desolate stretch of road, state road 225, between Elko, NV and Mountain Home, ID at one place about 100 miles from Elko and the mid-way point. Bob’s description of the road ahead is quite bleak, including the road having no shoulders and very few places to safely stop.
The ride is on a two lane road that passes through interesting rock formations and several recreation areas, but there is little evidence of any other human habitation. The road is quite fun to ride with all its curves, which keeps everyone’s mind off of the fact that all gas stations and pumps they pass, last worked a very long time ago. Finally, after 100 plus miles of riding we enter the town of Owyhee on the Duck Valley Indian Reservation and a set of operating gas pumps appear accompanied by a relatively large grocery store that serves the reservation. Although 3 of the bikes would struggle to make the whole trip to Mountain Home on a single tank, one definitely would not make the entire stretch without having this fuel stop. Everyone is glad to see the gas and have the ability to get off their bike. Mr. Happy asks Leo if he is glad to see gas. Leo still has not warmed up to Mr. Happy, but the trip is not over.
Bob, not to be outdone by his previous bleak assessment of the route just covered, relates that the next portion of the road is so desolate that the first half will appear to have been an urban riding experience. The cheery band of bikers roars off down the next stretch to Mountain Home. Upon arriving in Mountain Home, it is generally agreed that one, everyone is glad no one broke down, and two, Bob, unfortunately, does not exaggerate.
The day now takes on the aura of the surreal as we all meet at the Harley Davidson dealership where Bill returns his rental bike in the midst of a dealer sponsored bike rodeo. If anyone in our group, except Leo, has ever wondered what it would feel like to be an infidel, they now, no longer have to wonder. I have always wanted to pull up to a Harley event with three Japanese and two German bikes.
While the rental is processed, I wander the store looking at the large display of brass knuckles, large belt buckles and knives and everything imaginable “Harley”. Just kidding, I did not see any brass knuckles. Meanwhile, Marly and Danielle are analyzing the Harley swagger, male and female, and the interesting custom bikes that all seem to be missing any semblance of a muffler.
We obtain rooms in Ontario, OR, and say our goodbyes to Leo’s brother Darrell and Cousin Cheryl. Without their support, our trip would not have had a happy ending. So our profound appreciation to them for all their time and effort on all of our behalf without which we would have been sunk!
As has become customary, we start our evening with snacks and, yes, the magical wine that just keeps appearing. Rather than a fine cheese like Bre, we had to settle for Ontario’s K Mart’s best – two boxes of “Lunchables” and a bag of pretzels and Jalapeno kettle chips. Again, nothing but the finest for this sophisticated wine toting group. This is also a celebration of the return of Bill's BMW and a display of the offending, but very expensive, part.
As the dinner hour comes and goes, so do our plans for fine dining (in Ontario an oxymoron), and we settle on sharing the entire dessert menu at the local Denny's. If the trip were not close to over, we would have to name the trip in honor of a cardiac blockage.