Desert storm

When I arrived in Salt Lake City, Utah, after a trip from Idaho that was uneventful but dominated by the lovely Logan Canyon, the sky was a beautiful blue and as it was quite early in the afternoon, I was looking forward to wandering around the downtown area and getting some pictures.

The weather had other ideas. By the time I emerged from the shower in t-shirt and shorts, the sky had gone the sort of colour usually reserved for End-Of-The-World Hollywood blockbusters. I got as far as hotel reception before it started to rain. I was back to my room when the hail started, and then some of the highest winds that I've experienced so far. Then the power went off.

Bored, I decided I would go to the pool which I'd seen marked on the hotel map. It was an outdoor pool (people were still swimming in the hail. Nutters). So I sat and read for a bit, until it got too dim. When the power came on it was time for dinner, so I headed out and by the time I got back the power was out in the other half of the hotel (and the restaurant where I'd eaten!). As I was passing a lady asked me about the power problems, then others in the hotel block joined in - they were all in the same travelling church group - and I volunteered to go to reception as it was raining. After reporting the problems I returned with torches for them, only to find out they'd assumed I was a hotel employee. It must have been the clean shave...

I turned on my TV and they were interrupting the broadcast regularly to warn of flash floods. Apparently the rain was falling at one inch per hour. The guttering had all overflowed and there was a noise like a waterfall outside.

Added to the weather it was Sunday and the following day was Labor Day, meaning the Suzuki Dealership I was in town for would be closed. I needed a backup plan, and looking at the map I thought I had found one. One road led off into the Great Salt Lake Desert. I figured that I could go and see the salt flats, and get away from the rain at the same time, then come back the following day for the parts I needed.

First thing in the morning came and went. I procrastinated until kicking out time at 11am and finally sloshed out to the bike, packed and headed out into the rain. The first few minutes were ok, until I got onto the road out west - an Interstate - and the speed picked up. I realised immediately that dressing for desert climate (bike jacket, thin t-shirt, summer gloves) was a mistake as I was pummeled by the rain. As the road headed out past the Great Salt Lake, visibility dropped to a few hundred metres. A wall of almost black appeared in front of me, and it was quite intimidating if I'm honest.

Heading into the storm, I could feel that my waterproofs were already overwhelmed and my arms and bottom half were starting to soak. Trucks don't slow down for inclement weather - why should they, they have windshield wipers and heaters - so every so often I'd get into a truck "spray zone" as one overtook. This is fun, I thought. I could have stayed at home, painted the bathroom black and paid someone to pressure wash me in the shower. It would have been cheaper.

Then, amazingly, I could see brilliant sunshine on a mountainside emerging from the gloom ahead of me. After a few more minutes, I shot out from under the storm and into the desert. There were a few fluffy white clouds, and lots of flat bits. I'd never seen weather or anything else quite like it.

Between two mountain ranges there is sixty or so miles of flat sand and salt, crossed by the Interstate, which is straight enough to make Romans cry into their wine. And there is wind. Despite the heat I was still cold because I was sitting in a puddle and being sand blasted.

In the shadow of the far mountains lies the Bonneville Salt Flats, the famous "Utah measured mile" where land speed records are set, and broken. I trundled off the Freeway on a side road, until the black stuff ran out onto the salt. My dreams of following in the path of Sir Malcolm Campbell were thwarted by a dude - why is there always a dude?? - standing directing traffic. Not that there was any.

"Are you here to observe the record attempt??"
"Nah I'm just a tourist"

He seemed put out. Apparently the following day there was an attempt at the motorcycle speed record, he must have assumed I'd gone all that way to see it. Anyway, the salt was off limits to "civilians" as he put it.

After a wrong turn and an 80 mile round trip on the Interstate, I stopped for the evening in a place called Wendover. Wendover is really a town of two halves, Wendover, Utah is a small desert town with a few hotels and businesses. West Wendover, a short stroll over the Nevada border, is a garish monstrosity of hotel casinos complete with fake plastic grass, and about as close to Las Vegas as I'll ever get. I found a hotel on the Utah side with a pleasant view over some clapped out cars on bricks. When the sun set, the desert sky out past the town was painted with a strange pink and orange haze, though there were no clouds. I thought what an incredibly long way from the Arctic tundra it was.

I started out fairly early next day as I knew I had a couple of hours across the desert to get back to Salt Lake City and try to get my tyres and parts before closing time.

Crossing the straight-as-a-dye Interstate had been an adventure on the way out, on the way back it was boring. Even the wind had packed up and gone home. I tried to entertain myself by watching a bridge emerge from the heat shimmer down the road, then timing how long it took to pass underneath it. Six minutes at sixty miles per hour, and the appliance of science (albeit Frase slapdash science) meant that visibility was limited to six miles by the heat haze. Gosh how that journey flew past.

What an incredible environment though. Mountains that appear to float on the desert due to the mirage, the smell of the sea, strange sunset colour effects. It's about as far removed from the Kent countryside as it's possible to be.

Heading back into Salt Lake City, I found the Suzuki dealer and the good news was they could sort my tyres for me. The bad news was that they didn't have the spare parts I needed either. The broken-but-ok-for-5000-miles-so-far gearshift would have to stay broken, at least a while longer. For the second time a very helpful dealership meant that I at least had part numbers that I could phone ahead for, so I went to grab a coffee and plan my route through Arizona while the tyres got changed.

Leaving the dealership I was almost immediately glad of the new tyres' grip as I watched a car approach my side road, indicator going and slowing for the turn, only to come straight on as I pulled out. She even had the cheek to sound her horn at me, after I'd managed to avoid her at the last second. My rather loud verbal response turned a few heads, I expect they haven't heard those words before.

That's all for now, hopefully will be able to update soon.

Frase.