PRIMM, NEVADA: Where I Settled On a Primm and Proper Name for My Bike

February 28, 2018

There were a few other things I would have liked to do in Las Vegas had I allocated a little more time. One of those things would have been to have a meal at Gordon Ramsay's "Hell's Kitchen"--especially if Gordon was working on-site at that particular time. It would have been fun to yell and swear at him like he does to the contestants on his TV show. "Hey Gordo! Your duck confit tastes like $#/*! Throw it in the #^(%!&% garbage and start over!"

But the desert was out there and it needed to be explored. I waited until almost 9:00 to get started on account of it taking that long to warm up to an acceptable riding temperature of 45-degrees. Las Vegas Boulevard took me out of the city and was my route for the first 30 miles of the day.

I went past the concert venue where so many people were shot and killed. I was surprised at how far away the site is from the shooter's hotel room, and yet, it wasn't far enough. The venue seems to be closed indefinitely.

And then there's The Luxor Hotel. At night a huge beam of light blasts straight into the sky from the top of the pyramid. I'd like to believe the beam is so powerful that it can be seen by Martians.

It took another 15 miles of riding through the urban south metro before I really began to feel the solitude of the desert. I also started to feel the WIND of the desert combined with a steady, but moderate, grade of ascent.

In such circumstances, I tend to lift my spirits by singing to myself--out loud. At first I was singing a song by Pavement, shouting out the "FORTY MILLION DAGGERS" chorus. But then somehow I found myself singing "The Little Drummer Boy" over and over and over for the rest of the day. It took me quite a while to figure out that it probably got into my mind at the turn-off for the town of Pahrump, Nevada. Pah rum pum pum pum!

Besides the ear worms, I also became fixated on coming up with a name for my bike. I used to think it was silly to give a name to one's bike. It's not a child or a pet or any other living object. On the other hand, I thought about boats. Everybody names their boat. The U.S. Navy names all of its boats. And who would remember The Titanic if it hadn't been named "The Titanic." It would just be some boat that hit an iceberg.

My bike is my boat, so I put my brain into high gear. My first idea was a good one. "MY Bike." Simple yes, but it lacked distinction. "Distinguished Desert Discovery Vehicle" wouldn't do--alliteration doesn't suit me well. "Dirty Desert Dog" wouldn't work for the same reason. "The Revenge of Odysseus?" Too long and too pretentious. "Steel Thing With Pedals?" Hmmm, now that one is a possibility.

Then I thought back to the names I had given to my bike for previous tours: "The Reckless Mr. Bing Bong," "=," and "Nicycle." They were all suitable for rides in the past, but do I really want to live in the past?

Later on, I thought it would be smart to come up with something that contained a traditional first name: "Mike the Bike," "Greg Carrier," "Mac," "Beam Me Across the Desert, Scotty." (Kinda liked that last one.) Naming my bike nearly became an all-day obsession. I probably thought up a hundred different names. So many choices, so little time.

As I compose this page, I struggle to remember all of the names I considered while on the road. If I were to able to remember even half of them, I would report them here and this would become the most hilarious journal page in bike touring history for me, and the most ridiculously self-indulgent journal page in history for everybody else.

Anyway, I did make a final decision. You can scroll to the bottom of the page to see my bike's official new name, but I have a better idea. You should read about the rest of my day until you reach the bottom of the page naturally. Why scroll when you don't have to?

It's time for a few pictures.

I constantly kept an eye out for wildlife. I love seeing animals but I know they are scarce in the desert. Sorry to say, I didn't see a single animal all day. Instead, I'll show you a few non-animal residents of this sector of the Mojave Desert. I got the following shots when I took a break to drink some water and I hiked into the desert to walk off a leg cramp.

There were hundreds of these yucca plants.

I only saw one of these faded Budweiser plants.

But there were many, many other cans and bottles out there. Gloves too--probably to protect the beer drinkers' hands from freezing on the icy aluminum.

A lucky sighting of the rare sweat pants plant.

Satisfied that my thigh cramp had been taken care of, I continued down the road. Then I spied a most unusual thing in this gray and brown landscape--COLOR! It was fantastic. It was a work of art placed here by the Nevada Art Council of something-or-other. Why should I try to describe it when I can just display some more photos?

I had hopes of seeing some venomous wildlife while on the trail to the artwork. Alas, I saw nothing.

Unfortunately, that was my last picture from the ride. I made it to the town of Jean, Nevada and I was spent. My legs hurt and my face was sunburned and I was feeling a sense of impending failure. That is so unlike me!

I wasn't going to bring this up because I consider myself a TOUGH GUY who never gets sick, but I've been fighting a cold for a couple of weeks now and I still have a nagging cough. It's still winter in Minnesota so I haven't been biking any long distances and I'm a little out of shape. I thought about using those excuses for quitting for the day and begging for an early check-in at the big hotel-casino in this little town.

Instead, I made myself a sandwich and drank a quart of milk at a truck stop, and resolved to push myself on to the next town.

Maybe I really am a "tough guy" after all. Whereas the first 30 miles took me almost five hours, I pedaled the next 11 miles in only an hour. It was still into the wind, but almost all downhill. VICTORY!

Ahhhh, a very satisfying view of the red mountains at sunset and the moon above from the grounds of Whiskey Pete's Hotel and Casino. I was planning to camp in the desert tonight, but I didn't feel up to enduring temps in the 30's with my cold.

Look what Whiskey Pete's has inside. I assume it's authentic.

***Thanks for making it this far, whether you scrolled down or read the entire page. The winning name is: "The Reckless Mr. Bing Bong" for the simple reason that it was my bike's first name and, in my opinion, its best name. In addition, I think I'll stick with The Reckless Mr. Bing Bong on all future tours so that this name game will never have to take place again.

Today's ride: 41 miles (66 km)
Total: 62 miles (100 km)

Rate this entry's writing	Heart	4
Comment on this entry	Comment	0