Friday, August 13th greeted us with a clear blue sunny sky, and I was really getting used to the high pressure of this western climate. Today we would continue south and then west to Wendover, Utah, to visit the Bonneville Speedway.
Heading further south on 15 from the hotel, we spotted a sign for a Perkins Bakery and Café, exchanged smiles and took the next exit. It was a bit hard to find, located within a cluster of hotels on what looked to be an industrial drive. We were soon on our way after breakfast and back on 15 where we would pick up 80 west in Salt Lake City.
This was a long stretch of road, also called the Dwight D. Eisenhower Highway, leading through acres of flat salt desert and into Wendover. As we passed the Great Salt Lake, we began seeing “graffiti” of rocks, bottles and even shredded pieces of tire stuck in the salt, spelling out messages and names. There were tough to read, zipping along at 70mph, and even tougher to get a clear picture.
We watched the miles tick away as we approached the speedway, and made our way past the campers that were starting to assemble for Speed Week, which actually started Monday. The end of the road was as far as we went, as we were concerned about what the salt might do our drive belts, and it was a long way home. I took some pictures of our bikes, the incredible scenery, and the entrance of the track, and was a bit creeped out by the flies that descended upon our windshields, whom appeared to be happily munching on the bug debris. Ick.
Back on the road and into Wendover, we found an auto parts store, as Bill’s bike seemed to be running a bit rough, missing. He assumed it was the altitude, we came from about 600 ft. above sea level, and the average altitude in Utah was 6,000. He checked the spark plugs first, which were white, indicating that the bike was running lean, or too much air, not enough fuel, when the plugs really should have been black (running rich, too much fuel, not enough air), if altitude was a problem.
Bill came out of the auto parts store rather irritated (putting it nicely), unable to get anywhere with the clueless help (also putting it nicely). He called Amy Bishop of Bishop’s Performance, 1700 miles away back in Redford, Michigan, and instantly got reference numbers for three different brands of spark plugs for his bike. (Thank you, Amy!!) Still out of luck, however, since the store carried not one of the plugs he needed. We continued into Wendover and got several pictures of some familiar landmarks, Wendover Will, and also the Western Ridge Motel, where Burt Munro stayed in the movie, The World’s Fastest Indian.
Our destination that day was a KOA in Provo, Utah, and we hit rush hour traffic in Salt Lake City. Still, rush hour traffic in Salt Lake City beats Detroit rush hour traffic any day. We were still in awe of the mountains that loomed on both sides of us. After being turned around several times and getting directions from another rider, we found the KOA, which strangely enough, was located right in town. Campgrounds where we live are typically in rural areas, not walking distance from a Subway and 24 hour Laundromat with wireless access. Our campsite was pretty nice, right on a creek, and it wasn’t long before a family of mallards floated by. We set up camp and rode into town for dinner and to find spark plugs, which we ultimately found at Checker Auto Parts, about ten miles into territories unknown. Bill installed the plugs in the auto parts parking lot, (a scene we were really getting used to) but it made no difference. He now suspected a bad intake gasket, which could be responsible for letting in too much air.
Tomorrow he would look into it further, but Friday the 13th could have ended worse. We said goodnight to Provo and called it a night.