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I got an early start the next morning and just 10 minutes out of dismal Wofford Heights came around a corner into Kernville. Damn. I messed up the night before. Kernville is a beautiful, classic western town. Had I driven ten minutes further the night before my journal entry for day 3 would have ended differently. Oh well. I had a really good breakfast at Sheryl's Diner in Kernville and took off on 178 east heading into Onyx. This is truly amazing country. For the first time on this trip I felt like I was experiencing the American West. Everywhere I looked were dramatic and truly sublime views. Really beautiful; I could retire here.
Within 2 hours, I was getting into the Mojave Desert. The temperature soared to well over 100 and the crosswinds were brutal. Much of this day I drove canted over leaning the bike into the incessant crosswind. This kept things real interesting as whenever there was a break in the wind I immediately drifted until I straightened up; then the wind would hit again. I headed through Barstow, a town I'd heard of as long as I can remember and now that I've seen it, I'll be fine if I never see it again. What the hell are those people thinking living there?
I ended up on route 15 to cross the Mojave. 15 is a huge interstate highway jam-packed with 18-wheelers and minivans. On top of this were the incredible heat and the never-ending crosswinds. The entire afternoon was a white-knuckle experience as I played dodge the other drivers across the blisteringly hot desert. Go figure, all the rest stops out in the middle of the desert have drinking fountains with big signs posted over them: "Warning, no potable water". Again, what the hell are they thinking? Don't they know this is the desert? Couldn't they at least put soda machines at the stops? Somebody could make a fortune selling soda at those rest stops.
I made it to Jean, Nevada that evening and decided to spend the night at whatever campground I could find. I pulled into the visitor's center where an affable retiree manning the place hooked me up with a $20 hotel room and some gambling coupons at the casino across the street. What the hell, this beat camping with the scorpions and snakes in the dust. Plus you never know, camping alone so close to the alien highway and Area 51 might not be such a good idea. My butt was just recovering with the new seat; I didn't want any of those alien rectal probes screwing up the rest of my trip.
I checked in, had a gross casino dinner and spent the night playing slots and drinking Bud. I met a fat old blowhard named Ron who told me how he would meet "the Ladies" and convince them to take him gambling. He also told me about his varicose veins and how he ripped the government off on Social Security and disability. Charming fella. Ron also told me his secret for getting rich off the slots. I didn't point out the obvious problem with his theory. I excused myself and watched an ever-so entertaining band named "Flashbacks" play above one of the bars. Eesh. At least I was able to shower and wash my undies in the sink.
I was in bed drifting off to sleep by 11 wondering where all the hookers were.
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