"Damn," I moaned (half-heartedly), "I missed the chance to ride with Bandit across the Mo-jav' desert." I missed the chance to be splattered with desert butterfly guts. I missed the chance to try to keep up with that madman, Bandit, as he tried to bend the speedo needle on the M-2. I missed the game of lane splitting between ignorant RV drivers and hostile truckers. I missed the joyous heat of the desert as it tried to cook my already fried brain cells. I missed the teeth-jarring, wind blasted, hotter than a two-peckered Billy goat ride to Laughlin, Nevada. It was the 19th Annual Laughlin River Run. I didn't miss the event, I just missed the ride.

As it was, I rode in air-conditioned, beer packed Ford Expedition Luxury, dragging Scooter's Harley behind. Okay, it's a pussy way to travel, I'm guilty, but my scoots in pieces in a cardboard boxes at the Bikernet Headquarters. To tell you the truth, I’m not much of a bike rider-long distance or short. I'm working on it though.

Bandit and his fair lady zoomed out to Laughlin Thursday morning 5:00AM. I didn't start until about 12:30PM Friday. Scooter and I were yakin' away for a couple hours when I asked Scooter when were we getting to Barstow. He looked at me kind of stupidly and said, "That was Barstow about 40 miles back there," pointing back to where we had been. Quickly folding and unfolding the Calif. map, I calmly announced that we were on the road to Las Vegas. We both looked stupidly at each other (this would be the frequent expressions on our faces for the whole weekend.)

Then upon further furtive calculations, I attempted to rescue us from traveling disaster "Hey," I said hopefully, "there's a cut-off a few miles ahead." "Okay," Scooter intoned in true Yogi Bear fashion, "at the next fork in the road, we'll take it." Nodding stupidly I reached for another beer and we returned to yakin' about life, love and Chinese history. I swear I kept my eyes peeled for that cut-off. But then Scooter said softly, "I think we're crossing the Nevada border." Stupid silence ensued.

Another hopeless con-sult of the map and I proclaimed, "I think the turn off is back there ten miles." We calculated our options, we could go on to Las Vegas, win a million dollar jackpot, and hire a helicopter to fly us to Laughlin. Or we could back track ten miles and try the turn off (if it existed.) Or we could give up, park, open up the cooler, get shit-faced and hope somebody would rescue us.

Staring down the face of major stupidity, we turned the lumbering Expedition around and ten miles back, there it was, or rather there it could be. There was no highway identification. We took it any way. A couple mad-capped, odd-balls loose on the road, rudderless and heedless. We found Searchlight, then the turn off for Laughlin We were saved. When we got to Laughlin, we couldn't believe the mileage. It was seven miles shorter than the usual, southern route to Laughlin. Weird, huh?

Pulling onto the main drag of Laughlin, we were immediately a part of the raucous parade It was a mix of throbbing Milwaukee iron and intoxicated, gawking Neanderthals.

The whole town was given over to the riotous bacchanal of perhaps 70,000 bikers, motorcycle vendors, Winnebego'd fellow travelers, gawking yahoos stockers, choppers, scooters, cruisers, dressers, a couple of dressed-out peddle bikes, yuppies pulling trailers of bikes, boats & Sea-doos a bunch of Nevada's finest Nazi storm-trooper cops, and two confused but happy meat heads in a Ford Expedition.

The town was exploding with people. It's probably one of the biggest 'money maker' weeks for Laughlin, all year. The casinos during this off-season, are lethargic lounges with small geriatric crowds of 25-cent slot yankers. There was a rumor going 'round that people were so desperate to be there that bug-ridden motel rooms in Needles were booked up at $250 a night.

Once we located the Ramada, finding a parking place was an impossible trek. Every available space was called for. Finally we put the trailer at one end of the farthest parking lot, the motorcycle in a space in one part of the parking structure and the Expedition in another.