Originally Posted by Robert_W
Yowza Mack! She looks like it could be a very expensive trip. Next to what an hour or so with her would run I bet that 100+ mph ticket would have been chump change!
She (Lizzy) didn't cost me a thing and had to be cheaper than my ex, probably nicer too since they have to be.
My biggest worry was the ticket and any subsequent stop. That crap was sort of torture for a year as in "the unknown." Kind'a like driving without insurance and you tend to drive under the radar (no tailgating, speeding, nutso driving, etc.). Then you suddenly get insurance and all hell breaks loose! Maybe I was a wanted man in Nevada and needed to appear in Younstville (?) Courthouse (county seat). Dunno. Not worth the risk. My best friend in junior high used to tear up people's tickets knowing where that next stop would lead (he was the PD chief's son too). Guess it was my payback karma time.
Oh well, no party with the lady in the pic, although she did find it funny I went back later again (via e-mail) to try again later in the evening. That red-light area is next to the local Nevada car junk yards and some damn red pit-bull got loose and chased me down their lane on the GT and he wouldn't let me stop. I hit some damn speed-bump and went airborne so I gave it up to escape the dog which seemed to hate motorcyclists in general and was intent on biting someone - me!
So after giving up and on my way back to Carson City (10 miles or so), I saw where some guy had dumped his Harley at the intersection that goes to some cathouse just north of where I was that is on HBO TV (Moonlight Playcat or Bunnyranch or something like that). He hit some sand on the dark turn and it slid out so I stopped and helped to upright his bike as I had the misfortune the previous day elsewhere when it was running and stalling like mad. He ended up buying me a drink and a spot of food at Chili's in Carson City. After a while, it was sort of funny we both struck out that night. Our poker hands were a bust too.
However, I did strike a bit of gold with three wimmens in two days in the premier Reno houses east of the Sparks, NV Sierra BMW dealer. That sort of wore me out for a long time. Some (apparently) have a lot of stamina, but the multi-country-knowledge masseuse (+extras) I got was a 10 on her massage skills (and I hurt a lot from the ride there too!). She swung her massage table around like it was 8 pounds or less and it wasn't (I just had to play with it having never seen one before closeup). She set it up in their Italian Suite which is way overboard in luxury (colored lights from ceiling showers into a huge jacuzzi, fancy couches and velvet chairs and a 2X king-size Bannister bed and fancy-folded expensive linens. I've seen nice penthouse suites, but that room had to be it. Food was delivered as was silver buckets of iced-wine. It was pure decadence and I could see where some of the very rich and famous stop there in their tour buses to get <ahem!> spoiled. She did some head and neck pushes and twists where my helmet just had wore me down and it was a "good feeling pain" if you've ever felt it. I also met the madam Susan Austin of both the houses and her world-search for furnishings and art which is all over the place. Nice lady (never would have guessed her occupation) who also rides and we discussed roads we've been on, sites, and even shared a common rescue family that seems to help everyone on one road nearby.
Later that evening....
Before I left, I got tipped off that the local sheriff or NHP was hiding down the road awaiting anyone who did anything that would allow them a stop and maybe lead to a DUI. Since I generally carry a BAC meter for my own good (I told you I can get out of hand - Irish nature I guess!) I decided to sit in the bar and drink coffee and water while discussing politics and whatever with the graveyard shift girls and crew.
While I was awaiting the BAC to lower (it does seem to take take a long time to drop to <0.02 BAC), some woman pushing a young man (20-30ish) in a wheelchair came in and a line-up was called by the shift manager. Turns out the guy came back from overseas and was almost a quadriplegic probably from a bomb or mine. I never found out if the woman pushing him in the wheelchair was his mom or a paid caregiver, but the line-up happened and the girl he picked was all happy and they rolled off down some hallway. One girl who told me about it said it was sad and he has been there before, but that was also an aspect of their job where a lot of outside women wouldn't even look at him or give him the time of day. That sort of changed my opinion of "working girls"
and their occupation.
As I said, Nevada folklore is very interesting indeed and I need to get back and explore some more.