|A mountain, yesterday|
Not a brilliant road compared with some on this trip, but more interesting than a busy interstate.
Which is rejoined on the way into Salt Lake City, and which boasts both the most confusing route around its epicentre and some of the least edifying driving I've witnessed anywhere, with the possible exception of Belgium. Lane discipline is clearly something which is regarded as optional. Once I've finally carved my way through the melée and out the other side, there is a hundred miles of unrequited tedium to the Nevada state line. As is customary, I paid a courtesy visit to the Bonneville Salt Flats.
Here was also parked a Mercedes-Benz Sprinter van, albeit one disguised as a Dodge to save on Chicken Tax, with a rather distinctive number plate. "No" I thought, "it must be a coincidence", got back in the motor-car and prepared to take my leave. A quick glance in the mirror showed, however, that it was not a coincidence but rather Ellen and Hans van Vugt, driving Garrie Hill's van. The opportunity was too good to miss:
|Ellen & fairing at Bonneville|
With the photographic niceties dispensed with, we made our separate ways to BM - by now I had the top down and speeds of over 75 mph result in your head falling off - and arrived at about 4 pm. Because I am an acting stand-in assistant deputy vice-Organisator this year, it was a relief to note that my fellow Organisators Chirs Broome and Mike Sova were also here in one piece. Vaguely Organisatorial Things have now been done, dinner scoffed and the Babbage-Engines updated with today's entry. I shall leave things for now, as I may just get up at Stupid O'Clock to watch the Italian GP. Alsonso on pole, Massa third, Forza Ferrari!
Curious thing seen on the road: a large flock of sheep being herded by three dudes on horseback and a rather lazy sheepdog.