We were up and on the road early the next morning to witness the light show at Zabriskie Point. From the overlook you can see the salt-encrusted floor of The Valley, which was once the bottom of Lake Manly. The ancient lake is thought to have been 600 feet deep, and a tropical forest grew along its banks. (If you want to see the spectacle of the salty lakebed up close, visit the Devil's Golf Course and Badwater, both off U.S. Highway 178 south.) In the stillness you can sometimes hear the crusted landscape creaking. The hills surrounding Zabriskie Point are called the Badlands—impressive formations created by the recession of Lake Manly thousands of years ago. Different stages of morning light turn these unique structures from lavender-pink to shimmering gold. After our time there, we decided to take a quick sprint to Dante's View in the Black Mountains. It's one of the only sinuous roads in the area, offering many challenging corners as you climb toward the 5475-foot overlook.
Although the Nomads are touted as touring mounts, we've always enjoyed carving twisty roads with them. The suspension system, 41mm stanchions up front and twin air-assisted shocks in back, is well suited for aggressive riding, especially when you carry approximately five psi in the rear, which stiffens the shocks and prevents any bottoming. We like the rebound damping set at number 4 for all situations. For normal, around-town solo riding or highway riding without a load or passenger, we remove all air from the shocks. Brakes on the Nomad—twin 11-inch discs in front and a single 12.5-incher on the back—are very effective, and smoothly control the 732-pound (dry weight) tourer. Ground clearance isn't particularly great, especially if you are loaded and/or carrying a passenger, but the floorboards are first to touch and the initial effect is totally benign. We use the floorboards as feelers, since the mounting hardware can touch when you heel the bike over significantly.
A turbo runs most efficiently at high rpm, and it's actually better for the motor (especially a big twin with long-throw pistons) if the pulses are kept up. If your motor is just lumbering along and you suddenly ask it to stand up and recite the Declaration of Independence it will surely feel punished. Holding adequate revs is a bit difficult on twisty roads, especially since the Nomad's rev limiter imposes such a low ceiling. You have to work the thing constantly while you're in lower gears, and in some situations it actually feels like work.
The stock FI, therefore, was more enjoyable in the tight stuff, and offered enough acceleration to keep our hearts consistently revving. Once at Dante's View we took a few moments to get really good and cold. The view is amazing. Surely one of the most fascinating things about Death Valley is its nakedness. The Earth is exposed and knowable. You can see the layers of rock and sediment for the rings of time that they are. And the indomitable natural forces that move continents are evidenced by the great mountains pushed askew and thrust about like so many chunks of peanut brittle. Death Valley is a geology student's wet dream, and even the most empty-minded spectator cannot help but be awed.
From the chilly climes of Dante's View we planned our day. A little breakfast and spot of coffee back at the Ranch, then a trek up to Rhyolite, an impressive gold-rush ghost town on the Nevada border reached via State Road 374. From the ruins we'd return to The Valley and head up the northern stretch of U.S. Highway 190 to Scotty's Castle, where we could mingle with the tourists and learn a thing or two about desert lore. The sun was shining and if there were birds, they would have been singing.
Perhaps we should have taken the rolling black clouds as an omen. "Nope, it's not going to rain," the waiter in the caf answered to our query. "It never rains here." Well, it does rain in Death Valley, if only an average 2.28 inches per year. (Seemed by noon we'd soaked up at least that much.) But the rain was nothing. The cloud we didn't expect was the big blue one that ballooned from behind our turbo tourer on the way back from Scotty's Extravaganza. Caflooie—and the party was over. The turbo bike was literally bathed in spent oil. All we could do was get down on our hands and knees and say, "What the hell happened?" It wasn't obvious. The only sure thing was that engine oil had blown with impressive velocity from the bottom of the rear cylinder. Oh yeah, and we were in the middle of nowhere.
A dozen inconveniences later, and we were back in Los Angeles. The turbo was eventually delivered to Kawasaki Motor Corporation in Orange County, California, for study and, hopefully, repairs. We weren't ready to be rid of this hotty yet. After many days spent waiting for a diagnosis, we heard that the bike had cannibalized a piston. This raised many questions.
From Terry Kizer's perspective, the EPA-required oxygenators in California gas were most likely the culprit. He felt a load of low-grade California gas could definitely induce detonation, the number-one eater of pistons on any turbo-equipped bike. Kizer insisted the only time he'd ever encountered this kind of problem it also involved gasoline from California or Arizona. The idea of replacing the cast pistons with a stronger, forged steel set was presented, but the problem was, people would certainly want to buy this turbo unit and apply it to their stock bike without an engine rebuild. The second jam was the fact that the Nomad is, after all, a touring bike, and owners should be able to wander in Nomadic splendor without sweating about engine melt-down every time they ride out of the city.
The only good thing about this mishap was it would require a return trip to Death Valley. Terry Kizer would fly out from Texas and refurbish the Nomad's motor using stock pistons. He also planned to adapt a water-injection system. This affordable (approximately $250) bolt-on kit literally sprays a fine stream of water into the intake side of the turbo, through the carburetor and into the motor, which helps regulate cylinder wall temperatures. We would then take the turbo back to the desert and let it run the same roads, and drink from the same founts.
While we awaited the turbo's revival, life hurried by. Downstairs in our motorcycle shop, the 2001 Nomad FI was taking its rightful place as a preferential mount among our co-workers. We have several motorcycle magazines in our group, and from each come a myriad of Nomad admirers. Editors from Dirt Rider and Sport Rider cued up asking to borrow the Nomad, especially for weekend trips, since significant others are easily enticed by the bike's passenger amenities.
The beautifully-styled saddlebags and comfortable seating arrangement help make the Nomad a perfect choice for every kind of riding. It's a bike you jump on and go...where you're headed, or for how long, doesn't matter. Briefcases are stowed in the side-loading hard bags as commonly as a gourmet picnic lunch or a week's worth of essentials. The dependability we've witnessed with the entire Vulcan line over the years is also nothing to scoff at. And having the turbo down for the count made us appreciate the stock bike's reliability more than ever. There is that to be said about leaving your bike stock. Having a proven mount waiting outside the door encourages spontaneity...something to consider if you're prone to wanderlust.