Silver Penguin
Silver Penguin
Sedona Trip – June 2007
This was the trip that wasn’t meant to be. Circumstances conspired against us even leaving home. On Friday night, Andy twisted his injured knee not once but twice. The second turn left him temporarily unable to bear weight on the knee. My cross to bear was a stubborn, lingering kidney infection that was not responding to antibiotics. A new prescription was started Friday evening, with instructions to rest, stay out of the sun and drink lots of water. Did that include a 450 mile ride into the Arizona desert? Probably not, but we went anyway.
Two potential routes had been planned, and the northernmost, cooler route had been selected. The hotter, southern route was shorter in distance but ended the day with some serious twisties – not the best thing for hot and tired riders. So, we headed out and passed the turn for route A. An hour or so later, we passed the turn for route B. The Chatterboxes don’t work too well at warp-speed, so hand signals were used to ask Mr. Navigator where we were going. In a parking lot beside the freeway, he admitted that he hadn’t turned on the GPS yet, and was headed towards Colton. Why? Because he’d been there before. Now, if you’ve ever been to Colton, CA before, it’s a pretty compelling reason not to ever go back there again. Sheila, the Australian lady who lives inside the GPS was consulted and we were back on the road again.
At the breakfast stop, we stared at each other with red eyes, over coffee, neither of us wanting any food. Both had been awake most of the night with our respective health issues, and worried about the trip. Andy admitted that he was seriously considering taking a car instead of the bikes. I countered with the fact that I had considered staying home and not getting out of bed until the pain was gone.
But then the sun had come out. Traffic was light. The freeway had some big, sweeping turns and some majestic scenery. It was going to be OK. This was meant to be a bike trip after all. Layers of warm clothing were stowed and we headed east.
The small town of Hope had a road side sign as we passed though. ‘You are now beyond Hope’. How appropriate. A little further down the road, Andy dodged a missile that flew from the bed of a pick up truck. It was a case of Bud Light. The driver did pull over and retrieve his well shaken beer.
The town of Aguila was our next stop, because it was the only place that looked even vaguely open. Was the whole of Arizona closed on Saturdays? Or had there been a nuclear attack? There was no traffic; no people and the buildings all looked deserted. Aguila’s gas station provided fuel, a cold drink and a sandwich to help us along the way. Across the road, there was a gathering at the old gas station. With a loudspeaker, a preacher was conducting an outdoor Church service, in Spanish. He paused to call out numbers, whereupon members of his congregation came forward and collected bags of groceries.
The roads through Arizona all looked very similar, until we got to Mingus Mountain. Remember that our plan was to avoid the twisties at the end of a long day? We forgot that, and went that way anyway. What a road! The scenery was breathtaking and the curves were built for motorcycles. We were led at a modest pace by the vehicles in front. Aggressive overtaking wasn’t appropriate so we sat back and enjoyed the turns gently, vowing to come back another day and try the road a bit faster.
By mid afternoon, we reached Sedona Pines. It took me a fair while to get off the bike since my knees had settled into riding position and wouldn’t straighten. We’d ridden 440 miles with the latter part at over one hundred degrees. A cool shower and change of clothes soon had me restored to some level of functioning. Our home-away-from-home was imaginatively described as a ‘cottage’. It was a very well appointed, fancy trailer. This was the most upscale trailer park I’d ever seen. (I mean that as a compliment – the place was really nice).
We had a private patio with chairs and table, plus BBQ grill. Inside was a tastefully decorated living/dining room, with the table set for dinner, pleated napkins et al. A galley kitchen led to the bedroom and bathroom. In no time flat, we had the tidy little place trashed. Two sets of sweaty bike gear can make even the best place look untidy.
Dinner at the on-site restaurant seemed like a good idea, and to heck with the cost. We were on vacation. Los Pinos Grill served us a delicious meal, with icy margaritas in cactus shaped glasses. The salad came with the restaurant’s own prickly pear dressing which was pink and quite tasty. I enjoyed a Southwest chicken breast filled with roasted red peppers, jalapeno jack cheese and spinach. The sauce was made from avocado and cilantro, which complemented the garlic mashed potatoes and steamed veggies very well. Andy had a Black Angus steak, cooked on an open fire grill, with five peppercorn sauce. Another round of drinks and we were ready for a nap.
It was a short walk back to our cottage. The sun was fading, and glinting off two very dusty motorcycles. The BMW didn’t look quite right though. On closer inspection it was seen that the back tire was almost flat. These were brand new tires. Andy looked closely and found a small nail. Looking back, the slow leak explained the bike’s poor handling through the turns. He said that the bike had refused to lean properly. He’d attributed it to heavy loading of the bags but now the explanation was clear. In the tool kit, Andy had everything he needed to plug the tire so that the bike was at least rideable until we decided what to do. He had that plug fitted in next to no time, having had a lot of recent experience. It’s the fourth time he’s done it, in the last two years. The tire held pressure overnight, and for the rest of the week.
As we enjoyed a wonderfully restful night’s sleep, amidst the babbling brooks and gentle hum of the air conditioner, we agreed that bringing the bikes had been the right thing to do. We were both wide awake early in the morning and sat on the patio with a cup of tea. It was cool to watch a biplane fly overhead. I decided that I wanted to try that. We’d budgeted for one organized activity during the week, and it was going to be a ride in a biplane.
Breakfast was on the house, together with a sales pitch for various local businesses. Tour buses would pick up from the resort and shuttle guests to the Grand Canyon, on local tours, on custom tours or anything you wanted. Jeep tours were available either on or off road. The local airport did some brisk business with various types of airborne tours.
Door prizes were given out here and there to keep guests from leaving after the free breakfast (as if people would do that!) It was good fortune that we each won something useful. I got some individually wrapped, moist cotton washcloths and Andy won a picture book of the area. They were by far the best two prizes that we could have been blessed with.
It felt like lunchtime when we arrived at a restaurant at 10am, to meet some friends. Worm, ShySue and Jolie from the Rumblesisters Biker Sisterhood joined us, along with Sue’s husband, for a wonderful meal. We ate at the Coffee Pot, home of 101 omelettes. I chose smoked salmon with cream cheese, which was delicious.
On the way home, we stopped at the local market to stock up on a few essentials. I was ambushed by a small mountain, masquerading as a speed bump. My bike is lowered by almost an inch, and I didn’t like the grating sound at all as I eased slowly over the crest of the mountain. We didn’t leave the same way as we came in, because the bike was now laden down. Andy proved the theory that an FJR bag will hold eighteen cans of beer, and two frozen dinners too. I held out for buying some bread, milk and fruit too. Man cannot live by beer alone.
Since the resort was very posh, it had a full time concierge. We paid her a visit to plan our outing. As you might imagine, she hit us up for the timeshare sales pitch. If we were willing to spend an hour with the sales people, we could have a free helicopter tour for two. Andy didn’t quite bite her hand off, but I could see how keen he was on the tour. We served our time listening to the spiel and were rewarded handsomely with a $400 tour.
So now it was mid-afternoon and we’d only ridden the bikes for about ten miles. It was time to saddle up and ride. Red Rock State Park was a short distance away so we headed there. The road leading to the park was pretty but we didn’t end up staying. Before we paid to go into the park, the ranger asked if we were planning to hike. No. We came to ride our bikes. The park didn’t have any roads. We chose not to go in, and thanked him for the heads-up.
The road to the park looped back onto the main road, but had an unpaved section. I couldn’t see how long the dirt road was, so I chickened out. My short legs will only allow my toes to touch the ground so areas of poor traction really bother me. I don’t DO gravel. To get back the way we came involved a full lock u-turn. Even that took me into the gravel at the side of the road. It was not pretty. There are times when I’m reminded that this bike really is too big and heavy for me. When I make ugly, paddled u-turns really brings this home.
Further along the main highway was the turn off for the airport. We did a recce trip, ready for our flight check-in the next morning. It was a very pretty road with some nice twists and turns. There was a scenic viewing area but it was paved with gravel. My nerves were already shredded from the ugly u-turn, so Andy knew not to head that way. He had a better idea; we parked my bike on blacktop at the bottom of the hill then rode two up to the gravel area. He has no problems with uneven surfaces. We were able to look at the view from the top and take some photos.
It was time to look for a gas station next, so we found one on the main road. The first pump didn’t have premium gas, so we had to make a tight u-turn to get to another pump. These BMW riders are so picky! My FJR is OK with regular gas but it works best for us to fill both bikes together. I made what may have been the neatest turn I’ve ever made on the FJR and mentally gave myself a pat on the back. The turn to get back to the road wasn’t so pretty but I did have both feet up. Andy had me go in front, knowing that I might have trouble with both the turn and the exit. Picture this: I’m making a right turn out of the gas station, uphill, between busy traffic AND negotiating a deep gully between the sidewalk and the road. I did it, and breathed a big sigh of relief. It was a while before Andy could get out, so I rode slowly and eventually pulled over to wait for him. There wasn’t a good place to pull over, so I picked the least bad one. As soon as I saw him in the mirror, I pulled off but he stopped at the place where I’d just left. Traffic didn’t allow me to stop again. The car behind me kept honking, but I was going the speed of the car in front. What was his problem? He got alongside and told me that I’d dropped something. With all the fun I’d had at the gas station, I’d forgotten my tank bag. It was on the back seat of the bike but not anymore. Panic set in. My camera, wallet, phone etc were in that bag. There was no place to pull over, so I made a left into a business parking lot. It was gravel. I don’t DO gravel, but the only option available was to make a u-turn on the gravel, then go back to look for my bag. Panic escalated, made worse by the fact that I didn’t know where Andy was. I chose to sit for a moment and gather my thoughts as I waited for a gap in the traffic. What a wondrous site it was to see Andy pull into the parking lot, with both his and my tank bags.
We took a gentle ride home after that and got a cold drink. As I stood on the patio, the wind blew the front door unexpectedly and it whacked my butt, causing cold beer to go up my nose and down my shirt. It was definitely time to put the bikes to bed, and not let me ride any more that day.
The sun comes up earlier in Sedona than it does at home. The vaulted ceiling of our bedroom had high windows that caught that energizing sunlight and made me want to get up and doing, early in the morning. The complex had a complimentary laundry facility, so I got some clothes cleaned at the same time as taking a stroll with my I-pod. It is a beautiful place to stroll, with gentle hills to provide a little exertion. Fellow guests were playing miniature golf with the complimentary clubs and balls. The equipment was available at the first tee, on a player’s signature. I imagined having to leave a credit card number, driver’s license or firstborn child but they’re more trusting here than in CA.
The highlight of the day was our helicopter trip. Since we were up so early, we got to the airport in plenty of time and had a look around. Maverick Helicopter Tours took us for a 30 minute spin in an eight seat Eco-Star. It was the best way to see the area. Our pilot, Steve, was a knowledgeable guide and provided a fascinating commentary. That, plus the background music all featured on the DVD of the trip that we bought afterwards. I was glad of the warning that anything you say into the microphone will be recorded on the DVD. The lady sitting next to me verified herself as a true blonde with some of the things she had to say! We saw some Indian ruins up close, and marveled at the tenacity of these ancient people who were able to live in such an inhospitable place.
My stomach was very happy to be back on the bike, rather than still in the helicopter. We decided to head towards Flagstaff for the afternoon and see what we could see. Moving out of the parking lot, my bike felt weird. It was reluctant to turn. I couldn’t put my finger on quite what it was, but it didn’t feel right at all. We stopped and Andy took a look. He rode the bike up and down the road, agreed that it felt odd at first but seemed to be OK now. I was a bit uneasy but appeared to be well so we headed north.
Highway 89A is a treat for any motorcyclist. Coming out of Sedona there are beautiful views of the spectacular red rocks. The road winds its way up the mountain, offering a new view at every turn. The turns get tighter and tighter with 10mph hairpins towards the top. I’m told that the GPS screen showed what looked like a pile of spaghetti rather than a road.
Once into the city of Flagstaff, we took a wrong turn and had to do a u-turn to get back on track. My bike, which had been fine up until then, was really tough to turn. The unease was growing. I was very glad to see the Del Taco parking lot where we had planned to stop for lunch. Andy made a tight turn into a parking space. Normally, I could have made the turn with ease but the FJR flat out refused. Now I was getting really freaked out. Has anyone noticed yet that slow speed turns are not my forte? Until now, I knew it was my problem rather than the bike, but now…….?
With the bike safely parked, I looked down at the forks and saw the problem. A plastic connector housing from somewhere near the battery was no longer tucked inside the fairing. It was between the forks and the fairing, creating an artificial steering lock. By the time I’d gotten our meal from the restaurant, Andy had everything fixed good as new. What a relief.
So – where to now? The 40 freeway would take us to some back roads that would make a nice loop, taking us home. Generic freeway with generic rest stops was boring. It was good to get off and go exploring but we didn’t know about Winslow. We rode through the whole town and didn’t see any signs of life at all. The buildings looked pretty much derelict. There were no people and few cars. Had we happened upon some surreal time warp? or was this place just the arm-pit of the earth? Sheila (GPS lady) didn’t like it either. She got all confused and had us back track all the way to the freeway. We decided that Winslow AZ has a lot in common with Oxnard CA. Both have that Bermuda triangle effect, not allowing travelers to pass through without getting sucked in. Both are equally undesirable places to be.
Highway 87 / 260 to Camp Verde was long…..and straight…..and hot. The symptoms of my kidney infection were coming back. The road was longer…..straighter…..and hotter. Sheila told us that gas was available in 21 miles but to get to it, we had to turn right in 40 miles. She’s not happy in Arizona. Old fashioned road signs convinced us that there would be a town coming up soon, with a gas station. No body mentioned the road works and the one mile long stretch of gravel road. We joined the line of cars by the flag man. This is where I’d just have to suck it up and get over being afraid of gravel roads. It wasn’t as bad as I’d expected. Head and eyes up, steady throttle, stay off the front brake……. And by the time I opened my eyes we were on solid ground. The gas station was close by, with fuel, cold water and ice cream. I soon felt a lot better. By the time we got home, our modest potter around the area had netted 235 miles.
On Tuesday morning we had a late start for a short ride to the historic city of Jerome. It was only about 60 miles round trip but we had lots of twisties included. The town itself is cut into the side of a hill. There is one main road through town but it switches back on itself several times over. In the early 1900’s Jerome was a major copper mining town. As the industry faded, the town fell into ruin but was revived as an artistic community. We enjoyed a wander around, looking at the ancient buildings, and the plaques that commemorated them as different brothels. Mining and prostitution were what people did in Jerome, back then. There was a small museum which we wandered around.
After lunch, we rode back to Sedona, following the omnipresent pace car. It seems that every cool twisty road in the area has a safety mechanism to protect motorcyclists from the error of their ways. It had been our intention to ride perhaps a teensy bit over the speed limit here and there, just to get the most fun out of the turns. Nothing excessive you understand, but just enough to feel that these were SPORT touring bikes. Today, it was Grandpa in the Cadillac that had been sent to moderate our speed. Granny in the minivan had done her stuff the previous day, and later we’d meet Nervous Neil in the Accura. Never mind – we were on vacation and not in a hurry. There was plenty of scenery to enjoy while tooling along gently. The roads are way too narrow and tortuous to even think about passing safely.
As we rode, the wind picked up. There were a few breathtaking gusts, which precipitated a much tighter grip on the bars. My FJR is heavier that Andy’s BMW and doesn’t get knocked around much in the wind, but these gusts were moving me around in my lane. He was struggling to keep his line. Since we’ve reached that certain age, where we actually tune in to the Weather Channel, we looked at the forecast for Wednesday. It became very clear that riding to the Grand Canyon wouldn’t be such a good idea. Our thoughts were confirmed during the night as the winds howled. It was strange to hear that sound that we associate with extreme cold and snow, in a warm climate.
Thursday morning dawned with no plans other than staying off the bikes. Winds were gusting up to 70mph. Since we hadn’t actually paid for a day’s entertainment, we consulted the Concierge to find something that might be fun to do. She made some phone calls and had us fixed up with a ride arriving in five minutes. There was just time to grab water, sunscreen and a hat and we were off on an adventure. No generic Jeep tour for us. We had booked the Extreme Hummer tour, AKA the Jeep Eater.
A shiny, dark red H2 pulled into the lot, and we gathered our stuff to walk over to the driver. No way was this our tour. The girl who got out was wearing business attire. No, this was a Los Angeles style Hummer. Shortly afterwards, a well worn H1 rumbled into the lot. It had a canopy top and seating for fourteen people. We were warned to get the seatbelts cinched in tight then hang on. Driver Paul took his seven passengers along the main highway, pointing out some local sights with the microphone. He had an extensive knowledge of the history and geography of the area which he shared with us.
All of a sudden, Paul made a right turn with some squealing and sliding. Now we were on a dirt track. He drove along at a modest speed, while explaining about the 4WD and gearing. This was Jeep speed that we were going but thanks to the technology he had described, the Hummer could go…….really……..fast. We were doing 40-50mph and it felt super fast on the rough road. The trail got progressively rougher so we did slow down a bit. In several places, Paul stopped for us to get a good look at the plants and trees, and even a family of deer. At one of the stops, I figured it was all part of the act when the truck wouldn’t start. You know – group of tourists stuck miles from nowhere, ha-ha. Our driver popped the hood then climbed into the engine. With a passenger turning the starter, Paul bled some air out of the fuel line and we were on our way again.
The trail got rougher. We crossed a series of moguls which tipped the truck violently side to side. I did wonder if we were going to make it to the other side but we did, then the driver figured it was so much fun that we’d do it backwards then have another go. That part of the ride elicited a smile from the sullen teenage girl who’d been dragged along with her Dad. She seemed determined not to enjoy the trip, with sweatshirt hood pulled down over her face, but she liked that bit.
The 2 1/2hr tour was almost over. We were back onto the dirt track leading to the main road, with about six miles to go when Paul called it quits. He’d bled the fuel line over and over and over again. He called for rescue. Another tour Hummer came as well as the official chase truck. This company has a race truck which they take to Baja. The chase truck is a workshop on wheels. We passengers were whisked off before the tool truck was opened. I’d have loved to have seen inside.
It was time for another shower when we got back to the cottage. My fresh, crisp white shirt was speckled with red dust. Hummer hair is worse than helmet hair. It took me a long time to drag a brush through my matted locks, but it was worth it. The Hummer ride was beyond awesome. It’s a treat that I’ll never forget.
The wild winds abated overnight and the temperature dropped significantly. Thursday was thus, a perfect day for a ride to the Grand Canyon and back. I wanted to leave as soon as it was light but Andy was leaning more towards lunchtime. I put the local news on TV and saw the freeze warnings. From Flagstaff to the Grand Canyon, there was a warning until 7am. It was currently 27 degrees. We compromised on leaving at around seven. The temperature in Sedona was a mild 60 degrees but dropped to 42 as we went up the mountain.
As we rounded a turn, a flagman waved us to stop. There were downed power lines ahead of us, from the high winds. Traffic was being diverted through a camp site, one direction at a time. What the heck? I was getting used to this dirt riding thing by now. I managed it with no problem other than an increased heart rate and white knuckles.
We rode the 180 and then the 60 to the Grand Canyon. It was a beautiful ride. The temperature never got above sixty degrees all day but we were comfortable in our riding gear. For a fair distance, we followed a group of four riders on cruisers. They reminded me of the cast of Wild Hogs, by their mismatched gear. These guys were out to have a good time and not worried about appearance. The blue and pink ski jacket created quite an impression.
Inside the National Park, we stopped at the first visitor area which was packed with people and cars. Quasi-legal motorcycle parking was available so we got our first glimpse of a pretty impressive hole in the ground. I’d go so far as to say it’s the biggest, widest and deepest hole in the ground that I’ve ever seen. Mere photographs cannot do the Grand Canyon justice. The magnitude is breathtaking.
At the next scenic outlook the parking was a lot less frenzied. We got all our gear stowed and locked on to the bikes, then waited for a tour bus. We saw the light before the bus came and opted not to get on board. Instead, we geared up again and got on the bikes. The reason we came on this trip was to ride our bikes, so ride them we did. We rode all the way to the end of the park and beyond. Cameron looked like a decent place to stop for lunch per the map so we aimed for there. Talk about a one-horse town! There was a large parking lot with gas station, hotel, restaurant and mega-gift-shop. Still, it provided everything we needed.
The restaurant was decorated old west style with a decent selection of modestly priced meals. Andy had the roast pork sandwich which came with gravy. There must have been almost a pound of delicious tender meat. He made a manful effort and demolished it. Breakfast and lunch on a single platter! I opted for the Navajo burger. It was a juicy burger with all the trimmings, sandwiched between two wads of Navajo fry bread. I ate about half a piece of the bread before conceding defeat. It was a delicious meal, made all the better by being found unexpectedly at the road side.
The options for riding home were limited. Andy was looking to head towards Four Corners. It was a tempting thought since we’ve never been to New Mexico before. It would be a new state to add to our list. Then again, that would bring our mileage over 600 for the day. I didn’t feel that ambitious so we headed back from whence we came.
The road leading into the National Park is nicely paved, light traffic and very fast. Once into the park, we were aware of the strange effects of the canyon. Did you know that it sucks the ability to drive from certain vulnerable victims? We’d already encountered the old man who missed his turn, and reversed back into moving traffic to have a second try. Another pulled out in front of us, from a scenic area. There was nothing behind us but lots of empty road. He accelerated (very slowly) up to 40mph. We had to brake to avoid him, from the 85mph or so that we were traveling. Of course, my hi-viz lime jacket may have been so dazzling that it temporarily blinded him.
The pay booth is set well into the park at the East end. Some sadistic person had the idea of putting it on a dirt road. The whole park is paved with first class roads, yet this stretch is dirt. It must have been an amusing picture to see me balancing the bike with my left big toe on the ground, right foot on the brake and then rummaging in my pocket for the pass and my ID. Mission was accomplished thankfully, and we moved on, to enjoy a spirited ride thought the park. The scenery is amazing. The roads are well maintained and have lots of opportunity to pass slower vehicles.
On the way back home we saw two interesting sights – one was a helicopter towing the biggest dream-catcher you’ve ever seen. It must have been twenty feet or more in diameter. The other was a parked, blue FJR with Washington plates. I don’t know how he kept his bike so clean because ours were covered in dust. We took a break for a while at the gas station but the rider didn’t show his face.
Our tour of the canyon had racked up 380 miles and some pretty cool photos. It was definitely worth doing.
Friday saw us preparing for the long ride home. We spent the morning enjoying breakfast with Turbo, another one of the Rumble sisters. She rode south from Flagstaff on her Harley to meet us. I sat on the bike and loved the 24†seat height but had a hard time getting the bike upright from the side stand. I guess that seat height is about right for me. Both feet were flat on the floor. What a dream it would be to have this secure of a footing with one of my own bikes.
After breakfast, Turbo led us up the beautiful Hwy 89A. What a wonderful road to have in your back yard. We said good bye in Flagstaff and headed south on the freeway. For an interstate, the 17 is pretty cool. It has some sweeping turns and some very impressive scenery. Sheila still wasn’t happy but she helped us find the way to Mingus Mountain. We couldn’t leave Arizona without bidding farewell to that tasty piece of road. Maybe the pace car would miss us this time. We did get a little ways up the incline before we found nervous Neil. Poor guy was beyond petrified. Even at the snail’s pace we were traveling, he was nudging the center line on the turns. We even felt sorry for him after a while. When we reached the one and only place to pull over, he kept going so we stopped for a while and admired the scenery. How I wish there was a way that I could have photographed the road for posterity.
Back at the ranch, 170 miles later, it was time to get ready for the morning. We packed our bags ready for a leisurely departure Saturday morning. It was farewell to the curves of 89A and then towards the 40 freeway. Since we weren’t in a hurry, we detoured via Route 66.
Seligman is a neat place to stop. That thought was shared by the driver of the tour bus that arrived just before we did. The life and soul of the town is a couple of Route 66 memorabilia shops. We hung out outside until the crowd had thinned a bit then had a look see. Lots of French tourists photographed our bikes.
Our next planned stop was Oatman. The road signs warned that this part of Route 66 was unsuitable for vehicles over 40’ in length. For twenty long miles we could see no reason why not. The road was straight as a die. But then it changed. The ghost town of Oatman is up on high. The road narrows significantly and turns into a barely paved goat track. The climb is steep. The turns are sharp. There is no guard rail, not even a dirt berm because the road is too narrow. For those of you who have done the Streetmaster’s class, this is the Horsethief mile, stretched out to nine miles long. I did peek at the view just once, and saw a carpet of flowering cacti that was just beautiful. That peek cost me a couple of feet off my line, so I went back to focusing on where I was going. This road had little to no margin for error. All the turns were either first or second gear. We didn’t need a pace car to keep the speed down here. One of a pair of 180s was steeply banked and the road was very rough. I fixated on the ruts in the road left by footpegs, floorboards, exhausts etc, and drifted towards the line. Just that momentary lapse in concentration caused me to touch the center line. Ouch! No harm, no foul since no one else wanted that bit of road at the time.
I don't know how to link to it, but Google Earth has a pic of that very turn. If you search for Oatman, AZ then click on the blue star that says Sitgreaves pass, Route 66, it will show a clear picture.
As we rounded the second 180, we saw the remains of a car stuck in the trees between the two turns. He hadn’t made it around the first turn, but had been there for some time by the bullet holes in the doors.
And then we were in the quaint town of Oatman, home to the Wild Burros. Andy rode up alongside one animal, which sniffed at him then wandered on its way. None of the burros even gave the bikes a second glance. We stopped awhile and looked around the town. This was truly our farewell to Arizona. From there onwards, it was freeway slog all the way home.
We did 560 miles Saturday, and realized that we’d enjoyed being away from California traffic. It was a wake up call to get onto the 15 freeway, among busy, aggressive traffic. No more vacation now. It was back to commuter jousting, survival of the fittest.
All in all, a very good trip.
This was the trip that wasn’t meant to be. Circumstances conspired against us even leaving home. On Friday night, Andy twisted his injured knee not once but twice. The second turn left him temporarily unable to bear weight on the knee. My cross to bear was a stubborn, lingering kidney infection that was not responding to antibiotics. A new prescription was started Friday evening, with instructions to rest, stay out of the sun and drink lots of water. Did that include a 450 mile ride into the Arizona desert? Probably not, but we went anyway.
Two potential routes had been planned, and the northernmost, cooler route had been selected. The hotter, southern route was shorter in distance but ended the day with some serious twisties – not the best thing for hot and tired riders. So, we headed out and passed the turn for route A. An hour or so later, we passed the turn for route B. The Chatterboxes don’t work too well at warp-speed, so hand signals were used to ask Mr. Navigator where we were going. In a parking lot beside the freeway, he admitted that he hadn’t turned on the GPS yet, and was headed towards Colton. Why? Because he’d been there before. Now, if you’ve ever been to Colton, CA before, it’s a pretty compelling reason not to ever go back there again. Sheila, the Australian lady who lives inside the GPS was consulted and we were back on the road again.
At the breakfast stop, we stared at each other with red eyes, over coffee, neither of us wanting any food. Both had been awake most of the night with our respective health issues, and worried about the trip. Andy admitted that he was seriously considering taking a car instead of the bikes. I countered with the fact that I had considered staying home and not getting out of bed until the pain was gone.
But then the sun had come out. Traffic was light. The freeway had some big, sweeping turns and some majestic scenery. It was going to be OK. This was meant to be a bike trip after all. Layers of warm clothing were stowed and we headed east.
The small town of Hope had a road side sign as we passed though. ‘You are now beyond Hope’. How appropriate. A little further down the road, Andy dodged a missile that flew from the bed of a pick up truck. It was a case of Bud Light. The driver did pull over and retrieve his well shaken beer.
The town of Aguila was our next stop, because it was the only place that looked even vaguely open. Was the whole of Arizona closed on Saturdays? Or had there been a nuclear attack? There was no traffic; no people and the buildings all looked deserted. Aguila’s gas station provided fuel, a cold drink and a sandwich to help us along the way. Across the road, there was a gathering at the old gas station. With a loudspeaker, a preacher was conducting an outdoor Church service, in Spanish. He paused to call out numbers, whereupon members of his congregation came forward and collected bags of groceries.
The roads through Arizona all looked very similar, until we got to Mingus Mountain. Remember that our plan was to avoid the twisties at the end of a long day? We forgot that, and went that way anyway. What a road! The scenery was breathtaking and the curves were built for motorcycles. We were led at a modest pace by the vehicles in front. Aggressive overtaking wasn’t appropriate so we sat back and enjoyed the turns gently, vowing to come back another day and try the road a bit faster.
By mid afternoon, we reached Sedona Pines. It took me a fair while to get off the bike since my knees had settled into riding position and wouldn’t straighten. We’d ridden 440 miles with the latter part at over one hundred degrees. A cool shower and change of clothes soon had me restored to some level of functioning. Our home-away-from-home was imaginatively described as a ‘cottage’. It was a very well appointed, fancy trailer. This was the most upscale trailer park I’d ever seen. (I mean that as a compliment – the place was really nice).
We had a private patio with chairs and table, plus BBQ grill. Inside was a tastefully decorated living/dining room, with the table set for dinner, pleated napkins et al. A galley kitchen led to the bedroom and bathroom. In no time flat, we had the tidy little place trashed. Two sets of sweaty bike gear can make even the best place look untidy.
Dinner at the on-site restaurant seemed like a good idea, and to heck with the cost. We were on vacation. Los Pinos Grill served us a delicious meal, with icy margaritas in cactus shaped glasses. The salad came with the restaurant’s own prickly pear dressing which was pink and quite tasty. I enjoyed a Southwest chicken breast filled with roasted red peppers, jalapeno jack cheese and spinach. The sauce was made from avocado and cilantro, which complemented the garlic mashed potatoes and steamed veggies very well. Andy had a Black Angus steak, cooked on an open fire grill, with five peppercorn sauce. Another round of drinks and we were ready for a nap.
It was a short walk back to our cottage. The sun was fading, and glinting off two very dusty motorcycles. The BMW didn’t look quite right though. On closer inspection it was seen that the back tire was almost flat. These were brand new tires. Andy looked closely and found a small nail. Looking back, the slow leak explained the bike’s poor handling through the turns. He said that the bike had refused to lean properly. He’d attributed it to heavy loading of the bags but now the explanation was clear. In the tool kit, Andy had everything he needed to plug the tire so that the bike was at least rideable until we decided what to do. He had that plug fitted in next to no time, having had a lot of recent experience. It’s the fourth time he’s done it, in the last two years. The tire held pressure overnight, and for the rest of the week.
As we enjoyed a wonderfully restful night’s sleep, amidst the babbling brooks and gentle hum of the air conditioner, we agreed that bringing the bikes had been the right thing to do. We were both wide awake early in the morning and sat on the patio with a cup of tea. It was cool to watch a biplane fly overhead. I decided that I wanted to try that. We’d budgeted for one organized activity during the week, and it was going to be a ride in a biplane.
Breakfast was on the house, together with a sales pitch for various local businesses. Tour buses would pick up from the resort and shuttle guests to the Grand Canyon, on local tours, on custom tours or anything you wanted. Jeep tours were available either on or off road. The local airport did some brisk business with various types of airborne tours.
Door prizes were given out here and there to keep guests from leaving after the free breakfast (as if people would do that!) It was good fortune that we each won something useful. I got some individually wrapped, moist cotton washcloths and Andy won a picture book of the area. They were by far the best two prizes that we could have been blessed with.
It felt like lunchtime when we arrived at a restaurant at 10am, to meet some friends. Worm, ShySue and Jolie from the Rumblesisters Biker Sisterhood joined us, along with Sue’s husband, for a wonderful meal. We ate at the Coffee Pot, home of 101 omelettes. I chose smoked salmon with cream cheese, which was delicious.
On the way home, we stopped at the local market to stock up on a few essentials. I was ambushed by a small mountain, masquerading as a speed bump. My bike is lowered by almost an inch, and I didn’t like the grating sound at all as I eased slowly over the crest of the mountain. We didn’t leave the same way as we came in, because the bike was now laden down. Andy proved the theory that an FJR bag will hold eighteen cans of beer, and two frozen dinners too. I held out for buying some bread, milk and fruit too. Man cannot live by beer alone.
Since the resort was very posh, it had a full time concierge. We paid her a visit to plan our outing. As you might imagine, she hit us up for the timeshare sales pitch. If we were willing to spend an hour with the sales people, we could have a free helicopter tour for two. Andy didn’t quite bite her hand off, but I could see how keen he was on the tour. We served our time listening to the spiel and were rewarded handsomely with a $400 tour.
So now it was mid-afternoon and we’d only ridden the bikes for about ten miles. It was time to saddle up and ride. Red Rock State Park was a short distance away so we headed there. The road leading to the park was pretty but we didn’t end up staying. Before we paid to go into the park, the ranger asked if we were planning to hike. No. We came to ride our bikes. The park didn’t have any roads. We chose not to go in, and thanked him for the heads-up.
The road to the park looped back onto the main road, but had an unpaved section. I couldn’t see how long the dirt road was, so I chickened out. My short legs will only allow my toes to touch the ground so areas of poor traction really bother me. I don’t DO gravel. To get back the way we came involved a full lock u-turn. Even that took me into the gravel at the side of the road. It was not pretty. There are times when I’m reminded that this bike really is too big and heavy for me. When I make ugly, paddled u-turns really brings this home.
Further along the main highway was the turn off for the airport. We did a recce trip, ready for our flight check-in the next morning. It was a very pretty road with some nice twists and turns. There was a scenic viewing area but it was paved with gravel. My nerves were already shredded from the ugly u-turn, so Andy knew not to head that way. He had a better idea; we parked my bike on blacktop at the bottom of the hill then rode two up to the gravel area. He has no problems with uneven surfaces. We were able to look at the view from the top and take some photos.
It was time to look for a gas station next, so we found one on the main road. The first pump didn’t have premium gas, so we had to make a tight u-turn to get to another pump. These BMW riders are so picky! My FJR is OK with regular gas but it works best for us to fill both bikes together. I made what may have been the neatest turn I’ve ever made on the FJR and mentally gave myself a pat on the back. The turn to get back to the road wasn’t so pretty but I did have both feet up. Andy had me go in front, knowing that I might have trouble with both the turn and the exit. Picture this: I’m making a right turn out of the gas station, uphill, between busy traffic AND negotiating a deep gully between the sidewalk and the road. I did it, and breathed a big sigh of relief. It was a while before Andy could get out, so I rode slowly and eventually pulled over to wait for him. There wasn’t a good place to pull over, so I picked the least bad one. As soon as I saw him in the mirror, I pulled off but he stopped at the place where I’d just left. Traffic didn’t allow me to stop again. The car behind me kept honking, but I was going the speed of the car in front. What was his problem? He got alongside and told me that I’d dropped something. With all the fun I’d had at the gas station, I’d forgotten my tank bag. It was on the back seat of the bike but not anymore. Panic set in. My camera, wallet, phone etc were in that bag. There was no place to pull over, so I made a left into a business parking lot. It was gravel. I don’t DO gravel, but the only option available was to make a u-turn on the gravel, then go back to look for my bag. Panic escalated, made worse by the fact that I didn’t know where Andy was. I chose to sit for a moment and gather my thoughts as I waited for a gap in the traffic. What a wondrous site it was to see Andy pull into the parking lot, with both his and my tank bags.
We took a gentle ride home after that and got a cold drink. As I stood on the patio, the wind blew the front door unexpectedly and it whacked my butt, causing cold beer to go up my nose and down my shirt. It was definitely time to put the bikes to bed, and not let me ride any more that day.
The sun comes up earlier in Sedona than it does at home. The vaulted ceiling of our bedroom had high windows that caught that energizing sunlight and made me want to get up and doing, early in the morning. The complex had a complimentary laundry facility, so I got some clothes cleaned at the same time as taking a stroll with my I-pod. It is a beautiful place to stroll, with gentle hills to provide a little exertion. Fellow guests were playing miniature golf with the complimentary clubs and balls. The equipment was available at the first tee, on a player’s signature. I imagined having to leave a credit card number, driver’s license or firstborn child but they’re more trusting here than in CA.
The highlight of the day was our helicopter trip. Since we were up so early, we got to the airport in plenty of time and had a look around. Maverick Helicopter Tours took us for a 30 minute spin in an eight seat Eco-Star. It was the best way to see the area. Our pilot, Steve, was a knowledgeable guide and provided a fascinating commentary. That, plus the background music all featured on the DVD of the trip that we bought afterwards. I was glad of the warning that anything you say into the microphone will be recorded on the DVD. The lady sitting next to me verified herself as a true blonde with some of the things she had to say! We saw some Indian ruins up close, and marveled at the tenacity of these ancient people who were able to live in such an inhospitable place.
My stomach was very happy to be back on the bike, rather than still in the helicopter. We decided to head towards Flagstaff for the afternoon and see what we could see. Moving out of the parking lot, my bike felt weird. It was reluctant to turn. I couldn’t put my finger on quite what it was, but it didn’t feel right at all. We stopped and Andy took a look. He rode the bike up and down the road, agreed that it felt odd at first but seemed to be OK now. I was a bit uneasy but appeared to be well so we headed north.
Highway 89A is a treat for any motorcyclist. Coming out of Sedona there are beautiful views of the spectacular red rocks. The road winds its way up the mountain, offering a new view at every turn. The turns get tighter and tighter with 10mph hairpins towards the top. I’m told that the GPS screen showed what looked like a pile of spaghetti rather than a road.
Once into the city of Flagstaff, we took a wrong turn and had to do a u-turn to get back on track. My bike, which had been fine up until then, was really tough to turn. The unease was growing. I was very glad to see the Del Taco parking lot where we had planned to stop for lunch. Andy made a tight turn into a parking space. Normally, I could have made the turn with ease but the FJR flat out refused. Now I was getting really freaked out. Has anyone noticed yet that slow speed turns are not my forte? Until now, I knew it was my problem rather than the bike, but now…….?
With the bike safely parked, I looked down at the forks and saw the problem. A plastic connector housing from somewhere near the battery was no longer tucked inside the fairing. It was between the forks and the fairing, creating an artificial steering lock. By the time I’d gotten our meal from the restaurant, Andy had everything fixed good as new. What a relief.
So – where to now? The 40 freeway would take us to some back roads that would make a nice loop, taking us home. Generic freeway with generic rest stops was boring. It was good to get off and go exploring but we didn’t know about Winslow. We rode through the whole town and didn’t see any signs of life at all. The buildings looked pretty much derelict. There were no people and few cars. Had we happened upon some surreal time warp? or was this place just the arm-pit of the earth? Sheila (GPS lady) didn’t like it either. She got all confused and had us back track all the way to the freeway. We decided that Winslow AZ has a lot in common with Oxnard CA. Both have that Bermuda triangle effect, not allowing travelers to pass through without getting sucked in. Both are equally undesirable places to be.
Highway 87 / 260 to Camp Verde was long…..and straight…..and hot. The symptoms of my kidney infection were coming back. The road was longer…..straighter…..and hotter. Sheila told us that gas was available in 21 miles but to get to it, we had to turn right in 40 miles. She’s not happy in Arizona. Old fashioned road signs convinced us that there would be a town coming up soon, with a gas station. No body mentioned the road works and the one mile long stretch of gravel road. We joined the line of cars by the flag man. This is where I’d just have to suck it up and get over being afraid of gravel roads. It wasn’t as bad as I’d expected. Head and eyes up, steady throttle, stay off the front brake……. And by the time I opened my eyes we were on solid ground. The gas station was close by, with fuel, cold water and ice cream. I soon felt a lot better. By the time we got home, our modest potter around the area had netted 235 miles.
On Tuesday morning we had a late start for a short ride to the historic city of Jerome. It was only about 60 miles round trip but we had lots of twisties included. The town itself is cut into the side of a hill. There is one main road through town but it switches back on itself several times over. In the early 1900’s Jerome was a major copper mining town. As the industry faded, the town fell into ruin but was revived as an artistic community. We enjoyed a wander around, looking at the ancient buildings, and the plaques that commemorated them as different brothels. Mining and prostitution were what people did in Jerome, back then. There was a small museum which we wandered around.
After lunch, we rode back to Sedona, following the omnipresent pace car. It seems that every cool twisty road in the area has a safety mechanism to protect motorcyclists from the error of their ways. It had been our intention to ride perhaps a teensy bit over the speed limit here and there, just to get the most fun out of the turns. Nothing excessive you understand, but just enough to feel that these were SPORT touring bikes. Today, it was Grandpa in the Cadillac that had been sent to moderate our speed. Granny in the minivan had done her stuff the previous day, and later we’d meet Nervous Neil in the Accura. Never mind – we were on vacation and not in a hurry. There was plenty of scenery to enjoy while tooling along gently. The roads are way too narrow and tortuous to even think about passing safely.
As we rode, the wind picked up. There were a few breathtaking gusts, which precipitated a much tighter grip on the bars. My FJR is heavier that Andy’s BMW and doesn’t get knocked around much in the wind, but these gusts were moving me around in my lane. He was struggling to keep his line. Since we’ve reached that certain age, where we actually tune in to the Weather Channel, we looked at the forecast for Wednesday. It became very clear that riding to the Grand Canyon wouldn’t be such a good idea. Our thoughts were confirmed during the night as the winds howled. It was strange to hear that sound that we associate with extreme cold and snow, in a warm climate.
Thursday morning dawned with no plans other than staying off the bikes. Winds were gusting up to 70mph. Since we hadn’t actually paid for a day’s entertainment, we consulted the Concierge to find something that might be fun to do. She made some phone calls and had us fixed up with a ride arriving in five minutes. There was just time to grab water, sunscreen and a hat and we were off on an adventure. No generic Jeep tour for us. We had booked the Extreme Hummer tour, AKA the Jeep Eater.
A shiny, dark red H2 pulled into the lot, and we gathered our stuff to walk over to the driver. No way was this our tour. The girl who got out was wearing business attire. No, this was a Los Angeles style Hummer. Shortly afterwards, a well worn H1 rumbled into the lot. It had a canopy top and seating for fourteen people. We were warned to get the seatbelts cinched in tight then hang on. Driver Paul took his seven passengers along the main highway, pointing out some local sights with the microphone. He had an extensive knowledge of the history and geography of the area which he shared with us.
All of a sudden, Paul made a right turn with some squealing and sliding. Now we were on a dirt track. He drove along at a modest speed, while explaining about the 4WD and gearing. This was Jeep speed that we were going but thanks to the technology he had described, the Hummer could go…….really……..fast. We were doing 40-50mph and it felt super fast on the rough road. The trail got progressively rougher so we did slow down a bit. In several places, Paul stopped for us to get a good look at the plants and trees, and even a family of deer. At one of the stops, I figured it was all part of the act when the truck wouldn’t start. You know – group of tourists stuck miles from nowhere, ha-ha. Our driver popped the hood then climbed into the engine. With a passenger turning the starter, Paul bled some air out of the fuel line and we were on our way again.
The trail got rougher. We crossed a series of moguls which tipped the truck violently side to side. I did wonder if we were going to make it to the other side but we did, then the driver figured it was so much fun that we’d do it backwards then have another go. That part of the ride elicited a smile from the sullen teenage girl who’d been dragged along with her Dad. She seemed determined not to enjoy the trip, with sweatshirt hood pulled down over her face, but she liked that bit.
The 2 1/2hr tour was almost over. We were back onto the dirt track leading to the main road, with about six miles to go when Paul called it quits. He’d bled the fuel line over and over and over again. He called for rescue. Another tour Hummer came as well as the official chase truck. This company has a race truck which they take to Baja. The chase truck is a workshop on wheels. We passengers were whisked off before the tool truck was opened. I’d have loved to have seen inside.
It was time for another shower when we got back to the cottage. My fresh, crisp white shirt was speckled with red dust. Hummer hair is worse than helmet hair. It took me a long time to drag a brush through my matted locks, but it was worth it. The Hummer ride was beyond awesome. It’s a treat that I’ll never forget.
The wild winds abated overnight and the temperature dropped significantly. Thursday was thus, a perfect day for a ride to the Grand Canyon and back. I wanted to leave as soon as it was light but Andy was leaning more towards lunchtime. I put the local news on TV and saw the freeze warnings. From Flagstaff to the Grand Canyon, there was a warning until 7am. It was currently 27 degrees. We compromised on leaving at around seven. The temperature in Sedona was a mild 60 degrees but dropped to 42 as we went up the mountain.
As we rounded a turn, a flagman waved us to stop. There were downed power lines ahead of us, from the high winds. Traffic was being diverted through a camp site, one direction at a time. What the heck? I was getting used to this dirt riding thing by now. I managed it with no problem other than an increased heart rate and white knuckles.
We rode the 180 and then the 60 to the Grand Canyon. It was a beautiful ride. The temperature never got above sixty degrees all day but we were comfortable in our riding gear. For a fair distance, we followed a group of four riders on cruisers. They reminded me of the cast of Wild Hogs, by their mismatched gear. These guys were out to have a good time and not worried about appearance. The blue and pink ski jacket created quite an impression.
Inside the National Park, we stopped at the first visitor area which was packed with people and cars. Quasi-legal motorcycle parking was available so we got our first glimpse of a pretty impressive hole in the ground. I’d go so far as to say it’s the biggest, widest and deepest hole in the ground that I’ve ever seen. Mere photographs cannot do the Grand Canyon justice. The magnitude is breathtaking.
At the next scenic outlook the parking was a lot less frenzied. We got all our gear stowed and locked on to the bikes, then waited for a tour bus. We saw the light before the bus came and opted not to get on board. Instead, we geared up again and got on the bikes. The reason we came on this trip was to ride our bikes, so ride them we did. We rode all the way to the end of the park and beyond. Cameron looked like a decent place to stop for lunch per the map so we aimed for there. Talk about a one-horse town! There was a large parking lot with gas station, hotel, restaurant and mega-gift-shop. Still, it provided everything we needed.
The restaurant was decorated old west style with a decent selection of modestly priced meals. Andy had the roast pork sandwich which came with gravy. There must have been almost a pound of delicious tender meat. He made a manful effort and demolished it. Breakfast and lunch on a single platter! I opted for the Navajo burger. It was a juicy burger with all the trimmings, sandwiched between two wads of Navajo fry bread. I ate about half a piece of the bread before conceding defeat. It was a delicious meal, made all the better by being found unexpectedly at the road side.
The options for riding home were limited. Andy was looking to head towards Four Corners. It was a tempting thought since we’ve never been to New Mexico before. It would be a new state to add to our list. Then again, that would bring our mileage over 600 for the day. I didn’t feel that ambitious so we headed back from whence we came.
The road leading into the National Park is nicely paved, light traffic and very fast. Once into the park, we were aware of the strange effects of the canyon. Did you know that it sucks the ability to drive from certain vulnerable victims? We’d already encountered the old man who missed his turn, and reversed back into moving traffic to have a second try. Another pulled out in front of us, from a scenic area. There was nothing behind us but lots of empty road. He accelerated (very slowly) up to 40mph. We had to brake to avoid him, from the 85mph or so that we were traveling. Of course, my hi-viz lime jacket may have been so dazzling that it temporarily blinded him.
The pay booth is set well into the park at the East end. Some sadistic person had the idea of putting it on a dirt road. The whole park is paved with first class roads, yet this stretch is dirt. It must have been an amusing picture to see me balancing the bike with my left big toe on the ground, right foot on the brake and then rummaging in my pocket for the pass and my ID. Mission was accomplished thankfully, and we moved on, to enjoy a spirited ride thought the park. The scenery is amazing. The roads are well maintained and have lots of opportunity to pass slower vehicles.
On the way back home we saw two interesting sights – one was a helicopter towing the biggest dream-catcher you’ve ever seen. It must have been twenty feet or more in diameter. The other was a parked, blue FJR with Washington plates. I don’t know how he kept his bike so clean because ours were covered in dust. We took a break for a while at the gas station but the rider didn’t show his face.
Our tour of the canyon had racked up 380 miles and some pretty cool photos. It was definitely worth doing.
Friday saw us preparing for the long ride home. We spent the morning enjoying breakfast with Turbo, another one of the Rumble sisters. She rode south from Flagstaff on her Harley to meet us. I sat on the bike and loved the 24†seat height but had a hard time getting the bike upright from the side stand. I guess that seat height is about right for me. Both feet were flat on the floor. What a dream it would be to have this secure of a footing with one of my own bikes.
After breakfast, Turbo led us up the beautiful Hwy 89A. What a wonderful road to have in your back yard. We said good bye in Flagstaff and headed south on the freeway. For an interstate, the 17 is pretty cool. It has some sweeping turns and some very impressive scenery. Sheila still wasn’t happy but she helped us find the way to Mingus Mountain. We couldn’t leave Arizona without bidding farewell to that tasty piece of road. Maybe the pace car would miss us this time. We did get a little ways up the incline before we found nervous Neil. Poor guy was beyond petrified. Even at the snail’s pace we were traveling, he was nudging the center line on the turns. We even felt sorry for him after a while. When we reached the one and only place to pull over, he kept going so we stopped for a while and admired the scenery. How I wish there was a way that I could have photographed the road for posterity.
Back at the ranch, 170 miles later, it was time to get ready for the morning. We packed our bags ready for a leisurely departure Saturday morning. It was farewell to the curves of 89A and then towards the 40 freeway. Since we weren’t in a hurry, we detoured via Route 66.
Seligman is a neat place to stop. That thought was shared by the driver of the tour bus that arrived just before we did. The life and soul of the town is a couple of Route 66 memorabilia shops. We hung out outside until the crowd had thinned a bit then had a look see. Lots of French tourists photographed our bikes.
Our next planned stop was Oatman. The road signs warned that this part of Route 66 was unsuitable for vehicles over 40’ in length. For twenty long miles we could see no reason why not. The road was straight as a die. But then it changed. The ghost town of Oatman is up on high. The road narrows significantly and turns into a barely paved goat track. The climb is steep. The turns are sharp. There is no guard rail, not even a dirt berm because the road is too narrow. For those of you who have done the Streetmaster’s class, this is the Horsethief mile, stretched out to nine miles long. I did peek at the view just once, and saw a carpet of flowering cacti that was just beautiful. That peek cost me a couple of feet off my line, so I went back to focusing on where I was going. This road had little to no margin for error. All the turns were either first or second gear. We didn’t need a pace car to keep the speed down here. One of a pair of 180s was steeply banked and the road was very rough. I fixated on the ruts in the road left by footpegs, floorboards, exhausts etc, and drifted towards the line. Just that momentary lapse in concentration caused me to touch the center line. Ouch! No harm, no foul since no one else wanted that bit of road at the time.
I don't know how to link to it, but Google Earth has a pic of that very turn. If you search for Oatman, AZ then click on the blue star that says Sitgreaves pass, Route 66, it will show a clear picture.
As we rounded the second 180, we saw the remains of a car stuck in the trees between the two turns. He hadn’t made it around the first turn, but had been there for some time by the bullet holes in the doors.
And then we were in the quaint town of Oatman, home to the Wild Burros. Andy rode up alongside one animal, which sniffed at him then wandered on its way. None of the burros even gave the bikes a second glance. We stopped awhile and looked around the town. This was truly our farewell to Arizona. From there onwards, it was freeway slog all the way home.
We did 560 miles Saturday, and realized that we’d enjoyed being away from California traffic. It was a wake up call to get onto the 15 freeway, among busy, aggressive traffic. No more vacation now. It was back to commuter jousting, survival of the fittest.
All in all, a very good trip.
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Glad you and Andy had an adventurous and safe ride.
