Total miles between major stops - 3386 miles
Average gas mileage - 35.5 mpg
Excellent ride with no scary events on the road. Can't say the same about my ride on the 4-wheeler with Bob in Hurricane, but that was fun...just scary and long.
Saturday, September 15, 2012
Trip Summary
Total miles between major stops - 3386 miles
Average gas mileage - 35.5 mpg
Excellent ride with no scary events on the road. Can't say the same about my ride on the 4-wheeler with Bob in Hurricane, but that was fun...just scary and long.
Friday, September 14, 2012
Day 12 - Only an early bird wants a worm
Seymour, TX to Spring, TX - 408 miles
September 12, 2012
This morning I woke up before the rooster's mother. Before the bird. Before the worm. Before NASA. Don't know why, but I wasn't going to sit around the room for an hour and a half waiting for the sun to make its appearance. Especially not this motel room. So, packed and off before 5:30am.
I don't like to ride at night. For two reasons. First, you can't see the countryside at night, and I love to look at countryside. Secondly, there are critters out there. Of all kinds. You know, like those forest rats I keep talking about. We have it good authority that forest rats and 60 mph just don't go together. It's just wrong. Riders end up on a table, and the deer stay off the plate. Ain't fittin'. Just ain't fittin'.
One of the neat things about the rural Texas roads I choose is that the speed limit is 70 mph. Taking the Texas driver's poetic license, that means 75-78mph cruising. Yes, the little towns slow you down a little, but it ain't slab, so it's worth it. On a 400 mile day perhaps you are 20 minutes longer, but it's a good 20 minutes. And worth it.
But, at 5:30 in the morning, when it looks like the inside of a banker's heart, and all you have is a small tunnel of light to bore through, a tunnel that decreases in size with speed, you slow down. To at least 65mph. So that's what I did. It allowed me to see the single, lonely little coyote waking down the center of the road checking to see if some homeward bound shift worker had set the table... Evidently, he scarred me more than I him. So he got to keep the center line while I moved around him to the right close enough to kick his little butt as I went by. I didn't though, figured he'd bite right through those $280 riding boots and really deflate my ego.
After about an hour, with the sun just peaking over the horizon I stop in Breckenridge for a good breakfast. I know I'm in Texas because directly behind the restaurant I see the below scene:
Impressively, they weren't making a sound. Just going up and down...like money.
Pulled into the house about 1:15pm after a great ride and great trip.
Best event of the entire trip
My friend Zelda has has some heart problems in the past and was scheduled for a major procedure today. Most of my day on this ride was spent thinking of what she was experiencing, and praying for good results. When I got home Bob had posted on FB that the procedure was completed and that Zelda was resting comfortably, scheduled to go home Thursday.
The news couldn't have been better, and last night we spent about 20 minutes on the phone. When things are good for your friends, they are good for you.
You rock lady!
September 12, 2012
I don't like to ride at night. For two reasons. First, you can't see the countryside at night, and I love to look at countryside. Secondly, there are critters out there. Of all kinds. You know, like those forest rats I keep talking about. We have it good authority that forest rats and 60 mph just don't go together. It's just wrong. Riders end up on a table, and the deer stay off the plate. Ain't fittin'. Just ain't fittin'.
One of the neat things about the rural Texas roads I choose is that the speed limit is 70 mph. Taking the Texas driver's poetic license, that means 75-78mph cruising. Yes, the little towns slow you down a little, but it ain't slab, so it's worth it. On a 400 mile day perhaps you are 20 minutes longer, but it's a good 20 minutes. And worth it.
But, at 5:30 in the morning, when it looks like the inside of a banker's heart, and all you have is a small tunnel of light to bore through, a tunnel that decreases in size with speed, you slow down. To at least 65mph. So that's what I did. It allowed me to see the single, lonely little coyote waking down the center of the road checking to see if some homeward bound shift worker had set the table... Evidently, he scarred me more than I him. So he got to keep the center line while I moved around him to the right close enough to kick his little butt as I went by. I didn't though, figured he'd bite right through those $280 riding boots and really deflate my ego.
After about an hour, with the sun just peaking over the horizon I stop in Breckenridge for a good breakfast. I know I'm in Texas because directly behind the restaurant I see the below scene:
Pulled into the house about 1:15pm after a great ride and great trip.
Best event of the entire trip
My friend Zelda has has some heart problems in the past and was scheduled for a major procedure today. Most of my day on this ride was spent thinking of what she was experiencing, and praying for good results. When I got home Bob had posted on FB that the procedure was completed and that Zelda was resting comfortably, scheduled to go home Thursday.
The news couldn't have been better, and last night we spent about 20 minutes on the phone. When things are good for your friends, they are good for you.
You rock lady!
Day 11 - Walk on back to Texas
Taos, NM to Seymour, TX - 522 miles
September 11, 2012
Once again, nobody up when I awake. But thirty or forty minutes later Betsy is packed and I'm scarfing down a cup of "Continental" breakfast coffee awaiting the sun to make it's appearance. Taos is almost 7000 feet above sea level, and the morning temperature is around 40°F, meaning the riding jacket insert is going in...no negotiation, no question.
Heading down US64 through the Kit Carson National Forest. Lots of twisties, and lots of new road. I'm liking it, but saw quite a few "forrest rats" on the downward trek. Fortunately, Betsy scarred them more than they scarred me so I made it down without a problem.
Not much later I'm out of the mountains and looking at relatively bland scenery.
This is some of "flat" New Mexico. I like long, empty stretches of road. Interesting observations between this and the next photo. Difficult to ascertain, but there is actually grass in this picture.
This is cattle land, about twenty or thirty miles west of Clayton, NM. I saw many, many examples of this. The cattle are out there, but they've eaten almost all of the grass.
The drought has created a monster problem. Because of the drought, the grass hasn't grown well, raising the price of feed. The rise in the cost of feed is causing ranchers to cull herds, indeed, many are cutting deep. This would result in lower prices for beef...right now. But, when it turns around in the next year or two there will be fewer and fewer cattle, and the prices will rise significantly.
I try to find all the "new" road I can find. Having ridden west from Texas many times it becomes ever more problematic finding new road on which one can make some time. This time I routed myself into the panhandle as usual, but decided to move east toward Pampa, an area I'd never ridden through. I was surprise to see an area with a lot of hills and declivities, worn by wind and water erosion. Making time I didn't stop to take pictures, but the area was much more variable than I would have expected.
The below screen capture from Google Earth reflects the changing topography noted. The reservior is Lake Meridian just east of Fritch, TX. Coming into Bolger on US152 from Dumas you get a good look at land much more reminiscent of lower Utah and Colorado than that of west Texas.
Realizing tomorrow would be my last day on the road for this trip, I wanted to reduce the ride time so I kept pushing, while making sure I avoided the Wichita Falls/Dallas/Ft.Worth route and all that traffic for the morning ride. Turning due south from Pampa, I joined US287 near Clarenton, then turned south again at Vernon riding until about 6:30pm. This put me in Seymour, TX looking for a decent motel room. That's not as easy as it sounds, but, at least I found a room.
After a quick "road shower," I went looking for dinner. Choices weren't very many but there were two diners in town, both with vehicles in their parking lots. Knowing Texas as I do, I chose the one with the most pickup trucks as opposed to cars, figuring cars are mostly visitors. Turned out to be a pretty good choice, but I had my doubts for a while.
After parking Betsy up near one of the windows so I could keep an eye on her (something all motorcyclist seem to want to do), I entered to find a fairly crowded establishment with the standard four-person tables, red-and-white checkered tablecloths, and a rather nagging quantity of flies buzzing about. A few more than one would like, but something less than a swarm. I would prefer that to some guy killing them with long, snapped rubber bands (ala 'The Heat of the Night'), however, a fly-swatter would have probably been good, but that wasn't happening either.
After ordering the cute little waitress's recommended chicken-fried steak, I was at first skeptical whenever the large plate with a wilted salad and very greasy french fries accompanying two relatively small steaks were placed in front of me. There was nothing on the steaks but a very light breading, however, a small container of cream gravy made its appearance shortly, rounding out the meal. I mean, what is chicken-fried steak without cream gravy? I don't know what it is, but I know what it isn't. It isn't chicken-fried steak.
In any event, the wilted salad was okay once a copious quantity of Ranch dressing was applied. The french fries turned out to be surprisingly good but, then, fat is good, and grease is fat, huh? But the surprise was the chicken-fried steak. It may not have been the best I've ever had. But the cream gravy was...and once you put it on the steak you have the best chicken-fried steak I've ever had. (Tell my cardiologist's wife to make that a Mercedes!). Great little meal.
I was too tired to blog when I got back to my room, which was good since the wi-fi wasn't working anyway. In bed and sound asleep by 10:00pm, dreaming of southern Utah largemouth bass. What'd you expect at my age?
'Walkin' Back Home (Eric Taylor)
Don't won't no long lost brother, don't need no mother's hand.
Don't seem to like each other, never knew that other man.
You keep that long, tall pine, take that Georgia moon.
I'm going home tonight, gonna be there...soon.
If I can drive it on down to Birmingham, fly back up to Memphis.
As soon as my feet hit solid ground, I'm going to walk on back to Texas.
Walk on back to Texas. I'm gonna walk on back to Texas, walk on.
September 11, 2012
Heading down US64 through the Kit Carson National Forest. Lots of twisties, and lots of new road. I'm liking it, but saw quite a few "forrest rats" on the downward trek. Fortunately, Betsy scarred them more than they scarred me so I made it down without a problem.
Not much later I'm out of the mountains and looking at relatively bland scenery.
This is some of "flat" New Mexico. I like long, empty stretches of road. Interesting observations between this and the next photo. Difficult to ascertain, but there is actually grass in this picture.
The drought has created a monster problem. Because of the drought, the grass hasn't grown well, raising the price of feed. The rise in the cost of feed is causing ranchers to cull herds, indeed, many are cutting deep. This would result in lower prices for beef...right now. But, when it turns around in the next year or two there will be fewer and fewer cattle, and the prices will rise significantly.
I try to find all the "new" road I can find. Having ridden west from Texas many times it becomes ever more problematic finding new road on which one can make some time. This time I routed myself into the panhandle as usual, but decided to move east toward Pampa, an area I'd never ridden through. I was surprise to see an area with a lot of hills and declivities, worn by wind and water erosion. Making time I didn't stop to take pictures, but the area was much more variable than I would have expected.
The below screen capture from Google Earth reflects the changing topography noted. The reservior is Lake Meridian just east of Fritch, TX. Coming into Bolger on US152 from Dumas you get a good look at land much more reminiscent of lower Utah and Colorado than that of west Texas.
Realizing tomorrow would be my last day on the road for this trip, I wanted to reduce the ride time so I kept pushing, while making sure I avoided the Wichita Falls/Dallas/Ft.Worth route and all that traffic for the morning ride. Turning due south from Pampa, I joined US287 near Clarenton, then turned south again at Vernon riding until about 6:30pm. This put me in Seymour, TX looking for a decent motel room. That's not as easy as it sounds, but, at least I found a room.
After a quick "road shower," I went looking for dinner. Choices weren't very many but there were two diners in town, both with vehicles in their parking lots. Knowing Texas as I do, I chose the one with the most pickup trucks as opposed to cars, figuring cars are mostly visitors. Turned out to be a pretty good choice, but I had my doubts for a while.
After parking Betsy up near one of the windows so I could keep an eye on her (something all motorcyclist seem to want to do), I entered to find a fairly crowded establishment with the standard four-person tables, red-and-white checkered tablecloths, and a rather nagging quantity of flies buzzing about. A few more than one would like, but something less than a swarm. I would prefer that to some guy killing them with long, snapped rubber bands (ala 'The Heat of the Night'), however, a fly-swatter would have probably been good, but that wasn't happening either.
After ordering the cute little waitress's recommended chicken-fried steak, I was at first skeptical whenever the large plate with a wilted salad and very greasy french fries accompanying two relatively small steaks were placed in front of me. There was nothing on the steaks but a very light breading, however, a small container of cream gravy made its appearance shortly, rounding out the meal. I mean, what is chicken-fried steak without cream gravy? I don't know what it is, but I know what it isn't. It isn't chicken-fried steak.
In any event, the wilted salad was okay once a copious quantity of Ranch dressing was applied. The french fries turned out to be surprisingly good but, then, fat is good, and grease is fat, huh? But the surprise was the chicken-fried steak. It may not have been the best I've ever had. But the cream gravy was...and once you put it on the steak you have the best chicken-fried steak I've ever had. (Tell my cardiologist's wife to make that a Mercedes!). Great little meal.
I was too tired to blog when I got back to my room, which was good since the wi-fi wasn't working anyway. In bed and sound asleep by 10:00pm, dreaming of southern Utah largemouth bass. What'd you expect at my age?
'Walkin' Back Home (Eric Taylor)
Don't won't no long lost brother, don't need no mother's hand.
Don't seem to like each other, never knew that other man.
You keep that long, tall pine, take that Georgia moon.
I'm going home tonight, gonna be there...soon.
If I can drive it on down to Birmingham, fly back up to Memphis.
As soon as my feet hit solid ground, I'm going to walk on back to Texas.
Walk on back to Texas. I'm gonna walk on back to Texas, walk on.
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Day 10 - High desert and more Carson
Page, AZ to Taos, NM - 439 miles
September 10, 2012
Nudged the rooster and got up just before the sun. Can't understand how people can sleep when on 'cation. Twenty-five minutes later Betsy is packed and I'm trying to hold the power down to limit the disturbance on my motel neighbors. I know I'm never going to see them, but courtesy deserves a chance whenever it can get one these days.
Pulled out of Page on AZ98 connecting to US160 about an hour later. Another thirty minutes and my backbone is asking my stomach what's going on. About twenty-five minutes later, three or four miles west of Kayenta, AZ, I see one of those rather run-down motels with a sign saying restaurant open. The motel is the Anasazi Inn and lacks the distinctive character of that peoples elevated homes up in the narrow reaches of canyons throughout the southwest. But it seems as old and run-down. You can see from the reviews on the attached page what I mean about predatory monopoly pricing on the "res" out here. (Anasazi Inn - Kayenta). But I'm not looking for a room, I'm looking for breakfast. And I found it.
Surprisingly, the breakfast was fairly priced and well worth it. In fact, worth more. It was excellent! I asked for biscuit and got two...covered in cream gravy. It doesn't get much better than that for this ol' country boy. (Of course, my cardiologist's wife may be getting a new Lexus, but WTH.)
Thirty minutes later I'm passing by Monument Valley.
This is where probably half the western movies every shot were filmed. Thanks to John Wayne, et al, this is why most people my age think Texas looks like this. Okay, there are a couple of places reminiscent of this, but no where near as magnificent and majestic.
At any moment I expect Donald "Red" Barry or Roy Barcroft (great western villain character actors) to ride out from behind the rocks guns blazing in retreat as Roy and Trigger, and Jerry and Betsy, hie across the desert in hot pursuit.
(Or, perhaps it was just gas from the biscuits and gravy...can't be sure.)
An hour and a half, and a hundred miles further, now on US64, I spy a landmark familiar to all motorcyclists who ride the west: the great Shiprock just outside of Shiprock, NM.
First, just a hint on the horizon.
Then it rises, Phoenix-like, in the New Mexico heat.
A short two hundred and fifty miles later I'm in Taos, NM and checking into a nicer, more reasonably priced motel.
Another picture taking apology. I don't know what's going on but it appears my little Lumix is not recording some of the pictures I've taken. The "settings" knob becomes difficult to turn at times and I'm thinking it doesn't "register" the setting though I do get a temporary picture display. Funny stuff, but not funny haha. I switch the setting to landscape scenery and many of them came through, but many didn't as well. Something to be tested and monitored in the future. Hopefully it's just DAO and can be corrected. Meanwhile, my pictures of Taos and the approach to its environs are missing and presumed lost for good.
In any event, Kit Carson first saw Taos in 1826-27, apprenticing with Matthew Kinkead, a former army mate of Carson's older brother during the War of 1812. Between periods of trapping the Yellowstone, Powder, and Big Horn rivers for the Hudson's Bay Company, and living near Bent's Fort while working for the Bent brothers, Carson lived in Taos, marrying into a prominent Taos family in 1842. He was buried here with his last wife after dying near Las Animas, CO on May 23, 1868, aged 58.
Far and away, the best book on western expansionism and Kit Carson is Hampton Side's 'BLOOD AND THUNDER, An Epic of the Old West.' Doubleday, 2006.
September 10, 2012
Nudged the rooster and got up just before the sun. Can't understand how people can sleep when on 'cation. Twenty-five minutes later Betsy is packed and I'm trying to hold the power down to limit the disturbance on my motel neighbors. I know I'm never going to see them, but courtesy deserves a chance whenever it can get one these days.
Pulled out of Page on AZ98 connecting to US160 about an hour later. Another thirty minutes and my backbone is asking my stomach what's going on. About twenty-five minutes later, three or four miles west of Kayenta, AZ, I see one of those rather run-down motels with a sign saying restaurant open. The motel is the Anasazi Inn and lacks the distinctive character of that peoples elevated homes up in the narrow reaches of canyons throughout the southwest. But it seems as old and run-down. You can see from the reviews on the attached page what I mean about predatory monopoly pricing on the "res" out here. (Anasazi Inn - Kayenta). But I'm not looking for a room, I'm looking for breakfast. And I found it.
Surprisingly, the breakfast was fairly priced and well worth it. In fact, worth more. It was excellent! I asked for biscuit and got two...covered in cream gravy. It doesn't get much better than that for this ol' country boy. (Of course, my cardiologist's wife may be getting a new Lexus, but WTH.)
Thirty minutes later I'm passing by Monument Valley.
This is where probably half the western movies every shot were filmed. Thanks to John Wayne, et al, this is why most people my age think Texas looks like this. Okay, there are a couple of places reminiscent of this, but no where near as magnificent and majestic.
At any moment I expect Donald "Red" Barry or Roy Barcroft (great western villain character actors) to ride out from behind the rocks guns blazing in retreat as Roy and Trigger, and Jerry and Betsy, hie across the desert in hot pursuit.
(Or, perhaps it was just gas from the biscuits and gravy...can't be sure.)
An hour and a half, and a hundred miles further, now on US64, I spy a landmark familiar to all motorcyclists who ride the west: the great Shiprock just outside of Shiprock, NM.
First, just a hint on the horizon.
Then it rises, Phoenix-like, in the New Mexico heat.
A short two hundred and fifty miles later I'm in Taos, NM and checking into a nicer, more reasonably priced motel.
Another picture taking apology. I don't know what's going on but it appears my little Lumix is not recording some of the pictures I've taken. The "settings" knob becomes difficult to turn at times and I'm thinking it doesn't "register" the setting though I do get a temporary picture display. Funny stuff, but not funny haha. I switch the setting to landscape scenery and many of them came through, but many didn't as well. Something to be tested and monitored in the future. Hopefully it's just DAO and can be corrected. Meanwhile, my pictures of Taos and the approach to its environs are missing and presumed lost for good.
In any event, Kit Carson first saw Taos in 1826-27, apprenticing with Matthew Kinkead, a former army mate of Carson's older brother during the War of 1812. Between periods of trapping the Yellowstone, Powder, and Big Horn rivers for the Hudson's Bay Company, and living near Bent's Fort while working for the Bent brothers, Carson lived in Taos, marrying into a prominent Taos family in 1842. He was buried here with his last wife after dying near Las Animas, CO on May 23, 1868, aged 58.
Far and away, the best book on western expansionism and Kit Carson is Hampton Side's 'BLOOD AND THUNDER, An Epic of the Old West.' Doubleday, 2006.
Day 9 - New road, old sights
Hurricane, UT to Page, AZ - 250 miles
September 9, 2012
Woke up with the roosters again. Must be heading out on Betsy . Got the bike all packed and read a little while waiting for Bob to wake up. I knew I wouldn't have long to wait because he gets up early and often.
Pulled out about 6:30am, the sun just beginning to peek out over the mountains.
Beautiful morning for a ride, a little nip in the air. It doesn't get much better than this.
Hate to leave Bobby J and Zelda, but as Ben Franklin once said, "Two things stink after three days: fish and company." Been here four days...pushing the envelope yet again.
Bob helped me route myself last night, going down through the old Mormon settlements of Colorado City and Fredonia. Also puts one in route to the north rim of the Grand Canyon. I visited the south rim in 2006 (See Day 4 - NA Motorcycle Ride), and always wanted to visit this less visited side of the marvel.
A beautiful Utah morning heading down US59 east of Hurricane.
One of my favorite things to do on my rides is what I call my breakfast ride. I get up, get packed, and head out. No coffee, no breakfast, just road. I then stop somewhere for breakfast after, usually, a minimum of 30 minutes, sometimes as much as an hour and a half. Knowing this Bobby J recommended I hold off on breakfast until I reached the Jacob Lake Inn at the turn-off to the north rim. I sort of missed the "at the turn-off" part of his statement, and never noticing the Inn (I saw it on the way out), I pulled onto AZ67 heading toward the north rim.
Miles and miles of beautiful forest as a buffer zone to the North Rim NP.
Through Betsy's viewpoint.
After yet another fifty minute ride to the NP, I stopped and replaced my lifetime NP park pass. My old one was lifted with my wallet in the Rome train station in 2010 (See Rome - Trois page). Entry price was $25 per vehicle. The pass ($10) covered that so I made $15 right away. Not my usual investment strategy (buy high, sell low and you never have a tax problem).
A few miles later and I was at the north rim of the canyon. More importantly, I was within 50 feet of breakfast which I finally got looking out over the rim of the Grand Canyon. Not a bad miss. Not bad at all.
After breakfast, loaded with two cameras, I take a little walk.
Just a glimmer of the canyon at first.
Widening out some.
I've mentioned my fascination with life's tenacity to survive. Not much water, little soil, but, like many of us, hanging in there, making it work.
Vista anyone?
Bright Angel Point.
It looked to be a short walk, but with the large ups and downs and my arthritic hips, it was a study in patience. But done.
After recouping from my hike back from Bright Angel Point I fired up Betsy and we followed our tracks back out to US89 Alt at Jacob's Lake. This time I saw the restaurant Bob had recommended and stopped in for a cup of coffee. Eating overlooking the north rim was neat. But I could tell the breakfast was better here. Oh well, next time.
Pulled out and a short time later crossed the Colorado River near Marble Canyon just below Lee's Ferry.
The old "Navajo Bridge," completed in 1929.
Looking northward.
Bob and Zelda told me of taking a 10-day rafting trip down the Colorado. The water was about 48°-50° F and everyone was wet for 10 days. Meals were nice and wanted (anything hot was appreciated). Definitely not for the faint of heart or those without a sense of humor. Unfortunately, there are always some babies (not grown-ups) along making it trying at times.
As I'd pulled in to park I was preceded by a bunch of Harley riders, some with 'de bitches' on de back,' replete with myriad tatoos, and wearing the prescribed pirate costumes. Imagine my surprise when, making room for me in the parking space, one said a heavily accented "Good afternoon." I replied, "Guten Tag, wie geht es dir."
This is some of them after dis-robing to reflect the Arizona heat index.
The desert from the high point on US89 north en route to Page, AZ. Nice ride.
Reached Page, AZ about 3:00pm with intentions of going on to Monument Valley. I pulled into the ubiquitous McDonald's and, checking for rooms at the Valley, discovered that there was the typical Indian monopoly up in that reservation land. Now, I don't blame the Indians for sucking all the money they can from us. But the only monopoly I will intentionally support is airport beer. Seeing the room rates at Monument Valley I opted to stay in Page and skip staying there. I can pass through paying only the high prices for gasoline. I could pay the rates, but I guess it's the economics major in me. I can't stand monopolistic practices...it's just not efficient distribution of scarce resources. It's why I hate the doctor/hospital/patient model in America. At the point of service it's a monopoly...and priced as one in many, many instances. I can find nothing ethically redeeming about a heathcare system that distributes services based upon ability to pay.
September 9, 2012
Woke up with the roosters again. Must be heading out on Betsy . Got the bike all packed and read a little while waiting for Bob to wake up. I knew I wouldn't have long to wait because he gets up early and often.
Pulled out about 6:30am, the sun just beginning to peek out over the mountains.Beautiful morning for a ride, a little nip in the air. It doesn't get much better than this.
Hate to leave Bobby J and Zelda, but as Ben Franklin once said, "Two things stink after three days: fish and company." Been here four days...pushing the envelope yet again.
Bob helped me route myself last night, going down through the old Mormon settlements of Colorado City and Fredonia. Also puts one in route to the north rim of the Grand Canyon. I visited the south rim in 2006 (See Day 4 - NA Motorcycle Ride), and always wanted to visit this less visited side of the marvel.
A beautiful Utah morning heading down US59 east of Hurricane.
One of my favorite things to do on my rides is what I call my breakfast ride. I get up, get packed, and head out. No coffee, no breakfast, just road. I then stop somewhere for breakfast after, usually, a minimum of 30 minutes, sometimes as much as an hour and a half. Knowing this Bobby J recommended I hold off on breakfast until I reached the Jacob Lake Inn at the turn-off to the north rim. I sort of missed the "at the turn-off" part of his statement, and never noticing the Inn (I saw it on the way out), I pulled onto AZ67 heading toward the north rim.
Miles and miles of beautiful forest as a buffer zone to the North Rim NP.
Through Betsy's viewpoint.
After yet another fifty minute ride to the NP, I stopped and replaced my lifetime NP park pass. My old one was lifted with my wallet in the Rome train station in 2010 (See Rome - Trois page). Entry price was $25 per vehicle. The pass ($10) covered that so I made $15 right away. Not my usual investment strategy (buy high, sell low and you never have a tax problem).
A few miles later and I was at the north rim of the canyon. More importantly, I was within 50 feet of breakfast which I finally got looking out over the rim of the Grand Canyon. Not a bad miss. Not bad at all.
After breakfast, loaded with two cameras, I take a little walk.
Just a glimmer of the canyon at first.
Widening out some.
I've mentioned my fascination with life's tenacity to survive. Not much water, little soil, but, like many of us, hanging in there, making it work.
Vista anyone?
Bright Angel Point.
It looked to be a short walk, but with the large ups and downs and my arthritic hips, it was a study in patience. But done.
 |
| Kilroy was here |
Pulled out and a short time later crossed the Colorado River near Marble Canyon just below Lee's Ferry.
The old "Navajo Bridge," completed in 1929.
Looking northward.
Bob and Zelda told me of taking a 10-day rafting trip down the Colorado. The water was about 48°-50° F and everyone was wet for 10 days. Meals were nice and wanted (anything hot was appreciated). Definitely not for the faint of heart or those without a sense of humor. Unfortunately, there are always some babies (not grown-ups) along making it trying at times.
As I'd pulled in to park I was preceded by a bunch of Harley riders, some with 'de bitches' on de back,' replete with myriad tatoos, and wearing the prescribed pirate costumes. Imagine my surprise when, making room for me in the parking space, one said a heavily accented "Good afternoon." I replied, "Guten Tag, wie geht es dir."
This is some of them after dis-robing to reflect the Arizona heat index.
Reached Page, AZ about 3:00pm with intentions of going on to Monument Valley. I pulled into the ubiquitous McDonald's and, checking for rooms at the Valley, discovered that there was the typical Indian monopoly up in that reservation land. Now, I don't blame the Indians for sucking all the money they can from us. But the only monopoly I will intentionally support is airport beer. Seeing the room rates at Monument Valley I opted to stay in Page and skip staying there. I can pass through paying only the high prices for gasoline. I could pay the rates, but I guess it's the economics major in me. I can't stand monopolistic practices...it's just not efficient distribution of scarce resources. It's why I hate the doctor/hospital/patient model in America. At the point of service it's a monopoly...and priced as one in many, many instances. I can find nothing ethically redeeming about a heathcare system that distributes services based upon ability to pay.
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
Day 8 - Good bites and scary moves
September 8, 2012
Having grown up in Florida where largemouth bass is king, I determined, upon moving to Utah in 1982, to learn to fly-fish. How does one do that? Easy...take a class. I did, and the instructor turned out to be a young fellow named Bobby J who moonlighted during daylight hours as a quality control supervisor for a company building machine guns for the U.S. Army. He was one of the best fly-fishermen in the inter-mountain west and tied flies that were works of art. (I took his fly-tying class also and, after investing a fortune in fly-tying materials and a "747" tackle box to hold all of it, tied some which actually worked...though none to the artistic level of Bobby J.)
Later I discovered he played guitar and sang...something anyone who knows me recognizes as desired personal trait numero uno. Next thing I determined was he was bright as a new penny, and a deep thinker who understood the role of quality in business practices better than anyone I'd ever met to that time (or to today for that matter); an understanding way above his then current employment level and role. To shorten the story, it took me almost three years and, finally, a week's fishing trip on a houseboat on Lake Powell to talk him into coming to work with us.
The net result of all this was, with Bob as a major contributor, we created what became the finest production group with which I have ever been associated. And, as a by-product, turned Bob into a bass-jerker extraordinaire...thanks to that fishing trip. (Oh, and future Vice-President Quality and Sales...interesting pairing, what?)
So to it. We're going fishing.
(Note: You can click on any picture to enlarge)
We took small personal pontoon boats to one of the local reservoirs. We used swim fins just as you would with a float tube, but our butts didn't get (too) wet. Neat approach you can't use here because of the snakes and gators. In one of the right pockets on my boat I stored my camera so I could take pictures of this event. The weather, and the reservoir, and the scenery were great! Wish you could see it. But the fishing was great too, so I left the damn camera in the pocket and caught fish. Sorry.
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| Fat boy with fish |
Around 6:00pm Bobby and I jumped into the aforementioned Polaris four-wheeler and headed out from his house. It appears that a few miles away is the Arizona border. The area over the mountains in Arizona was heavily settled by the Mormons after their migration to Utah in 1847. In 1877 the first Mormon Temple in Utah was dedicated in St. George. (The Salt Lake Temple was not completed until 1893.) It was, naturally, a very desired destination for any Mormons in the area who wished to sanctify their marriage(s).
The Mormons are nothing if not ambitious, hard-working, dedicated, and capable. Among their numbers were many engineers and builders, just the people needed to build a road over a mountain allowing their members access to the St. George Temple.
I believe the cut noted with the arrow is that used by those early Mormon settlers to "bridge" the mountains to get to the St. George Temple. It was called 'The Honeymoon Trail.' And Bob took me up it in that Polaris.
Bob in the Polaris. Giving Bob the wheel of any moving vehicle is a calculated risk, at best. At worst, it's a white-knuckled adventure from hell. We were much closer to the latter than the former.
Looking out across the Utah desert toward Arizona.
Looking back toward Bob's place (around the point of that mountain somewhere).
Okay, headed up now. That little trace of "semi-flat rocky path" is the Honeymoon Trail today. Imagine mule-team wagons filled with women and children traversing it. I can't.
I was scared to death in a modern 100hp four-wheeler.
Looking backward down the trail. The trail seen here is probably the widest and flattest experienced. Felt safe for a minute or so.
Headed up again. The cut seen above was dynamited by the road (did I say "road?") builders.
A short stop to look at a place they didn't bore through.
I believe this is where we were standing when my brother called me from Florida. Neat! Talking to Ron while looking out over all this. Can't believe I had reception out here.
Further up the trail.
Even further up the trail. Starting to realize I have to go back down with that crazy man in the hot rod...uh, I mean with Bob in the Polaris.
Hole in the rock accompanied by one of the Hole-In-The-Head gang.
(See Alaska Trip - July 4th entry)
At some point in all this I put the camera between my legs and grabbed hold with both hands onto the bracing bar conveniently placed in front of me by some very smart design engineer with an awareness of the kinds of things foolish people might do with this vehicle. Of course, I could have been wearing my seat beat, but Bobby J., when asked at the beginning if we needed them, said, "No, it's not that bad." I knew better. I've known the guy for thirty years. I knew better! What in the hell possessed me to buy into that story?
Anyway, we got back down...and safely. No surprise to Bobby, but I was somewhat amazed. I breathed a sigh of relief as we headed back toward home. Then Bobby said, "It's getting near sundown and there's a great picture for you over here a little ways. Hold on." I knew better. I've known the guy for thirty years. I knew better! What in the hell possessed me to buy into that story? Especially after I'd bought into the earlier one? I'm dumber than a bag of hammers.
So, pulling south we rode for what seemed two days, but was probably only thirty minutes or so, flying along a well-beaten, but rocky road wending further and further toward the reservoir shown in the above map.
South of the reservoir is Mars. Really! Mars. Red sand dunes, one after another, clumped with greasewood plants and small cedars patches, higher and higher until some reach thirty, forty feet or more almost straight up. They couldn't have been totally straight up, though. Otherwise Bobby couldn't have traversed up and down them as he did. It was here we started seeing motorcycles and other four-wheeled drive vehicles flying around from pillar to post, dune-to-dune, and most, if not all, flying the pendant high on a swaying metal pole hopefully providing some warning of their coming. Of course, not all had one...for example, we didn't. I distinctly remembered Bobby disconnecting and removing it before we left. Why? I don't know. But I knew better!
I now wish I'd have unfrozen my hands from that holding device and taken some pictures. It was truly beautiful...and thrilling. Next time I'll be prepared, and I'll buckle my damned safety belt, and I'll say three or four hundred Hail Marys before departing (I ain't Catholic, but what the hell, can't hurt, right?). I'll know better next time. I mean, after all, I've known better for over thirty years. Right!
Thanks, Bob. It was a hoot!!
Day 7 - Zikes! I mean Zion!
No Travel Day
September 7, 2012
View of Bob and Zelda's "backyard" this morning. Not bad. Not bad at all.
Due to yesterday's failure (hehe) to take my camera for our golf outing, Bob and I returned to the scene of, at least, his crime, and played again. As before, it was very enjoyable, made doubly so by the fact that we don't keep score. It makes for a wonderful, non-competitive, enjoyable round of golf, though Bob, once again, intimated to Zelda that he beat me. So much for that non-competitive stuff, huh? Doesn't matter...had a great time. (And, as noted yesterday, the pictures are posted there.)
After a relaxing nap, we went back into Springdale for yet another of those great early southwestern dinners. Afterward, we boarded one of the park-provided buses. These were provided a few years ago to cut down on the amount of auto travel, and related pollution, in the park. Great way to visit, leaving you hands free, and comfortable while leaving the driving to those other guys. Plus, in your own vehicle you don't get to share your ride with a bunch of German tourists. That seems to be the predominate species of tourist here this time of year, though interspersed one will find the random Asian and other-country European. Glad to have them. It's called the economy, and it's hurting stupid.
This is just an absolutely beautiful place.
Late afternoon "shooting" light.
The Virgin River...again.
After a nice, comfortable ride up the canyon we got off the bus and walked around as the sun disappeared behind the canyon walls.
Beautiful forest down below, and along the river we encountered several "forest rats," a derogatory term applied to deer by motorcyclists.
My buds, Bobby J and Zelda.
Still, no virgins sighted on the Virgin River. But it's a glorious little stream through here. During the spring it moves millions of tons of sand and debris down the canyon to the Colorado River and Lake Mead.
September 7, 2012
Due to yesterday's failure (hehe) to take my camera for our golf outing, Bob and I returned to the scene of, at least, his crime, and played again. As before, it was very enjoyable, made doubly so by the fact that we don't keep score. It makes for a wonderful, non-competitive, enjoyable round of golf, though Bob, once again, intimated to Zelda that he beat me. So much for that non-competitive stuff, huh? Doesn't matter...had a great time. (And, as noted yesterday, the pictures are posted there.)
After a relaxing nap, we went back into Springdale for yet another of those great early southwestern dinners. Afterward, we boarded one of the park-provided buses. These were provided a few years ago to cut down on the amount of auto travel, and related pollution, in the park. Great way to visit, leaving you hands free, and comfortable while leaving the driving to those other guys. Plus, in your own vehicle you don't get to share your ride with a bunch of German tourists. That seems to be the predominate species of tourist here this time of year, though interspersed one will find the random Asian and other-country European. Glad to have them. It's called the economy, and it's hurting stupid.
This is just an absolutely beautiful place.
Late afternoon "shooting" light.
The Virgin River...again.
After a nice, comfortable ride up the canyon we got off the bus and walked around as the sun disappeared behind the canyon walls.
Beautiful forest down below, and along the river we encountered several "forest rats," a derogatory term applied to deer by motorcyclists.
My buds, Bobby J and Zelda.
Still, no virgins sighted on the Virgin River. But it's a glorious little stream through here. During the spring it moves millions of tons of sand and debris down the canyon to the Colorado River and Lake Mead.
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