Six Weeks, a Tent and a VFR - Updated November 12th: Traffic with a Capitol "T", Hollywood and the Score: Wind 1: Olive 0 (Day 41/48)

[Olive]

June 27 (Day 31/48)

DarkKnight and myself headed to McDonalds for coffee and a bite to eat. The bikes were parked just outside the window where we could keep an eye on them. A vehicle parked right beside me, and it looked as if he might have brushed my bike with his door. It's aggravating when others don't take as much care of your property as you do. We watched the person come into the restaurant, and then start heading back out for his car. DarkKnight snagged the keys and headed outside to move the bikes over so they were less likely to be scraped by that same person's lack of care getting back into their vehicle.

After breakfast we headed south through Houston and out onto the highway. The route we followed took us through the airport where signs advertised hay for sale – it looked like the land around the runways was being put to good use. Leaving the airport behind we passed through light industrial and headed into the country as traffic thinned out considerably. There were a few construction zones on the way out to Galveston where it was obvious that new interchanges were going in for roads to service the rapidly growing city. The City hadn't reached out that far yet, but interchanges were being readied to hook up with roads when the time was right.

Many places in Texas I noticed signs that proclamed “FM99” or “FM293”. I asked DarkKnight about these, because I couldn't figure out what they meant – obviously they weren't talking about a radio station. FM stands for Farm to Market, and that was a designation that those rural roads were initially given. It's those small differences that serve to remind me that I am a long ways from home.

The day warmed up quickly, and as we headed across the bridge to Galveston I noticed a large Pelican swooping low parallel to my bike, gliding with it's long angular wings extended. The size of the bird was notable, and for some reason it reminded me of a small bullnosed cargo plane. There is something distinctive about a Pelican soaring past with a distinct S shaped curve in the neck, wings almost impossibly long and a squat, rounded body. The Pelicans of Galveston continued to catch my eye, and I watched for an opportunity to capture them on film, but it didn't materialize quite the way I had pictured.

Our first stop on the island was main street Galveston in an area known as the Strand. The street boasted historic buildings two or three stories high restored to their original splendor. Businesses of all descriptions called the Strand home, and it was clearly popular with tourists. We parked on the street beside the street-car tracks and stopped for a cold soda. The corner store had a large galvanized steel bucket filled with ice and holding different bottles of pop, water, juice and energy drinks. There were the ordinary varieties that you expect to see, but also some independents like Jones Soda and a number of other small brand names that I don't recall. Some of the pop was rather pricy, but this store obviously catered to the tourist.

The day was already quite warm although it was still relatively early in the morning. Businesses along the Strand were getting set up for the day. Large windows were folded back like shutters on a restaurant beside where we were sitting, and waitresses helped set up chairs and tables on the wide sidewalk under a shady overhang. Young adults walked up the strand dressed in tie dyed T-shirts and festooned with Mardi-Gras beads proclaiming the wonders of "Joe's Crab Shack", handing out coupons for a free appetizer and party atmosphere if you ate at Joe's. Up the street a FedEx truck pulled over to drop off something at a local business. It was Monday, but business as usual.

Leaving the Strand, we headed towards the waterfront passing some incredible homes that seemed works of art. Galveston is rich in history with homes that had been built at the turn of the century and lovingly restored. We stopped briefly in front of the Bishops Palace with its distinctive round crenolines with conical peaked roofs on beautifully landscaped ground. Across the street from the Palace was a church that was dwarfed by the grandeur of the palace. It would have been easy to park the bike and spend a few hours just taking photos, but the camera remained in my tank bag as the light changed and we were once again in motion.

Once we reached the seawall traffic took on a new flavour. Tourist season on the beach. Cars, trucks, bicycles and the occasional motorbike slowly paraded down the main street. The sides of the street were lined with parked cars. We headed west, ocean to our left, and a variety of businesses and hotels to our right. There was some parking available along the main roadway, but we pulled into the parking lot of a grocery store in an empty corner near some palm trees. It seemed a safe place to leave the bikes while we crossed over to walk along the beach.

The beach was a popular place for people to be, even though it was Monday morning. Brightly colourful umbrellas and tents dotted the coarse sand at regular intervals, and lifeguard stations flying yellow flags stood sentinel on regular locations along the beach. Long stone jetties jutted out into the ocean, dividing the beach into sections. Young families frolicked in the surf. But it wasn't all leisure – a woman sat in the sand digging through seaweed collecting oysters while a man gathered garbage from the sandy shoreline. Sea birds stalked through the sand, long spindly legs supporting them high above the seaweed as the waves washed in.

DarkKnight pointed out a long pier that showcased construction. During Hurricane Ike, which had hit the island with a vengence, quite a few buildings were damaged. That seemed so long ago, a distant memory of the news on this warm summer day where the biggest concerns of tourists seemed to be the lowest price on boogie boards or the biggest selection of beach towels. At least that's what advertising on local storefronts seemed to suggest.

We continued to head west along the Gulf of Mexico leaving the growing crowds behind. As traffic thinned out the character of the area changed. There were a few smaller private beaches, and a lot of vacation cottages. Everywhere you looked signage advertised vacation homes for rent. There was a wide variety ranging from apartments to narrow condominiums, or stand alone homes clustered together. Amongst the cookie cutter shapes there were a few notable architectural anomalies. A few homes were shaped like geodesic domes. Homes closer to the water stood tall on pillars raising them out of the sand and away from the dangers of flooding.

Reaching the edge of the island we decided to turn back the way we had come rather than pay a toll. Since traffic was light and the roads were open our speed crept up a little bit. We both agreed that it was awfully nice of the speeding truck ahead of us to attract the attention of the policeman traveling the opposite way. The marked car hit his flashers, pulled a U-turn behind us and passed us to pull over the unsuspecting truck. For a brief moment I questioned if he was interested in us, but his intentions were plain. We were both glad not to have picked up an unwanted souvenir of the island.

We headed back into town and passed the long expanse of beach once again. It was busier than it had been a few hours previous. Since it was past lunch hour we stopped for a quick burger. Air conditioning was definitely high on the list of things we had to appreciate! The Wendys that we ate at was directly across the street from the beach and had brisk traffic. We watched traffic parade past the front window. The other side of the building behind the cramped parking lot homes clustered – one of the bad areas of town. There was a very good reason we parked at the side of the building where we could easily keep an eye on our bikes. Out the front window we watched traffic go past, and the tourist trade flourish. An Amphibious bus proclaimed tours on land and water - it looked a little strange, but that seemingly only spurred on the interest of the tourists.

There was one section of the island left to visit, so we headed out to the industrial sector where we found a great place to park and take a few pictures. A few other tourists seemed to be of the same mindset. Along the water edge fishing was a popular sport, both for people and Pelicans. The Pelicans swooped out along the water gliding low only to suddenly dive with a splash and emerge from the water, prize held in their scoop-like beaks paddling like a duck. Out in the water you could see shipping vessels and oil tankers.

This corner of the island was a far cry from the beach, Strand or cottage section populated with lots of large buildings that cried out heavy industry. It seemed odd that this was only a few miles away from the popular tourist beach, and around the corner from the Strand. We got off the bikes to walk around for a few minutes in the middle of the street, parking the bikes in the middle of traffic. This wasn't a problem because we were part of the line-up of cars waiting for a freight train to pass.

Leaving Galveston we were once more surrounded by traffic which continued to build as we headed back towards Houston. Traffic, traffic and more traffic. We wound our way past other vehicles, and cut past downtown. When we stopped at red lights there were some people looking for handouts and offering to wash windshields in exchange for a few coins. One of them passed a comment on the bikes – how did that go again DarkKnight? He liked the sharp looking silver streak and thought it looked much faster than the red one. Right?? That's at least how I remember it.

I continued to follow DarkKnight through the urban jungle decorated with asphalt ribbons and concrete trees, at this point not even trying to keep track of our route. We stopped to top up the gas tanks, and continued our rush through the sprawling city.

Stopping back at DarkKnight's place we had coffee and took a break from the relentless sun. I sat down and went through some of my pictures while DarkKnight took a nap. He said he wasn't used to riding like that... but that didn't stop him from joining me for another run late afternoon north of the city where we found some some great farm roads to share with the deer.

The previous comment on the forum by DarkKnight about hosting me on the Texas leg of my trip deserves a reply. The hospitality of forum members never fails to astonish me - people like DarkKnight, TimmytheCop, Blesk, Strap, Aussie and Joker opening their homes to me, offering a warm shower and a place to lay my head for the night. It's very special to meet the other members of their families as well - Mrs.deCopp and the little Timmys (yes, there are more of them unleashed on the world), Mrs. Dark Knight and the son and daughter that the Knight dotes on... the list goes on. Of course previous trips I have stayed with people like Lee2002 and Skuut - there are so many people who have reached out from the forum that it is hard to list them all.

It's not just the people who have offered me a place to stay who have made my trip special - a brief lunch like Oyama in Florida, Gll429 teaching me how to adjust my chain, Cogswell phoning the dealership to follow up on a stranded rider he didn't even know, the numberous people who donated to the Shoestring fund that HS decided to set up when he read about my bike stranded in SwiftCurrent.... it all really creates special memories and gives a new dimension to the forum. The trip might be one I do solo, but it is not one I do alone. A lot of special people join me on it.

Sometimes pictures like this one of DarkKnight and his Daughter say a lot more about the trip than any picture of a bike, ocean or mountain can ever convey.

Even those of you who are living vicariously through this ride report are part of it, and I really enjoy reading your comments. The words "Thank You" really seem inadequate.

Stay tuned for the next installment...

[Guest]

Yup, Olive; thats EXACTLY how i remember it, as well ;-P

[TexOz]

Nice one Olive - your last 2 paras above are your best yet

[dr.toto]

Are you as interesting to talk to in person as you are to read your posts?

[Olive]

Are you as interesting to talk to in person as you are to read your posts?

I don't think I'm qualified to answer that question... but probably not.

[Guest]

Are you as interesting to talk to in person as you are to read your posts?

...yup, she is

[Cogswell]

Are you as interesting to talk to in person as you are to read your posts?

I don't think I'm qualified to answer that question... but probably not.

Me thinks you're too modest . . .

[Olive]

June 28 (Day 32/48)

Heading away from Houston, I traveled along roads that wound through fields and some grassy treed areas. Rangeland stretched out along the roadway. Cattle huddled together under trees in the shade as a defense against the rising temperatures. Stream and creek beds were brown, with the dried mud at the bottom cracked like badly glazed pottery. The land was parched, hungry for rain or moisture of any type. Wind picked up a bit, kicking up clouds of dust. Grass growing between trees was brown and dry. Occasionally I would pass a green field, and the reasons were obvious. Farmers had large irrigation equipment out spraying water over the precious greenery.

A typical ranch gate, decorated with a red, white and blue star. Very patriotic.

Brilliantly blue skies arched overhead with a few fluffy white scattered clouds in the distance. The pavement was white and clean, almost bleached by the sun.

I stopped for gas, and with amusement noticed that birds had taken up residence in the “Quick Stop” sign.

The grass started to become patchy with low scrub replacing trees under brilliant blue skies. I was in Texas where the grass is brown, trees are green and “Lost Creek” appeared to have lost all of its water.

Approaching Brady, Texas it seemed a good time to stop for a bite to eat, and, more importantly, something cold to drink. Gratefully I pulled into the parking lot of a fast food restaurant, finding a patch of shade at the back of the parking lot. A local dog decided that I had the right idea and joined my bike in the shade. The VFR definitely was showing it had appeal for four legged residents everywhere I traveled.

At the side of the parking lot a sign proudly proclaimed Brady as the “heart of Texas”.

Leaving the cool airconditioning the heat hit me like an oppressive wall. I was eager to get moving once again so I could get a breeze flowing through my gear to cool things off a bit. The temperature was 109F in the shade, and there wasn't much of that to be found.

The landscape continued to change as I continued travelling northwest, dry brown land with the occasional patch of green extending to the horizon. A hot dry summer. At the side of the road a sign indicated that the bridge I was on crossed a river. Riding across I glanced down, and noticed that the river seemed to be missing. The roads were quiet with a lot of space between vehicles which was a welcome change from traffic.

Conditions were peaceful, and the ride turned into a meditative state. I was aware of everything, appreciating and accepting it for what it was rather than trying to evaluate it and solve all of the world's problems.

As the day dwindled, I was ready to get off the bike and take a break. The heat made the miles seem further than they actually were. There were still a few days ahead of me before meeting up with the next group of friends. The plan was to spend the July 4th long weekend with them in Telluride, however people were planning to meet up in Flagstaff to ride up together. I still hadn't decided if I was going to just meet in Telluride, or perhaps push west for Flagstaff to spend the extra day with the group. Travelling without solid plans is much less stressful than having a set agenda that dicates the route and miles that must be traversed in a day, and I was OK with not yet knowing what my plans were. A lot more OK than some of my friends who were starting to get a little anxious trying to figure out where I was and where I was planning to go.

[Muff]

You wrote of the pleasure and awareness of solo riding. I too seek and enjoy those fleeting moments. I was afraid I was the only one that had those Zen moments.

[Dutchy]

Now I know how D&D can get away with making loud exhausts............

There's nobody there in Texas.......

[Polarbear]

You wrote of the pleasure and awareness of solo riding. I too seek and enjoy those fleeting moments. I was afraid I was the only one that had those Zen moments.

Only way to "get in the zone" and go home refreshed.

C

[Olive]

June 29 (Day 33/48)

I continued heading West through hot, dry conditions. The roads were long, straight and empty. A roadside turnabout at Llano Estacado provided an opportunity to take a few photos. An endless sea of brown grass under the relentless sun was broken up by the occasional succulent growing green and proud in the arid conditions. The brief flash of green emphasized the lack of colour in the landscape.

The bike was thirsty and I stopped to top up the tank. As usual at the gas station my Alberta plate gathered a few curious looks and double takes. Someone mistakenly thought they recognized me as I walked inside the gas station to pay. I had just pulled off my helmet and opened the door. To my surprise the woman working the till shrieked and came charging around the counter joyfully shouting a name that didn't sound anything remotely like mine. Indubitably it was the warmest greeting I had ever received at a gas station, She stopped just before throwing herself on me, the joy fading from her eyes as she realized that I wasn't who she thought I was.

Talking to the woman I found out that she was expecting her daughter, who had stationed overseas with the military. She knew that her daughter was coming home and was stopping in to see her. I paused to talk for a few minutes as she told me all about her daughter. She was definitely excited, and I was sure the excited shriek would be repeated again later that day. Bemused I finished filling the tank and continued with the ride.

As normal I rode for a few hours before stopping for a morning coffee and breakfast. Refreshed I continued riding and took a wrong turn. Forces were conspiring to keep me from Roswell. First I turned onto the wrong road. Returning to where the turn ought to have been the sign was concealed and I overshot the intersection. After riding for a short while I did another highway U-turn, finally locating the right turn onto the highway. Actually, it was the left turn that I was looking for, although inadequate signage made it difficult to determine which asphalt ribbon to follow to locate Roswell, rather than a farm road. This time I actually was back on track.

Now that I was on the right road, nature turned her hand in the attempt to keep me from Roswell. Howling strong winds were joined by the relentless sun beating down. Undaunted I continued on. A car travelling towards me made the decision to pass some other vehicles. Obviously the driver had some vision issues. When it became apparent to me that the oncoming driver was oblivious to oncoming traffic I flashed my highs and swerved within my lane hoping to catch his attention. I'm not even sure that he saw me take the shoulder as he roared past me, side by side with the person he was passing in the lane I had been occupying a few moments previously.

The next vehicle that I saw was an uncovered gravel truck. As I was passing him his truck hit a bump and gravel flew into the air peppering me. The hard rocks stung as they impacted my gear – only a few impacted, but those which did left angry raised purple welts as a precursor to technicolour bruises.

Still, I continued towards Roswell even though it seemed that the universe might have some different plans. Orange signs indicated construction ahead. I slowed as signs indicated a dropping speed limit. Workers were busily spraing the road with oil and putting gravel down on top of perfectly good asphalt. Not great riding conditions. After I got past the fresh oil I traveled along the gravel that slid under my tires. It seemed very odd that roads would be putting down oil and gravel because there was no obvious reason why. I had driven through chipseal construction zones in the past, and this definitely wasn't any sort of chipseal that I was familiar with. I chalked it up to one of the mysteries of the universe as I took the final approach for Roswell.

Signage for the UFO museum and other tourist attractions lined the highway. Roswell is well known for the 1947 UFO incident, although I figured that the only UFO in the area was likely to be marked with letters spelling out “VFR”.

My first stop in Roswell was McDonalds for a cold pop and to borrow a bit of air conditioning. After cooling down a bit, I headed out to explore the town.

I parked at the International UFO Museum. It was located in a building right along the main street of town. The building architecture reminded me of an old theatre. The exterior wall was covered with glazed tiles and and a sem-circular outdoor lobby centered around a sculpture saluting the supernatural western feel.

This was lined with locked poster frames remniscent of movie theatres.

I peeked inside the museum but it didn't seem worth the price of admission to go through. The displays reminded me of a school report or science fair project. Poster boards hung along the walls with pasted typewritten sheets and photos mounted on them. Framed photos hung upon the painted peg boards that lined the walls. It didn't look like a high budget production, unlike the Hollywood portrayal. More money had gone into the exterior of the building with statues and signage to attract the tourist than had gone into the interior.

I figured that most of the information I would find inside would be easily researchable on the internet in the comfort of my own home. I took a quick tour through the attached gift shop, noting that it really felt like I had made a return to the 1970s – the decor, round hanging racks and minimal merchandising had an old fashioned feel to it.

I headed back up the street to see what else Roswell had to offer, figuring that there was likely more to be seen. I parked in front of one of the local gift shops to shoot a few of the lightpoles and murals that gave Roswell such a unique feel.

Inside the gift shop had put a lot of effort and ingenuity into the decor. It also was a tribute to aliens, but more speculate. Someone had put a lot of time and effort into some of the models. Earlier in the day someone had mistaken me for a relative, however in Roswell I discovered a stunning resemblence to one of the local residences. Coincidence? Perhaps not.

Throwing my leg over my own silver UFO, I headed north out of town. Once again the roads were empty, long and straight. I continued to travel very glad that I had topped up the tank in Roswell. They do say that there is something strange about Roswell, and I think it might be in their gas. The bike certainly liked this tank of jet fuel, and the road was all mine. Occasionally a tumbleweed crossed the road, but apart from that there wasn't even opposing traffic. The wind was calm, unlike earlier in the day on the approach to Roswell.

My speed crept up a little. And then a little more. Acceleration was gradual and I wasn't consciously aware of my speed. I continued to put the miles behind me. It felt like I was traveling a little fast, although the bike was feeling comfortable, confident and that it had more power available at my slightest whim. I glanced down at the speedometer. 140. Not bad, but perhaps a little faster than I ought to be traveling. Realizing that my speed could result in an unwanted of souvenir from one of New Mexico's finest, I started to slow a bit. Although I hadn't seen a speed sign in a while I reasoned that this particular stretch of road likely was posted 100 to 110 km/hr so I was at least 30 km over.

As this thought crossed my mind so did the sudden realization that I was in the States and my gauges were set in Imperial, not metric. My speedometer wasn't reading 140km/hr, it was reading 140 mph. A bit of quick math yielded 225 km/hr. My eyes widened like flying saucers at the realization. The only UFO in the area was the silver VFR, and I fervently hoped to remain unidentified. Slowing down to a proper road speed it felt like I was barely crawling along.

Later in the afternoon some clouds started blowing in, and it started to rain. I stopped to fill up with gas as I reached the junction of Route 66 and waited for a while to see what the weather was planning. The winds continued to climb, driving the rain at a sharp angle. Zipping up my gear I returned to the road.

I traveled through the driving rain and high winds 50 miles to Albuquerque before deciding it was a good place to stop for the night. I was careful not to take the wrong left hand turn in Albuquerque, the reference from childhood cartoons bringing a smile to my face. Since the weather was getting nasty I decided to pull into a Motel 6 when I spotted a sign advertising rooms from $36 per night. Since I spotted the sign as I passed the motel on the freeway, I had to double back around and ride through part of Albuqureque to locate the motel. It had been a long day, and the mix of heat, rain and wind had proved exhausting. I was ready for a shower.

After showering I pulled out my Blackberry and tried to figure out what my plan was for the following day. Emailing back and forth with Aussie I found out that everyone else was meeting up in Flagstaff the following day, and indicated that I might decide to do the same. To Aussie's amusement I was only a couple of days from BBB and still wasn't making firm plans on where I would spend the following night.

Leaving my bike and gear at the motel I walked over to a nearby restaurant for a quick inexpensive dinner. Parked in a lot behind one of the restaurants I spotted a collection of police cars. They were standard issue cars with lights, mirrors, and something a little out of the ordinary. Each car had a bicycle rack mounted on the rear fender. Carried in the rack was a mountain bike. One of the cars was carrying a matched pair of bikes.

Apparently local Albuquerque police have a fitness program in place, where they park their cars and use some old fashioned pedal power to fight crime. It actually makes a lot of sense because bikes can get many places that cars can not, and in the right hands a bike can be a very efficient means of transport. I was a little disappointed that my camera was back in the room, but really hadn't expected to find any more photo opportunities that evening.

[Olive]

June 29 (Day 33/48)

Heading out of Albuquerque I headed west, careful not to “take the wrong turn at Albuquerque” Warner Brothers style. I had exchanged emails the previous night with Aussie and knew the travel plans for the rest of the group meeting up for BBB (including Cruzinaz, RRW, AussieinUSA, Wheatie and Gerrys02800 from VFRD).

Wheatie and Gerrys02800 were already in Vegas with Aussie and Mudderduc. Road Rash Reid, RocketMonkey and his better half RocketD would be joining them in the morning and the group would ride out to Flagstaff. Nobody is quite sure what everyone was doing in Vegas – but as the saying goes, “what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas”. Probably for the best.

Cruz and Backdraft were heading up from Tuscon with plans to arrive in Flagstaff mid-afternoon. RRW and his better half Tuscan Girl were trailering up late in the day. I was the only variable because I had yet to decide if I was going to meet everyone in Flagstaff, or join up the following day in Telluride. It was almost equal distance for me from Albuquerque and I was still debating routes and where I would meet up with the rest of the crew.

Since Florida I had definitely found the warmer weather. It has been interesting seeing how the land changes in relatively short distance as I have traversed the lower states. For a person who has spent their entire life living in Calgary, it seems decidedly odd to see alligators, turtles, snakes and armadillos make up the road-kill, or to see roads raised over the swamps of Louisiana as if the roadway was one continuous bridge, or to see the long expanses of brown and dead Texas, where the only sign of life is a tumbleweed crossing the road in front of you or the occasional green tree with a group of cattle clustered desperately underneath in a search for some shade.

The dryness caused fire departments across multiple states to put out fire bans because of tinder dry conditions. In Georgia I rode through the thick smoke of some well established forest fires, and while riding in Florida I saw quite a few signs warning of possible smoke from fires ahead. In Louisiana I noticed the trees clustered together in the median of the highway were very brown, and even the ground around them looked burnt. Ahead a bit of smoke was evident, but I didn't take note of it until I got closer and realized that the trees to my left were actually burning. It was neat to see the flames flickering around the trees, dancing yellow, orange and red seemingly innocuous. There was very little smoke, although the narrow tract of forest bordering the road was definitely aflame. Sadly I couldn't pull over to take a picture or to watch the fascinating spectacle. As the miles passed new sights and sounds continued to unroll in front of me as New Mexico gave way to Arizona.

For a while I traveled along the original Route 66, as it joined alongside the highway and meandered through the hills. When I was running along the main highway I encountered a lot of road signs advertising businesses that were trying to ride on the coat-tails of the legend of Route 66. Of course I had picked up a "Route 66" motorcycling shirt in New Mexico as a souvenir of the ride. Having little room on the bike my souvenirs to date had been limited to a T-shirt from a bike shop in Thunder Bay (courtesy of the manager of the bike shop in Thunder Bay that replaced my rear tire), a couple of small shells I had found on a Florida beach and a T-shirt from Roswell that amused me.

While travelling along Route 66 even encountered a few road signs put up by enterprising businesses that read “Root 66”. I cringed when I saw the butchered spelling. The sad part is that I think this was a simple spelling error on their part... it says a lot about literacy rate. I mused on this as I rode. Misuse of words is equally prolific on my side of the border, and I still cringe every time that someone butchers a perfectly good language blissfully unaware of the damage they are perpetrating. It is really prevalent in social media – Awe instead of Aww or Ahh, the classic mix-ups of witch/which, then/than, sight/site, misplaced apostrophes... my inner “Grammar Nazi” (extra points if you catch the reference) could easily step up to the soapbox, but I sense some of my readers shuffling awkwardly and beginning to back away slowly maintaining eye contact as I segue into a discussion of language. Thus I will return to writing about the bike, rather than a diatribe about the misuse of a perfectly servicable language.

The landscape was dry and arid. The weather seemed a lot cooler in Arizona than the dry burning heat of Texas, or the moist humidity of Florida or Louisiana, although it was still significantly warmer than I was accustomed to.I passed a number of State Parks including Petrified Forest State Park and Homolovi Ruins. Along the route were a few other attractions including Meteor Crater, which were exploited as tourist traps. I bypassed Meteor Crater after discovering that $15 admission included the visitor center, access to a gift shop, a movie and three look-out points around the rim of the crater. That didn't seem like a very good deal, and on this trip I was watching my finances.

Arriving in Flagstaff, I stopped for gas made a brief phone call to figure out where to meet people. Cruz and Backdraft were at the Ramada Inn waiting for people to arrive, and everyone else was still on the road. From the emails I had exchanged with Aussie the previous night I knew that there were two Ramadas in Flagstaff, and I was looking for the Ramada Inn Grand Canyon West. Since I didn't have an address and there were only two options, I set up my GPS for the Ramada Inn on the west side of town. It was fairly easy to locate the hotel using the instructions from the GPS.

Arriving in the parking lot I noticed what was obviously a staff member, judging from the uniform. I thought my query was clear and straight forward leaving little room for misinterpretation. “Is this the Ramada Inn Grand Canyon West?”. The answer I received back was equally clear leaving little room for interpretation. “No.”. Obviously I had chosen the wrong Ramada.

I rode through the parking lot which didn't appear to have any bikes parked in it and doubled back, reprogramming my GPS for the other Ramada on the east side of town. I followed directions, up to the point that the GPS asked me to turn on roads that clearly didn't exist. Unlike some users of GPS technology I am simply not willing to drive through a building no matter how insistant the prompts sound.

Despite being close to the planned location I didn't spot a hotel bearing the sign “Ramada”. There were quite a few other hotels, but clearly I had missed my target. I tried to circle around again with the same type of results. The GPS seemed convinced that McDonalds was actually the Ramada Inn in disguise by the way that it kept circling me around that restaurant.

Putting away the GPS, I pulled out my Blackberry and pulled up Google Maps. Tucking the phone into the plastic map pocket on top of my tank bag I attempted to locate the hotel, but the display kept on turning off and it was impossible to wake it back up through the plastic cover wearing gloves. I wasn't even fortunate enough to locate “East Lucky Lane” despite cruising roads that the map insisted it intersected. At one point I managed to cross the railroad tracks and take an extracurricular tour of Flagstaff, finally finding my way back to the general area where I expected to find the Ramada Inn.

By this point in time I was getting a little aggrivated. I was hot, had been riding in circles within Flagstaff and knew that Cruz and Backdraft were probably beginning to wonder what had happened to me. It was beginning to feel like Atlanta was repeating on me.

Finally circling further south than I expected the hotel, I spotted the sign Ramada as I passed it heading east on the wrong side of the road. I wasn't happy to realize that I had driven past the back of the hotel multiple times, however there was no signage on that side of the building. Pulling into the parking lot I looked for Cruz and Backdraft's bikes. I circled the building – still no bikes.

Pulling up in front of the lobby I walked in and verified that I had the right Ramada, although I had to wait for a while as the desk clerk shared the all important news about her new matching purse and shoes with the person on the other end of the phone. While I waited I mused on the thought of the new form of customer service where the desk clerk treats everyone like an old friend, discussing haircuts, manicures and dispensing fashion advice about the best way to coordinate handbags and footwear. Perhaps it was just that I was interrupting her coffee break, standing in the lobby wearing the latest hi-viz fashion.

Finally she had a moment to spare for me. I asked “Is this the Ramada Inn Grand Canyon West?” fully expecting an answer in the affirmative. The answer I received back didn't follow the expected script. “No. You want the other Ramada.”.

A little baffled I asked “How many Ramada Inns are there in Flagstaff.” The response was “two”. I was really not impressed realizing that I had been at the intended destination three quarters of an hour previous, and I had been crawling along in the oppressive heat at speeds where I couldn't get a breeze flowing through my gear for absolutely no reason. I started rethinking my assertion earlier in the day that the heat wasn't as oppressive as Texas as the sweat beaded on my brow and rolled down the sides of my face.

I doubled back across town and relocated the other Ramada. Riding through the same parking lot I didn't see any bikes, but as soon as I rode behind the hotel I spotted Cruz's RWB Anniversary and Backdraft's CBR sporting a distinctive sticker “no deer”. Parking beside them I realized that there was no easy way to deterimine which room they were in. I headed to the lobby where the clerk was unable to either tell me what room they were in nor phone the room because of privacy concerns. I thanked the clerk, perhaps with a touch of sarcasm, and walked back to the bikes.

I knocked on a few doors of units next to the parking stall, but nobody answered. I called Cruz's cell, and nobody answered. There was a certain symmetry to be found in this, but the humour was lost on me. My phone rang, startling me. It was Cruz – he and Backdraft had walked across the street to a sports bar, and were waiting for me there. They wanted to know if I had gotten lost, or simply taken a detour to Sonoita on the way down. I hiked across the street and across the supermarket sized parking lot to finally meet up with the guys.

The guys were glad to see that I had made it, and we sat down for a bite to eat and caught up the way old friends do. After dinner we headed back to the hotel, gathering in Cruz's room until Aussie and the Vegas crew rolled in. A lot of familiar faces from BBB on previous years. It had been a long ride for the guys from Vegas, and they were ready for a bite to eat so as a group we returned to the sports bar across the road.

As the evening began to dwindle there was still no sign of RRW or his better half. Rumor had it that he was still planning a late night arrival. We sorted ourselves out into shared rooms eager for the trip to Telluride the following morning.

[Olive]

June 29 (Day 33/48)

I quietly headed out of the room and down to the lobby. Gerrys02800 was already up heading out for a run, and a few bleary eyed folk started to emerge as I sat with a cup of coffee. Judging from the trailer outside RRW and Tuscon Girl had shown up after everyone else had called it an evening.

It took a while until everyone was organized and ready to go – as always a large group is like herding wet cats, everyone goes in a different direction on their own time schedule. Finally we were outside gearing up and repacking all of the luggage for Wheatie, Aussie, and MudderDuc, RocketMonkey and Rocket D, and RoadRashReid. MudderDuc's Ducati was on the trailer with bags and suitcases stowed all around. She planned to ride in the airconditioned truck with the girls. RRW was trailering up his bike as well and Tuscon Girl was driving with him.

I had all of my luggage and gear neatly stowed on my bike, as did Gerrys02800, Cruz and Backdraft. The trick to road trips with a bike is to pack light so you don't have to worry about taking along a chase vehicle.

The ride from Vegas had been quite exciting for Wheatie, Gerry02800, Aussie and RocketD. While heading for Flagstaff they suddenly found themselves either participating in a game of dodge 'em or watching one unravel in their mirrors. RoadRashReid had an extra helmet attached on the rack of his bike with a Bunji Net. He had double checked it was secure before leaving. His Arai decided to make a leap for freedom and flew off the back of his bike. Apparently when it it the road it started bouncing unpredictably and the boys had an opportunity to see just how bashed up a helmet could get on the road. A sad end to a good helmet, although the question remains why RoadRashReid wasn't wearing his good helmet.

A large group of bikes left the hotel parking lot – strangely enough I was the only woman in the pack. We strung out a bit because of traffic, with Gerry02800 and myself pulling up the rear. I assumed that Gerry02800 knew where he was going, although I briefly questioned if we had missed an exit. Sure enough, the two Canadians were off on their own adventure heading out of Flagstaff past the exit where the rest of the bikes headed gracefully around an exit ramp strung out like dew drops on a spider web. Flagstaff seemed a great place to get lost in. After a short distance we found a good location to turn back, and caught up to the rest of the crew at the first planned stop, a gas station.

The rest of the crew found it much more humourous than we did, although it served as a valuable lesson – don't follow Gerry02800. Seriously. I had done so the previous time we had ridden together out to Drumheller and followed him on an alternate route that turned to gravel... we turned back to retrace our steps and find a better route. Then he took us through a memorable construction zone. The 19 km construction zone was marked as “construction next 6km”. It didn't look bad until we crested the first hill to discover the asphalt gave way to something that only vaguely resembled road. That construction zone isn't something that either of us are likely to forget soon. I remember high gusty winds pushing the bikes around as we rode through an area that almost appeared to have been strip mined. The pavement was well broken up, scraped off the roadbed in places, lots of small potholes and gravel. Lots and lots of loose gravel in deep piles. Definitely not the best riding conditions for a 550lb road bike – they are not built to be piloted through something that resembles a hare scramble MX course. But I dirgress. Luckily Gerry02800 didn't decide to lead us through those conditions this time and was content with joining the others on the opposite edge of Flagstaff.

After topping up with gas we set off towards Telluride. As we headed out of Flagstaff and headed we quickly left the trees behind as we watched the landscape change. At the side of the road there were a number of roadside stands selling all sorts of things – jewellery, rugs, baskets, bannock. Most of the stands were set up by enterprising native Americans at the edge of the reserve.

The road wasn't too busy, but quite frequently we found ourselves passing strings of traffic, a few bikes at a time. The chase vehicle wasn't far behind. We stopped for gas at a small combination convenience store/gas station. The line inside to pay was long, and people in front of us seemed to be doing a weekly grocery run. No supermarkets out here! Parking in what little shade we could find at the side of the building we paused for a cold drink and a snack.

After gas we continued to ride. We were in Navajo country heading towards a well known tourist stop - Four Corners. It took a few hours to get there, and along the way we made a regular habit of passing slower vehicles on the road. The monument was on the west side of the road in the middle of a dry, dusty plain. In the distance some hills and mountains broke up the horizon and stood out in stark contrast against the intense blue of the sky.

Admission was $3 per person which seemed excessive given what was actually at the remote location. After a short conference we decided to check it out because we were there. We paid as we went past the small toll booth at the center of the access road to the site. The short paved apron gave way to a large gravel parking lot south of the Four Corners Monument. On one side of the parking lot a trailer that had seen better days hosted a snack stop with cold drinks and hot dogs. Prices reflected the reality that tourists weren't in short supply, but places to purchase food and beverages were.

One of Aussie's VFRs (ridden by Wheatie)

Washrooms were available in the form of Portapotties. The square around the monument was filled with covered stands where venders offered all sorts of goods for sale. A couple of the stands around the square offered shaved ice cones or more traditional fare like bannock. Other stands offered home made jewelery, pieces of art or crafts. Others were much more commercialized offering mass produced T-shirts, pins and keychains at a handsome profit for the stall owner.

Plaques and flags of the four states surrounded the central area of the square. In the center of the square a large circular plate signified the joining point of four states. Notably this is the only location in the United States where four States actually touch.

Reading an information plaque revealed that the actual point where the states touched was actually a short ways away – under a mile. Apparently the original marker at the site was put up in 1912 without the benefit of modern GPS technology to pinpoint an exact location. Given the tools and techniques of surveyers from that time it is amazing that they were able to set the monument with precision under a mile. The original marker, a cement pad was upgraded with a granite and brass replacement which attracted a constant line of visitors. A long lineup of people stretched out in the glaring Arizona sun.

Cameras at the ready, the requisite holiday photos were taken as people passed out of Arizona into New Mexico, Colorado or Utah where the hot sun continued to beat down on us. The heat wasn't bad as long as we were moving, but now that we stopped our gear quickly grew into our own personal saunas.

Backdraft poses for a shot.

Gerry02800 standing in four states.

We waited around Four Corners for a while for the rest of our convoy. Most people bought themselves a snack. All of the bikes were accounted for but we seemed to be missing our two chase vehicles. Cell phone coverage at the Monument was spotty so we pressed onwards.

Wheatie's stomach assured him that it was well past time for lunch, so we stopped at Sonic in Cortez for a bite to eat. A cold drink was really appreciated given the heat of the day. Again Aussie tried to reach MudderDuc on the phone, but the girls were apparently having too much fun to answer. When we were almost finished lunch they finally connected on the phone and we made plans to meet up in Telluride which was still an hour and a half away.

Cortez is near Mesa Verde National Park, however the group wanted to push towards Telluride. Had I been riding on my own I probably would have headed over to check out Mesa Verde. I guess that means I have a good excuse for a return trip to the area.

The road beween Cortez and Telluride became a lot more interesting than the straighter run we had been on for most of the day. Rather than a flat road heading through the desert this asphalt ribbon was more technical with curves winding through hills and trees. Passing became a little more challenging. As the day went on more holiday traffic appeared on the roads. Motor homes and trucks pulling trailers were moving slower than posted road speeds. Some were kind enough to slow, pull over and wave the group of bikes past, but a few seemed oblivious to the fact that they had a long string of impatient vehicles piled up behind them. I got trapped behind a truck pulling a tent trailer. Every time the road opened up to passing the oncoming traffic grew heavy and the truck increased his speed in an attempt to keep me from passing, although he slowed back down to a crawl as soon as the dotted line gave way to a solid double yellow. There were few opportunities to pass given the number of curves. Despite the annoying traffic it was a welcome change from the earlier trek across straightandflatistan.

There is always a temptation to allow irritation of slow vehicles to creep in and impinge on the ride. Rather than living in the moment and recognizing the fantastic scenery, enjoying nature or appreciating the curves it is easy to get sucked into concentrating on the resentment caused by the transient slowing of the ride and blocking out everything else. I found myself falling into this trap as I cursed the vehicle blocking the way ahead. Most of the time on the bike I am able to distract myself from the hassles of traffic because there is so much going on. Despite the slower pace I ought to have been able to appreciate the scenery and the ride. Part of the distraction was riding with the group and being aware that the small string of bikes pulling up the rear were being left far behind.

I also found myself focusing on the pollen in the air. My eyes itched, my nose twiched and I sneezed every mile or two. Not sure what was producing the pollen in the air, but there were some plants in the area that were doing their best to repopulate their species.

Eventually I got around the slow moving vehicle, although not it was my turn to leave Gerry02800 behind. (I knew he could take care of himself). Wicking up the speed a bit I passed a few more vehicles. Ahead of me I spotted a truck pulling a trailer that looked familiar. An opportunity opened to pass and I took it with gusto. I think I startled RRW as I zoomed past him like a bat out of hell (his words, not mine).

There was a surprising amount of damage to the road surface. Long cracks running longitudinal to the road surface posed a potential danger to bikes. In areas the pavement was rough, and a few signs advised motorcycles to use extreme caution. I'm accustomed to unhappy motorcyclist signs, but it still throws me when I find the signs with the actual text reading “Motorcycles use extreme caution.”. I think the word “extreme” is what gives me pause. Apparently it is not enough to exercise ordinary run-of-the-mill caution – extreme measures are being called for that go above and beyond the call of duty. I always wonder what is so wrong with the road ahead that motorcycles specifically need to use such “extreme” caution, and cars don't warrant more than the occasional “Bump” ahead sign.

I was riding on my own after passing RRW and was able to get my head back into the ride rather than fretting over traffic. The rest of the bikes were ahead of me, and there was absolutely no sign of them nor the smoke from their exhausts. The time I had spent trying to pass the tent trailer had obviously been put to good use by the rest of the group. On the right hand side of the road I noticed a turn off, and glancing in as I passed I spotted a sign reading “Telluride Mountain Village”. Uh-oh! I missed that turn. I had expected Telluride to be five miles further down the road. I didn't see any of the rest of our group, and usually someone will wait at a turn-off to ensure that nobody goes zooming past. I wondered if they had missed the turnoff as well. The road headed downhill and commited to the route I followed it. At the bottom of the hill a small complex including a gas station was on the west side of the road, and a sign indicated Telluride was to the east. A lot of familiar bikes were parked along the side of the access road to the gas station. I hadn't missed the turn.

Parking the bike, I took off the helmet and joined the rest of the group. They hadn't spotted the Telluride Mountain Village sign, so it was probably for the best that I hadn't decided to pull off there. A few minutes later Gerry02800 pulled in behind me. We were waiting for MudderDuc and RRW with their chase vehicles. Mudderduc had all of the information about the condos we were renting for the weekend, and nobody else knew where we were going. RRW pulled up and handed out bottles of ice cold water.

Telluride is situated in a mountain valley.

After gearing back up we headed into Telluride and found the condos. This lead to another delay as we milled around in the hot sun waiting to find out where we could get access to the condos and find the keys. It seemed to take a long time, and nobody really knew what was going on. I always find it frustrating to not be in control and have all of the facts. Aussie headed out on foot to join MudderDuc who had the truck.

There were a lot of people out in the town on bicycles or on foot. There were a lot of bicycles riding every direction, and large bike racks stuffed to capacity. People were friendly smiling and greeting each other on the street, even contributing a smile and nod for the group of strangers. (Admit it, there are few stranger than our motley crew!). Most vehicles in town remained parked. The town was small enough that it was easy enough to get around without one.

We watched the Telluride shuttle (the Galloping Goose) turn around at the loop near where we were parked. A chain hung down from the back of the bus and rattled occasionally on the road. The driver waved as she piloted the bus past the obvious group of tourists. We waited. And waited. And waited. I was hot and really could have used some water. The Galloping Goose came around the turnabout again. Same bus, same chain, same driver. Eventually Aussie showed up with keys in hand, and we headed up to the Condo. The couples took the north condo and the rest of us headed into the south one. I unclipped all of my luggage from the bike and it took me two trips to off load. There was little point in leaving all of my camping gear on the bike for the group rides on Saturday and Sunday. The Galloping Goose made another pass as I moved my bike over to the parking lot.

We settled into the Condos. Cruzinaz and Wheatie grabbed the two single beds in the bedroom on the main floor. Backdraft took the small loft that was only accessible from the small bedroom using a ladder. Gerry02800 took the pullout in the living room. The guys insisted that I take the upstairs bedroom. I headed upstairs where I unpacked a few things, changing into some dry clothes. It was time to exchange contacts for glasses to give my burning eyes a break. I had quit sneezing but my eyes were still irritated from whatever had been in the air. Obviously we had passed through those conditions and the next day we would only leave them further behind.

The group in our condo visited for a while and then headed over to the other condo to meet up with Aussie and the rest of the crew. It was a couple of blocks away, but Telluride was definitely a walking town. A small creek flowed through the center of town, and small pedestrian bridges arched over the rushing water. Mountains and trees surrounded the houses in the valley. The tops of the mountains were iced with a bit of snow, and waterfalls trickled down the face of the mountains.

I remembered reading that Telluride had been the inspiration for Galt's Gap within Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged, and it was easy to see why. To the north west a small airport high in the mountains provided access to Cessnas and other small planes. It was easy to see how this sort of location could be idealized.

At the other condo snacks were put out as people cracked open beer or pop according to personal preference. We put together dinner, and I passed out ride shirts which were welcomed enthusiastically as people gathered in small clusters visiting well into the night. I had also arranged for yellow vinyl decals with the ride logo which were very popular. Our group eventually broke off a few at a time to return to our condo a few blocks away.

It was really dark in Telluride, and I stubbed my toe as I headed across the grassed common area. I slowed my pace to adjust for the lack of vision.

Arriving back at the condo I found someone had taken the time to rearrrange helmets on the table. Everyone was now sporting NFR stickers on the visors as well. It was clear that Cruz and Backdraft were to blame.

[Olive]

July 2 (Day 36/48)

The sun came up and the condo began to brighten. I listened for noises downstairs, finally heading downstairs just as Gerry02800 was beginning to stir. He waved me in, and we talked quietly so we didn't disturb the others sleeping in the condo. Finally others began to wake, and I headed over to see if the crew in Aussies' condo were up yet. They had told Gerry02800 the previous night that when they got up they would open the blinds, so I figured they were up. I knocked quietly on the door, and RocketD opened it. She didn't look as if she had been up for long – my timing was good because I had knocked on the door just as she emerged from the bathroom situated in the landing.

She waved me in and we put together coffee. MudderDuc was the next to emerge, slowly followed by the rest of the group. Eventually the crew was fed and ready to head out for our morning ride. We had discussed routes the previous night, and had a basic idea of the loop we were going to follow. MormonBoy, Aussie and MudderDuc's son was planning to ride out from Salt Lake City to join us on the ride, hopefully meeting up at some point during the day.

After a quick gas stop we headed out of Telluride and out on some roads that boasted a number of curves. It was a good ride, and as a group we were well behaved not allowing excessive speeds. Given that it was a holiday weekend there were a lot of cars on the road, and where appropriate we passed.

The ride went smoothly until we reached friendly Montrose and met their collections committee and staff. Heading through town we had slowed to pay careful attention to the speed limit. Our group was strung out along the road a bit, but we regrouped as we came up on a light. An officer travelling the opposite direction flipped on his lights, pulled a U-turn and signalled our entire group to pull off into a gas station. There were a few cruisers at the same light, but he had no interest in them. It was a little early for a gas stop, but following directions seemed to be a good idea.

After we parked and took off our helmets, we waited as the officer sat in his car watching us. RoadRashReid pulled into the parking lot across the road careful not to associate himself with us. Gerry02800 parked in a different lot and walked over to the gas station to purchase a pop and crack an ear to find out what was going on. The chase vehicle with the other three girls (MudderDuc, RocketD and Tuscan Girl) pulled up and parked at the gas station as well, also curious as to what was going on.

A second cop car pulled up also parking with the first car. This really didn't look good for our group. Emerging from his car the officer made the standard request for our licenses. We figure that he was a little surprised to see the age of the group under the helmets. Despite the proponderance of Mohawks, our group ranged from 39 to 70, a little older than was perhaps anticipated.

Once he had our licenses in hand, the officer advised us that a call had been made to his department from a witness who also worked with his department who had seen the entire group of bikes driving recklessly, passing in no passing zones, nearly causing accidents and generally causing chaos.

Oh really?

Strange.

Very strange.

I had been following the rest of the group and hadn't witnessed any such thing myself. Yes, we passed a number of vehicles, but all passes were done safely and in appropriately marked zones. At no point did I notice Cruz or Backdraft terrorizing little old ladies trying to herd their cars off the side of mountains, nor was Aussie or RocketD riding like hooligans leaving chaos in their wake, and RRW wasn't playing chicken with oncoming cars. Wheatie, however, may have been a little optimistic with his right hand. I think it is possible he exceeded the speed limit by as much as 3mph on a few occasions. Wheatie is such a troublemaker!

Unfortunately it was rather clear that the group was riding together and if a ticket was written, everyone would have their very own souvenir copy. Most of us were wearing the telltale BBB ride shirts, and a lot of the bikes sported NFR Hooligan stickers. The lone girl from Canada fit right in with the rest of the fashion statement made from the group, even though the Hawk wouldn't stick to my matte finish helmet. (Backdraft continues to threaten to do something about that problem, but he managed to leave his superglue at home once again. Imagine my disappointment).

Watching the officer it was clear that he was running a number of our licenses through the computer, and coming up rather empty. He sat in his airconditioned car, while we huddled under the overhang at the side of the gas station trying to take advantage of the shade as sweat rolled down the side of our faces. But perhaps the officer wanted to make us sweat.

Eventually he emerged into the heat once again. Unfortunately the eyewitness he had been waiting for was unable to make it down to the gas station because they had a plane to catch. Uh. Huh. He gathered us around in a huddle and gave us a lecture about the rules of the road. A few people in our group seemed to be biting their tongues to keep from talking back. After the lecture he handed Aussie the stack of licenses, not even bothering to hand them back individually.

We decided to gas up since we were already at a station, and parked the bikes in the shade over near the chase vehicle. The others joined our group as we shared the tale. We were glad not to have been ticketed, but it really seemed as if profiling was in place – pull over the group of mohawked riders on sport bikes wearing proper gear. I wonder if we would have received the same treatment had we been sitting on kidney-shakers with ape bars while wearing dot-approved-salad bowls and tassled leather vests.

MudderDuc decided it was a good opportunity to join the ride. She is a decent rider, but doesn't have a lot of stamena for distance. We unloaded her Ducati from the chase vehicle. Then we decided to break off into two smaller groups. Wheatie, Cruz and Backdraft headed off first. The rest of us waited around for MormonBoy – MudderDuc managed to reach him and he was going to meet us in Montrose since it was now a natural stopping point. Aussie and RocketMonkey decided to remove the Hawks from their helmets, figuring that it might be a better idea to go incognito. It was certain that cars in all four states were on high alert for hooligans with Hawks.

While we were waiting Gerry02800 headed over to a bank hoping to cash a few travellers cheques he had brought with him. He had picked them up on the assumption that they would be easy to use in the States, only to find that they were almost worthless requiring a visit to a bank to cash them in. His bank card and the local bank machine was much more accessible despite the fee charged to withdraw U$D from a Canadian account. Nothing new to me by this point in the trip.

MormonBoy arrived and joined the rest of the crew. Now we had someone in their early 20s with us, still not having much of an impact on the average age of rider. We headed out of Montrose, hoping that the local fuzz had found a new hobby to occupy himself with.

As we headed out the landscape continued to change. Forested mountain areas gave way to ranchland and farms with cows grazing in the fields beside the road. Eventually the landscape began to remind me of Utah, as we found some more curvy areas. I decided to move up in the pack and have a little more fun on the road. I signalled my intention, shoulder checked, started to move out, shoulder checked again and ZOOOM MormonBoy decided to take a pass of me as I passed others at the same time. Double passing irritates me because it is dangerous to ride side by side with another rider in your lane. He certainly couldn't have missed out on my intentions. I decided that I would have a chat with him the next time we stopped. We pulled over briefly as we turned West to make sure we didn't lose out on a chase vehicle or the bikes pulling up in the rear.

Heading into the curves Aussie, Mormon Boy and RocketMonkey took the lead, I stayed in the middle of the pack, with Gerry02800, MudderDuc and RoadRashReid pulling up the rear. As we encountered traffic our bikes strung out a bit, and I was riding solo. This was perfect, I was enjoying the scenery and the ride, without pressure to keep pace with those in front or slow for those behind. I knew that the others would be waiting for me ahead at the next turn or gas stop.

I rode past a few buildings at the side of the road, smiling at an old decommissioned gas station that had seen better days. I headed onwards, slowing a bit as the speed limit dropped as a resort area opened up to the right hand side of the road. There was a gas station at the center of it, and I took a careful look around for the guys. Nope. It was empty. I pulled back up to speed and started to get into the curves.

A short while later I glanced in my mirror and noticed a silver bike gaining on me. It looked like a VFR. I glanced again. Yes, it was a VFR, and it was trying to wave me down. I pulled over and Aussie pulled in beside me. Apparently back at the old gas station was a small mom and pop style diner, and while I was busy looking at the old gas station, and rock formations I had completely overlooked the small collection of bikes parked in the shade under a few trees. Aussie had volunteered to chase me down, and it's probably a good thing that he did so, otherwise I would have beat the rest of them back to Telluride on a solo run.

I followed Aussie back to the parking lot, and headed inside to join the rest of the group. Wheatie, Backdraft and Cruz were waiting for us at the restaurant, and MudderDuc, RoadRashReid and the chase vehicle were already parked.

I ordered and asked “Where's Gerry02800”?. Apparently he had pulled off at the side of the road to set up for some photos. He had seen to bikes headed the opposite way, one yellow and one silver, and mistakenly identified them as the infamous father and son team of Aussie and MormonBoy. Assuming that they were just going on another run of the curves he set up in a corner and waited. And waited. And waited. He was going to be waiting a long time as it had been a case of mistaken identity. MormonBoy volunteered to head back out to collect our last missing rider. The Canadians were getting a really bad rap, both of us being chased down and collected by the group.

I took a few more pictures of the group and landscape as the group set up their GoPro cameras and got ready to hit the road once again.

After a late lunch our group headed back towards Telluride. There was still a lot of good riding through canyonlands. The chase vehicle went ahead and stopped hoping to collect a few photos as we went past. Another stop for a group photo, and we continued on our trek. Once again we spread out along the road, passing slower moving holiday traffic.

Gerry02800 was following me through a corner when I decided it would be a good idea to brake in the corner. I apologized to him later for the unwelcome suprise. As I entered the corner I started sneezing. And sneezing. And sneezing. The pollen was back with a vengence. I had gotten into a continuous sneezing fit to the point that I was having a hard time keeping track of the curve.

We continued riding, and as we approached Telluride another police vehicle decided to light up his lights and flash headlights at me. The faster riders were ahead, and I was doing the speed limit. I was taken a little aback interpreting it intially as a request for me to pull over, but the car passed me going the opposite way turning off his lights. Yes, it was a warning to slow down, even though I hadn't been doing anything wrong. I figured the faster group had alerted the officer, and I got the warning meant for them.

Finally I pulled into the parking lot joining some familiar looking bikes. Checking out my bike post ride I discovered that I had picked up a hitchhiker.

Gerry02800, RoadRashReid and MudderDuc were still somewhere behind me, and I decided to head inside, because a pit stop was called for. I headed inside the condo, punching in the door code, and was taken a little aback to find an absolute stranger inside.

Apparently Cruz had let him in, and then left him alone. His wife was upstairs showering. It turns out that they were friends from another forum that Cruz and Wheatie were regulars on, and they had decided to join our group. Cruz volunteered my bed and I wound up in a small sitting room at the side of the bedroom which had a fold out loveseat. Once unfolded it took up all of the space in the room except for a narrow strip where a skinny person could edge along the side of the room to reach the windows.

I changed quickly, and it appeared that I had been nominated to play hostess. Eventually I took the couple over to the other condo, assuming that Aussie also knew them because they asked for him. Aussie was as mystified as I was after introductions had been done, although we discovered the reason they had the name was because Cruz had told them to pay Aussie their share for the room.

It was taco night and food was plentiful. One of the benefits to renting a condo is that it is cheaper than a hotel for a group, it provides a home base with a living room for visiting, and an equipped kitchen making it easy to prepare simple meals. Definitely a less expensive way to get a group together.

Having been around people all day I headed out for a walk. As the sun was setting I watched paragliders coming down from the mountain. It looked like they rode the Gondola up to the Mountain Village and headed back down aloft. I was able to capture a few good pictures from the field where they were landing.

Heading back to Aussie's condo I visited with the group well into the night. Gerry02800 and I headed back to the singles condo, where we found Cruz nursing his knee. He had found the same obstacle I had nearly tripped over the previous night. Cracking out my first aid kit I provided him with bandaging materials. So far in the trip riding with the group was the first time I had needed to open the first aid kit. Earlier in the day I had dispensed bandages for Backdraft – his leathers were rubbing on his elbow creating a large raw open sore. (This lead to lots of jokes about his “wenis”. If you don't know what it is, either google it or ask Aussie. AussieinUSA would LOVE to get PMs from people asking about it. Honestly. Just don't tell him I put you up to it... he might decide to hunt me down.)

I headed to bed, discovering how poorly supported the mattress on the foldout was. I could feel the bars on the frame, but the springs that were supposed to be supporting the mattress were either nonexistant or ineffectual. I tried to get comfortable, debating folding up the foldout and taking the floor instead.

[Olive]

July 4 (Day 38/48)

Cruz and Ethan headed south early morning to get a jump on the heat of the day. Everyone else stuck around to help Aussie and Mudderduc pack the chase vehicle, and see RRW and his better half off. It was amazing just how much stuff that crew had brought in the chase vehicle, although it was very thoughtful as well. Even items like a coffeemaker had been transported in anticipation of the group's morning needs.

Once everything was secured, and we said our farewells to that motley crew, Gerry02800 and myself clipped our luggage on the bikes. First we took a quick run through Telluride looking at the preparations for their big Fourth of July parade. Lots of people wearing costumes, lawnchairs setup along a parade route and closed roads. As we headed out of town there was a lot of traffic travelling the opposite direction. Telluride was celebration central for the surrounding area.

Our plan was to stop for a quick bite to eat along the way, but everything was closed up tight for the holiday. Eventually we found a small town grocery store in Naturita where Gerry02800 found some food to keep himself going – yes, like most guys Gerry02800 doesn't do well with missed meals. I took a few minutes longer with the bikes and noticed that he had left his key sitting in the ignition. Since he probably wanted his bike to be parked where he left it when he returned, I snagged the key and stored it in my pocket for him.

Emerging from the store, we visited for a few minutes and Gerry02800 caught a message from Aussie on his phone – a short text asking “We are here, where are you?”. We both thought this was decidedly odd, but Gerry02800 responded. Neither of us had any plans to meet up with Aussie on our way back to Canada.

Getting geared up to go, Gerry02800 reached into his pocket for his key, only to discover that it wasn't there. He checked another pocket, then the bike. As he started up a frantic pat-down looking for the key I stood there holding it “looking for something?”. Definite look of relief on his face. Temperatures seemed to climb a degree with each mile that passed and the trees gave way to mountains and Utah's phenomenal rock formations.

At one point we stopped to puzzle over maps because of some unclear road signs. We weren't sure if we were on the right road or if we had missed a turn. We both agreed that the paper map showed the turn on a section of road where neither of us had found an intersection. After a bit of backtracking and looking for clarification, we decided to press on. We found out turn a little further up the road – AMA needs to make a few corrections to their maps.

Heading onwards we discovered some absolutely fantastic roads (145, 90, 46) that had it all - long sweepers, tight hairpins marked at 15mph, stunning vistas of mountains and canyons. I enjoyed sharing “my Utah” with someone who seemed to appreciate that natural formations with the same sort of awe and wonderment. Every time I ride through Utah I can't help but be reminded of childhood cartoons.

While riding we even spotted Wiley Coyote high on a cliff... At least we *think* he was on top of that cliff. Obviously waiting on the Roadrunner prying away at the rock overhanging the road in precarious balance in classic Warner Brother's style. A flat rock extending out over the road below, seemingly without adequate support. I noticed G's bike move over as far as possible in the lane as he passed underneath. Nowhere safe to take a picture unfortunately. The same sort of situation when we passed Bedrock, and later when we rode past a sign dedicating a section of clean highway to the memory of John Gault (extra points to anyone who gets the Ayn Rand reference and knows why the area is significant in this context – I'll be waiting to read the comments to see who you are!)

Along the highway we finally had an opportunity to pull over to take a few pictures, and stretch our legs. Anytime I am on a long ride I find a lot of value in stopping every hour or two just to get off the bike for a few minutes. It really makes a difference by the end of the day.

Initially I planned to head south once we reached the end of the 46 where it intersected with the 129. We stopped to visit for a few minutes in a gravelled parking lot that had once been a gas station, and after a short conversation agreed to stop together in Moab for lunch – another 22 miles up the road.

Reaching Moab we pulled into a gas station to top up the tanks. While inside Gerry02800 found a copy of Elvis Presley's drivers license which he purchased for his mother. Very cute! A few blocks further up the road we pulled in to an A&W for lunch. Checking his phone, Gerry02800 found a puzzled text message from Aussie. It turns out that the original message was sent two days previous when the group was sitting at the diner while Gerry02800 was waiting on the road to take pictures of Aussie and MormonBoy. That explained a lot, including why Gerry02800 hadn't received the original message – it hadn't gone missing, just a short delay.

Inside we visited like old friends, talked about the ride, and our individual plans to head home. He had a number of places he hoped to visit on the return trip, and really was pressing to make some miles for the day. Since I was close enough I decided to revisit Arches National Park, remembering the fantastic rock formations from the previous year and determining that they were worth a second look. Although I invited Gerry02800 to join me, he declined with plans for a long afternoon ride northwards.

We waved as we parted ways as I turned off into Arches where I had a very pleasant surprise – there was very little traffic. Although it was July 4^th, the park was quite empty of cars and people. This was a welcome change from the previous year. There were a lot of opportunities to stop to take photos, and I made the best use of my time. Dark stormclouds were evident at times in the distance, but that did little to reduce the heat. Inside Arches I noticed a temperature reading of 120F. Definitely a warm day.

Words always seem inadequate to describe some of the fantastical rock formations in Utah. Arches National Park is no different. When you enter the park you look across brushland and desert, and see a few low mountains in the desert. However, as you start to explore the landscape you find incredible shapes that almost seem Seussian in nature. Tall, narrow ribbons of rock standing on end. Sculpted arches and curved shapes which make it seem implausable that they are natural formations.

Perhaps one of the most well known is Balanced Rock. Balanced Rock resembles an egg perched on top of a stack of stones that gradually gets narrower as it rises into the air, with the base of the rock suspended 55 feet in the air. The entire shape is 128 feet tall. Just to put things into better perspective, the large oval rock balanced on top is the size of three school busses. Suspended against the blue sky it almost seems that a stiff breeze would send it toppling down. It seems implausable that nature could have carved this shape through erosion and weathering, however the sandstone base has worn away leaving this geological wonder.

I have a picture at the same location from last year, and I find it neat to look at them side by side. Obviously I was on the F800S the last time I was in the area, but am much happier with the VFR - the two bikes are very similar, but the VFR edges out the Bimmer on a number of things. One of the most significant to my mind was the amount of vibration on the F800S. Obviously a twin is going to have a lot more vibration, but it was significant and growing worse as the bike aged. I don't think that the six and a half week Canada coast to coast and four corners of the USA tour would have been nearly as comfortable without the VFR. But I digress, and to bring balance back to the discssion I present Balanced Rock:

Balanced Rock 2010

Balanced Rock 2011

The landscape in Arches is mostly flat, but the roads curve to provide an enjoyable ride through m the park. There are plentiful pulloffs for visitors who want to stop to take pictures or just look around. Many of these areas are equipped with informational signs and reminders to visitors not to stray from the roads or pathways. There is also a warning included about the fragility of the formations – at any time a formation could fracture and collapse, a groaning or creaking sound heralding the event. A number of the formations in the park have been reformed over time through collapses and rockfalls. When people think about rock it seems to have a permanance, but the changing landscape of Arches serves as a reminder that everything is changing no matter how slowly.

I could easily have stopped every two minutes to take more shots of the picturesque landscape that showcased a new marvel at every turn. Despite the fact that this was my second trip through the park, I still found myself reacting to the awesome towering shapes, curved arches and delicately carved features as if I was seeing them for the first time.

There is so much more to the park than just the arches. Sure, it is amazing to see the tall rocks with arched shapes carved in them creating doorways and holes worn through the rocks creating windows, but the fins also are noteworthy.

Delicate Arch is a long hike from the parking area in one of the hotter areas of the park. I stopped at the lookout point, but didn't hike all the way out. This arch always strikes me as a little unusual because it is a solitary arch, and not an arch cut into a thick wall.

Near the lookout point for Delicate Arch is a large parking lot. At the side of the lot a dirt road heads across the park. Signage indicates that the road is impassible when wet. There are a number of low points on the main road running through the park where signage also indicates flooding during rainstorms. Water pools in low areas and rushes through dry creek beds. Quite a few of these sections clearly wash slick clay like soil across the roadway.

I headed over to Devils Garden as well. Always amazing to look at the densely packed formations in this area. Lots of fins standing vertically that are eroding into the shapes that Arches is famous for. This is where camping is available in the park, however it seems to be very popular and both occasions I have been to Arches the campground has been full. Arches would be an amazing place to spend a night in a tent. I have read that it is one of the few locations where it is possible to see the Milky Way on a clear evening. One item still on my bucket list.

As I headed out of the park I stopped at Park Avenue, an area bordered on both sides by tall, thin walls of rock that are sculpted in amazing shapes. It appears that my timing was similar to the previous visit because once again I saw this area in shadow and was able to capture some dramatic photos of the formations with a strong backlight.

The entire park can be viewed with awe and wonder. Each area seems worthy of an album worth of photographs.

As I was leaving the park I stopped in at the Visitor Center for some route planning advice. I was considering taking the UT-261 to Mexican Hat, but the previous year I had heard that there was a short section of it that was very steep with tight switchbacks.

The section I was referring to was the Moki Dugway, located south of Natural Bridges National Monument. I was told that this section of road featured gravel switchbacks and steep inclines, not the type of conditions recommended for a road bike. Also not recommended for motorhomes or heavy vehicles, or for travel exceeding 5mph. The Dugway itself is only three miles long, but in that distance the narrow winding road drops over 1,100 feet with a 10% grade from the top of Cedar Mesa dropping to the valley without the benefit of guard rails.

While I am capable of doing a hare scramble with the VFR, I prefer not to put myself in that situation purposefully, especially not this far from home. The description of the section of road convinced me to take the east loop instead.

Leaving Arches behind I headed south. The skies ahead were definitely black and threatening. I paused at Church Rock. This is located south of Arches National Park and north of Monticello on the 195 near the intersection with the 211. The lighting with the approaching storm and dramatic skies provided an umparallelled photo opportunity. As I was standing at Church Rock the rain began to fall. Large, heavy drops splattering down. I got back on the bike and continued my southerly trek. The lightning storm was still some distance away. The cooling rain was welcome after the heat of the day.

The skies ahead were black, lit up by flashes and jagged bolts of lighting coursing cloud to cloud. Quite a few ground strikes were also evident. It made for great viewing from the bike – from a distance of course. While I appreciate the lightshow put on by a good thunderstorm, I am not at all interested in being an active part of it.

Wilsons Arch also provided a few great photo opportunities with dramatic skies in the background. I was definitely riding towards the storm. The area behind the window was beginning to build up with a residential development, and signage on the highway advertised homes and lots for sale. Can you imagine looking out of your window to see Wilson's Arch every morning? That view wouldn't get old very quickly. The only obvious drawback was the distance from the development to towns and cities. A steady income to support your lifestyle is a basic requirement.

Continuing onwards I noticed a number of signs at the side of the road reading “Deer in lane”. I thought that was awfully nice to tell people, but most people are able to idetify the large brown mammals prancing across the road. What they intended to communicate was the need to watch out for deer. As I continued to drive it was obvious that quite a few people had hit deer both by the brownish red stains on the road and the dead animals littering the ditch. I saw quite a few deer at the side of the road, and was actively scanning looking for them before they became a rude surprise and I added to the statistics.

At one point there was a herd of deer, half on either side of the road. I slowed down and crossed through the herd at a crawl, making a point to wave down approaching vehicles to warn them of the danger. It always surprises me that cars don't pay more attention to what is going on around them. This car sped towards me ignoring my pointed finger and arm jabbing towards the deer on the road, finally hitting his brakes and screeching to a stop just before killing Bambi's mother. Natural selection at work.

Since the deer population seemed to be growing I decided that an earlier stop for the night would be a good idea. Pulling into Blanding I noticed that the Sunset Inn had a sign up advertising rooms from $19.95 per night (single). Since it would save me finding a campsite, I pulled into the gravel parking lot and checked it out. The office sign was over a door that had a note pinned to it advising people to knock on a specific unit for service. An older gentleman had obviously heard my arrival and came hurrying down the sidewalk to open up the office and wave me in. The owner was obviously Mormon by the displays sitting inside the laundry room at what doubled as a check-in desk. It made a lot of sense not to tie up space that could be rented out on a nightly basis, but was a little unsettling. After a brief discussion I opted to rent a room for the night. Handing me the key the owner invited me to help myself to fresh ripe cherries growing on the trees on the property. He also enquired as to the state of my soul, expressing his eagerness to invite a few ladies over to discuss the book of Mormon with me if I had an interest. Politely I thanked him for his interest, and headed over to my room. Surprisingly the room was clean, well kept and equipped with a microwave, fridge and coffee maker. On the bedside table lay a copy of the Book of Mormon as well as the Bible.

I divested myself of the heavy gear and walked over to the corner grocery store for supper. I decided that it was a good night for soup, and headed back to the motel to cook dinner. I just heated the soup up in the microwave in a plastic cup that the motel thoughtfully provided for water. Simple solution but it worked well. For dessert I headed outside and picked fresh cherries.

As dark fell the other rooms filled up. As dusk fell I heard the pop and bang sound of fireworks. Outside in the parking lot a woman was dropping small sparklers and setting off rockets to the amusement of her young daughter. When she saw me looking through the window she moved a little further away from the bike – I was glad to see this, because I was planning to go outside to make that suggestion. I have nothing against fireworks, but explosions close to my bike aren't encouraged. I watched through the window for a while.

Since it was the 4^th of July the town had a huge fireworks display after full dark fell. I headed out into the parking lot to watch it. A few other people emerged from rooms as well. A couple of guys decided to visit with me – they were working in the area on a construction zone and rented rooms by the month. There was some interst about the bike, especially when the plate looked foreign. I politely rebuffed their advances, and watched the light show high in the sky overhead. The fireworks were actually being held a few blocks down at a local park, but I really didn't want to deal with crowds.

After the light show dwindled, I headed back to my room. Outside a steady stream of cars drove past, and often I heard sirens. Quite often I heard the telltale sound of fireworks being set off around the town, people throwing their own private displays as a final course after the public celebration.

[Gerrys02800]

Great read Olive and that trip was a blast. but I have to add:

A. I was a good boy in Vegas, cops said so.

B. The ride in Drumheller was a route given to me by Craig. Look at the positive side of that trip, you can brag on how you can handle a 550lb bike on gravel and rutted road really well.

C. The Kootenay run... did any one get lost, or did we get into contruction zones when I lead the group.... ummmmm no and we even found some food.

You did a great job with the shirts and it was great riding with you to Moab where we went our seperate ways. I should also mention that your 100% correct, I pulled my bike out of storage today and went for a quick ride.... put it back then went to class.

G.

[Olive]

A. I was a good boy in Vegas, cops said so.

B. The ride in Drumheller was a route given to me by Craig. Look at the positive side of that trip, you can brag on how you can handle a 550lb bike on gravel and rutted road really well.

C. The Kootenay run... did any one get lost, or did we get into contruction zones when I lead the group.... ummmmm no and we even found some food.

G, the read's not over yet. Still have a number of days to post up. And as for the rest...

A. Aussie tells me that what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. So we only have your word on it.

B. It's not handling the bike in those conditions... it's the worry of adding a souvenir to the bike from one of those rides. The bike already has a souvenir from the parking lot at Deals Gap, and doesn't need any more "character".

C. True, you are beginning to learn...

...keep tuned to this channel for episode #38 where I turn back because I don't like the look of a storm (not at all normal behaviour for me), only to discover the next day that it was Arizona's epic dust storm of the century.

[BonusVFR]

Olive the Moki Dugway does take some concentration with a loaded bike. For me I would like a friend along especially if packed to the gills and you gotttttta keep the speed up for control.

There is a really cool but barren (no frills) campground nearby at Goosenecks SP. Sites have a view!

[Jakobi]

The anticipation is killing me! Love reading your reports, Olive. Thanks for sharing.

-Jake

[Olive]

Olive the Moki Dugway does take some concentration with a loaded bike. For me I would like a friend along especially if packed to the gills and you gotttttta keep the speed up for control.

Wow - that picture of the Dugway was fantastic. The first thing I thought was "I have to ride that road some day..." followed closely by "probably a good thing I didn't try it solo during a thunder storm".

[Olive]

July 5 (Day 38/48)

Spent fireworks cases littered the gravel parking lot of the motel, the aftermath of celebrations from the previous night. I didn't get quite as early of start as I had hoped for, but the roads were fairly quiet. Recalling the herds of deer along the highway I was glad to note that they also decided to sleep in. Still, I kept a careful eye along the side of the road for four legged surprises.

I headed south across flat land, and began to catch glimpes of what was in store for me in Monument Valley. Fantastic colours striating the upturned rocks and layered canyons. Sage scrub growing in clumps on the red, purple and orange magnificently coloured rock formations forming hills, valleys and buttes and mesas. As I approached Mexican Hat I spotted the iconic rock formation that Mexican Hat is named for. Resembling a sombrero it stood atop a hill to the right of the road as I headed towards the town. The formation is simple with a flat rock 60 feet wide precariously balanced on a smaller base – just incredible.

I passed through the tiny town of Mexican Hat, pausing to fill up my tank with gas. Apart from a few gift shops and motels, there was very little in the town. It struck me as a town that had seen better days, buildings showing wear and tear, and potholed gravel aprons forming parking lots where more prosperous centers would have laid pavement.

The road took a sharp turn as it crossed over the San Juan River, and I headed towards Monument Valley along a two lane highway. After a few miles the road speed slowed down significantly. A large 18 wheeler was ahead labourously crawling along under the beating sun. There was a long string of traffic behind it also crawling along as the road wound through some gentle curves and displayed a double yellow line. Oncoming traffic was spaced for maximum inconvenience, maintaining the clot behind the heavy hauler. One at a time a car sped up and passed the larger vehicle breaking away from the lineup. I found myself getting impatient as I began to overheat with low speeds of five to eight miles per hour at the back of the line, although it wasn't long until I was in the middle of the pack with a long ribbon of cars stretching out behind me as well, steadily growing longer. Eventually the vehicles ahead passed the slow moving truck, and I was able to pull out and stretch out my right wrist as my bike enthusiastically wound up to posted road speed and started to generate a well appreciated breeze that flowed through my jacket cooling me down quickly aided by evaporation from my sweat soaked clothing.

The road was long and flat. Alongside the pavement was the occasional gravel pullout. Most of these pullouts were at an incline and I kept thinking that the next pullout would be in nicer shape, and perhaps offer a slightly better vantage point for the camera. Occasionally dirt tracks and gravel roads criss crossed the road heading across small dry washes towards the cliffs and mesas in the distance.

A dramatic array of outcroppings began to appear in the distance. Gigantic rock formations standing tall in the red desert. Fantastic red rock sculptures stood tall, the sandstone eroded by the wind to create the ruins of castles in the sky. The red rock buttes standing sentinal over sandy planes with the occasional shrub growing defiantly out of the inhospitable ground seemed taken right out of a Zane Grey novel. A definite image of the American west.

I turned off the highway to follow a side access road to Navajo Tribal Park. After crossing a cattle gate embedded in the road I was pleased to find a well paved access road. This road provided some decent photo opportunities of the distant sandstone standing defiently hundreds of feet in the air, the only remaining testament of the striated layers of sandstone that once covered the landscape. Straight and narrow it headed past some dirt path driveways leading to small ranches as it travelled through Navajo land. I reached a toll booth placed at the point where the road turned to gravel. Beyond the booth stood a small marketplace. Later I was to find out that this also lead to a 17 mile dirt road through the Navajo Tribal Park with reportedly fantastic views of Monument Valley. I chose not to follow the unpaved road, although perhaps in not doing so I missed out on some additional photo opportunities, although I saved a few dollars admission.

Areas like Monument Valley, Arches, Escalante and Capitol Reef always feel ancient to me. They take me out of this century to a time long ago, with the overlaying asphalt ribbon and my trusty silver steed the only link to my own time. Occasionally another vehicle would provide an unwelcome intrusion on my solitude. The eroding rock formations of Monument Valley remind me of crumbling ruins of a civilation long ago. It is easy to see the ancients living there, their culture seamlessly blending in with the landscape. The distant howl of a lone coyote, horsemen riding past or the sound of tribal drums wouldn't seem at all out of place. It seems odd that someone would live in this type of environment without having any idea how special it is, and without realizing the different landscape just a few hundred miles away. What is marvellous to me is mundane to another. Although perhaps it comes to a question of perspective, many would have the same reaction to the Rocky Mountains which I see standing in the distance from the city on a clear day.

I continued to head south west through the empty sandy desolite landscape with brilliant deep colours, the landscape evolving as I continued my journey. After a while traffic began to build once again. I was passed by a pack of Harleys, the riders wearing the standardized uniform of vests and black dot-approved-salad-bowls. They were obviously in a hurry, but I was content with my pace. I was travelling at a good clip, but not likely in danger of collecting a ticket.

The road showcased a number of slower speed zones for small towns and construction zones. I always slow my speed when I see the familiar orange signs. Many places in both Canada and the States have adopted the convention of doubling speed fines in construction zones making them a lucritive location for speed traps. Simply not worth tempting fate when you know there is likely a black and white car posed just over the top of the next hill ready to hand out a performance award.

What seemed really odd was the placement of signage warning a construction zone lay ahead. At times the sign warning of an impending zone was placed six or seven miles before vehicles reached the referenced zone with the signs indicating the actual drop in speed. I began to ignore the signs warning of an impending zone, only slowing my pace when I actually reached the sign marking the reduction in pace.

The roadway in the construction zones was grated, long narrow grooves in the pavement providing an unstable footing. These sections of road, heralded by the iconic unhappy motorcyclist signs continued for miles at a reduced speed. The grooves were noticable, but didn't give me pause. I remembered the grooved pavement I had encountered earlier in the trip as I passed through Ontario, deep wide grooves that pulled my bike from side to side, trying to take control. After that construction zone everything else seemed like mere child's play. Eventually the zone petered out and riding over a bump I was back to the regularly scheduled blacktop.

In the distance dark storm clouds were gathering. As I approached the dark sky lightning flickered. As the first fat drops of rain began to splatter my visor and I passed the Harleys parked at the side of the road donning their protective rain gear. In places signs noted that the road could be impassable in heavy rain, but that wasn't a problem yet. The road was wet, but the rain wasn't heavy enough to allow water to pool. I was on the edge of the storm, and was only catching a smattering of rain although had a fabulous light show happening in the sky ahead.

Along the side of the roadway I noticed a dead dog laying in the ditch, rigor mortis obviously setting in as the legs stood straight from the body, almost a parody of a statue tipped over. A bright red collar around the neck announced that he was obviously once someones' beloved pet.

A little further up the road two hitchikers stood amongst a collection of bags and packs. They had hung some of their gear on a post beside the road as they tried to flag down a ride before the storm was upon them. A couple of cars in a really big hurry pulled around me and raced past me.

Passing the hitchikers I climbed a hill, and cresting the hill was immediately greeted by flashing red and blues turning on ahead on my side of the road. At the bottom of the hill cops were parked on both sides of the roadway, and just beyond them work was being done on a bridge crossing a ravine. I slowed my pace and was waved in by one of the cop cars. I knew exactly how fast I was going having checked my speed a few minutes ago when I was being passed and it certainly didn't warrant a ticket. Certainly if I am going to get a ticket, I would much prefer one that I earned.

I pulled in, parked the bike and raised my visor. When asked how fast I was traveling I answered truthfully – no point in not doing so, as I was travelling at the marked speed. Verbally the officer told me that I was doing 75. If I had been doing 75 the two cars that had just raced past me – and obviously past the marked car, had been doing at least 90. I kept my cool, assuming that the officer had a personal dislike for motorcycles. He then informed me I was in a signed construction zone and traveling well in excess of the posted limit. What?!? After a brief discussion it dawned on me how I had managed to miss the speed reduction sign... I had obviously been paying enough attention to take note of the colour of rigor mortis dog's collar, and the two hitchikers as well as the post tht their stuff was hanging on but hadn't paused to question what type of post their stuff was hanging on. In retrospect the answer was obvious... it was the type of post that supported a sign. This certainly didn't make me happy.

Cars cheerfully zoomed over the crest of the hill, immediately slowing as soon as they saw the flashing red and blues below. The pack of Harleys, riders now clad in rain gear also passed me once again. Obviously they hadn't seen the obscured sign either, but the officer was occupied so no ticket for them. But there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

Parked at the side of the road I got off the bike and walked around while the officer took my identification. He presented me with a ticket, noting that he had only charged me for doing 65 which kept it from becoming a mandatory court appearance, but I was not happy with this turn of events. He suggested that I could take a defensive driving course to have the ticket and points dismissed, and to call the court to find out if I qualified given that I was from out of country. I glanced at the ticket and noticed that he had gotten a few details of the bike wrong, but wisely kept quiet. I wasn't sure if it mattered that the bike he had ticketed was black (certainly I hadn't participated in a paint job anytime recently, and I kept Timmy with his flat black spray cans far away from my bike). A few details about the driver were also wrong, unless I had started spelling my name with an extra "h" and failed to mention it to myself.

After presenting the unwelcome ticket the officer commented on my gear – apparently he approved of the hi viz yellow and the fact I was wearing leather pants and a proper helmet... Little consolation.

Irritated by the turn of events, I rode across the construction zone and took a break at the next small town. A group of teenagers and a few adults milled around wearing matching green t-shirts splattered with paint. Some of the shirts had white handprints standing out in bold contrast to the shirt below. I tried to make out the legend on the shirts, but it was printed in black and faded into the shirt. I sat quietly as snippets of their conversation washed over me. The adults discussed the logistics of what time they were leaving the next day, and if they had enough cereal and fruit in the bus to provide breakfast for the group. The girls were more concerned with how to wash paint out of their hair, or the merits of a favourite rock star. The guys discussion was more mundane, lots of voices raised in chatter but saying nothing. As I was finishing up my pop one of the adults came up to me to ask about my gear and bike. He definitely thought it was cool that I was all the way from Canada. It turns out that his group was youth from a church exchange that came to do public service work in a neighbouring community once a year. Obviously this year it was refreshing the paint in public spaces.

Back on the road I watched the cloud formations overhead, and the rock formations at the side. For the most part the land was flat and desolate, but it was far from boring. Small ranches dotted the side of the highway with homes ranging from old trailers that had seen better days to newer construction with fresh stucco. The rain clouds continued to gather and once again fat drops began to splatter down, this time hammering hard and reducing visibility significantly. Within a few minutes I was drenched as the skies opened overhead. I pulled into a parking lot welcoming tourists – the clean glitzy signs had a native motif on them. The lot served a gas station, warehouse sized gift shop and large hotel complex. There were a lot of cars in the lot, and I parked beside a few tour buses emblazoned with advertising. Heading indoors I walked through a large building selling all sorts of knicknacks, jewelery and art. I found it mildly amusing that although a lot of the art and jewelery had a native look to it the tiny print on the packaging advised it was made in Mexico or Taiwan.

The heavy rain outdoors let up, and the skies began to lighten. I headed back outside, the road and my jacket both drying quickly in the oppressive heat. As I headed by Flagstaff the wind really began to pick up. My tires were really beginning to show wear, and I was hoping to change them in Tuscon – I knew Cruz had a shop and would be more than willing to give me a hand. It would also provide a chance to see his part of the world as I headed for the south western corner of the States.

Continuing to head south towards Phoenix the winds continued to whip up, and dust clouds were everywhere. My eyes and mouth felt gritty inside the helmet and visibility began to decrease significantly. It wasn't optimum riding weather, but I had ridden through worse.

For some reason I decided to turn back towards Flagstaff. Turning tail on a storm is really out of character for me, but something told me that I didn't want to ride through this particular storm. Backtracking I returned to Flagstaff, and decided that the weather really wasn't appropriate for a tent. The best priced hotel I could find for the evening was a Motel 6, so I parked for the night, walking over to a neighbouring McDonalds for a quick dinner.

...stay tuned for the next instalment where I discover a few things about the sandstorm...

[Ali]

What an amazing and inspiring story to tell...

It sure is one way for me to see Canada and America given that I am on the other side of the pond.

Looking forward to the next installment.

Thanks,

Ali

[wrestler]

Captivating as always, Olive!! Keep it coming

[AussieinUSA]

Harleys, the riders wearing the standardized uniform of vests and black dot-approved-salad-bowls.

:laughing6-hehe:

maybe they were meeting others who were bringing the fruit.

Nice work O.

If only everyone knew what G-Spot got into in Vegas, it'd make ya shiver....