Day 99 – to Grand Canyon, USA

28 June    Kms travelled – 24,590

I split the last entry into two parts to allow sufficient space to post more shots of the Grand Canyon, as it was to this iconic location that I was travelling this day.  An eager start had me trundling through Flagstaff and quickly into tree lined open roads.  The trees seemed to stand taller knowing that I was shortly to tick off yet another of my short list of ´must dos´ - my first in North America. 

I had thought to ride west along the interstate (what was Route 66, but now I40) to take in the town of Williams... the place which inspired some of the animation in the movie Cars.  But I couldn´t bring myself to deviate from the route north and spending more time at the Canyon.  I was getting all excited inside... which was nice.  

The lovely ride up the 180 and through the Kaibab National Forest (which I christened the kebab forest for no other reason than I was alone and thinking silly thoughts) delivered against the promise of a scenic ride – as it had one of those green borders against it on the map suggesting it was worth a look. 

Running quickly through Valle (64) we were now in heavier traffic forewarning us of the likely level of tourism ahead.  And indeed as the National Park grew closer, so the level of shops, eateries and places to stay rose accordingly... particularly around Tusayan.  A quick hand over of 6$ to the lovely lady at the park entrance and I was in!  Now where is that darn hole in the ground?  I was heading for the main centre on the South Rim, and that took me directly to the car park at Mather Point.  A two minute walk later and I was staring down in wonder.

I understand that this is not the biggest Canyon in the world, nor is it the deepest, but you can see immediately why it has been tagged with the title ´Grand´.  The ride up to and across the plateau which surrounds this Olympian scale groove in the earth only serves to enhance its impact on first viewing (well, and on many other viewings too).  But I quickly realised that to take in the true splendour of the place I needed to get away from the madding crowds.  I needed a place where I could just sit and be.  I certainly didn´t need to have my moment invaded by Shirley shouting at Chad (I kid you not) to move further to the left for the photo.  So I left. 

Well, in all honesty I didn´t leave straight away.  I took some shots from the viewpoint and then treated myself to some time in the air conditioned visitors centre.  It was pretty interesting too, with lots of Rangers available to answer with a smile what I thought must be the same questions every day.  Perhaps just to be different, when it was my turn at the counter to ask my questions I came out with an enquiry about what flavour fruit makes the best American Pie!  It seems it is black and blue (blackberry and blueberry), which also accords with my own investigations on the matter.  Having broken the ice and gained a laugh from my appointed Ranger, I was advised that unless Mrs Pat had come into some serious money in the last day or so, I was unlikely to be able to secure accommodation in the area that night.  

The camp site was booked up and many of the more reasonably priced (read, very expensive) lodgings were likewise catering for the summer masses.  I might be lucky with the top end lodges (read, ridiculous prices) with Canyon views – but I sensibly didn´t even bother to enquire.  She checked, and advised that Desert View campsite some 30 miles east along the rim had pitches available, and so I headed along the 64 stopping every few miles to take in the shifting sights of the Canyon at each available viewpoint.

I didn´t take a note of the Ranger´s name, but I am very grateful for her time in checking out and recommending the Desert View area as it turned out to be exactly what I was looking for.  12$ paid at an automated pay point had me booked into a quiet managed pitch (there is no wild camping on this side of the hole) big enough for 12.  It was also a couple of minutes walk from the rim, shop and cafe but far enough away from the day traffic.  

Perfect!

So it was there that I spent the bulk of the day and into the night.  Pitching early enabled me to take in the views from the impressive viewing tower, have a bite to eat, then retreat along the rim to a patch of ground where no people or traffic could be heard.  I spent a wonderful few hours simply watching the bird life enjoy the Canyon winds, before strolling back to the visitors centre to take in the free evening talk by the local Ranger.  This was about the preservation of the National Park´s soundscape, a concept I struggled with until the impact of excessive man-made sound on the local wildlife was explained.  It seems, for example, that the noise of high flying jets interferes with the breeding habits of the local frogs (I suppose it is a bit like the phone ringing at home and spoiling the moment?), so they are trying to regulate the number of planes flying overhead.  In any event it was well delivered and interesting, with the most spectacular sunset as the finale.  The pictures of this sunset speak louder than any words I can pen.

Thought for the day

WOW!  was pretty much the main theme running through my mind this day.  But thanks to the stimulation of the local Rangers I did also spend some time pondering the impact we have on our local environs.  It would seem the local Indians did a much better job of living in harmony with up to 6 different tribes considering the Canyon a sacred place.  Was it just a matter of the density of people visiting and living in particular places, or more a lack of interest in ensuring that we live more sustainable lives?  It seems to me that it is a bit of both.  While we are unlikely to be able to consciously reduce our population levels – and I would not advocate such a thing even if we could as I believe in certain fundamental freedoms in this regard – we certainly can do much to limit the scars we leave in our wake.  I for one won´t be piloting any more airplanes over frog pools!  

Day 97 to 98 – to Flagstaff, USA

26 to 27 June    Kms travelled – 24,590

Having been made to feel at home in Phoenix I was refreshed and readied for the continued journey north, which started with a pre-rush hour dash across - or what felt more like, above - the city before quickly hitting desert landscape once again.  So often had desert featured during this journey.  But as that aspect of the countryside would soon come to an end (I only had a few more days of the dusty stuff to go) this latest version of a desert vista again threw up something different – this time in terms of the plant life.  

The most impressive saguaro cacti soon littered the views on both sides of the road and I started to feel as if we were entering some sort of giant movie theme park.  Then came the Joshua Tree forest – both weird and wonderful in equal proportions.  Such views seemed so familiar from years of Hollywood productions, but when seen in the flesh so to speak, you should not underestimate the wonder and impact you feel.  I am really here – and I still feel like a kid watching Saturday morning cowboy flicks!  But enough of me wittering on about the scenery, the roads were starting to offer a similar measure of stimulation as I headed off the 93 and over the asphalt rollercoaster that is the 97 around Millar Mountain to Bagdad.  I needed only about 100 metres of this wonderfully (though relatively) slow riding route to realise why it is so loved by the local two wheeled community.  And I was heading to Bagdad – home to a famous old school American diner for a beast of a late breakfast.  Cool!   And cool in both senses, as we were quickly heading up into the hills with a considerably more comfortable ambient temperature, the day looked good.  And it only got better!

Sitting down into the red vinyl seats I ordered coffee and the breakfast special from the lovely inked ladies keeping house at this spotless establishment.  What came was the most wonderful feast of boiled ham off the bone, eggs, hash browns, biscuit and country gravy (a white sauce with black pepper) – with refill after refill of good fresh coffee.  

I was stuffed, but it was probably the best first meal of the day I have ever eaten – at least in memory, and I won´t be forgetting this one in a hurry.  If you´re ever in the area, get yourself to Bagdad – glory in the roads and refuel at the diner – easy to find, you won´t miss it...  until you leave!

My map had indicated that I needed to return back down towards Phoenix before turning off towards Prescott, my destination for the day.  But that was not the case.  On the ground I was happy to find that there is another road (96) that cuts across the mountains, through Skull Valley (what a great name) and towards Prescott.  And as “on the ground” was where I was, I decided to take advantage of the short cut.  And away we rode stopping for a refresher at a roadside shop in Skull Valley and chatting to a couple of local bikers – who confirmed my plans for the next day would be an equally great ride. 

So it was only early afternoon when we rolled into Prescott and parked up on Whisky Row.  Being even higher up than Bagdad this was undoubtedly the first afternoon where I had sat outside without bursting into sweat since Panama!  And what a beautiful town.  Still retaining its old world charm, Prescott was clearly geared up for tourism.  But that didn´t interfere with the relaxed look and feel of the place as I spent a few hours wandering round the shops and bars that circle the court house square which dominates the centre, and chatting to a number of local characters.  

Dennis (one of the locals) and I spent an interesting hour swapping stories, and we also chatted to Jungle Jeff about the hard times he had led from Vietnam and onto the streets of the US.  Good people, and so was Clark White, the ABR I first met on Tierra del Fuego in Argentina and who had kindly agreed to put me up for the night now I was passing through his home town.  We, his lovely lady, and a mate went out for dinner and took in a beer at the Palace Hotel Saloon bar.  It was there where I learnt the story of the fire in days gone by which threatened to engulf the street, resulting in the Palace Hotel´s drinkers picking up the wooden bar and carrying it out to the steps of the courthouse – where they continued drinking until all had been rebuilt - .following which they carried the bar back in again where it stands to this day.  All I can say is that must have been some whiskey, as that is an impressive chunk of wood!

Clark´s mate was Matt, who happened to be the online editor for the Overland Journal publication, and I was invited the following morning to visit the Overland International offices.  Saying farewells to Clark for his most gracious hospitality, we rode out the short way the following morning to the home of overland travel in the US – where Idris pretty much stole the show having been talked into a photo shoot for the magazine (it is such a vain machine!).  It is a nice looking bike though and difficult to find in the Americas as Yamaha have yet to import the 660 Tenere into North America.  Thanks for the hospitality guys, your time, your coffee, and your advice on routes up through Canada and Alaska.

The route north from Prescott was turning into a must do, as quite a number of travellers and locals had already highlighted the way we should go this day.  Out of town and up into the hills was an auspicious start, and as we passed through the curious town of Jerome we caught a glimpse of how life must have been for the miners which worked the area in the past.  The views weren´t half bad either as it was winding back down through Old Cottonwood and some flat plains and towards an impressive red rock escarpment. 

The base of the rock wall which dominated the skyline was home to Sedona, another striking location with buildings constructed from the same red red rock which featured the local landscape.  So much so in fact you almost had to stop and look hard to see some of them as they blended into land.  But this small town was home to the start of a beautifully tree filled river gorge which wound its way up and through the escarpment, providing a great ride and even greater views.  I had noted that a number of motorbike tour companies include this area in their guided rides – and it is no wonder.

Climbing up onto the high plains, which were again littered with the greenery provided by forest after forest, we soon found ourselves coming to a halt for the day at Flagstaff.  The town was not quite as big as I was expecting, but it did sport a lovely old world town centre and plenty of accommodation, restaurants and bars.  That, combined with the seriously dark clouds now speeding their way across this big sky, was enough to convince me to settle in for the night with dreams of what the land of canyons would offer the next day.

Day 94 to 96 – to Phoenix, USA

23 to 25 June    Kms travelled – 23,799

I was really starting to get confused with the changes in time zones.  We´d already been across a few zones getting to the US, but to date the time changes had been resigned to international border crossings.  Having to change zones within a single country, somehow was causing more confusion to my electronic gear and my body clock.  Well, that was my excuse for the later than planned departure from El Paso!

It was still pretty early, however.  But as we left the city on the interstate I was already sweating and being buffeted by the swirly breeze that sought to squeeze through the city´s surrounding hills.  And it was still 5:00am!  Then it was onto the plains and calmer skies as we made some progress across New Mexico´s desert landscape.  I recorded a number of warning signs dotted along Interstate 10 highlighting the poor visibility in the area due to dust storms, and prayed that the wind would stay down until we had passed through the area.  Despite Idris and my somewhat grubby state, I had no wish to be sand blasted clean by the increasingly hot desert. 

I made a decision at Lordsburg...   well, that is not entirely true...  I made a decision about 10 kms after Lordsburg when the Interstate took a 90 degree left turn and exposed our side to the increasing wind.  But it wasn´t so much the side buffeting that caused me to pause (as we had been through worse), but rather the sight of a car and trailer around 300 meters ahead of me being flipped over twice by a gust that was channelled through a gap in the small hills that accompanied the road.  Luckily the driver was OK and once that was settled and emergency services on their way, I decided to retreat to Lordsburg and take the more scenic, older, and somewhat slower western highway (70) through the Apache reservation.  An inspired choice as while it added a couple of hours to my travels that day, it took me through some lovely green valleys, rolling hillsides and out of the way country towns that would have been missed in the midst of head down interstate driving.

As noted, the road also took us through the San Carlos Indian Reservation (a bizarre name for the home of a people that were traditionally neither Spanish speaking or Christian).  And this was pretty rough country.  It wasn´t rough on either Idris or I – we had good roads to travel after all.  But I couldn´t help thinking back to how this land would have been in the days when the reservations were imposed on the Apache.  The landscape was undulating, but seemingly without water or means of irrigation.  Consequently, plant or animal life was not immediately apparent.  No doubt the Apache were able to scratch out a life here, they did after all, but it must have been hard without access to modern technology and resources.  I couldn´t help thinking that they really did get the rough end of the stick, and perhaps this was justified motivation for some of the disquiet we have read about in US history.  That aside, it was nice to see them still here and I had an interesting chat with a couple of locals at a drinks stop just before exiting their lands (near a first nation owned casino complex which now provides much needed income and employment for the area). 

The road (60) took us onwards through Globe and some nice riding into the Tonto National Forest.  Now I couldn´t help giggle at the name.  Sorry, I know it is an Indian name as you will recall from the Lone Ranger TV series of years gone by.  But tonto also means stupid in Spanish – and I couldn´t help wondering if Hollywood knew that fact when naming the masked stranger´s sidekick? hmmm.  The main reasons for my giggles on entering the Tonto National Forest were, however, the apparent lack of any meaningful tree coverage!  There was an interesting display of medium sized shrubs and some nice rock formations – in fact the whole area was very pretty in a stark sort of way – but where were the trees?  A stupid forest indeed!   (I later discovered that most of the trees are further to the north).

The road down to the desert plains was great, and if anyone is in the area and seeking a good place for a road ride you could do a lot worse.  In fact, given the volume of bikes that passed it seemed to me that this was a favourite run for Phoenix based bike riders.  Because it was towards that big city we were now heading as the true heat of the Phoenix desert hit home.  I have never ridden in anything like it.  

Perhaps the city is well named as some sort of animal rising from the furnace-like desert in which it is placed.  I have previously described riding in hot countries as something like riding with a hairdryer blowing in your face – at least the Spanish lowlands in mid-summer can seem that way.  The only way I can describe that last hours´ ride into the Phoenix city suburbs was like riding with my entire body inside a fan oven!  I had to stop twice to take on fluids as I felt myself dehydrating by the minute, and it was only with relief that the GPS led me straight to my cousins’ home.

Catching up with family is always a pleasure, but particularly so when they are family members you haven´t seen for over 20 years.   It was also great to meet Maggie, Delany and Gracie for the first time (the latter having just celebrated her birthday – and who´s party I had crashed on my arrival).  They were cool enough to let me crash at their place for a few days much needed rest and recuperation.  Needless to say I had a great time chilling by the pool and enjoying the benefits of lovely air-conditioning.  Access to a washing machine was also a blessing, as my whole set of gear was starting to repel even my own somewhat numbed senses. 

Many long chats and talk of days gone by ensued, as I was treated to some fine hospitality.  And even Idris made a couple of new friends!  I was in much need of a rest day, not having had one since Guatemala, and I couldn´t have asked for a better place to recharge.  

I very much hope that Mrs Pat and I will have the opportunity to return the kindness shown in the not too distant future.  Thanks all.

Thought for the day

I was about to post this entry a few days ago with a very different thought for the day about our roots, family and how they always provide a much needed tie to who we really are...   when I was struck into inaction by some horrific and shocking news.  A friend fell while riding on his holidays in Texas, and died.  This larger than life character was hugely supportive of my journey and my cause.  I valued his friendship.  His intelligence, humour and genuine kindness will be truly missed.  It is hard to find any meaning in such events. 

Not surprisingly, this tragic loss made me pause for thought.  It made me think more carefully about those ABRs who I had heard had lost their lives during the course of this trip.  The couple who went down on Patagonia´s tricky Ruta 40 early in the year, and the very experienced overlander hit by a wayward truck near the Bolivian capital.  Plus the rider who´s time only recently ticked out on the Dawson Highway in Alaska.  You hear of these losses while on the road, but almost subconsciously put the deaths to the back of your mind.  My friend´s death, however, reminded me that we could be called at any time, and that we should seek to live each day in the best way we can.  He did.  He was one of the best.  He was one of the good guys.  He was not an overlanding ABR tackling extreme conditions, but a loving father and husband on holiday with his family.  My heart goes out to his wife and daughters.  Rhinestone I salute you.

Just Text Giving

I've set up a JustTextGiving facility for my fundraising in the UK.

You can now donate using your mobile phone.  It is quick and easy and (aside from the donation) won't cost you, me or Unicef anything.  Just text the message PATA50 £5 including the amount you want to donate (£5 is shown as an example, but will work from £1) to 70070, and you'll get a receipt and the option to link to Gift Aid (which I recommend if you are a UK tax payer).  Simples.

Please take a second to help Unicef give support to those kids.  Thanks.

Day 91 to 93 – to El Paso, USA

20 to 22 June    Kms travelled – 23,034

The decision to stop and lean on the hospitality of the Gonzalez Fernandez family the day before paid off.  I awoke to a clear sky and calm weather, which resulted in the remaining 80 kms or so to the border town of Matamoros passing speedily and without incident.  I did note, however, that the remaining road on the Mexican side (101) was particularly exposed, and would have resulted in my having to stop in an area without shelter if I had been foolish enough to press on the day before.  In my notes that day, I recorded that the ride would have been horrendous!  As always on the journey it has been important to listen to my gut feeling; if something doesn´t feel right it probably isn´t– and vice versa.  That was the case regarding the increasing wind - but also in respect of the kind offer of help.

The quick skirt through the town of Matamoros found us, yet again, at a border the cross.  Not many to go though, and this was likely to be the last tricky one of the trip.  I have to note that the Mexican officials and the process they have put in place was remarkably efficient, and they soon had me cleared to leave with the return of my $400 bond for the temporary importation of the bike being managed in no time at all.  Some 20 minutes later I was rolling up to the US immigration officials, who on sight of my strange looking number plate asked where I was from.  Great Britain I replied, finding it somewhat odd to be finally speaking English to a border official.  Ah, the officer responded... Canadian!  No, I patiently explained, Great Britain – you know, from Europe?  You had better pull to the side while we process your paperwork, I was advised by the somewhat bemused guard.  I was aware that US customs have the reputation of being a little surly, so I did well to suppress the giggles that were growing inside, turning my growing smile into the “I´m really pleased to be here” line, “I´ve just ridden up from Argentina over the last couple of months” – which only seemed to baffle the officer more.  Perhaps I should just shut up and go with the flow!

After a quick luggage check I was directed to the immigration office to arrange my Visa Waiver.  I was rather rudely informed that the ESTA I logged online before my departure (and paid a few dollars for) was only for air travel and in my case a complete waste of time (would have been nice if the website had made that clear).  On arrival in the well appointed (thankfully) air conditioned office, I was surprised to note that none of the 6 windows were manned – though there were some 15 people sitting around in the waiting area.  After about 5 minutes standing around like an idiot, through the glass partition I managed to catch the eye of an officer busy packing out his waistline with doughnuts and coffee (no, seriously, I´m not making this up).  When asked what I wanted, to which I replied my Visa Waiver, I was told rather brusquely that it would take at least 2 hours.  OK, I thought, it looks like my objective for crossing each border in less than 2 hours in total was going to fail at the hand of US customs, and I settled in for a long wait.  A short while later the officer with whom I was speaking outside entered, saw me waiting, called me over, and processed my Visa Waiver within minutes (having relived me of $6) and sent me on my way!  I was in the good ol´ USA – and still within 2 hours at that!

I´m not sure what the Mexicans having to hang around in the waiting room thought of all that – but during my short wait I did see one official put his head around a door and call one of the adults into a separate side room.  The guard was wearing rubber gloves!  Another interesting observation was that while the US officials were all US born (as best you can judge from the accents used), they all reverted to Spanish when speaking between themselves.  Spanish appeared to be the default office language, and signs were also posted with Spanish first.  This observation was to be reinforced over the coming days, where people in the street generally also spoke Spanish first.  I was aware of the large number of Spanish speakers now in the USA, but I hadn´t realised that this had translated so notably into use of Spanish as the first language.  Interesting, or should I say... interesante?

Equally interesante was the immediate display of wealth as we crossed into the USA.  This was visible in terms of road quality and cleanliness, the state of the buildings and tended gardens, volume and nature of retail outlets, newness and value of the vehicles on the road, clothes worn etc.  Almost every visible aspect.  The arrival of road signs that were clear, numerous and accurate was also a noticeable difference – and a welcome one.  We were heading for Arizona, so the 83 west along the US border was selected, and we got out of Dodge (well, Brownsville actually, but you know the phrase).     

The roads and landscape looked both familiar and yet strange.  I had never been in this area of the US before, yet each town passed sounded like something from an old Western movie.  In fact some of them were the names of old Western movies (eg Rio Grande) so that´s probably why.  Also the landscape was still very familiar to what I had seen on the Mexican side (understandably, as it was only some 50 miles away), but at the same time it was strange as everything man made was in such good order and well organised.  The disjointed feeling wasn´t helped by the fact that everyone continued to speak Spanish to each other – and in only a short space of time I found myself defaulting back to Español myself!

I mentioned that everything was comparatively well organised, but that is not entirely true.  Searching for a place to stay in Rio Grande and (later that day) in Roma resulted in a frustrating quest to find a motel with an internet connection.  I gave up on the fourth or fifth attempt, and landed in a reasonable place in Roma (sense WiFi), as the temperature was now well into the 40s and too hot to comfortably continue this day.  Perhaps I was being a little unfair, but I couldn´t help pointing out to the motel receptionist all the countries I had travelled where I had been able to easily find good wifi over recent months.  She, somewhat embarrassed by the facts, muttered that they were thinking about getting it installed.  Texas is a BIG place, and clearly the twenty-first century has yet to arrive in all its parts.

The arrival of some pretty hot weather saw us up and out well before dawn, as we calmly made our way up the 83 and onto the 90 west at Uvalde.  The roads were predictably good, but the landscape unremarkable and generally flat.  We didn´t spot Southfork (the Dallas series has recently been regenerated in the USA – yep JR and Bobby are back – and are getting good reviews) but we did pass numerous ranch gates, some of which were quite artistic.  We also passed some curious road signs, such as “Hitchhikers may be escaped convicts”.  

When the temperature got back into the 40s we, again, pulled in for the day – this time in Del Rio at a Motel 6 (a network of cheap motels which we were to use regularly throughout the lower 48).  These places were also a great opportunity to meet up with fellow motorcycle travellers, and this was no exception.  Mike Marrion (Harley Ultra), the impressively bearded former marine and police officer and I passed an enjoyable few hours talking about our respective travels.  Cool guy who, now well in to retirement, was on his last distance bike trip revisiting the various states on a coast to coast run.  The next day was another attempt to beat the sun as we trundled west (90) through Bantry and stopping in Sanderson for a refuel and some of the best coffee of the trip so far (at the small town petrol station, and made fresh by the owner).  Chatting to the locals at the fuel stop, saw us then continuing along the 90 through Alpine, a more scenic route, rather than heading up to the Interstate.  I didn´t enjoy riding the Interstates, which are faster and generally more exposed (they seem to all be built up from ground level) to the high winds currently battering the western half of the USA. 

It was a pleasant ride, though I noted in my day log that it getting hot by 10 o´clock each day was a bit odd, and having to stop by 2 was surprising.  But I was not going to ride without my armoured gear – and my armoured gear was not going to let me ride such high temperatures in comfort, despite being vented etc.  I also concluded that if I was going to ride in such a climate again, I would not choose to use a black crash helmet – which only seemed to magnify the searing heat.  So we stopped for the day in El Paso, right on the New Mexico border, which sounded just like another western movie – but didn´t look it – it being a modern and bustling border city.  A chance to catch up on some writing and do a bit of basic maintenance on Idris (as soon as that sun passed overhead and put the car park in shadow that is).  

I noted how tricky it was to unload Idris this day.  The two straps that hold the roll bag to the back of the bike have metal clasps – which I had to douse with cold water as they had gotten too hot to handle with my bare hands!  Equally I couldn´t hold the steel pannier lids for more than the couple of seconds needed to release the locks.  Crazy!  South America was relatively cold (well it was getting into their winter), and Central America was humid and sweaty, but nothing had prepared me for the heat of the lower US.

Thought for the day

Despite my research which alerted me to the contrary, I couldn´t help arriving in North America with the expectation or feeling that I had covered the hard ground in the first two phases of the journey (South and Central America).  I had to keep telling myself that this was not necessarily the case.  And if I had a job keeping that in mind, then the weather only served as a regular reminder.  The hurricane in Mexico, had been quickly followed by my arrival in unseasonably hot weather in the USA – coupled with a notable dryness and particularly harsh winds – the “lower 48” were suffering from a series of wildfires, drought, flash flooding, tornadoes, and dangerous thunder storms, the likes of which are generally unheard of in Europe.  I had to think carefully on how to proceed, and continue to pick my route and riding style to suit the climate.  My plan to use the US as a place to make some real progress through long riding days seemed to have been tossed out the window by mother nature.