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.
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