My pot flowith over...

I was half way through making myself a pot of coffee this bright sunny, US Thanksgiving morning... when I realized the decanter was sitting on the dish rack.

DOH!









Yup, wanna see a 58 year old man move fast, coffee pouring out of the maker all over the counter and onto the kitchen floor like a Hawaiian lava stream.

Took 20 minutes to clean that mess up and still no cup of joe this morning.  

I had Mike from Census Landscaping and his team over yesterday to trim my large acacia tree and smaller orange tree in my back yard.  Went from looking like Frank pre haircut and post!

Hey, we both clean up nicely.  Boo boo doesn't seem too interested in going outside to play, seems quite content to follow me around the house.  I'm invited over to her Mom's place next door for Thanksgiving dinner, looking forward to that.  Jude has been such a great neighbor, keeping an eye on things for me, taking the pizza/car detailing/weekly specials/coupon flyers from my door step... I figured the least I could do is accept her invite and chow down baby!

Both my own girls are vegetarians, my sweetie and wife Brenda is a Veggie, her daughter Anna you don't know one day to the next, so my days of doin' the big turkey dinner with all the fixin's are most likely gone forever.  I bet the union of independent turkey's is happy to hear that.



While having my shower, Boo succeeded in biting off a little more than she can chew, half the toilet paper roll was once again on the floor.  I don't know what it is with this little pussy cat, but she sure does like biting/chewing paper.  Not fussy about it either.  My latest motorcycle magazine, my recently printed itinerary, money... whatever she finds within reach that's composed of a paperproduct, is fair game.  I wonder if she was a paper shredder in another life and still feels the need to rip and tear.

Next trip will be early in the week, after a day long trek in the desert, I need a week of R&R to recuperate.  Both Tom and Ronnie keep telling me "You're not as young as you used to be dumass..."  

Like a guy needs to be reminded.   

Anyway, my coffee awaits...

Trial and Error...

 
Much of life is simply a matter of trial and error..  Take breast milk for example... you try it, you like it or you go on formula.  Later on, there's that little red headed girl sitting in front of you.  You pull her pig tails, she likes it or she swats you.  Still later... you ride through knee deep sand and it either turns your crank or you go back to formula.

  


I resist riding on pavement.  Not that I dislike it but to be honest, it's dangerous.  It's no secret among motorcyclists that every time we ride our XT/Ninja/GS/HD/CB/VTwin/Inline, on a city street, we are taking our life in our hands.  As a Dad, each time Holly was going to ride, I secretly cringed. 

Now, mind you, she's well trained, after all I was twice presented with Outstanding Chief Instructor awards, but nevertheless, I feel more comfortable on the back roads with her than riding in Calgary. The first line I said to every new class during my near twenty years of motorcycle training was...



"Ride like you are invisible!"

Even in a place like Phoenix, where biking is year round, where signs are posted throughout the city and state warning drivers to be cautious of motorcyclists, you have to be 'ON' continually.  Surface streets are posted at 35-45 and the various freeways from 55-75 in the state, but as is typical, traffic flows at a higher rate.  There are lots of cars/trucks/buses and there is no difference between PEI (pop ~140,000) and Phoenix (~4.5M) when it comes to distracted/stupid drivers.  People will do all kinds of things while driving; from eating overloaded burgers, to reading the paper, putting on make-up, texting or just plain catnapping.  Riding in Canada, where many places have a limited 'season' means we have to go through the hardship each spring of dead-brained drivers killing us because they are well, brain dead behind the wheel!  

In my riding career, I've raced motorcycles with studded tires on ice, dragged my knee at a hundred sixty kph around a race track, moto-crossed and trail ridden. 

Everything you do in life poses a hazard to one's health and well being.  After all... I was married for fifteen years and I barely survived that intact!

North of the valley is a small city named Prescott.  In reality, if you took the Interstate, you could daddle during breakfast, leave at 10 am and be seated in a restaurant at noon having a burrito.  On the other hand, you could pour over Google maps and attempt to get there by stagecoach across the Bradshaw mountains.

I'm joking of course... the stage coach is long gone... but the mountains are still there.

What I have is a road legal, single cylinder, air cooled kick start Yamaha with 21 cubic inches of raw horsepower and torque.  Wet weight with fuel on board to ride 190 miles or so, and what gear I carry, is most likely little more than 300 lbs.  The Hamilton Tiger Cats have linemen that weigh more than that!  I bought this bike specifically to ride from my home in the city of Glendale, across as little pavement as possible, to get to this back road maze of trails and tracks that once upon a time, were used to get from Payson to Phoenix or Gila Bend to Glendale. 

Riding back in them thar hills is an experience most riders will never have.  Back in my old hood Alberta, years ago I wrote a story about the Forestry Trunk Road that thousands cross each year totally oblivious to that 1500 km off road (but street legal) north/south highway.  As with most people and many things in life, we tend to choose the easy vs the hard.  We don't look for the out of the way or difficult.

 

For whatever reason that is, the easy doesn't tend to push our envelopes.  As a result we become  lazy, lethargic, lacking confidence and experience and when life throws us a curve... many people haven't a clue how to deal with it.  Isn't that the truth?  If you never push your personal boundaries, how in the hell are you going to know what to do when Murphy shows up?



I've known people that panic at the slightest situation that occurs outside their comfort zone.  The very term "pushing the envelope" came from test pilots reading their orders... and then attempting to exceed them.  Had they chose the easy, we'd still be riding buckboards instead of Boeing's!



Anyway... here I am... planning on riding my skinny little trail bike to Prescott, but across a formidable mountain range.  Then back again.  Sure sure, some parts of this route I have ridden before but of course back there, things change seasonably.  A heavy snow melt will wash out that downhill or stream-bed you thought tough last season.  This year it's not even recognizable.  Others, I'm on virgin turf for me.  Back there place names include, Crown King, Horse-thief Basin, anything followed by 'mine' or 'canyon' and even a Copperopolis!

People including friends sometimes question my sanity, "why do you do it."

Years ago I answered this way; "I do it because when I am 65, I may not be able to."

put it another way... my old buddy MJS says;

"Rock and Roll today, tomorrow you may only be able to Roll."

PS... picked myself up a compass!

LOST!

fresh as a daisy.

Despite my best intentions... I never made it to Prescott.  

Not that I didn't try and try hard... just sometimes the best laid plans go astray.

$2.95/gallon

You have to understand something right now.  If you asked anyone here, man/woman on the street.  The guy at the gas station, someone you know... how to get to Prescott, you'll be greeted by two typical replies...

1)  Where's Prescott?

2)  Take I-17 North etc.

When I tell someone I am looking for the back route, I either get a blank stare or a "why?" followed by a blank stare!

XT loaded with water, energy bars, an apple.  Maps (not much good) and a stop prior to leaving Peoria to fuel up, I was ready to rocks, so to speak. The night before I had gone over what maps I had, google earth and pen in hand, painstakingly drew a route I would take, including estimated mileages.

Well marked CK Trail.

Even before getting into the day, I had to re-arrange my luggage.  My experimental mounting atop my cooler/tail pack, done to allow me better access to the kick-starter, was unsatisfactory.

Some of the early part of the trip, to the Crown King Trail, I had ridden before.  I had memories vividly implanted in my brain of that ride two years ago.  One of the most difficult off road rides I'd done in my life.  (CB 278 'Conquering Crown King')  I didn't see a soul on the entire trip, till the outskirts of CK.

From here on out, I would be on foreign ground.  It's about 90 miles as the crow flies from home, but of course I would be traveling back country where you could be aimed at all four corners of the compass in a single mile, and doing it up or down and round and round.

 Navigating back there is akin to throwing the dice.  There are hundreds of trails branching off in every direction and road signs are rare, and when you do see one, it often makes no sense.  GPS typically maps only major traveled routes and I left my trusty Baja compass at home.  Note to self: buy compass/leave in Phx!


When I'm adventure touring, I am nothing like you see in BMW commercials, where the Hein Gericke clad, chisel jawed, forty something, six foot three inch tall middle linebacker, movie star dude, GS rider, is piloting his 700 pound "dual purpose" bike along some Alpine road.  I remember full well a group of KLR 650 riders (which at least has some pretensions of off-road ability) from Canada, that I had met in Loreto, filling up at a Pemex.  Turns out that the only time their tires had set knobby off pavement was at the service stations!! This after I'd ridden parts of the Baja Mille race course on my 225 Serow!

When I am adventure touring, I may only cover 100 miles in a day, but in that time its very rare that I meet anyone else, period.  Given the places I have ridden solo on my various street/trail bikes, I have lived on the edge much of my riding life.  No people, no water, no traffic... no help!



I passed Lake Pleasant as I have many times before, took the Cow Creek turnoff, left behind two UTV's in the process... and eventually came to the Crown King Trail, clearly (?) marked by a faded spray painted CK on the face of a boulder.

 

From here on in, I was on unknown terrain.

Weather was good, I had enough duds even for potential cool riding, and soon found myself stripping off gear, until I was down to a muscle (no laughing!) shirt under my Baja MUV.  It's on terrain like this the 350 is a good compromise.



Just fast enough on the 55 mph highways to get here and flexible enough to ride in lower gears on the trails.


After climbing steadily up to 4500' I found myself descending into a long valley, apparently to the south.  I wasn't worried given the changes of direction the road takes.  The track became rougher, requiring me to stand on the cleated pegs much of the time.  Eventually I was picking my way through dry creek beds and should have clued in when I saw a sign pointing downhill to Walker Gulch. 



At this point, I was riding mostly in first or second gear, avoiding boulders, riding through axle deep sand, and shifting my weight continually.

In terrain like this, there is no room for mistakes.

You have to be dialed in 100% of the time.  If you falter, you will fall, smack into or go over a cliff!

Shade is only available on the occasion that water may be near the surface and some cover has grown, or in the lee of a canyon wall.

I was pretty sure I was heading in the wrong direction much of the time but without road signs and with constant twists and turns, you can never be sure.  A compass helps but even then, you are changing directions so often, its really academic.  This, to me... is real adventure touring.



Weaving and wobbling my way through the gulch, not a cowboy on horseback in sight, having struggled through deep sand skirting boulders the whole time, I found myself in a huge open, dry river-bend, at the bottom of a wide ravine.  I had no shade, no idea where I was, no idea where the road had disappeared to?

Jamming some river rock under the side stand to keep the bike from falling over, I went for a walk up the river.  Around a bend, I was greeted by a green government road sign that told me I was at the junction of Buckhorn road and Castle Creek.



Okay... I could tell Buckhorn went up a steep boulder strewn road, but had little idea in which direction Castle creek was.  I found a gate, not unusual back here, that was unlocked.  I backtracked the quarter mile wearing my Icon's and dragging my arse through the sand. getting some into my footwear to boot! 

Looking at the sun, I knew roughly in which direction North was and that seemed to be the way I had got here and the gated road promised to take me.

Once through the gate, I set off up the wash.  I promised myself that I would travel 3 miles and if I didn't come out of the wash, I would return.

I should have known better when Charlie Brown and Snoopy, piloting his doghouse where telling me that this road? was for Jeeps only... 

Tonto National Monument

WHAT a great day I was having.  Starting out in Payson, I'd ridden the Mogollon Rim country, from high pine forest to the Salt river valley and Roosevelt Lake.  It may not have been the most difficult or exciting route I'd ever traveled but it sure was a pretty ride.



Coming around tight turns high up in the mountains, switching back the hundreds of curves, along rock faces, chasing the sun westward, XT and I were in our realm.

 




Sometime riding a dual purpose bike in a place just like this, is about as close to the "perfect ride" as you can get.



Much as I love exploring Crown King or Sierra Giganta, you can't always judge a ride by how tough it was.  In fact the two aren't even the same thing.


 

My burger washed down by a cold Pepsi, I mounted up and headed up the road.  Next stop, Tonto National Monument AZ.

As you ride the access road up into the National Park, you get a good look at the desert mountains looming large across the horizon.





I paid my three dollar entrance fee, exchanged my Icons for runners, stowed my gear and camera's in one hand, water bottle in the other, began the long walk to the Cliff dwellings.  It was plenty hot out and the walk is steadily uphill.  The views were, well stunning.  What can I say.



  

About 800 years ago the peaceful native tribe known as the Tonto Basin people began transforming the cliffs into habitat suitable for large family groups.  Below this particular site, even today a desert spring flows in the valley below. 

Each day, water would have to be carried a thousand feet up the steep valley.  The east facing cliffs would have provided shelter from desert heat, the valley of the Salt river would have proven to be suitable for simple agriculture and the heights would have provided some security.


 



Sometime around 1450, well before Columbus sailed west, the Tonto Basin peoples abandoned the site as many cliff dwellers did throughout the SW United States.


No one is certain it seems, why...

these various tribes disappeared into the history books.

Even hundreds of years later, it's still a mystery.

Eighty eight, took me back into Phoenix and the freeways, eventually home.

A hundred years later, a new tribe began moving into the valleys and surrounding mountains.






These newcomers, known as the Apache people, were not as peaceful as those gone before...

Dilemmas, as in, on the horns of.

Compromise is a fact of life.  It is unheard of to get a perfect calm.  Take my current situation for example.  Here I am , for my little Phoenix vacation.  A chance to check out from the other life I lead for a moment.

Having moved from Alberta to Prince Edward Island... clear across the country, exasperates my transportation situation here.  Ninety percent of what I do here, groceries, local riding, visiting, riding, shopping for the minimum of consumables I use and riding around the hood, I can accomplish quite well with my scooter and trail bike.



In truth I don't really need anything more than this.  I could ride for years on this annual trip without getting farther than 150 miles radius from my home.

Where my transportation falls short is extended access, carrying something larger than a case of beer and freeway travel.  That wasn't an issue when I drove here from my Calgary home, but has reared its ugly head this time round.  Ideally, I'd get myself a local light pick-up truck or SUV with a carrying rack and just truck my XT farther afield to extend my range.  The problem with that is my lack of a garage and hence, secure storage for said vehicle in the months I am at my other home.  See the dilemma?

I've entertained the thought of buying another bike to leave here under lock and key, a 650 perhaps.  I'd have then a bike capable of travel at the speeds local traffic chooses, which generally is, ahem... somewhat higher that the posted limit.  I thought briefly of a street bike but ruled that out.  I am still far too fond of that dirt road I pass on the highway.  Where does it go, what adventure will I find there, where will it lead me?

In any case, there is again an investment not only in purchase price, but insurance, registration and of course operating costs. 

I'm here for barely another month.  I've found several suitable dual purpose bikes, some more biased to the street, like KLR'S; while others, less dirt friendly than my 350, at least would be passable on routes such as the Castle Hot Springs rd and Apache Trail.

I hope to sort this out in my mind during the coming week and make some type of decision after that.

Wish me luck...

Riding the Mogollon Rim

ready for another day on the trail...

I'D had a troubled sleep.

Restful hardly applies.  I'm in Payson, Arizona.  I'd ridden back and forth through the Superstition mountains yesterday on surfaces ranging from billiard smooth asphalt to rough and tumble jeep trails.

49 degrees F  Brrr.

Last night I arrived at the outskirts of this small city, fueled up the bike, taken a hot shower and had a filling meal at the local steakhouse.

High pine forest, elk haven.

The bed was warm (although hotel pillows are too soft for me) There were a hundred channels on TV and my bike was safe out of general sight (always a concern when I travel no matter where) but in my sight beyond the curtain.

So, why was I restless... you're gonna laugh :)

the easy part.

I couldn't help but think of little Boo boo, back home in Glendale by herself.  This little puss that has sort of adopted me and my home and my tall shade tree as her own, a little feline that has spent much of the past few weeks in very close proximity, whom I would have to leave behind when I depart.  Of course she belongs to Judy next door and is in fact a 'loaner' kitty, but nevertheless, I felt truly bad that she was spending the night and two days on her own.  Yeah there was plenty of food and water, but still... go figure eh!  Guy rides all over the frigging world on a motorcycle, has a newly wed wife at home in PEI, with three kids from Alberta to the Island... and is fretting over a 6 month old kitten feeling lonely.

The village of Young.

In no time I had my meager possessions packed into the cordura bags, water bottles filled and stowed and suited up in every piece of clothing I had.  The sun was shining, but the air was biting cool.  Within miles of leaving the motel, we were climbing and we didn't stop climbing until the Ranger station at the Mogollon Rim, a very cool 7500 feet, where the first thing I saw was a rather large thermometer reading 49 degrees F.  Pronounced Mo gee yon, this escarpment divides much of the central state, and is a forested high mountain refuge for elk, coyotes and people that wish to escape the city.  Only a couple of hours via freeway out of Greater Phoenix, home to millions, you are in a pristine and well kept wilderness.

hitched up at the dead Broke saloon.

The bike did pretty well considering it's diminutive engine output (roughly 22hp) and the elevation changes that ultimately rob even some of that little power.

Route 260 is not heavily traveled, I wasn't holding up traffic, other than the chills, it was a beautiful day for a ride.

Gonna be a long wait for gas at this station.

I met Gene a retired EMT, working part time at the station.  Dashing in his Parks uniform, he filled me in during my hour visit, on the local area, it's history and showed me the many photos that he personally took, arranged on the wall across from the small counter.  Gene was quite thrilled for me, as I explained what it was I did, riding around in this back country on my little trail bike, as often people are when they learn where I just came from and where I am going.

Purty huh!

Just two miles beyond the station, after bidding farewell, I turned off on what would become state route 288.  A gravel highway that varied greatly in it's route down from the mountains back to Roosevelt lake.

Down down I went, the tall pines giving away gradually to cacti covered scrub brush country cut by deep canyons and ravines.

Roosevelt lake

I stopped for some pics and a stretch in Young on a short length of pavement before climbing up once again and on to Roosevelt lake.  This gentle and peaceful area was not always so.  During the late 1800's, the Tonto Basin War nearly wiped out two competing family's.  At it's height what was otherwise known as the Pleasant Valley War was a real life Zane Gray/Louis L'Amour  novel.  Cattle rustling, water rights, sheep vs cattle, yup pard... it was all there.

I watched ma back as I left it behind climbing into the pine forest once again.

The road is circiutous, drop dead purty and stunning views as you suddenly see into the distance with a break in the trees.  You could easily travel this route with a high clearance vehicle, possibly even 2WD as long as it's dry.  The little Yamaha loves this stuff.  Okay, I LOVE this stuff!  The bike probably couldn't care less.

Apache canyons

        

As the elevation decreased, the missing horsepower came back and I found myself coasting down long stretches with the engine off and the 6-speed transmission in neutral.  Silence for company, only the sound of the knobbies breaking it.

Taking it all in...

My whole life, I've been fascinated by that first view of water.  My first view of the Pacific, or the Atlantic.  My first view of the Cortez, the first view of Lake Roosevelt.  By now once again on single lane pavement, dropping down thousands of feet from the Mogollon Rim, I see the lake shining brightly, yet still 15 miles away.

Rugged, not hard to imagine cowboys and injuns!

                                                              

I cross the Salt river and tack back onto route 188.  In Roosevelt, I fill up both the bike and belly, not in any particular rush, with possibly the best cheeseburger and fries I've ever eaten, my first on this vacation.  Sitting outside under a shade canopy at the local bar and grill, I unfold the state map onto the picnic table I have all to myself.

single lane Salt river

Before leaving I chat with a couple of Harley riders, out for a day's ride and a couple of beer.  We agree that we, as riders, don't seem to be getting younger.

Been flowing for a thousand years.

Makes me think... all this generation of youngsters raised on video games, getting their thrills electronically, and here I am... pushing 59, riding around in the back country desert on a motorbike...

Enjoying my great burger in silence.