Day 17 of Ride West

This was a day of contrasts and remembrances.  Contrasts in weather and terrain, and remembrances of childhood and my dad.

At breakfast in Blanding, Utah, I listened to the locals complain about the state of health care, the evils of their health insurance, and the impending doom of Obamacare.  He has few friends out here in the hinterlands of Utah, at least in this diner.  And the IRS is hated even more.  

I received a welcome respite when I stopped at "Hole N the Wall" outside Moab.  Google it if you have time.  An amazing accomplishment by an amazing couple, who are actually buried on the site.Taking the tour of this unusual and inspiring place caused me to reminisce about my parents.  For one the cavern house is preserved as it was when the creators and owners died in the 50's.  So, a lot of the furnishings  and decorations reminded me of my childhood home.  Also, Edward Abbey and his many talents reminded me of my dad.  While he didn't carve a home out of rock, he did build the house my parents lived in for almost thirty years, after I left home.  My dad was a carpenter and all around handy man, and there wasn't much he couldn't do, if he put his mind to it.

He finished high school in the 30's, was a WWII veteran, a farmer, a postman, a carpenter, a gardener, an avid reader, a husband of 60+ years, a quiet but always present father, and a friend to many.  His creativity in wood working furnished many people's houses with the small pieces of furniture, and picture frames that he made.  The other eccentric items at the Hole N the Wall also reminded me of him and his creativity.

Arriving at Arches NP, and taking the scenic drive reinforced in me the wonder and majesty of my Creator.  Even with the explanations of how all of these majestic rock formations may have come to be, by the scientists and geologists, I am still inspired by the beauty of God's creation.  Looking at the Milky Way a couple of nights ago, again caused me to marvel and wonder about all of the other galaxies, planets, and solar systems.  I bet there are similar scenic wonders out there like I have seen the last few days.

After a great lunch including a local beer, I back tracked a bit, and started my journey in the opposite direction toward Texas, now traveling only south and east for the remainder of the time I have on the road.  Riding east into Colorado, my luck with only dry riding ran out.  Near Norwood, CO, just west of Telluride, I donned the rain suit, and watched the clouds all around me, as a steady light rain began to fall.  The beginning's of a rainbow came and went and the rain continued to fall.  As I neared a highway junction, I had to decide on Telluride or Ridgway as my destination for the night.  Since I knew that the annual Telluride Film Festival was in full swing, and rooms might be hard to find, I rode toward Ridgway.  As I pulled into town, the rainbow fully appeared just as the sun was setting.  

Now, the contrasts of the day became fully apparent, in several ways.  I started the day listening to locals discussing their conservative views, even observing a parking spot reserved for "patriots".  I'm guessing those views would be hard to find at the Telluride Film Festival.  Moab was hot, dry, and dusty.  Ridgway was wet, cold, and in view of 13,000 ft peaks.  Fifty miles away in Telluride, the cool folks from LA and NY were gathered to watch and discuss the latest media, while across from my hotel in the rodeo arena, a tractor pull with actual souped up farm tractors was the local attraction.  

From talking to a couple in the hotel parking lot from Switzerland riding rented Harley's, to discussing the latest news from Arlington with the hotel clerk who had moved there from Arlington, this day ended with my thought that I live in an amazing country, full of contrasts.  And it is an treasured blessing to be able to experience a trip like this.  One that I will never forget.

Sign at my first gas stop this morning; chicken place and gas station in Monticello, UT.

Lunch in Moab

Rainbow at sunset in Ridgway, CO.

Day 16 of Ride West

Many of my readers (I'm being generous to myself using plural) are not old enough to have used a View Master.  If you fall into that category,  you  can get more info on wikipedia.  Developed by a fellow pharmacist, this device would allow you to view 3d images on a small reel, that you would click through on the device.

Growing up when I did, we were limited as to where we could see pictures of far away places; usually either the encyclopedia ( who still has those) or other books, or in my case a View Master.  I recall sitting in my room and looking at 3d images of all of the national parks of the West.  Yellowstone, Yosemite, Rocky Mountains, Zion, Arches, and others.  Of all those, the only one I was able to see growing up was Yellowstone.  The others remained simply visions in my head, until this week.

I will digress here and share a memory of Yellowstone.  For many summers growing up, we would take a two week vacation to Colorado.  Usually with an aunt and uncle or a couple that were my parent's close friends, the Fox's.  On this trip to Colorado, we also went up to Wyoming to visit Yellowstone.  We were traveling in two cars, with my uncle Hobert and aunt Clare and their daughter in one car, and our family in another.  My uncle Hobert was known as the prankster and he was definitely my favorite uncle.  He owned horses, drank beer, and had a color TV. They lived in Ft Worth, on a large piece of land in River Oaks.  He had a barn and horses, and for several summers I would get to spend a week with them.  In my mind he was the greatest.  

For this trip, he was driving a 1957 Chevy four door.  Somewhere in Wyoming, he decided to see how fast that car would go (I was riding with him).  At about the same time, he saw a train in the distance that would cross the highway in front of us, and he said that we would have plenty of time to beat it.  As he continued to speed up, it appeared we would have plenty of room to spare.  However, in Wyoming, they had something that he was not familiar with in Texas, the cross arms that lowered when a train was approaching.  Just as we were approaching the crossing with plenty of room, the cross arms began to lower, much to his surprise.  I recall a few cuss words, a squeal of brakes, and a sharp right turn that sent us into an empty field.   My parents were in the car behind us, panicked I'm sure.   All was OK, except something was broken with the suspension, and he traded that car away as soon as we got back to Texas.  And, my parents would not let me ride with him again.

Having the opportunity to visit the other parks I recall from the View Master this week, drink beer, and ride an Iron Horse would make my uncle Hobert proud, I'm sure.

One of Sam's favorite things, a tree growing out of a rock at Capitol Reef NP

My picnic lunch spot today

Thought I was gonna get wet, but didn't.

Late afternoon stop

One of three natural bridges in the park

Day 15 of Ride West

Rising early to catch the sun rising over the red cliffs of Zion NP, I was greeted by a gray cloudy sky after a night of rain.  As I finished my coffee and loaded up the bike, the clouds began to disperse, and by the time I rode again into the south entrance of the park, the clouds were thinning out to reveal a bright blue sky.

Riding east out of the park on the Zion-Mt Carmel highway, a twelve mile road of incredible twists, turns, and elevation changes, I encountered the aftermath of the previous rains.  Much of the road was covered with gravel and sand from runoff of the previous night's rains.  Taking it slow and easy, I arrived at the entrance of the Zion-Mt Carmel tunnel.  This 1.1 mile engineering marvel, built in the 1930's winds and curves through the mountain.  On the west side of the tunnel, the terrain is very rocky and bare, with minimal vegetation.  Upon exiting, it's as if I'm in another park.  I have entered a forest of evergreens and various types on pine and cedar.  The cliffs are shimmering in the sunlight due to the seeping water from the heavy rains.  The Virgin River below is still running with brown muddy water.  As I round a curve, I notice several cars are stopped and soon I see why.  Three big horn sheep are standing alongside the road, nibbling on some green sage.  After snapping a few pictures, I continue on my way, soon exiting the park, and arriving at the Mt Carmel junction of Hwy 89.  This small town is a popular stopping point for buses (full of Japanese tourists), entering the east entrance of the park.

A few miles down the road is the town of Orderville.  Now this would just be another 40mph slow down, if I hadn't seen the Flintstone looking building with an Espresso sign out front.  Not to mention there was a waterfall on top of the building, and a Flintstones car parked out front.  I had to stop for a picture, and the owner was very talkative.  This was previously a dinosaur museum, with the previous owner making life size dinosaurs from fiberglass.  According to "Don" the state of Utah bought all of the dinosaurs and made a park to house them, somewhere in eastern Utah.  The new owner turned it into a "rock shop" (there are 4 others in this town), and sells coffee to bring in the Europeans driving on their way to Zion. 

After coffee with the Flintstones, I soon arrived on Scenic Utah Byway 12.  Bryce Canyon NP was my first stop.  Beginning to rain and foggy as I entered, the park ranger said that b/c of the weather, I wouldn't be able to see much.  I stopped at the visitor center for a bio break and to get the details of the park.  After watching a 20minute video of the park and its' history, I walked out to my bike under clearing skies.  Truly amazing how God has been answering prayers on this trip.  The next two hours were spent viewing sights that seemed other worldly in many apsects.  My friend, Kevin Sturm, told me that Bryce was his favorite of the Utah parks and now I see why.  I must come back and hike the trails that go lower in the canyons.  

Just  a side note here for other bikers and car riders to these parks.  Grand Canyon is seen only from the rim when you are driving or riding looking down.  In Zion, you are really down in the canyon looking up,  In Bryce, you stop and walk to the edge or hike down into the canyons.  All three are totally different experiences.  

Continuing along Scenic 12, I encounter Grand Staicase-Escalante National Monument.  A one million + acre wild landscape mainly devoted to back country hiking and camping, the Highway skirts along the edge, until I come to a part called Hell's Backbone.  The road rides along the ridge with sharp drop offs on either side, and views that are breathtaking for miles.

As I come off this ridge, I see a sign for Boulder Mountain Lodge and Hell's Backbone Grill.  This is a very remote place and to find a great stop for the night and a gourmet meal is a nice surprise.  Found out this is an award winning Zagat rated restaurant and the food did not disappoint.

Big Horn sheep encounter in Zion

The Flintstone's coffee stop in Orderville, Utah

Amazing Bryce Canyon

Hell's Backbone Highway

One view from Hell's Backbone

Surprising stop for the evening

Day 14 of Ride West

I suppose, technically this is day 2 of ride back east.  Having spent last night near Area 51, I was glad to awake to a normal sunrise, without any aliens or other strange occurrences.   

"If you are old, go to Zion by all means, but if you are young, stay away until you grow older....It is not well to dull one's capacity for enjoyment by seeing the finest first."  Henry Gannett, US Geological Survey.

Zion National Park was my destination for today, and even though it took longer to arrive than I had thought, it was well worth the wait.  Chasing rain all day, and hearing about flooding all over, I expected to have a day filled with rain.  Not to be, I rode most of the morning with occasional sprinkles, but did not even break out the rain suit.

Arriving in St. George, Utah, I took the opportunity to stop at the local Harley store and pick up a quart of oil and have the service guy check out my oil leak.  According to him, it was no big deal, just some leakage through the breather due to hard riding.  Whether answered prayer, or normal wear and tear, 

( I know which I choose), my day seemed much brighter knowing I wasn't facing an imminent breakdown.

The forty following miles to Zion was a rider's delight with twists, turns, curves, and scenery to bring a person to a standstill.  Even though my posts have not done justice to the amazing landscape, it just keeps getting better.

Arriving at Zion, which doesn't seem crowded at all, even though it entertains three million visitors per year, I do notice that most people are speaking other languages; lots of Europeans and Japanese.  Zion is mostly a hiker's paradise, but there are some rides for us bikers, only two really, and the main part of the scenic views are seen via the mandatory shuttle buses.  In order to preserve the integrity of the canyon, and minimize the congestion, free propane powered shuttle buses take visitors along a several mile journey with narration.  With several stops along the way, it is better than driving.

The influence of the early Mormon settlers is apparent, with names of points of interest such as Watchman, Temple of Sinawava, Zion, Mt Carmel Highway, and three prominent mountains in the Court of the Patriarchs; The Organ, The Great White Throne, and Angel's Landing.

Zion is a national treasure, and a stop that should not be missed.

I took a variety of pictures, but once again, they are not loading up to "the cloud", so they aren't in this post.  I'll see if I can get them on FB, if you're bored and need something to look at.

Leaving the park, with rain clouds forming again, I decide to shut down early for the day in the small town at the south entrance, Springdale.  This small valley community, ringed by the majestic cliffs of the park is a delight.  As I unpack for the day, and began a relaxing wind-down with a ten year old Cuban Bolivar cigar given to me a few days ago by John Hawkins, I realize this may be the best cigar I have ever smoked.  A fine ending to a fine day.

My "non chain" lodging for the evening.

A view from my room for the night.

The more amazing view in the opposite direction.

Day 13 of Ride West

With sadness leaving Brooke behind in Venice to spend another long day at work, and gladness to leave congested LA, I ventured onto the 405 heading north on an early Sunday morning.  About the only time I would feel safe riding the 405 on a bike is on a Sunday morning.  As I expected, there was little traffic and I soon exited on CA 14 to start toward the mountains and eventually back east.

My plan was to go north toward Reno, skirting the Sierra Nevada mountains to the west, and avoid Death Valley to the east, eventually crossing Nevada and into Utah.  Hwy 14/385 climbs steadily from sea level to about 4000ft when I turned east near Bishop, CA.  As I got closer to Yosemite and seeing lots of road signs for Mammoth ski area, the pace of traffic picked up both ways with lots of trailers, campers, RV's hauling bicycles and a few Harleys.  It appears the wild fires near Yosemite are not keeping people away.  I read that there were 2600 fire fighters battling a 200 square mile blaze which is huge.  But, when put in perspective, those 200 sq miles were like a dot on the map.  This place is so vast and rugged it's hard to explain.

There were times that the road was so remote, I wouldn't see a car for up to an hour.  On one of those roads somewhere near the CA/NV line, I came upon a Harley and rider on the side of the road.  Not having seen a living soul in about 30 minutes I pulled over to see if he was OK.  It was then I noticed another rider coming our way, and I saw that he was filming his buddy.  His bike radio was blasting "Highway to Hell" by AC/DC and he had his video camera rolling.  He asked me to film the two of them riding together and for a time I stood in the middle of the deserted high desert highway filming their ride  down the long straight road with the mountains in the background.  They were from Switzerland, riding the West for a month.  Speaking flawless English to me and German to each other, we shared our riding stories.  As my friends from New Zealand had told me a couple of weeks ago, they too could not get over the vastness of the American West.  As we departed, he warned me about the dust hazards ahead, and I assumed he just meant the wind was blowing and it was dusty.  Man, was I surprised.  As I crossed a low mountain range, topping out at about 6000 ft, I wound and twisted my way to the valley below.  I could see the dust in the distance.  For most of the day, I had been heading north, and the south wind was at my back.  Now I turned east, and the south wind hit me with all its' fury.  As I shared last week about the wind being bad, this was worse.  Then I saw the road sign that said "Dust hazard ahead"  The highway was covered in dust in the low spots, and it was necessary to go slower than I already was due to the wind.

Coming into Tonopah, NV, it was time to refuel, and make a decision to stop for the day or continue on.  Since it was only 4:30, and I had stopped for a really good lunch a few hours earlier I decided to continue on.  As I left this historic town with an old hotel and casino, I began to wonder if I had made a mistake.  The sign outside town said the next fuel was 163 miles.  Since my Harley has a range of about 220 miles on a normal day, I thought that I would be OK.  In the end, I did have enough fuel, but I once again hit the most horrific winds I have ever faced.  At one point, a dust whirlwind hit me head on and pushed the bike all the way across the highway.  There was no leisurely cruising here, and I was yearning for the earlier part of the day when the wind was at my back.

Nearing the 100 mile mark of this leg, I crossed another mountain range and came into a valley, and the wind was gone.  Opening my face mask, I could now smell the rain that I had seen earlier in the distance.  I was giving thanks to the Creator for bringing me through the wind and dirt, and off to my left appeared a rainbow.   It was as if He was reminding me of His promises to never leave me.  

Forgot to mention this earlier, but the bike developed a small oil leak.  Being the in middle of a desert wilderness, and no Harley shop for hundreds of miles, I asked God to protect me and the bike earlier this morning.  As I saw the rainbow, and the leak seeming to have slowed down considerably, and the wind and dust storm gone, I was reminded of God's great power and majesty.  And, His love for His creation.

Pulling into the first small town I came to, Alamo, AZ,  refueling, and finding a motel, I witnessed an amazing sunset over the mountains I had just crossed.  

Days 11 and 12 of Ride West

Riding through Malibu last week and again on Thursday causes me to remember and reminisce about my years growing up in the 50's and 60's.  I don't know about your formative years, but growing up in small town Texas had its' advantages and sweet memories, but there was also plenty of time for day dreaming, wishing, and yearning for another life.  With one brother ten years older, my friends were my constant companions.  Unlike today, we only had four channels on the TV, AM radio, books, and board games.  Consequently, most of my waking hours were spent outside.  Movies at the theatre in town were a treat, usually reserved for Saturday's.  The local library was also a frequent place I visited, checking out the maximum four books at a time, and reading them either in my room, or on the porch in the summer.  With no A/C until my teen years at home, outside was the best choice in the summer.

Those of you reading this that were born later will perhaps have trouble relating, but here are some of my remembrances that were brought to mind riding through the beach and surf town of Malibu.  The beach movies, Gidget, Beach Party, etc. came out in the 60's.  About fifth or sixth grade, these hit the State Theatre in Gainesville, and how I wanted to see them.  But nope, b/c the girls we were in bikinis (really modest two piece swim suits, compared to now), my dad said no.  So, I sat at home on Saturday afternoons and dreamed of surfing and beach parties, while many of my friends were at the movies.

I was about that time, really into model cars, and cars in general.  The hot car scene in all the magazines was Southen California.  Drag racers such as "Big Daddy" Don Garlits, and custom car builders such as Carl Casper and George Barris designed cars that were a young kid's dream.  There's even a FB page today for these guys.  www.facebook.com/showrods.

So, as I would ride around town on my lime green Schwinn StingRay bicycle, I would imagine I was in Malibu or Ventura or somewhere on the beaches that the Beach Boys sang about.  I had a "girlfriend" in the fourth grade, Donna Culp.  That next summer, she moved to Southern California, and I really began to dream about surfing, and California girls.  A few years later, she moved back to our town, tanned with long blonde hair, but, alas, our fourth grade romance was not to be resumed.  She was, as I recall, the epitome of what I thought California girls all looked like.  Apparenly, I was not what California boys looked like, and we went our seperate ways.

I did, however, achieve some measure of satisfaction of dreaming of sunny Southern California, by exchanging the Schwinn Sting Ray for a black Honda 50, my first introduction into motorcycles.  I traded a go-cart and some money I made from my paper route to Bill Murray's dad, who ran the local motorcycle shop.  Talk about freedom!!!  Occasionally disobeying my parent's rule of not going out of town, I would ride on the country roads and occasionally further.  Being able to finish my paper route in record time, I would mow lawns in the summer, and before long, I traded in the Honda 50 for a bright red shiny Honda S 90.  I don't recall whether it was new or used, but it wasn't long until I began to "customize" it by removing the front fender and adding a megaphone pipe to make it as loud as possible.  Helmets were not required, and in my mind not necessary back then, I terrorized the neighborhoods, and would often have a girl riding on the back with me.  Only once did I crash, hitting a car that pulled out in front of me one day as I was almost home from my paper route.  Fortunately, I was not hurt, and the bike was fixable.

Summer nights were the best, with me and my friends often "camping out" in the back yard.  We were in junior high by now.  After our parents were asleep, we would walk around town, especially  on the weekends looking for the girls houses where slumber parties were being held.  Back at our "campsite" we would stay up all night listening to Wolfman Jack.  He was on an all night AM station XERF, broadcasting from Ciudad Acuna, Mexico.  Because it was across the border, their signal was much stronger than allowed in the US, and could be heard all across North America.  We would also listen to WNOE in New Orleans, and WLS from Chicago.  My friend, Dean, whose back yard we stayed in, was an amateur astronomer; and had a telescope.  We would look at the stars and planets, and he taught me about all the constellations.  

Another favorite weekend and summer night activity was to spend the night at Rodney Robinson's house.  He lived with his grandparents, and had his own apartment with a seperate entrance.  We could come and go with no worries of getting caught.  It was here I learned to play poker, often betting with matches or pennies, since we were all broke (having spent all our money on our motorcycles), and learning how to smoke cigars, Swisher Sweets.  Rodney had a Honda 250, much faster than my S 90, but he would let me keep up with him when we would ride together.

Today, since Brooke was at work all day, I spent some time riding around Venice and Marina Del Rey, visiting the beach, and watching the sailboats leave the harbor for a day of riding the wind.  This part of  Southern California is probably much different than in the 60's, but maybe not so much.  The surfers are still out, the hotrods are still cruising Hwy 1, motorcycles are in abundance, and Venice Beach is as crazy as always.  California deamin.................

Day 10 of Ride West

Awakening to the sound of seals barking in Monterey Bay, I can say this is a day of riding that will not rate towards the top of the list.  Via the 101, it's about six hours on a bike to LA.  Brooke needs to be back for work by late afternoon, so we have decided just to take this direct route and forego the ride further south down the PCH.

Technically, I am sticking to my rule of no Interstates, since the 101 is a US Hwy and is merely just a four lane road in some parts, but it's mostly freeway.  It has little truck traffic, since the 5 is the major route north to south.  

Riding this road is a picture window into the diversity that is central and coastal California.  Leaving Monterey towards the east is a lot like the Hill Country.  This area is dotted with cattle ranches and rolling hills.  Once we cross the coastal mountains, we enter into the most diverse and fertile valley you can imagine.  With mountain ranges both to the east and west, this fertile valley extends for hundreds of miles.  These mountain ranges and the fog that rolls in keeps the area cool in the summer and warm in the winter, ideal for growing a large variety of produce.  Wine grape vineyards cover the hillsides and flat areas alike.  These give way to vast fields of celery, onions, strawberries, artichokes, and other row crops.  The smells I experience on the bike seem like I'm riding through a giant salad bar.  The fields are active with tractors, trailers, and hundreds if not thousands of people picking the various fruits and vegetables.

Approaching Paso Robles, the vineyards start up again.  On a small stretch of valley, oil pump jacks appear.  Only a few are pumping, and I'm thinking if this were Texas, they would all be working and producing the $100 a barrel oil.  I've read that the environmental rules are so tough here, it's really hard to get the oil and gas out of the ground.  CA supposedly has more oil than Texas, but produces much less.  

Arriving at San Luis Obispo, the halfway point between SF and LA, I recall the time Vickie, Brooke, and I spent here a couple of years ago.  We stayed in a unique little inn, the Petit Soleil.  We enjoyed the local food, visited a few vineyards, and mainly just relaxed.

A small college town with great beaches nearby, it is a popular tourist destination, and was the site of the first motel in America.  Originally known as the Milestone Mo-Tel, it signaled the start of the automobile invasion.  A few years later, in 1962, the first Motel 6 was opened just down the road in Santa Barbara.  Originally only $6 per night, they will "still leave the light on for you", but the rooms are slightly more than $6.

Riding through Santa Barbara is just not possible without stopping, as this may be my favorite place in California.  We pull off in Montecito, and have a great lunch of shared swordfish tacos on home-made corn tortillas at Cava cafe.

Now on the home stretch, we exit off the 101 in Oxnard, picking up the PCH, and leisurely ride through  Malibu, Santa Monica, and into Venice, arriving at Brooke's apartment in plenty of time for her to unwind before leaving in her van to load up all the equipment and supplies  for her catering gig tomorrow.

I get to relax at her place and write this, looking forward to a couple of days off of the bike before starting the next leg of my journey.  (Oh yeah, added a few pics to yesterday's post)

Brooke's succulent garden on her balcony in Venice.

Enjoying a cigar on her balcony.

Our lunch spot in Montecito.