San Diego to Yuma

I'm here in Tucson and I finally have a phone that works (for the moment) and a WiFi connection. I'll update this travel log in sections before I pack up and move on again.

The day had come to leave Michael, 'Nita, and Steven and hit the road. It was great seeing them but the snows of November are coming to Connecticut whether I'm safely home or not.

I wasn't quite sure where I was headed other than east. I was scheduled to meet Greta in Tucson but not for a couple of days. I had reduced my load again and packed more things off to CT. For some inexplicable reason I had put the California map into the box. 

But how tough could it be? Arizona is too big to miss and I was sure they would hand out tourist maps at the border visitor center. I'd just take this road (Rt 92) east and eventually something would magically appear.

Like a train museum in Campo. The road had dwindled until it was a rough two land through some hard scrabble ranch land, then this delightful little museum popped up and called for attention

It was simple and unassuming, and closed, but it was a chance to get off the bike and stretch my legs.

A metaphor for our lives?

The road basically paralleled the border and showed the harsh desert that separated the two countries. The fence that the U.S. has erected seems like a bizarre joke if you imagine crossing this landscape.

It runs across the desert and then has big gaps in it when it comes to the hills. I didn't get real close to it but it didn't look unclimbable. Maybe the point is to funnel anyone crossing into choke points where they are more easily apprehended.

Going on and on for mile after mile.
I can't imagine how many of millions of dollars were squandered on this.

In El Centro I met a guy who claimed ownership of Mad Maps. A pretty funny guy who had lots to say about just about everything. I had gotten a late start out of San Diego and it was time to pick a spot for the night. I really didn't want to camp where I might be mistaken for an illegal border crosser so I asked if he had a recommendation for a cheap motel in Yuma. He said the Yuma Cabana was a good place for only $40 a night so I jumped on the freeway and picked up speed.

In Yuma his directions were a little vague but it turns out there is a strip of inexpensive motels, all cheap, and all with vacancies. The Yuma Cabana was right in the middle and looked as good as any. Just give me the key and let me put my head on a pillow.

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Mr Beth meets Mr Honda

If you're into vintage Honda's from the '60's and 70's you know the name, Bill Silver. Bill writes a column for the San Francisco Examiner about his adventures, trials, and tribulations with old bikes.

He is rightly known as Mr Honda and is the #1 authority on vintage Hondas in the U.S., if not the world. He has written several books and restoration guides on the subject. Check out the Classic Honda Motorcycles for a sample of the authority he brings to the subject.

Last night I caught up with him after his return from the Barber Vintage Festival in Alabama. We hadn't seen each other in a couple of years so, over some excellent Thai food, we caught up on each others activities. Five hours of chatting and story telling that made me remember a lot of good times with old friends.

But it wasn't just the old days that we talked about. Frankly, that's a subject that causes me to glaze over quickly. Been there, done that, had a salad.

We talked about current state of motorcycling and motorcycle collecting, contemporary motorcycles (good and bad), and some of the people we know and what they are doing now. We looked into the future of motorcycling and what the manufacturers are up to. So it was a little of looking back and gazing forward. In all, a most enjoyable time.

Beth at the track on her Ducati 900 SS FE

And who is Mr. Beth? That's what I'm known as at the track. Beth races and I'm her pit crew. Everyone knows Beth and I'm just, you know, Mr. Beth ...

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What else have I done while I'm here in San Diego? Went to the beach of course!

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Death Valley to San Diego

It's hard to do justice to the country I'm riding through. Words and photos just seem pale by comparison. The desert is subtle to begin with. You need to be quiet and wait for it to come to you. 

Then you notice the little things; varying shades of color in the sand, a tiny lizard scurrying across the rocks, a bird soaring high on unseen air currents. 

I sit to the side and watch people flying by in their air conditioned cars, occasionally sticking a camera out the window to take a picture of what? Something to prove they were here to their friends back home? Don't forget to buy the t-shirt too!

On the road south I passed out of Death Valley and headed toward the Mojave desert. 

Along the way I passed the Dumont Dunes and the Kelso Dunes. Way to soft for me to do anything but approach cautiously and then turn back before I got stuck.

In Kelso I found this restored train station.

It's a National Park Service site now. The lunch counter is ready for use and they are looking for someone to run it. A retirement opportunity?

Crossing Rt 66 was totally unexpected. I took a chance that nobody was coming to grab this picture.

And everyone loves a train.

After that I continued into the Joshua Tree desert and later the Anza-Borrego desert. By this time it was getting late and I was more interested in getting to San Diego than sightseeing. 

I made a tactical error in heading west through Julian rather than staying on Rt 86 south to El Centro. Julian is a nice little mountain town that I remembered from days past. What I had forgotten was how tight and twisty the roads were getting to and from there. Lots of fun in the daytime, a real pain in the dark. I might have saved some miles but I lost time from my slow pace.

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Thin Blood - Part 2

A couple of days ago I wrote about the non-motorcycling masses who think that motorcycles are nothing more than a death wish on wheels. As I reflected on what I had written I realized that there was another side to this coin. There were motorcyclists who think the same way.

You know who I'm talking about already. The ones who wouldn't venture down to the corner drug store without their 'Stich, Schuberth helmet, and communicator. Their rallying cry is, "Dress for the crash, not the ride!" And then congratulate themselves knowingly when it becomes a self-fulfilling prophesy. 

They arm themselves with CE armor, Kevlar skid patches, and all number of helmet certifications. They load there bikes with modulating headlamps and tail lights. They rewind their alternators so they can add fog lights and running lamps. God forbid they should not have gauntlets with armored knuckles!

They have their own Uncle Henry stories. They know a guy, who knows a guy, who saw a YouTube video of a rider that hit a deer and lived because he was padded like a toddler in a snow suit.

I'm not saying I'm ready to join the squids riding in t-shirts and flip flops. Or the cruiser crowd with only fringe vests and fiberglass yarmulkes. But spare me the condescending looks when I take my Bonneville out for a ride on rural roads in a jacket and jeans. I don't want to have to spend 30 minutes getting my special boots on with my special suit and my special gloves, I just want to go for a ride!

Why, Horrors!, I even go out without a helmet (legal in CT) sometimes. When I started riding in my carefree youth I didn't even think about owning a helmet. That was for racers and really fast guys. Besides, I couldn't afford one on my paper route budget. Now I can afford what I want and own several helmets but I still like the breeze in my face once in a while and hit the road au natural.

Frankly, I think all the safety freaks are a pain. It's just a fetish and a costume. Another clique with a feeling of superiority. You see them at rallies, standing to the side, making snarky comments about passing bikers who don't live up to their anal compulsions. Almost as if they wish the others would have an accident to justify their precepts.

Not everyone with a concern for safety is in this group but blinking headlights are for bicycles and day glow vests are for construction workers. Wear them if you want but leave the attitude at home.

YMMV!

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Death Valley Notes

First, let me say that in all my travels I had never been to Death Valley before. I don't know why. Maybe the name scared me off. Or maybe it was the horrible stories of death by heat or thirst. This time it was high on my list of places to visit on this trip.

Second, let me say that it is big. More specifically, it is REALLY BIG!


Third, let me tell you how completely naive I was to think I was going to do more than scratch the surface in a one day transit.

I left Big Pine in the morning and took the Big Pine Road to The Crater. A nice twisty paved road through canyons that was lots of fun. There was even a bicyclist pedaling up the mountain. Coming down into The Crater was more of the same but as I descended I was beginning to get the concept of BIG.

My eyes had no frame of reference to gauge the distance. There was no familiar object to provide scale to what I was looking at. The terrain is totally flat and it is not hard to imagine that a million years ago it was all a giant lake.

Photos are hard to take because even with a 24mm wide angle only a small area is covered.

This is the same view from the other side with a photo stitched together from 8 individual shots.




Another movie coming down the Hanging Rock Canyon to the valley in the picture above. 

Now, if you're getting an idea of how big Death Valley is, think again. This is only about 1/20th of the park! I spent 2 hours getting from the crater to Scotty's Castle on what should be listed as a Class 1.5 road. The problem is that the hotter sand gets, the softer it gets.

Another big problem is the way the bike is loaded. I had to use my Giant Loop Coyote bags because I wasn't able to buy panniers for the AT in this country. 

Too much weight placed too high and to the rear makes the bike handle like a drunken donkey on roller skates. Several times I got into mini tank slappers when one soft ridge crossed another. 20 mph was all I wanted to risk. I only saw one other vehicle all morning until I hit pavement. Not a good place to take a dive. Remember DBAJ ?

So everything is big, and everything is hot, and it's all hard work. And yet, there I was marveling at how great it was to be there. The road leading in through the canyons reminded me of Morocco and the Atlas mountains.

There were little discoveries like this abandoned mine tunnel.

And these painted rocks.

There were so many side roads I wanted to explore that the thought occurred to me that I had all I wanted right here and didn't really need to venture into Mexico. Still, at the end of the day, I was ready to push on. It would be easy to come back but much harder to gather the resources to get to the Copper Canyons.

Temperature at 5 in the afternoon!

One last reminder that I was in Death Valley. Just not so scary now that I had actually experienced it.

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Kelso Dunes

There is no way to describe how big these are. They are as big as any of the ergs I saw in the Sahara. The plaque says 45 square miles and easily over 1000 feet tall.

Not a sign you see every day

I guess the hare is up ahead

Made it out

A very trustworthy pony!

My campsite for the night

Chose an abandoned road and slept under the stars. A warm breeze that came up from the desert kept me warm.

I think they're trying to tell me something

Getting hot!

The road ahead

You have to ask yourself, Just how much do I trust my pony?.

Last night was a little spooky. The breeze made the tent fly rustle and the full moon played dancing shadows across the tent flaps. Was that a critter ...?

Finally, I got up and staked down the flaps and tightened the cords to stop the noise. At last I got some sleep.

Sunrise over the dry lake

The day was a slow start. I awoke at 6 and burrowed deeper into my sleeping bag. At 7 the sun came up and started to warm things. By 8 I was drinking coffee and eating oatmeal. 

The hard part was figuring out which bag had what. I had everything I needed but the organization left a little to be desired. By 11 I was reorganized, repacked, and on the trail.

Only 2 1/2 miles off the main trail my little side trip had started as a Class 2 road, then became a Class 3, and then a Class 4 in places going up a steep hill. The trouble was that there was no place to turn around. It was onward and upward only!

Luckily, the AT is extremely dirt worthy. Torquey engine, supple suspension, and grippy tires made the bike dance across the ruts like a billy goat. Not that I didn't feel all 500 pounds of it but I had confidence that I could trust the bike and it didn't let me down.

The road east was Class 2 & 3 so it was pretty easy going. Riding through the canyons exposed some pretty amazing rock formations. All went well until I came to the junction I thought was for Fletcher but turned out to be for Aurora. My map book wasn't any help since I had lost it along the way. I wish DeLorme would use a less slippery material for their covers. It isn't the first one I've lost.

Aurora was a mining town like Bodie but is pretty much gone by now. I have no idea what this strange building was for but it looked cool so I stopped and took a picture.

The temptation to take roads at random that headed south to see if I could pick my way back was great but I also wanted to keep to my schedule so I could spend time in Death Valley. So I back tracked to the road with a sign that said Hawthorne 22 -> and took it. I had no idea where Hawthorne was but it sounded civilized.

View from Lucky Boy Pass at where I had come from

Hawthorne turned out to be Hawthorne Nevada and to get there I had to go over the Lucky Boy Pass. The nice lady at the gas station let me look at a map of Nevada and I picked roads to get back on track. Losing the map book and missing my turn probably added about 75 miles to my day but I got to see more than I expected and proved the old addage, "As long as you have gas in your tank, you're not lost, merely misplaced."

Boundary Peak - 13,147 feet

Traveling across the desert floor on US 6 (the same one that starts in Provincetown MA and passes 7 miles from my house in CT) I came across this curious phenomenon; Heat on the desert floor and snow in the mountains. The snow has to be glacial to have lasted all summer.

I ended up at the Starlight Motel in the town of Big Pine, CA and had dinner at the Kozy Kitchen diner. I'm back on schedule and ready to hit the trails in Death Valley tomorrow.

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Sleeping Part 2

This is the picture that went with the last post

Where are you sleeping tonight?

On top of a hill next to a dry lake at the end of a class 3 road. How do I find these places? Just lucky I guess!

Mono Lake

A beautiful view made possible by a bike like the AT. This is why I ride!

Where's J.?

If you would like to know where I am in semi-real time you can go to:
http://share.findmespot.com/shared/faces/viewspots.jsp?glId=09dYLIBOyomLIRLPT2xJcqQip3iNLdXRn

I am using a SPOT satellite tracker to follow my progress. This not because I think I have so many adoring fans but rather because it will point where to where to find the body.

It has buttons for I'm OK, I need Help, and Send Lawyers, Guns, and Money! The idea is that I will start it tracking in when I begin my ride and hit the I'm OK button if I stop for lunch or dinner or for the night. If the track doesn't move for a long time and I haven't hit the I'm OK button I may have gone off a cliff. Or I may have just forgotten to hit the button.

I'll start tracking tomorrow. Let me know if you have any problems so I can see what I need to do.

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Another exciting day in paradise

I thought about heading out today but decided to spend another day at the cabin. As you can see from the photos, it's hardly a burden.

My decision to stay is so that I can do some in-depth planning for the next part of the trip. Instead of just winging it (my usual custom) I've been working out routes through the back roads of the Sierras, down through Death Valley, and on through the Mojave to San Diego. By tonight I'll have a detailed route sheet laid out to keep me on track.

Not that it's particularly dangerous. I have a 6 gallon gas tank with a range of over 300 miles. I'll be carrying all my camping gear plus an additional gallon of water. I've chosen roads that are marked as Easy or Moderate, leaving the Difficult ones for another trip.

This brings me to my ATM (Adventure Trip Mantra) - DBAJ - Don't Be A Jerk!

There are lots of cool things that would be fun to try but on a long, solo trip like this a tiny bit of prudence should prevail. Trying things that would cause damage to the bike or body are to be avoided. The salt flat that would be fun to rip across could have a soft spot in the middle that would mire the bike and send me flying over the handlebars like Clark Kent minus the leotards and cape.

Plans are always open to modification but having a plan to modify is generally best.

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Burn Notice

Last week I rode the local roads and trails with Eddy and Karl. The last couple of forest fires have taken their toll and there are places that look like a lunar landscape. I thought I'd post the pictures now before I forget.

This hill used to be covered with trees and brush - all gone now. If you look closely you'll notice that the wooden guard rail has been burned away.

 

Standing in front of this I could just imagine the fire racing up the hill consuming everything in its path.

 

Karl and Eddy in another scorched area.

The sign said "Road Closed" which we took to be a challenge. The tree took some work to get around but the bridge was impassible. The fire had totally burned away the roadbed. We spent some time hypothesizing ways to get past it if we were caught in the Ebola-Zombie-Apocalypse but each of our theories were sillier than the last. We turned around and headed back for dinner.

Yes - that's a bear print.
 

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When did our blood run so thin?

Warning - this is a bit of a rant. While riding alone my thoughts tend to wander. This sort of post will pop up from time to time.

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When did our blood run so thin?

One of the unavoidable hazards of adventure travel is Uncle Henry. Uncle Henry is the friend of a friend who knows a guy who had an awful disaster befall him because he a) was riding a motorcycle, b) was visiting a place outside the U.S., or c) ate or drank something that wasn't processed and wrapped in 3 layers of plastic.

Uncle Henry is well versed in the ways of the world and knows that the only safe place to visit is Disneyland. They speak our language, serve familiar food, and take money that isn't weird looking. He always says “murdercycles” instead of motorcycles and is sure that all riders should carry organ donor cards.

Uncle Henry once had a motorcycle but, as he tells it, “This guy came out of nowhere and scared me so bad I ran off the road and crashed. I sold that bike the next day and haven't gotten near one since. Any damn fool can see how dangerous they are!” He thinks MSF stands for Mighty Stupid Freaks.

As for travel Uncle Henry is sure that if he wanted to visit Italy or Germany he would visit Epcot Center where they are only a few steps apart and everyone speaks English. The Sphinx and the Eiffel Tower are in Las Vegas, everyone knows that too!

I could go on but I'm sure you get my drift. We all know the well meaning friend, relative, or acquaintance who drives a Camry and uses hand sanitizer by the gallon. They can't understand why anyone would want to go to Mexico. If the banditos don't get you the narco-terrorists certainly will. And god forbid you should drink the water! We should all wear earth tones and stay close to home. Travel, if it is to be done at all, should be in carefully orchestrated tours and cruises where the experiences are all precisely orchestrated for maximum enjoyment. Stay with the herd, there's safety in numbers. 

It is tiresome to listen to their small minds and little voices but, ironically, there is often a look in their eyes that a suppressed spirit exists within them that yearns to be free.

I wonder when it was that the spirit of adventure and discovery left so many of them. When did safety become the new religion? When did we trade the family station wagon bound for the wonders of the road for a Volvo that promised to save us from ourselves? Sure, we mocked the phony wood grain panels on the sides but what kid didn't love to ride in the “way back” and pretend that the trip was all their own?

Let the herd stay at home and watch the phony reality shows on TV. There are beautiful places to visit and wonderful people to meet. It's easier to get mugged in New York City than in the villages of Mexico. We're all going to die no matter how much granola we eat or how many Volvos we buy. What's the point of a long life if you're bored to death?

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