Guy
Boutin's Motorcycle Touring and Travel Pages
Adventures in Sport
Touring with the Honda ST 1100, 1300 and the BMW 1200RT
Exploring North America...One Road
at a Time
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Guy
Boutin's Motorcycle Touring and Travel Pages
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Day 12 PJ soon got up, and sadly escorted me out to the garage. She took a few pics of my bike and I, and then gave me a long hug. She is like a sister, and we have always been close. We promised not to go so long in the future without seeing each other. With her parents no longer alive, she had no idea when she would ever get back to Alabama. I assured her I would return to Phoenix next year. PJ's condo is right on the banks of I-17, and it only takes me a few minutes to find myself northbound for Flagstaff. The morning is bright and cheerful, and it feels good to be on the road again. I put off topping the tank till I clear Phoenix, and then exit near Cave Creek and take care of it. I overtook several north bound bikes. They display Arizona plates but appear to be on a trip. Their leader is a maroon Gold Wing Interstate, with a small teddy bear on the top case. Traffic is light, and the temperature falls as I ride out of the valley into the mountains. It felt good to be leaving the desert for awhile. I ride 125 miles and then begin looking for a place to take my morning break. The cool air is filled with the scent of Ponderosa, and it tings my nostrils. I exit at Munds Park and the Food Mart has a good inventory of things I like. I have been looking in vain for a Moon Pie the last few days. In California they wanted me to eat rice cakes, and drink fancy water. In Nevada it was eggs and some kind of potatoes, in the Dakotas it was bread pies. Now I longed for a good ole Moon Pie, and this store had potential. I asked the clerk- "y'all got Moon Pies?" "whazat?" "you know, the round marshmallow things, they are kind of layered" "the donuts are over there" I settled for cheese crackers with peanut butter, and Mountain Dew. I called my wife's office and got her voice mail. I left a message and got back on the road. I finished up the last 25 miles into Flagstaff, and began looking for US 89 north. Flagstaff was in slow motion on this morning. Tourist season was just beginning, so the town still had rooms available, and a guy could find a bite without a long wait. Just north of Flagstaff, on US 89, I passed a RV with Alabama tags. I tossed my hand in the air as I went by. US 89 is the main conduit from Flagstaff to the Grand Canyon. I was at the Grand Canyon last year when I was in my cage, so this year I eschewed The Canyon, to further my way east. I see more then a few white crosses on 89. I use to think this phommena was unique to Alabama, but my travels the last few years showed me otherwise. The highway is straight and I can't understand why it is so dangerous. My guess is improper passing. The landscape returns to rocks and dirt. I chuckle at the homes that have rock gardens for front yards. NO grass to cut. As I near the Grand Canyon Highway I am tempted to take it. I love the Grand Canyon. In my opinion it is the single most spectacular natural wonder. My visit there last year reaffirmed my position. I hear the Aurelia Borellais(Northern Lights) in Alaska are awesome on a cold night, and can rival The Canyon. I plan to make that comparison one day. I turned east on US 160 and took aim on Colorado and the Rocky Mountains, but not before I ride through Monument Valley, and stop at Four Corners. I see a sign advertising a Chinese buffet in Tuba. Now, that does sound good. I roll into town and begin looking for the restaurant. I assume it will be in town proper and take off that way. Tuba City is located on the Navajo Reservation, and it reminds me of any reservation town I have ever seen on TV. Run down and tired looking. Dusty side roads, and dirt driveways. All the buildings wear a dusty cover, and need painting. The few trees droop and hang. The skies are beginning to cloud, and it adds to the depressed feeling I have about this place. I spot a Federal Building with a US Flag high in the air. It is red bricked, and has a empty parking spot. I park the ST and go inside for directions. Several Navajos are sitting about the steps, and lounging on cars. I feel their stares as I ride up. I remove my helmet and go in. Inside I walk down a quiet hall and look for a open door. Even the inside of the building is dusty. I see a bulletin board covered in old memos and Federal guidelines. I find a open door and see a guy behind a desk interviewing a lady. I tap the door- "excuse me" "yes?" "look here, I was looking for the Chinese place" "go back to the highway and its in the shopping center with the movie theater" "thanks" I go back up Main Street to 160 and turn left, and find the shopping center. I park the ST and walk in the Chinese Place. The place is crowded. Immediately I feel strange. I am the only Anglo in the store. A young Asian girl sits me down and asks what I want to drink. I help myself to the buffet, then sit down. The Navajos are speaking in their native dialect, and now I really feel strange. Are they talking about me? None of the conversations around me make any sense. The tables are turned, and now I feel out of place. The food was quite good, and I never knew Navajo were so found of Chinese food. I think back to the number of Asians who labored in the west when the country was expanding. They worked in not the most pleasant of circumstances. I walked out to the ST, and the skies were really dark. It was cool and I switched over to heavy gloves. I ride on to Kayenta. There is not much too look at, and I fear I will run into rain before I get to Colorado. I quickly take care of the 70 miles to Kayenta, and stop to
top off the tank. I learned long ago, to keep your gas tank full out here. US 163 takes me from Kayenta to Monument Valley. The formations are very impressive and I stop to take pictures. Western movies of my youth flood my head. "Just think, it was here John Wayne led the troops". I took a break in Mexican Hat (gotta love that name) and plotted my course to 4 Corners. It is getting late and I don't tally very long. A old beat up Dodge with 2 Navajo children are parked next to the ST when I come out. The vehicle is loaded with boxes and clothes. I have some caramels in the leg pocket of the Roadcrafter and I slip them 2 while their mother is inside. Riding along in the late afternoon, I hum the theme song from the movie "The Great Escape". I am doing what I was meant to do. Riding. I have slipped the bounds of mediocrity and have become a self reliant, confident person. I choose where I will go next, I decide what route to take, only a handful of people in this country see it the way I do, and I am better for it. When I arrive at Montezuma Creek I am tired and a little cold. The local high school is empty and quiet, in fact the whole town is. Where is everyone? The road signs are poorly marked. They are not located before the turn, but AFTER you make the turn. As a result you have to look ahead to see if you are on the correct road. Even then, they only give you the number, NOT a direction. It was that scenario that caused me to take a wrong turn out of town. I soon find myself climbing a twisty road up a cold Mesa. It begins to sleet. Damn, how high is this place? I crawl along the switchbacks. This can't be right I tell myself. I reach the top and a wind blast stands me straight up. The misting sleet begins to pick up. It was here I reached the low point of the trip. I
pulled to the side of road and shut the ST down. I take off my
helmet. The day is gray, and I can see rain in the canyons below, the wind
blows my hair, and makes a noise as it whistles around the wires above. The
clouds swirling above appear to be moving at breakneck speed. I am lost, I
am cold, and I still have a long way to go. Planning a long trip from your
study is fun. You don't think about times likes this. In my study,
everyday is sunny and 75, but that's not motorcycle touring. This low
point will one day be a important part of this trip, so I took a picture of the
ST, standing alone on this barren mesa, to help me remember. I snap out of it and set out to get unlost. The first step is to find out where I am. I get out my atlas and see where I went wrong. There. Had to be a wrong turn, RIGHT THERE damnit. I ride back down the mesa the way I came, make the CORRECT turn this time and go to Four Corners. I am determined to get the same corny picture everyone gets at the marker. I met several RVs, their antennas whipping in the wind. Entering the gate at the Four Corner Marker, I pull up to the guard shack. A uninterested Navajo collects my 2 dollars and I ride in. The marker looks just as it did in my grade school geography book. A father has his family stand on the marker, a guy in each state while he takes the picture. They even have a platform built to get the angle just right. I embarrassingly fall in line and take my picture. After all I have worked hard for it.
The marker is surrounded by stands, where the Navajo sell their goods. Today most of them are empty. I see a couple at a food stand buying drinks. I need a rest room, so I glance around. It was then I saw them. Port-a-johns. Five of them lined up in the rear. Dang. I look for a bush as alternative. None available, this is the desert dummy. I NEED to go, so head that way. Oh how I hate this. What if it falls over while I am in it? What if I get locked in? Twenty feet away the odor hits me. When was the last time someone dumped these things?? A lady runs out fanning herself from john number 3, and hollers over to me " IT IS WHAT IT IS". No kidding. That's it. I ain't going in. I turn around and head back to the ST. If I wet my pants before I find a place so be it. Mission accomplished. I have my picture and now its time to leave 4 Corners. My plan is to ride into Cortez, and find a cheap motel. If not, then find a campground. The sky has turned partly cloudy, but it is still chilly. Riding north the Rockies come into view. They look foreboding and cold, and at the same time beautiful. The sun is going down, a cold wind blowing down from the mountains makes me flip my shield down. In Cortez, I stop for a drink and candy bar for later on. I can't find a motel so ride on through to the campgrounds to the east. US 160 takes me east out of Cortez. I am tired now and I ease off at the first private campground I see. The sign out front reads 22.50 for a tent. NOT today. I get back on the highway. It is getting dark and I can't go any further east. I DON'T want to be in the mountains when it gets dark. I will check out Mancos State Park, if it is not suitable, I will ride back west and cough up the 22.50. Riding to Mancos I sing "Walk Away Renee". The signs for Mancos take me off the highway to a well maintained, but dirt road. I have about 40 minutes of light left. I can't find a ranger at the entrance. I enter and follow the signs to the tent area. A doe bolts across the road, but I am not going fast, and no harm done. It only confirms I am done for the day, and not to ride into the mountains at dark. The place is deserted and I find a nice out of the way place. I anticipate a cold night so place my tent near natural wind breaks. I covered 526 miles for the day. With my tent and sleeping bag up and ready, I get out my stove and fix supper. A can of Chef Boy Ardee given to me by PJ. It is dark and cold, and I feel very isolated. I am the only guy in the ENTIRE park. These surroundings only punctuated what I knew- a bad ending to a bad day. I don't have any wood for a fire, and I needed one bad. I eat my ravioli by the light of the lantern. Sleet and snow flurries began to fall around me. When I turned my light off it was DARK. It was getting colder by the minute. My sleeping bag was rated to 30 so it was going to be close. No showers were available. With nothing else to do, I got in my tent. I placed my coat liner over my sleeping bag for the extra warmth I would need later on. I also slept in sweatpants and sweatshirt. I went to sleep worrying a snow storm tonight at the higher elevations would close the passes and I would stranded. I decided to worry about that tomorrow. I am a long distance rider, I will adapt. My tent and sleeping bag were cozy warm. I slept well, but baying coyotes woke me around 2am. They sounded really close. I made it back to sleep, about a hour later, finishing the day.  
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