The Desert on my Mind.

     Riding through that early morning desert, the sun rising on my back, I was whisked back to my childhood memories, when my family would take trips to Lake Powell and other various destinations across the desert with my grandparents, insisting that no matter where we headed that I ride with my grandparents in their car.  I'd be staring off into the landscape, watching the desert wake up, watching its various different shades of tan come back to color, and the desert shrubs look evergreen again.  With the sound of Grandpa's various AM talk radio, and the comfort of knowing Grandma was in the front seat, and the smell of the desert and sunblock on our tanned skins.  It's the memories like this which make me love the desert every time.  

     An adult now, and traveling it on my own, I am still right there with my grandparents, as I have picked up my love for the desert as an extension of theirs.  And though no longer in my presence, I still have the vividness of it all and always ready for recall.  Thanks for the memories. 

     This time I enjoyed reading the names on all the washes along Interstate Hwy 10 from Phoenix, AZ to Los Angeles, CA.  One in particular which struck me was "Tarantula Ditch."  I made jokes in my head about how I'd tell my friends "Hey, guys, I found this great new camping spot."  And yeah....that's the kinda stuff I think 'bout when I have 7 hours of riding to do. hahaha

To Los Angeles:

General Patton Memorial Museum: Chiriaco.

      I pulled over for a free map and some gas in Chiriaco, CA.  Ahead of schedule, I decided to browse around the tourist info shop.  I found funny little gadgets like a "cowboy magic trick" (which of course I bought)  and a "cowboy hot tub" which was a sack of pinto beans (this I did not buy).  I proceeded to show everyone my "cowboy magic trick" which was (I won't use my own words on this) nothing more but a medium sized metal ring and a chain.  You'll have to see me do the trick.  

  

     Destination niece's first birthday.  After all that's what spurned this trip to begin with.  I figured long enough that a first birthday is the biggest milestone in ones life, so I ought to be there for this momentous occasion.  Especially since I may be out of the country for the next few years, and so I've got to make the ones I can.  Trip total time was approximately 7.5 hours.  I left Phoenix just before 7:30am and I got to LA at 3pm.  The birthday was at 4pm, so I had time to stop for a quick visit at my old house to chat with the ol' roommates.  And then I was off to the party.  Blissfully thankful for LA traffic providing me the opportunity to split lanes, which is something you can't do in AZ, cause it's either unnecessary or illegal, illegal first, and then there's never really any traffic.  But I hate sitting behind a line of cars at a light and knowing that I just wanna split all the way to the front, which is the illegal part (so frustrating) and everyone in AZ carries a gun and is a narc.  

    So there I was splitting lanes, and feeling oh so good doing it.  Thanks California, you rock!

.....And then at 4pm I was at the birthday party, showing any and all interested parties my new motorcycle modifications and paint jobs.  Wanna talk bikes? Great.  

Happy First Birthday, Addie!!!

Other than that all I wanted to do was hold my Niece as much as possible and hang out with my sister.  Since she's the first and last person that will ever be more real than me, and who's strength and badassery I admire more than anyone else's in my whole life.  Yep.  And the fact that we both hate religion and fake people.  She's the most refreshing person to ever be around.  Thanks, Sis, for all your years of brutal honesty.

I only had moments to visit shortly with a couple of people while I was in town, and left feeling like I didn't want to leave, which I thought would never happen.  Just when I thought I would never miss LA, it reinvented itself a refreshing breeze to my happiness.  LA is funny like that.  It's a whirlwind of change, and maybe it's because it's the kind of town where I just do well visiting, but not living.  We all have those cities, ya know?.   Maybe I have more than the average Joe, and that's why I never stay one place for very long, because the road really is my home.  

But first a hair-raising Monday Morning story:  I had woken up and left my sisters at 6:15am.  I had to stop by my old place on my way out of town and pick up some pants that I was taking home to tailor.  I pulled up to the gate, and turned my bike off.  As I was reaching to grab the key out of the ignition, I realized that I couldn't pull it out, because my key fob was sandwiched between my handlebars and my frame on something.  I couldn't quite make it out.  I tried pulling but nothing.  And then I saw it.  An unfinished band that I'd used as a jerry-rigged tank lift stabilizer, had actually physically punctured my key fob.  It was stabbed pretty fiercely.  I had to pry the key fob off the metal banding.  That left me with a nice 1" long stab mark.   Then I was like, "oh, no my computer chip."  To test the operation of the fob I reinserted the key and tried to start the bike (I did this a few times), and exactly what I thought, the thing was damaged.  My bike wouldn't start.  I pulled the fob apart and found a busted diode and some other things that had been stressed, but not compromised completely. (This is exactly why I hate the electronic systems, because the less temperamental your things are, the less subject to annoying failures like relying on a damn key fob to make your bike start.)

     So, there I was stuck in Frogtown.  Now at least I was at my old compound and had I ever needed to leave my bike in a safe place, well this was it, so I was lucky on that point.  But I had to think quickly because I had to be back for my evening class.  My thoughts that ensued in sequence went something like this: should I take a flight back, how do I bypass the electronic system (google search), rent a truck, call the dealership for the f'n 5 digit bypass code (f'n dealership is closed on Monday, those bastards), solder a bridge over the diode..... I wanted to get inside the garage to solder the broken diode connection, but the industrial garage door was shut.  And then suddenly, I was like, "what do I have on me that might work?" Some change in my pocket going jing-a-ling-a-ling.  I left my butane soldering iron at home.  I had some gum, the kind with the foil wrapping.  Ding!  A light went on.  Now I haven't had foil wrapped gum in my pocket for years.  If I ever had gum it was that small rectangular paper wrapped stuff, but on Sunday, I friggin bought a pack of the long foil wrapped stuff at the .99 cent store (splurge).   Little did I know that the cosmos were more aware of my Monday morning to come, than I did.  So I said to myself "It's worth a try."  I ripped off a little piece, the folded-over end of the top of one stick.  I rolled it in a long ball, foil side out, and placed it on the busted diode.  I sandwiched my fob back together....Inserted the key....Turned the key.....And pushed "Start"......she friggin cranked the hell on!!!!!!!!  I couldn't believe that the foil ball had bridged the connection, overriding the disemboweled chip.  Well, I wasn't about to stop my engine again, in case it didn't want to read the chip again.  So I left it running, and didn't disengage the electronic signal the whole way home.  I just left the key in the on position the whole ride back.  Wasn't taking any chances.    I even thought that if it disengaged on the highway back home, that well, I had a whole pack of foil gum, so I'd just shove it all in there as necessary.. 

Moral of the story?!  I'm friggin MacGuyver, carry foil gum, don't leave your butane soldering iron at home, carry that second key fob, get the 5 digit bypass code from the dealer or whoever you got your bike off, don't build a bike with finicky electrical systems.  Strip that thing down to the basics.  Older bikes rule.  

So, I made it home from LA to Phoenix in 6.5 hours, in time for a nap and made it to class on time.  I even worked a 4 hour midnight shift at the E.R. after class. 

A sweet little ride through Elysian Park, Sunday afternoon.

Just cruisin through the desert.  Interstate 10.

Like Rainwater from an Ashtray.

There's nothing quite like the flavor of coffee, that makes your mouth taste like you just drank rainwater from an ashtray.  That's what the coffee from that last gas station did for me.  It was too early and too long of a ride ahead, with that robustly repellent flavor sticking to the inside of my mouth.  As I rode on, I imagined that they had put a partially smoked cigarette butt in the coffee canister, because "it's their secret recipe" or something like that.  But like many nasty things which have come before it, I somehow managed to ride on.

A Washboard is not supposed to be a road.

Crown King is a small mountain town with a saloon and a post office and a store in the mountains east of the 17, approximately 70 miles northeast from Phoenix.  Not a big deal until I took an early exit and followed a windy paved road down into a canyon and the pavement ended.

Slow, that's what it was.  But that's the best when it's just me.  Nobody to race along those roads but how fast or slow I can ride over that washboard.  There was nothing but 4 wheel drive vehicles out there, dirt bikes, big trucks, and small SUV's....and cactus.  And then there was me, my harley, and the dust clouds I was making 5-10 miles an hour at a time.

I'd come to a small town called Bumble Bee.
It was like a ranch and a couple rock houses.
Very cool, very "I love the desert."  I blinked and I was gone.
Counting/guestimating down the miles to my finaldestination.  Figuring it had to be somewhere close.  But the more I thought about it, the more I was like, nope, just enjoy the scenery, and try to pick the smoother lines.  I thought my bike was going to rattle apart.  An old chirp, somewhere in my right side, came back to visit.  I missed it.  And then there it was......

I'd come to a large fork in the road, after about 20 miles of slow dirt washboard, and a few sideroad explorations, and turnarounds, and my stomach was starting to ache.  There was a sign in the middle of the split that said 4 miles to the right was a small country store, "only open on the weekends."  And my destination "Crown King Saloon" was still 17 washboard miles ahead.  I parked at that junction and returned a call.  Gave my motor time to cool after all that slow hot riding.  Suddenly from the north and the south a bunch of cars decided to come down the line.  They took turns passing my bike on the left, as I wasn't about to get on just to move it out of the road.  I was exhausted.  The folks were nice enough to ask if I was alright and if I needed help, to which I replied "I'm good, just deciding whether to go swimming, or keep heading on to Crown King."

Decisions. Decisions.

Well, time and distance, fatigue and hunger all got the better of me and I took the right vein out to that small country store.  4 dustier miles later, and that country store looked more like a ghost town.  "Closed."  I was pretty bummed, and stared at it for a good long bit, hoping someone would peek out from behind the bedsheet drapes, providing some confirmation that they were indeed opened and were anxious for my business.  But alas they gave me nothing, and I didn't leave them anything but tire tracks.  So I kept on goin. The highway home was I didn't know how much further, I just kept following the signs that said "To HWY 17" (arrows pointing me down various roads).

I reached it.  The pavement.  It was needless to say, soothing relief.  I rode slow and tired in the right lane.  Semi's passing me is usually my kinda pace.   I like dazing off into the countryside.  My head usually cocked to the right or left, more appreciating the scenery than the road.

I stopped at a Restaurant/Bar in a town called New River.  I rode past it earlier and it looked interesting.  So here I was digging into my raw buffalo wings, until I really noticed the pink raw flesh about 5 wings into my battle with hunger.  They let me leave without a bill, so I called it even.  My gut might disagree later.  

Sooner than later I was home.  Plugged in my ever-overheating-dying phone, and jumped in the pool.  AAAAAAaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!!!!!  I practiced my back floating for a bit, and appreciated a small cloud overhead.  Drying off on the lounge chair at this very moment, I bring you the ride of the day.  

Cheers.  Now, let's go drown this salmonella party in beer before it kicks in.  Bwahahahahahah!

P.S.  I owe myself another trip out to Kings Canyon, but today, I'll call it good exploration.  Kings Canyon Saloon, I'm coming for you.  

Well, Whadd'ya know.  This lil gem is for sale.