Just One Dirty Biker.: December 2012

This weekend was me making that second attempt at trying to reach Roosevelt Lake, via exploring the famous Apache Trail or also called the Arizona 88, carved through the eastern mountains past and beyond the Superstition mountains. It's a historical route where cattle drives once thrived through those canyons and rough terrain. Ancient remains of cattle storage corrals lead you along the trail. Old chopped trees and coarse posts, wound with old barbed wire, where inside it's gates cowboys and cattle were safe at night from coyotes and other predatory desert creatures. An old fire pit sits in the centers of one corral. And a light layer of grass grows throughout the platform.
I rode through Apache Junction, one of those old western towns, where the historical customs are preserved, such as people ride their horses to town, and to the saloon, which is hopping on a Sunday afternoon, motorcycles and horses tied up outside.
I didn't stop because I had just reached the beginning of my journey, and I had a few hours of light and warmth, and was destined to make it without a jacket.
Apache trail was paved yet bumpy. I rode to the left and right sides of my lane to avoid the steady barrage of poor center lane maintenance, like trying to ride the back of a stegosaurus. That was fine, I rode slow, because it's so windy up to the top of those ridges, that you can't go much faster than 30mph, which is a good speed to pull over at any moment to capture a photo of the view. I pulled over a lot.
A beautiful ride, mostly blasted through flanks of redrock walls rising and falling along a snaking canyons. Trying my hand at daredevilism, I took a photo with one hand, while throwing up a peace sign with my other one, while leaning into a corner. Risky? So. I landed the trick. On to the next one. Wheelies, I need wheelies.
I wound down and around the cactus lined two-lane road. Down along a beautiful lake with sheer redstone cliffs that looked like sweet cliff jumping (to your death) which I don't recommend, but hey, different strokes for different folks. The lake was called Canyon Lake. The road rides along the south rim of the lake, and over a one lane bridge I raced to beat oncoming traffic.
After passing the lake, I came to Tortilla Flat, which was just a short line of some old wooden buildings, that used to and still is a hot spot along that route. Serving great food and spirits every day of the week. I rode through cause I was aiming for Roosevelt, or as far as I could make it. About 4 windy miles past the road turned into dirt. This is where I saw another cattle pen that I rolled up to for some pics. It was just me up there, and the road was a few feet away, and only a sparse car, truck or van, would roll by. There were a few bikes that I saw stopped where the pavement ended, but the only ones I saw take the dirt road other than myself were a crew of enduros. I rode up a bit further to a summit, and then past that the road dropped into a canyon and disappeared beyond the features of the desert mountains 20 miles to Roosevelt and the backside 188 highway. I would not make this trek today. But I shot some photos at the summit, and headed back to Tortilla Flat, mainly cause my stomach wouldn't make the slow 20 miles to Roosevelt, and neither would my sunglasses in the quickly disappearing sunlight. So I rode back down the dirt toward the western light.
I stopped this time, right in front of Tortilla Flat Saloon. I walked around the wooden sidewalks and checked out the shops. When I went in to the Saloon for some grub, I saw this empty saddle waiting for me. So I hopped on, and ordered the "Cowboy burger" with cheese. It was huge and delicious. My company was travelers, which I didn't make anything but random eye contact with, and muttered no more than a polite, "please pass the ketchup and mustard, thank you." I really enjoyed the interior decorating, of dollar bill lined walls, and old cowboy accoutrement. Looks like all the live long history was living on those walls. My kinda place. I finished my burger, and got off the saddle, just to get back on mine, and head out for the last bit of light on the horizon.
So now for the part about the flat. When I woke up the next morning, I was headed somewhere, and I was getting my things all ready and I put the key in the bike, and moved the handle bars a little, and wow, was something like that really weird resistance feeling. I looked down, and there it was, a flat tire. I was like, Oh, damn. That's a first. So I was kinda proud of that moment, but still felt like my mission was foiled. Everything happens for a reason. So maybe that flat kept me off the road that day for even bigger detriment. I even tried pumping it up, but my pump sucked, and couldn't push air, cause my nozzle was broken or something. Anyway, I thought it super rad and ironic that I had ridden Tortilla Flat, and come back with a flat. I thanked my lucky stars it didn't start leaking till I got it home. I rolled my bike to school the next day, and repaired a big hole in my tube. It kinda looked like a manufacturing break, but it was a nice round little puncture looking hole, like maybe a sharp cactus needle had snuck to it. But I checked the inside of the tire for any stuck needly culprits, but didn't find a damn thing. So that's why I thought it maybe had just broke loose with all that rough riding I'd done on that dirt road. Feast your eyes on the photos, and enjoy. Thanks for reading.