I was up at 7:30am on a Saturday morning in the northern skirts of Phoenix, AZ. The night before, I had pre-packed the contents of a sleeping bag, the bare bones of a tent, my guitar, and some long johns, just in case it got cold. I creatively bungee corded my things to my motorcycle handlebars, then most wisely sandwiching my sissy bar between a satchel and a guitar, in the best fashion that I had engineered by this point in all my years of packing experience.
The mornings in Arizona were cooler by now, and being as I was having a hard time acclimating to the fall temperatures, I rode off shortly after 8am, dawning a thick red and black striped hoodie under a worn out hand-me-down denim wrangler jacket. Wearing my clear glasses, I had no need for my shades yet, seeing as it was early enough that the sun was still behind me as I headed west, away from its awakening.
30, 40, 50 miles down the road, I could still feel the bite of the air on my exposed wrists, and face around where the wind always whips to the sides of my glasses and around my eyes. I was wishing for those unbearably hot summer days again, knowing that winter is coming faster than I ever expect, always cursing the downtime. I pulled over for gas, a coffee, and something easily digestible, which is the most important thing I've discovered on long bike trips. Nothing worse than my guts aching and wrenching for hours and days even, trying to digest something heavy. 30 minutes and a call home, and I was back on the road, pleased that the morning was so young, and I had all day to enjoy the ride, and meet up with the group in what would seem like merely a few short hours.
10 minutes into my western progress, and my front end suddenly started to bob voraciously. Now at first I thought it was the bad roads that I'm accustomed to in Arizona. But when I looked to inspect the front end of my motorcycle, there to my dismay was a walloping front tire under the weight and velocity of 80 miles per hour, wondering, I'm sure to itself, if it could take a siesta. Well, I wasn't about to let it crap out on me just yet. I muttered a series of creative and amusing phrases as I took her easily and progressively from 80 to 70mph, from 70 to 60, and then I saw that a rest stop was only 1 mile further down the road. I tried to ride that thing walloping as it was, at about 50 mph then 40, not once hitting the brakes. Then half a mile away, then 1/4 mile, and then there it was, the exit, I was so close. I was rolling at about 30 and then 20 by this time when I accidently tapped the front brake, trying to carefully navigate her into the off ramp of the rest stop.
"Kablam!" she went immediately hard flat. No more walloping for her, she was full metal skating on a sheet of slippery-unpredictable rubber between pavement and a Semi truck was gaining on my rear. Well, as soon as she went full flat, she refused to cooperate, and tried to guide me completely into the middle of the highway, like she was trying to buck me left and right, and I remembered the days of my youth when I'd wanted to ride bulls. I reacted immediately by putting my left foot down to act as a training wheel, for my crazy ol' bucking bronco that was trying to die in the middle of 80mph commuter interstate 10. Well, I used all my muscle (which ain't much) and I forced that wheel to turn sharp right while yellin "I ain't dumping this thing!" Boy was she trying my riding skills for all they were worth. Then after that hard right I muscled out of her, she shot full across the exit lane into the curb on the shoulder. I was so friggin thankful that nobody was exiting cause otherwise they would have creamed my right side. hahaha.
So, there I was aiming into a curb on the shoulder of the exit. All thousand pounds it seemed I had packed, and a very impossible front tire to steer, were making it extremely difficult to get off that curb. Well, never fear the amount of muscling I can make up in an emergency, and what a lot of sweat, determination, and a little throttle would do. I finally made that warbling thing into the safety of a parking spot right in front of a shaded picnic bench. I unbungeed my guitar, and got comfy.
The next 3 morning hours were a combination of me figuring out which road-side assistance options I had to use. I called AAA, I called my roommate to drive my truck with a rented trailer to come get me, I even asked a passing motorist with a trailer if they'd haul me to the next town. Nobody on this day could change my tire for me. Not one tire shop in any of the westerly towns, or the nearest ones I'd passed. The only place that would change my tire that day was the Harley shop back in Phoenix, 70 miles away. Well, at this point I had to get something done and stat, so I didn't really care where it happened, it just had to happen. I was bound and determined to make the campout.
Thank my lucky stars, my Insurance company gave me a free tow back to the Harley Shop, and those folks put me in the emergency lane cause they knew I was on a trip. An hour later I was tire changed, coffee'd up, with my gear loaded back on my bike, and the old tire now lasso'd to my rig as a trophy of sorts.
3:30pm, sunglasses on at this point, I was back on the road, except slowly navigating afternoon Phoenix traffic trying to get back onto the highway. I plugged on carefully, trying to pay respects to the new-tire break-in period. So that was a little slow going at first, but hours later I eventually got to my turn-off to 86 south to the Salton Sea.
This is where it gets fun. The directions I had been given were possibly read two ways. So naturally I investigated my options via modern technological maps according to the clues. "10 to the 86 towards Salton Sea. Take a right at am/pm." Ok, let's analyze this one: according to my map, there is an 86 business route, and an 86 main south. Naturally, I then looked to see where the "am/pm's" were along either routes. There was only one am/pm that I could tentatively make a right at along the business route. Nothing else showed up, that could have worked according to the clue. Which brings me to my next text clue: "Keep an eye out for RockHouse and take a right." This one was fun. It was dark, I was looking for literally a "rock house" and I had a very dim front light. Also, the roads were wide and I couldn't tell what I was passing. I rode until I ran into Palm Springs, at which that point I knew I was not on the right track.
I pulled over in front of a fancy gated community with a guard shack, being suspiciously eyed by the guard. I did some more investigating. Instagram! I bet someone tagged the location of a recent photo. Yep! holy shit! there was a friggin pot of gold right on my phone. I looked up the tag, then I checked for any gas stations in the area....and there was nothing popping up. So I said, well, I bet it just isn't tagged yet. I had to just shoot for that territory, and cross my fingers. I raced maniacally around cars, splitting lanes, running missed stop signs, yelling at red lights, speeding down the highway with speeding cars, looking for any signs of a gas station on the black night horizon.
Then there....I think....yes?....no....maybe?....please?.....yes! An Am/Pm gas station on the right corner of the very road I had to take to get out to the party. I shouted for joy! I filled up my tank. I bought a 12 pack of cheap beer and found a way to load it to the top of my gear (you will always find a way to load beer to your gear).
I was brimming with excitement, aiming my dim headlight along that windy empty two-lane desert landscape, palms sweaty, mouth dry, stomach empty with an appetite for whiskey and beer. The next clue I kept repeating to myself "you'll be about 20 minutes from that point." I rode fast, faster than what I felt 20 minutes would have gotten me to, and which I decided that the "rockhouse" clue, was a right turn I was to keep an eye out for. At one point I doubted my direction and pulled a U-turn, but then immediately convinced myself that I should have just kept heading in that other direction, and I pulled another U-turn. So really it was just a 360. My rear tire kicking out a little bit on a patch of sandy road-side shoulder as I sped off. hahahaha Enlightenment.
I started noticing that the off-shoot dirt washes had names. So between my dim light and high speeds I was keeping my fingers crossed that "Rock House" would just jump out at me. I was getting pretty far into this trek, as I noticed some distant domestic electricity in the far off hills. And the roads became more elongated between curves. Then, I swear, It jumped right out and grabbed me...."Rock House." I slowed and made that right onto a paved road. That paved road turned into dirt 1/4 mile in.
The next clue: "You'll see a trailer." Here I was using my best ability for my eyes to take in any reflection or glint of campfire or life out in that massive flat black abyss. I rode down the road looking left and right hoping to catch something.
I saw a distant fire off to my right. I paused to let my eyes gauge its location. It was a ways in there, but I had to check it out. I couldn't make out any real roads to get to it, so I crossed through wild sands and dodged untamed bush clusters, as I bobbed and weaved over the desert floor towards the flames.
It turned out to be three fellas, college age, I approximately type-cast them as rock climbing micro-brew aficionados. I rolled up about 15 feet from their fire. I said "Hey guys, sorry to bother you, but have you seen any motorcyclists around here?" And oh, so helpfully they all responded excitedly, "Yes! A bunch of bikers rolled down the road." Arms all pointing in the deepest direction of the canyon. I said "Thanks a bunch. Have a good night." And I bobbed and weaved the wild terrain back toward the main dirt road. I followed that sandy dirt road briskly, and as safely as I could for as much of a hurry as I was in.
I rode and I rode that wash-boardy dirt road. Deeper into that canyon, a second glimmer of flames! It got bigger and more descriptive the closer I rode. Then, in the flicker of the campfire glow, I caught the outline of the top of what was possibly a trailer. Then I caught the shape of what was possibly a large tent awning thing. And then I came upon a sandy right hook that would lead me toward these desert features. I took that right lip fairly fast, and promptly moved to steady myself and motorcycle in the deepening sand, as my wheels tried terribly to gain any foothold they could. With the heaviness of my upper bike, loaded up as it was, and the sinking and leaning of my bike, it went over gracefully and slowly. I said "Aww, man, there it is," and I laughed it off.
At this point anxiousness and deliriousness were all apart of the package. A wave of adrenaline pumped through me as I leaned into my bike, pulling on the handlebars and sissybar, coaxing my horse into an upright position. Stabilized, I rolled a leg over the seat, and started my bike. I slowly crawled her out of that deep sand, and approached the camp. And as soon as I could visibly make out the silhouettes of many wild women around that fire, I began honking my horn and shouting excitedly. I rolled right on up to that campfire, parked my bike along the row of a glorious 50 or more bikes. And no sooner than my wheels stopped rolling, I was greeted by some of the gals who were in awe that I even found the camp-out that late at night. I guess I myself was in a bit of awe too, because it was totally worth every bit of time and effort, wrong turn and adventure, that I put into the trip, and got out of it.
So, a 14 hour journey later, and I joined all those wonderful women bikers around the fire, with my cold 12 pack of beer, and a large handle of whiskey. I was fed a large plate of delicious food. I shared my day's travel adventure of perseverance with eager listeners. I met some amazing women bikers, and got to hear about their own adventures. Not long after a bit of socializing, I grabbed my guitar and my sleeping bag off the bike, and I played my homemade tunes, and shared that fire until I was good and drunk. Then, I fell asleep smiling, in in the wake of its playful light.
early morning cruising, 80 mph, leaned back, excited.....
10 minutes later came the blowout.
Horse rolled safely and alive into a corral stall.
yum.
1:30pm. Thank you insurance for the free lift.
(time warp: motorcycle at Harley shop, tire getting changed.
Ok, now back on the road...)
approximately 4pm at this marker. Old tire = new passenger.
Campfire!
First live scorpion I'd seen since I was a kid. And that's a good thing.
Especially when you're sleeping on the ground in the desert.
Behold the gloriousness and magnitude of the gathering of Babes In Borrego.
some of the bikes to my right, early the next morning.
My lil bucking bronco, all saddled up and happy.
Riding out!
My hangover said: "Thank my lucky stars for paved roads."
That washboard ride out, was giving all previous hangovers a good run for their money.
Taken on a hillside perch along the route from Borrego Springs to Julian.
Julian, CA, for breakfast. The wild bunch.
One last meet-up after the fun descent from Julian.
Pulled over on the roadside as soon as my odometer turned 60,000 miles young.
Turned down a road that said "free dry camping" and came upon this.
Happy.
I'd like to give a special thanks to Cassandra (aka. @dustdiablo) for being the one who told me about the Babes In Borrego camp out, and kept me informed. Cheers girl!
And to the hosts of the party: Thanks! I can't wait for next year, or any other rides that get planned from here on out, where we can all re-unite on our bikes!
And to the rad chick who let me use her Beltran trickle charger the next morning when my bike was dead.
