I was riding sleeveless along the hot boarder of the valley, gunning it for the hills toward Payson, AZ, where I knew I'd be much cooler. My forehead was becoming chapped by the sun and wind burn. I was anxious for those hills.
Now, according to my weather forecast, Payson and further mountain destinations, were calling for partly cloudy and warm 80's. I dressed accordingly. So you would understand my surprise when 1 hour into my trip, I was gazing wide eyed, and untrustingly at a gigantic mountain with an even more gigantic storm problem looming along it's highest ranges.
Covered with dark clouds, that were raining lightning bolts, I was like, "oh, hell, is that the range I'm headed over right now?" Bravely, I kept riding to see. I actually felt as if nothing but an actual lightning bolt was going to put a stop to my adventure today. I made up a quick little song in my head, and sang it as I threaded through those mountains; the storm dumping to the left and right.
Now, the 86 into Payson is a fun little ride: fun and beautiful. Wonderfully maintained roads smoothly and tightly wind in and out of the low desert terrain. First among the fields of Saguaro cactus, then a little further into the hills you have green shrubbery and rocky mountain typography, with an average of 15 degrees cooler. By the time you reach Payson, you have full on shrub pines, and trees, and actual forest, which is a sweet escape from the dry dirt and rock yard landscapes of the valley. And all this within only a 70 mile span.
So, there I was; high and dry in Payson. I motored steadily through town. Looking on at the never-ending line of cars, trucks, and motor homes coming down from the mountains after a Labor Day long weekend of camping and boating adventures. I filled up at the last station in town. Luckily, I was headed north, and away from the senseless traffic. At the cities border the 87 turned from 4 lanes into 2. The weather was warm and lovely. The darker clouds were behind me, and I could see there were clearer skies ahead, so I just knew I had to keep my forward momentum, in case this storm was going to keep progressively growing along my route.
I contemplated stopping in a cute little town called Pine for some refreshments, but I saw those dark clouds growing closer and fiercer. So I hightailed it back onto the road. I then came upon a town called Strawberry, where there was a little cabin sized saloon. I pulled in for water, a beer, and some atmosphere. There was graffiti on the walls, and it had a small iron stove in the corner. Totally cool. Well, someone strolled in and said it looked like there was a thunder storm on its heels. I was like, "nah." And because I said "Nah," as soon as I got outside, and fired up my bike, the torrential downpour began.
I filed into a line of cars winding up the hill. It was hard to see the cars and the road. The rain was so hard coming down it was pounding my head, arms, and face up. I was riding with my arm raised above my forehead to try to stave off some of the brutal attack. As soon as that hill-climb leveled off, I pulled over, and reached for the denim jacket I'd strapped to my bike. (remembering that moment where I chose my denim over my leather back at the house). I also wrapped a huge yellow scarf around my head for some topdown protection. Cause remember, I'm in Arizona, and helmets are optional, and yeah, today would have totally been a helmet day. I looked ridiculous....ly awesome! hahaha
I turned left onto the 260, Also known as "General Crook Trail." It took me along hilltops, gorgeous green plains, and pastures. But due to the relentless rains, I had to keep moving. The water was starting to pool pretty good, in my boots, and I was getting coooooold. I could see clear skies far into the valley, so at least I had a goal. I made it to the shelter of a gas station at the bottom of the mountain, in a town called Camp Verde, I was getting all kinds of interesting looks, wringing out my socks, dumping my boots, eating old bread that I'd just found in my pocket. What's new?
Craving Pizza, I found a little spot that sounded good. "Crusty's Pizza," which made me think of Krusty the Clown. How could I resist.
Full I was, after an hour of coffee, damn fine pizza, salad, and charging my phone on my bike. Aaaahhhhh. And although, I wanted to do a lot more exploring with my afternoon, everywhere around that little dry spot I was in briefly, was thunderstorms and lightning, so I was like, I'm going to just brave it down the 17 towards my house. I made it right about the turnoff for Bumblebee, when the two-lanes were notoriously stopped with traffic. I said "this is bullshit!" This traffic, you gotta understand is full of Phoenix drivers, which are the worst, and Labor Day hangovers. It takes hours for this section of road to clear out. The first exit to Black Canyon City wasn't far, by normal travel standards, but in stopped traffic, it's impossible (dramatization). Also, keep in mind that Arizona is retarded, and has a law against splitting lanes. I however, chose to use my executive decision making powers to override that part in my conscience that says obey the laws. And so I split that traffic all the way to that exit, and I rode right on up to a bar that I'd always wanted to stop in. I chatted up a couple who were on a newer production Indian Motorcycle. Then I walked in through that front door, and the first thing I hear is "now that's my kinda woman." hahahahaha. Oh, man, this guy was drunker than a bunker. Me and the very awesome and sweet bartender, were just rolling our eyes at this guy. It was fun chatting it up, and killing time, until I decided one beer was fine for that stop. I then took the side-road down to another spot that I usually stop at, more for food, but still. I sat outside on the benches, and took my boots off and let my wet socks dry off on the still hot concrete sidewalks. I could see the highway from my seat, and I stayed there until that traffic was good and gone. And then all the way home I rode.
The darkness that I was rolling under.
I can't wait to go back on a clear day.
So many green pastures to roam on those hilltops.
At the Sportsman's Chalet, in Strawberry, AZ.
Lucky find.
Old bread found in my jacket pocket = a good meal.
Heavy rain across the plains.
No joke.
