Being in a remote place doesn’t guarantee privacy.

Several times in the night cars cruised through the landfill/campsite looking for something to do in the wee hours. One can only imagine what. The ground is littered with broken bottles, beer cans, shotgun shells and condoms. Here in Texas, teen boom boxes thump out high volume Johnny Cash.  At 3 AM one car paused outside my tent, then elected to burn donuts and spray gravel and noise before roaring off. It could have been much worse knowing that everyone down here “is packin’”.  And what was the setting for that “Chainsaw Massacre” movie? I forget.

For the first night camping so far it was not bone chilling cold. Quite pleasant, actually, apart from the odd annoyance. Stars are brilliant and surprisingly numerous in the clear canopy overhead. Scorpio was posted up in the southern sky in vivid imagery, the kind of thing one would normally see only in a textbook. Wind velocity was in the gale force range in the morning, however, and if anyone had posted a video of me trying to fold my tent it would make for pretty solid entertainment.

Regrettably, the only way out of the northwest corner of the state is via I-10. Nonetheless, The Bruiser and I girded our loins and did our best to keep apace of the traffic. 

I-10 at its finest. Note the dust storm up ahead.

I post one picture of this, only because it is illustrative not because it is interesting. Because it really isn’t.  I-10 is flat, straight, gusty, dusty, featureless, and unpopulated, and constructed for the sole purpose of getting out of here as quickly as possible. Even the state legislators must share my view given that they set the speed limit at 80 mph. Truck traffic was not heavy, mercifully. Semis have the aerodynamics of a patio brick and at 85 mph they create a minor storm. But we hung on, stayed focused, and I do my best to ignore an itchy nose when there is not an available hand to scratch it.

Wind gusts continued throughout the day. In fact while setting up camp tonight the wind rolled the tent across the campground. If it blows steadily it is relatively easy to compensate for. When it changes direction suddenly or hands a blindsided Bertuzzi body slam it does make for an interesting ride. But not to worry, The Bruiser has lots of mass, /handles well, and shrugs off the offending body checks with composure and style. We are developing a kind of man/machine mind meld where each is an extension of the other.

It would be fair to say that we are also getting just a little bit road weary. One of us needs an oil change, and both of us need a bath. I promised the Bruiser that we will attend to that oil thing soon, although it is difficult to do when the engine is so hot after even a short run.

But I did score a shower when passing through a state campground. We were just scoping it out but rejected the idea of staying there because it seemed a bit sterile (we prefer the much more interesting desert style or garbage dump ambiance), when what should appear before me but a bath house! It was sublime! Sorry, Bruiser. (I couldn’t fit him through the door)s. Your turn next.

Turned south on Hwy 17 near Balmorhea to follow a scenic route to Ft. Davis. And indeed it was. Dry gulch canyons cut through old lava flows with their columnar joints (those six sided fractured columns that we also see on the road to Whistler) weathered and rounded. (Spheroidal weathering, remember?) And trees! Wondrous trees! Not many, but they were green.

Look carefully the the wildlife.

Ft. Davis is the site of a military compound from the early 1800’s. These guys were the buffalo soldiers and Indian hunters, but ostensibly stationed here to maintain some order in this new frontier.

That was a bit of a bust, wasn’t it?

A local business.

Do you remember me mentioning early in the cold and miserable portion of trip that only one of my heated handgrips works and that I should get the other one fixed one of these days? Perhaps in Arizona or New Mexico I was thinking, ha ha ha.

Well, I fixed it this morning. Let me tell you why.

It is COLD in them thar hills! Even with a thermal shirt under my sweater (which I nearly didn’t bring) and my thick and fuzzy camp socks (thank you, Sandra) and all manner of things piled on top of me, I greeted the morning with bone jarring shivers. I checked my little thermometer on the bike and swore out loud when it read -5C (23F). There was ice in my water bottles to confirm it.

With frozen hands I fumbled about with breakfast and packing, but knew that I could not go anywhere until it climbed another 10C. So after brisk walking and reorganizing all my junk yet again, I reckoned I should fix the handgrip, literally with a piece of baling wire. I had no chewing gum.

As the sun got higher, so did the thermometer. In fact, I experienced a range today of more than 35C.

Stopping at some point on the way back over the switchback ridges I met a young fellow who was angling to take the same picture. He is on a trek similar to mine although on quite a different bike and following a different loop. As a Texas resident he offered some good suggestions for my route through the state. With some enthusiasm he pointed to a road paralleling the Mexico border; meanwhile I was recalling a conversation with the biker park ranger yesterday who indicated the same road and advised not riding it unless “you were packin’”. “Heat” was the missing word. A ‘stopper’.  ‘Fire stick’. Something to shoot a Mexican with should he be threatening as he just jumped the border. It is a conundrum to think that a Mexican refugee of poverty would want to shoot one of the members of his new host country to which he would be seeking asylum. But then I have never understood Mexicans.

We rolled some thunder down some sections of road today that were as grand as anything I have ever ridden. An uncountable number of tight, linked curves on a good surface, virtually zero traffic, and gob-smacking scenery made for truly excellent riding. Through jagged, rocky canyons, ponderosa pine forests, grassy grazing land and farms, and then more steep switchbacks that led us up to sensational scenery.  After thousands of miles of straight and flat, this afforded the opportunity to put some roundness back on my tires and widen the ‘sissy strip’—that wear band on the middle of the tire tread that gives some indication of the angle to which the rider can lean the machine.

 

Rocks, I can tell you with some authority, come in many colours. That so many of those colours were represented in the rocks that paraded by me today was remarkable.

I write while I ride, which adds a rich dimension to my experience… but more of that for another day. 

What I'm getting at is that as I was thinking about what I would tell you about, I was trying to picture the kinds of foods that these colourful rocks reminded me of. (My breakfast was rather light today as you might have surmised). There is a gelato ice cream joint just off Commercial Avenue that offers dozens of flavours, many of which are quite unlikely. But I pictured those big frozen vats and saw peach, lime, tangerine, chocolate, lemon meringue (both the lemon and the meringue), raspberry cheesecake, black cherry, curry (is there such a thing?), pink bubblegum, lemon, something mauve that I don't think is in a normal diet, although blueberry yogurt is close, and even pistachio that I saw outside of Hillborough. And they were all scrambled up side by side like someone couldn’t make up their mind which one to order.

 Technicolour rocks of many flavours.

At the end of that ride I wondered why my face was hurting, until I noticed that my smile was stuck in the Open position.

Unfortunately, backcountry roads have a dearth of fuel stops and today I nearly got caught. The little dots for towns on my roadmap, once realized, were often nothing more than a post office, a farm, or a small collection of wrecked and vacant buildings. My one last hope was Hillsborough, a tiny but cute little town that has managed to survive with a couple of shops, a café and at one time a gas station, now closed. There is one 15 miles further along, I was told, and I held a steady speed (and my breath) trying not to do too much fuel consumption arithmetic that would otherwise mess up my mind. But I made it.

 

 This police car parked on the road at the entrance to Hillborough has a mannequin in the driver's seat that was most unhelpful in providing directions. At first I thought he was just sleeping or suffering from a donut overdose.

Decision time. As we approached Truth or Consequences (seriously!) I needed to choose between revisiting the destinations of White Sands, Roswell and Carlsbad that we had seen on a trip here a decade ago, or using the time to see more of new territory. The Bruiser and I chose the latter.

Hwy 185 parallels the Interstate to Las Cruces and you must know how I feel about Interstates! More rural farmland passed by, and rather humble in places. For a while I was following a schoolbus as it dropped off little groups of kids and had to smile to see the packs of family dogs that came tearing down the driveways to greet them.

As it was getting late in the day and being in Big City territory where camping is a difficult option, I blew down the evil I-10 to the sprawl and multi-stacked interchanges and endless billboards that is called El Paso. The Welcome Centre for visitors crossing into Texas was closed and my state of welcomeness was compromised. However, I did encounter a couple of wonderful fellow tourists that had a couple of suggestions for camping on the road south. They live in White Rock, by the way!

 

Texas!

At sunset I came at last to an impressive ranch/restaurant/petting zoo/museum called Cattleman Ranch. These folks are most famous for their steak dinners and the place was jammed with people, but I’ll be damned if I know where they all came from! This place is out in the middle of the desert and a real haul from El Paso. Anyway, my information about an offer of free camping on the property did not apply to tent camping, so I skeedaddled out of there and am currently set up in a dusty little ‘park’ in the bugger-alls that has the look and feel of a landfill site. But the sunset was stunning, it is peaceful and warm and I have a picnic table for cooking and writing.

 

And a tree. Possibly the only one in the region.

It was a long ride today, but it offered a smorgasbord of sights and sounds. Man and Machine are healthy and happy.

No bulls, but it looks like my coyote friends have been following me.

Come to think of it, there is a flock of buzzards that always seems to be overhead as well, and I find that disconcerting.

The Bruiser had a happy day on the twisties. I was dragging my earlobes around some very tight turns throughout the day. Feels good to be finding some sport in the ride when much of it through the southwestern flatlands is simply for the purpose of getting somewhere else.

Crossed into New Mexico, then promptly lost an hour to my day given the time change. Short miles today.

And I must complement New Mexico on its excellent maintenance of their dots.

Fewer cactus now, but lots of little waist high Joshua trees dotted through the grasslands.

A New Mexico oasis

Mural in downtown Silver City, New Mexico, painted in the local genre

Rather chilly today, in spite of the sunshine, due in part to the altitude, and in part to a cool system coming through. I’ll have to check the weather to see if I need to locate the raingear that I stowed away with the Datsun repair manual. We crossed the continental divide at Silver City at about 7000 ft. The locals just shrug off the mention of cool weather, and note that it is not unusual to snow here at around this time of year. Given the furnace they live in during the long summer I'm sure they find it not that unpleasant.

Jogged north on 15 from Silver City on a road that was such a roller coaster and zigzaggy that it felt like being in a Mixmaster. We went up and over two switchback ridges on the way to the Gila Cliff Dwellings. This was a wonderful place to park myself for a few hours, walking through a stonework settlement stuffed into a few big natural caves. Occupied for only 30 years during a drought in the area just before 1400 it is one of no fewer than 40 sites that have been located in this reserve, some dating back to 1500 years ago. These people are known as the Mogollon, but are closely related to all of the Pueblo people of this region.

Free camping is offered in many of the National Forests in New Mexico, so we set up in a little forest just a couple miles from the cliff dwelling.

On a stroll through the hills behind my camp I encountered another small dwelling that appears to be relatively complete yet unrestored.

Anticipating a very cold night tonight. I’ve emptied out my luggage and am wearing most of it.

Back in Phoenix, I began the day with a good jog through the campus of Arizona State University which was next door to the motel. The students look much calmer now that they have had their break, are back at work, and are recovering from liver damage.

Spent the day scoping out Scottsdale. Like so many places seen in Arizona and elsewhere, greatefforts have  been made to funkify the shopping areas in an Old West theme. And I must admit, it works. A free trolley carries the tourists (me included) around to reconnoiter the area and deliver them to the high end mall. I went for the air conditioning.

A friend and colleague from home is down here on a little break with friends and very graciously extended an invitation for dinner and a couch to this dusty and grizzly road warrior who is not at all, they learned, a Leonard Cohen doppelganger! I was most grateful for the charm and hospitality I was offered. It was nice to be able to engage in some good conversation, and enjoy some home cooking.

Headed towards the eastern edge of Arizona today, cruising along hwy 60 (passing through Globe again), 70 to Safford, 191 and just starting 78 which will lead me out of the state.

Huge open pit copper mines at Miami, Arizona.

Which requires some pretty big equipment.

The Bruiser is posing with a big truck which is sitting in the bed of an even bigger truck.

Arizona has some gorgeous and varied scenery. That said, it is a very big state and there are great expanses of flat and relatively featureless terrain between the viewpoints; case in point, Hwy 70 which was a long and tedious workout today. Most of the scrub has not been cleared or cleaned up for grazing or agriculture. The area looks poor, unkempt with miles of highway litter, discarded machinery and cars, and bombed out houses and buildings, that outlived their utility and were then abandoned and mistreated.

The Bruiser is always happy to head for the hills and his pilot maps out an appropriate course on secondary roads whenever there is an opportunity to do so. Roads become twisty and spirited through outcrops of rust-coloured and well weathered rock. At higher elevations it is cooler and the vegetation is more diverse. Even the weedy stuff at the roadside looks like a continuous floral arrangement of wild flowers and bristly grasses.

 Accommodation for the evening is wildcamping in the valley bottom of high desert grazing land, accessed by a dirt road off Hwy 78.

Prickly pear cactus are abundant and give the landscape a postcard kind of flavour, especially when the setting sun casts its orange glow.

Gusty winds that blew me around today have calmed. Somewhere in the distance a cow is bleating. 

Perhaps it is a bull. Hmmm….

Although Winslow was named after some long forgotten dignitary, it was really made famous by a line from an old Eagles song of the early 70’s that has the lyric,

“Standin’ on the corner of Winslow, Arizona,

such a fine sight to see.

A girl, My Lord, in a flat bed Ford,

Is slowin’ down to take a look at me”.

Look in the window and you will see that there was an epilogue to the story.

Downtown Winslow is rather small, and there are not too many intersections. Although one in particular that recreated that scene from the song attracts more than a little bit of interest. A bronze statue of Don Henley (the songwriter of those famous lyrics) standing on the corner with his guitar and in the shadow of a big mural portraying the little vignette. A red flatbed Ford is parked just around the corner to complete the image.

For the purposes of The Bruiser Blog, it is important to note that a subsequent line in that song goes,

“You may lose, or you may win

But you will never be here again…”

… and I am ever mindful of that. 

We come this way but once. One has a personal responsibility to make it worthwhile.

I skirted the Evil I-40 by taking 99 through Reserve land to Leupp that was quite lovely in its wide-open splendor, and it delivered me to Flagstaff. The old town in Flagstaff is a treat for the eyes. Situated directly on the old Route 66 the buildings maintain that sense of nostalgia and funky architecture of another era that I quite like.

Of course one cannot possibly go through this region of northern Arizona without having the Sedona experience. Red canyon walls and fantastic wind sculpted rock forms which are backdrops to the emerald greenery of the pine forests and occasional cactus is spellbinding. Some sections were so impossibly beautiful that my heart was actually racing. I had to back up and run through some sections twice. Unfortunately the pictures I have fall quite short of capturing the scenes and can only serve as references and reminders.

Since I came through Sedona about 10 years ago, it has, unfortunately, grown up and become kind of city-like. That is regrettable, but inevitable. No Walmart yet, but it is simply a matter of time.

Again, to dodge the interstate I stayed on 89A and followed it south as far as I could. As luck would have it, this caused me to stumble upon Jerome. Wow! Billed as a mile high ghost town, this old copper mining town is not just perched up high in the hills, it is actually hanging off the steep face of the mountain. Switchback streets of the town are lined with interesting old buildings as well as newer touristy affairs. I have never seen anything like it! It must be experienced!

Needless to say, the twisty roads that snaked up one side of the 7000 ft mountain and down the other side made for some mighty fine riding!

But at some point it had to spill me out on Interstate 17 back to Phoenix. Truck traffic was light, but it was fast and gusty and quite exhausting.

I really hate interstate highways.

The Arizona Adventure

Getting out of Phoenix is a trick. The size of the place is impressive.

First stop was Casa Grande ruins, a rather large, mult-level structure build in the 1400’s by the Anza people. Most of the ancient dwellings in the Southwest are chiseled in the cliff faces, but this was build on the ground.

On a map, a circle tour on highways 15 and 86 to Tuscon looked interesting, but much of it was a long, straight and flat blow through the desert. However in certain places the vegetation was very diverse and lush and exotic and exquisite. Sequaro cactus stand like big, goofy gumbies with their limbs extending in crazy and sometimes comical poses. Within a couple of weeks many of the cactus species will be in full and spectacular bloom, but for now there are just tantalizing glimpses of the show.

On a couple of occasions I was stopped by a roadblock established by the U.S. Border Patrol looking for illegal immigrants. Luckily this grizzled Canadian alien was dismissed as being relatively harmless and allowed to proceed.

North of Tuscon on 77 near the town of Oracle one encounters the site of a very unique  and ambitious experiment conducted by the University of Arizona. ‘Biosphere 2’ is a self contained little ecosystem, sealed off from the Outside World. A number of humans can live together in it with a bunch of plants such that their CO2 is converted by plant photosynthesis to produce oxygen, wastes are used as fertilizer, water is recycled, etc. and the whole thing, in theory, can support itself. It is a model which might be used in colonies established on the moon or other remote and unearthly environments. It sort of works, but not very well. But it is very interesting. Not willing to pay for the big gate to go through the tour, nor willing to spend two hours doing it, I climbed up a hill on the perimeter to catch a shot of the exterior of the thing. I think I was correct in assuming that it was cheaper for the administration to print a sign referring to video surveillance than it was to actually install the system.

Incidently, and in case you were wondering, ‘Biosphere 1’ is a term reserved for Mother Earth who was the first to perfect this exquisitely balanced and complex symbiosis of interdependent life forms that proves very difficult to duplicate.

The run from Globe to Show Low (a town named for the outcome of a card game of the same name over a century ago) was the focal point for the next leg of the tour. Salt River cuts a 2000 foot deep canyon through stratified and colourful sedimentary rocks and it is a medium sized version of Grand Canyon. Numerous tight and twisty curves made it a thrilling as well as a superbly scenic ride.

Climbing out of the canyon at over 5000 feet the air chilled and the climatic zone changed from a smorgasbord of cactus and shrubs to dense pine forests with short, teal coloured grass in the under story. Rocks were the colour of stained iron, ranging from yellow to almost blood red. Some cactus flowers were in bloom with their wild and gaudy hues ranging from ultra violet to infra red. Nature’s pallet is loud and flamboyant in these Arizona hills.

Highway 60 comes out at the evil I-40. formerly the iconic Route 66 now paved over with four lanes and billboards, and currently the flight path of a steady stream of high velocity freight trucks. The blood returned to my hands when I eventually reached Winslow from my entry point at the old cowboy town of Holbrook. I was in need of a stiff drink when I finally came in for a landing. Windy side gusts are one thing, but when these buggers blow by at over 75 mi/h they create a turbulence that follows them for several hundred metres. The Bruiser is not a small machine, but we had to work hard to maintain a straight line with this endless parade of semis that outnumbered family sedans by a considerable margin.