Canyons, Cliffs, and Caves.

TRAPPED in a box canyon by howling yelping Apache braves, with no escape in sight, the Lone Ranger says to his ever faithful companion Tonto...

"Well my old friend, we've been in some tight scrapes before, but this time it looks like there is no way out... I guess we're done for." 



Water in the desert, quite a contradiction.


To which Tonto replies,




"What you mean... WE... KemoSabe!"

It's an old joke and perhaps in these ultra politically correct, let's not step on any one's toes while we rape the planet, days... maybe inappropriate, but you have to admit, there is a certain bit of irony in it. 

After all, native south and north Americans alike, pretty much got the short end of the cactus/long end of the shaft everywhere, and this little bitty maybe does provide some justice.

Okay, the Lone Ranger and Tonto were the good guys and we hope that the masked man kept his mask (and hair) during this episode. 

As a kid I grew up on those two, Bonanza, Have Gun Will Travel and countless others.



6 million year old sea bed.

 I was fortunate enough (and totally friggin' ecstatic) meeting Roy Rogers and Dale Evans at an event at the Ex in Edmonton while still young enough to appreciate it.  I even got to lay a shaking hand on Trigger's nose!

Hell... I even had a Trigger replica rocking horse that I got for Christmas in 1958.  After I outgrew it, my kids outgrew it and... several of my nieces and their kids outgrew the Golden Palomino.




Days after this photo, 6 people died in a plane crash here.

 As I travelled Southeast on the Apache Trail, images of painted braves astride bare backed and mottled pintos riding the narrow trail along the many canyons, appeared at every corner.  I could picture the tiny horses, plodding along, a proud Apache warrior, menacing war paint upon his face as they surveyed their tremendous domain.

Is it any wonder the natives revered this land they called, "Mother."

                                 

                                                              

The shadows were creeping farther and farther to my back.  XT and I, a ghostly apparition on the cliff sides, as we wound our way down into the canyons.  I would see us silhouetted against the mountain, imagining myself back a hundred twenty five years.

I was astride an Indian pony, riding the rocky trail my ancestors rode...



Fish creek cave.

 Of course my ancestors rode horses, but instead of following a chieftain by the name of Geronimo... they followed one by the name of Attila. 

Whereas Geronimo fought the white intruders and the pony soldiers, Attila just terrorized Europe and sacked Rome!



Another angle...

 One thing for absolute certain... I wasn't here to fight with anyone, no sir... I was here to simply stare in awe at these wonders of nature.

I met few other cars, not a single bike and only spoke to one gal from Maine travelling by car from California.



Yup pardner, that'd be the Apache Trail down there.



                                                                       Very nice lady.

I'm pretty certain I could have taken her in an arm wrestle though...



Cliffs up and down!

 The Trail carried me from river/lake level to high above into the cliffs, the road slithering along like a desert sidewinder.

When I crossed Fish Creek in the gathering twilight, I vowed to come back another time or two and explore more of this primitive area.

My tire was still holding out but could not be counted on indefinitely.

I was still a long way even from pavement, and poorly equipped to spend a night out here, where the spirits of the very proud Apache wandered endlessly, sadly perhaps.


Tortilla Flats deep within Lake country.

 By the time I reached Tortilla Flats, darkness was falling.  I rode the final 25 miles to the very outskirts of AJ. 

Stopping to fill the tank at the very first gas station/saloon/dance bar I came to, I saw the tire losing vital air pressure.  A fill up with the compressor got me 5 more miles to a brightly lit Burger King.

Here I pulled another rabbit (hare/hair?) from my helmet... a phone call to my good Brit buddy Bob, brought this one man cavalry charging complete with tie downs and trailer.  The XT had covered 168 miles averaging 80mpg (Imperial).  She rode the final 35 miles home, head high, strapped onto Bob's trailer.  Still proud and defiant... feisty as ever.