"The Many (Mis) Adventures of DR N"

The Autobahn...

2012-02-12T22:51:00.000-08:00

THE Black Benz flashed by me so fast... I had to look down to see if the decals were still on my tank!

After warming up at McD's, I was heading south towards the Czech republic on the Autobahn.

I'd passed several wind farms reminiscent of PEI or southern AB.

FOR a time I was riding in the right hand lane, with occasional foray's into the middle lane to pass a slower vehicle.

Slow is a relative term of course.

Next to a hare, a tortoise is slow. Compared to a hare, a gazelle is fast but next to a Cheetah, maybe not so much.

GLANCING at the speedometer, I noticed my road speed hovering near 190 kph. Pretty near the max for the Divvie. I rode like this for about 50 kilometers, feet on the rear pegs, head under the bubble.

Big German sedans flashed by me in the left lane threatening to suck the paint off the bike.

MY best guess is most of them were travelling at least 220 plus kph.

There were no sports cars although later on in Italy, I would see plenty... just big, expensive Audi's, Mercedes, and BMW sedans.

NO flashy colors, just grey, white or black.

AS the miles rolled by and the cool air began penetrating the various openings in my riding gear, I'd had my fill of travelling at maximum velocity, and slowed to a more sedate 120-130 kph.

Maybe a Hayabusa or Big Ninja would be a better mount, but even such high speeds do not long entertain. At a hundred and eighty miles per, things are no more than a blur.

MY thoughts drifted back to 1985, I'd just uncrated and serviced one of the first if not the first RZ 500 Yamaha in Canada. I rode that bike (and GPZ Turbos etc) around on the back roads of the Maritimes, often at road race speeds. There was one time on route 225 as the speedo was nearly 240, the engine began a sudden stutter. The fuel was getting low and I needed to switch to reserve hurriedly. Funny how a two stroke V4 guzzles when those flat slides are yanked open :)

THAT meant having to reach for the fuel valve which was near my left thigh, this meant having to move my leg outboard of the lower fairing slightly.

No sooner than I did this, a motion that took perhaps 1.75 seconds, the bike immediately began to wobble! Badly!!!

Badly enough that a lesser man may have filled his Calvin Kleins!

As soon as my leg was tucked back in, the wobble ceased.

RIDING at high speed is great... on a race track!

Here on one of Germany's many autobahns, with a heavy 35L trunk high up and far back... not so much.

In my 7 months riding Europe, I would have plenty of time to stretch Piroska's 600 cc DOHC air cooled 6 speed legs!

Autobahns.
Autostradas.
Autopistas.
Autofast!

I tried to find accommodation in Prague, but there was none available at the hotels I stopped at.

ONCE past the city of Brno, I came across a major traffic jam just a few miles from the Moto-GP circuit.

Believing there was some type of race or event going on, I was thinking of looking in.

It was getting late in the day and truthfully, I was quite tired.

TRAVELLING long distances on motorcycles especially in unfamiliar places (and was this EVER unfamiliar to me!) can be quite tiring.

The wind, traffic, the noise (I wear earplugs), rain... all conspire to wear you out.

The Diversion, like my Seca back home, is actually very comfortable for a multitude of riding conditions but after 9-10 hours in the saddle, you are pretty much bushed.

SITTING in gridlocked traffic I soon noticed bikes moving through the cars and lorries between lanes or along the armco.*

I followed suit (when in Czech right!) and apart from some experience with lane splitting in L.A. this was the first I'd done this in Euro.

Cars were surprisingly very courteous, some even moving slightly to allow me to pass.

IT took me about 20 minutes to weave slowly amongst the five or six kilometers of creeping vehicles and we (the other bikes and myself) were through. An infrequent collision had been the source of the hold up.

Rounding a bend among the low laying mountains that make up a good deal of the country, I found a service station that also had a camping park and hotel.

Thirty eight Euros bought me a hot shower, a comfy bed and a peaceful and restful night.

Bonus... the restaurant served excellent low cost supper and breakfast. No McD's for me this night!

*Armco - those metal barriers that separate highways.

BERLIN

2012-02-11T05:56:00.000-08:00

One of the best meals of my entire European adventure.

AFTER putting Piroska to bed in the Hotel Berlin parking compound, I checked in. For 46 Euro's I got a simple, compact but modern room for myself. It was barely the size of a large bedroom with a tiny desk and washroom built in.

Waitress and Chef

THAT evening I wandered the immediate vicinity, stopping for what turned out to be one of the very best meals I'd had in all my travels. The restaurant had been run by the same family for nearly 100 years and even though business was slow due to some construction (all of Europe seems to be under construction!) and the world wide recession that was just gathering speed, it was a pleasant evening.

This is the Smart for two, we should have got!

BY the time I arrived back in my room at the hotel, I was pretty much wiped out. It had been a long day's ride, full of excitement including the near collision! I planned to get up early Saturday morning, and with tourist guide in hand, make a trip downtown to see some of the most famous Berlin sights.

City Hall at 6 a.m.

WHEN the wake-up call came in from the automated service at 4.30 a.m. I could barely lift my head from the pillow. I realized that I was getting close to pushing my travel limits, the combination of cool weather with rain squalls, hard riding without proper gear and the simple awe of what my senses were experiencing, were all conspiring to do me in! But, for all that, I was pumped, hell... I was in Berlin!

For a simple two day overnight ride... this was turning into a marathon adventure!

One view of the massive Berlindome.

ARRIVING in the dark at the center of the city, I had to use my headlamp to read my 'Mickey Mouse' over sized tourist map. Berlin city hall was just to my left, I waited until exactly 6 to snap my first photo of the day, shivering in the dampness and coolness... I was surrounded by statues, memorials and famous landmarks of what is one of the premiere historical cities of the entire World. You couldn't do it justice to describe the history and architecture, much of which of course was bombed into rubble during the sustained allied air offensive and the subsequent Russian invasion.

Kaiser Wilhelm.

EVEN though most of us are familiar with the post war occupied Berlin, especially the infamous "wall", the city is truly quite beautiful and dates back to 500 B.C. when the area was home to early Germanic tribes. In more recent times of course, the city and country is famous for Mozart, Bach and Beethoven. It was also the birthplace of one Karl Marx!

How ironic is that?

Piroska at the Brandenburg Gate! I've taken Berlin!!

THE Brandenburg Gate has been the historical entrance to the city, first constructed in the late 1700's and rebuilt as recently as 12 years ago after suffering the same fate as much of the rest of the country. Much of Germany's cities were reduced to bombed out rubble by the concentrated air war of the 1940's.

Reich stag.

THERE are few landmarks more recognizable within the city center as the Reich stag. Anyone that has ever seen any movie footage of the second world war, will remember the scenes of destruction around this government edifice. I can recall a hundred motion pictures over my lifetime of this Grand building pockmarked and riddled with shell fire and bomb blasts... Today, as you can see, it has been completely rebuilt and once again stands proud.

After WW2, the "Liberating" Russians left their mark.

MOST people know little of the Russian army advance from near defeat at Moscow followed by such turning points in history as Stalingrad, but the truth is, the German military led by Hitler, were soundly trounced by the strength of the Allies and especially the Red Army. In amongst the historic monuments are latter day, post war reminders of the stunning victory of the Russkies. Little time was wasted in memorializing their occupation of the city and defeat of the once mighty Wehrmacht.

Including a mounted T 34

GIVEN the early Saturday morning ride throughout the city, I found myself pretty much all alone. I could ride my bike right up to the steps of the Reich stag, across wide Blvd's onto sidewalks for the best photo ops. It wasn't until I began the trek back to the hotel that traffic began it's daily frantic pace. By then I had seen much of the must see tourist destinations and for a guy that read so much about European and world war history in my lifetime... a significant event it had been indeed.

and of course the famous "Victory" memorial.

ONCE back at the hotel, I packed my rather meagre possession's into my tank bag, tail bag and Givi trunk. The hotel was just off the freeway that took me out of the city and back onto the autobahn.

Kaiser Wilhelm Cathedral.

COLD forced me off the road and into a well lit, warm and inviting McDonald's an hour south of the city. After a mega cup of coffee and some McMuffin thing or other, I was ready to tackle what came next. Remember, my overnight plan had disintegrated days ago and I was well beyond the boundaries of that simple day trip... I was on the road in Europe!

OMG, I'm in Poland!

2012-02-08T10:31:00.000-08:00

The back door into Poland.

Superhighway this wasn't!

After a short run across the mountains I reached Nowy Targ. Here I exchanged for Zloty... just in case Euro's were not accepted along my route.

My overnight, just across the border into Slovakia, was now in it's third day and just as many countries.

Got to stop here...

Thinking this may be a longer trip than planned (so what else is new?!)

I consulted my GPS (map) and could see that Oswiecim otherwise known by it's German name, Auschwitz was very nearby.

Simple 2 lane country roads led me to Rabka, Wadowice and then via a short run of divided highway I was lucky enough to find an English speaking pair at a gas stop.

Outdoor cafe.

As so often happens with Karma, between these two and a passerby fueling up, they had road maps laid out and a route to the (in)famous city plotted out. I was only hours away!

This was a good thing as the weather was clouding over and rain threatened. Having only planned a short ride, I was woefully unprepared for bad weather.

Hotel Olecki

Many roundabouts later, I finally saw the sign leading me to the city and the Hotel Olecki, directly across the entrance gates to the Nazi extermination camp.

Once settled for the following two nights in a very pleasant but expensive room, I had a look see at the entrance to the Museum, which was about to close for the day.

Auschwitz!

Next morning, before 8 am after a small continental breakfast, I wandered over, camera in hand, to the entrance. There, a bus load of Israeli military, men and women both, had just arrived.

Guided tours began at 10 am but I set off on my own and glad of it too, as it turned out.

I was free? to wander about by myself and spend as much or as little time as I wanted.

"Work will set you Free"

A small portion of the vast camp remains today, free to tourists, as a very grim reminder of what that early part of the 20th century was like in Europe.

It is very hard not to feel incredible emotional turmoil walking the silent streets.

The numerous gallows, the displays, the ominous presence of millions of souls...

Harsh reality for millions.

This was a most powerful experience!

Amidst the vision of brutality and horrible death by starvation overwork or simply execution or torture, I was extremely affected.

Enough that I felt compelled to write about it in a story that CB printed the following year.

Israeli military.

As in every typical crowd of humans there were the few that mocked what they saw, laughed and jeered. I just turned my back to these misguided, emotionless individuals that had no place in hallowed ground like this.

I spent the entire day, simply sitting, staring, reading the numerous plaques and sign that give a visitor a sense of what it must have been like.

When I returned to my little home for the night... I was utterly exhausted. Yes of course I had walked what seemed like miles and many hours had passed since I stepped through the gates that morning, but somehow this was more of an emotional exhaustion. A drain on my soul, as if my senses had been beat up by a baseball bat or club.

I fell into bed and slept until the following morning without so much as a bite to eat.

Running on fumes...

In the morning I wandered across the street to the mini mall, found myself a small cafe and had a coffee and some breakfast.

There were several groups of people about, I seemed to be the only individual seated in the open mall.

What a contrast I thought as I ate my minimalist breaky... people laughing and joking around, children running the tiled floors as they do everywhere in the world.

I wrote a few words in my road journal, looked at my map, spent a few zloty sending emails from the internet office on yet another odd foreign keyboard and retired to my room to pack my little gear.

Self explanatory.

The Givi trunk popped on it's locking rack, oil checked, tire pressures ditto, the last thing to do was attach the magnetic tank bag, fold the map into it's pouch and once started up on the center stand, I waved goodbye to the staff and wheeled out into traffic.

As so often happens in my travels, I could have turned right and headed back into the Czech republic.

Well I didn't.

I turned the bars left instead, rode to the end of the road coming across a T. To the left was the location of Birkenow, now little left, and to the right... well was another road to explore.

I pulled my jacket zipper tighter, the same with my sleeves, and headed North west.

Once I'd reached the border between Poland and Germany... I stopped for a pic of my first of many Autobahns. Rode through the gate and was headed towards Dresden.

The day was blustery with strong winds buffeting my helmet and pushing me from side to side.

After a gas stop, and a Snickers bar, I pondered the sign. Dresden was straight ahead only a short distance... but just below the magic word caught my attention.

Berlin, that historic and famous city capital of the Germany from my history books, was but 263km turn away...

No sooner than I'd wheeled off the ramp and onto the Autobahn heading to Berlin, I nearly collided with the rear end of a line of vehicles that had come to a complete standstill on the highway. Caught shoulder checking for approaching traffic from the south, it was a very close call!

Only a very quick counter steer into the right lane saved my ass. Once the traffic sorted itself out, I found that I simply was not travelling at a high enough velocity. I'd heard stories of course, about high speed drivers in Germany, but this was my first real taste... it left me shaking my head and speechless. Although the posted maximum is 130kph, cars here were travelling at near double those speeds. I was content, shivering in the coolness of the day, running through rain showers one after the other, to ride at a more relaxed 120.

Appropriate to stay at the Hotel Berlin!

FLASHBACK Europe

2012-02-05T08:23:00.000-08:00

AFTER a very good nights sleep in the peaceful and historic village of Betliar, followed by a typical continental breakfast in my tummy, camera in hand, I wandered the streets absorbed by the quiet.

ALTHOUGH Rosznava was only a few miles away, this felt like having stepped back in time. A small brook coming from the nearby mountains provided me a guide as I trekked uphill in a still sleeping town.

VERY few people were about at this time of the day, in fact I hadn't seen much activity the evening before when I'd arrived.

MY first day on the road had resulted in a detour to a splendid castle and upon the advice of my Hungarian tour guide at the Slovak border, a great overnight at what would soon turn out to be one of many.

THE sun hadn't quite risen above the nearby mountaintops, the weather was cool but pleasant, as I packed up Piroska for the day.

Although I had planned a simple jaunt into the Slovak republic, as a shake down cruise, as so often happens when I have time on my hands and no particular place to go... I would not be returning to Hungary this day.

HAVING planned only a short 2 day ride, I had very little gear to load, most of it going into the GIVI trunk in any case. If I were to stick to my game plan, I would be back in HU by noon, and home to Jaszkiser by supper.

Cousin Erzsi knew roughly where I was going and when I would be returning.

AS so often happens, I get seduced by what lay beyond the next mountain or valley or town. Why should this be any different.

Within minutes of my ritual walk around checking tires, lights, shaking the mufflers for tightness, my mind had been made up.

It was a clear choice, left to return the way I had planned... or right into the Tatra's.

BIDDING Betliar and the Baronka adieu, I headed north. As I shifted the still reluctantly cold gearbox into higher gears, the sun peeking over the horizon now, I felt content and happy.

I was headed to Poland.

STEADILY climbing, the road was incredibly smooth and wide, unlike most of Hungary. It was obvious to me that Slovakia was more affluent, perhaps not by much, but certainly the homes were more modern, better kept and the highway in better condition.

BEFORE long I was bending around higher speed mountain curves, downshifting several gears for the increasing hairpins, climbing higher and higher. Little villages came and went, streams became swifter and rockier, sport bikes more numerous, and the first of what would be hundreds of European tunnels came into sight.

The Slovak Paradise National park passed under the cast alloy wheels of my Divvie, as I made my way North on route 67. After a short coffee stop in the Industrial city of Poprad, surrounded by Roma (gypsies) who were very curious at my arrival, keeping their distance but obviously talking about me and my bike, I continued on.

Reaching a cross road at Spisska Bela, I kept to 67 and climbed through a narrow valley with a large industrial plant decaying to my left. There were few vehicles on the road and what there were, I passed easily with just a twist of the throttle. It was as if I were travelling by bike through British Columbia. Sicamous, Vernon, Salmon Arm... but instead of McDonald's and houseboats, there were ruined castles on hilltops. Just before noon, I came to my second EU border crossing with the same result, a rusting shell, no gates, just a thin road leading into Poland.

MY European adventure was beginning...

JUST another day at the beach...

2012-02-04T05:06:00.000-08:00

Vast mudflat.

PASSING the southern shore of Bahia Conception, you have the choice of riding a rocky trail to the Trans Peninsular... or you can take the mudflats.

This particular day I chose to ride the flats, as it were... flat out!

Now that may sound like a huge thrill but at 90kph, the little bumblebee, shrieking like a sewing machine, howling at 10,000 rpm, it's not as thrilling as it may seem at first glance. You certainly have the 'impression' of speed, without the reality!

Low tide at El Requeson beach to Island.

WHAT is thrilling though if you happen to break thru that thin layer of dried mud and sand while WFO,* is the ensuing tank slapper.** That didn't happen on this day but has on others.

Nope, today it was just a (relatively) high speed dash from desert, boulders and cacti, across 5 km of pancake flat, hardened mud.

Calm as a mirror.

ONCE back on HW 1, I stopped off at various beaches including the post card perfect El Requeson. In several trips, I had missed my timing but today I caught the tide perfectly.

You see, when the tide is in the Island is, well an Island, separated from the beach by three or four feet of clear salt water, and several hundred yards.

El Coyote beach!

ON this ride, the submerged sand spit was basking in the sun like a beached whale.

You can walk right across without getting your tootsies wet. In my case, I could ride across.

One of these trips I am going to pitch my tent on the other side of the Island for an overnight excursion!

Playa Los Cocos.

TO say that the ride around the West side of the Bay is spectacular would not do it justice. That would be similar to telling someone Angelina looks nice!

It has to be one of the few accessible by vehicle, most beautiful beach areas anywhere in the World.

I'd ridden the East side of the Bay several years previously and except for the odd fishing camp, it is secluded and desolate, but utterly beautiful.

Last rise.

THE Mexican tourist board, prompted by promises by dozens of developers over the years, have thought about creating resorts here.

Many schemes have fallen by the wayside. Three things hold development back.

It's remote even by Mexican standards, there is a long stretch between Mulege and Loreto without state power and fresh water is scarce.

Playa Escondido, hidden beach.

MY thoughts on this... thank goodness. Once the corporations and hotels move in, they (the Mexicans) and us nature lovers, will have lost one of the last remotely accessible areas in North America.

Yeah, yeah... it takes a pretty hardy soul to drive the 1000km of the T.P. to reach these parts, but those that have made the trek, know exactly what I am talking about.

Taken from the microwave tower, the Cortez.

I explored the immediate area for several weeks on my diminutive mount, getting 90 mpg the whole while, and thoroughly enjoying myself. I was in another of my woman problem modes, where you can appreciate the peace and calm Baja provides in it's seclusion.

Palapa #1 Complete with dble palapa garage.

HAVING the benefit of M&J's palatial palace of a palapa and Bounder, I didn't have to think about camping or cooking meals over a stove.

In the years since, a major blow, otherwise known as a Hurricane, swept across the peninsula and destroyed all these old palapas. They have been rebuilt, but the days of being Number 1 and having a convenient double garage to themselves... are history.

High tide in the morning, is this great or what?

OVER the years, many of my friends have vowed to do a trip with me, but none have ventured to do it.

Each year, especially during winter months, hordes of touring motorcyclists on every type of bike, do the trip from So Cal to the beer gardens of Cabo. Open piped Harley's by the dozens stream by. Likewise open piped GSXR's and CBR's, test themselves on hundreds of little used curves.

Skipper and Gilligan heading out on dawn patrol.

THERE are tons of GS Beemers and KLR's passing by, but rarely does anyone venture off the beaten path into the back country, whose only visitors are Baja Mille riders and drivers... and a few guys like moi :)

I have said before, Baja is a place of beauty, tranquility and danger all rolled into one.

Another Baja journey comes to an end...

THIS trip was coming to a close. In a few days, the DT would be once again strapped to the rack, the Walden, to the roof. My cooler would have fried chicken, sandwiches and Cokes crammed in (Margaret is my second mother) and I would once more, point my Blazer northward.

Another Baja moment in my memory and photo album, and another journey, adventure... in the books.

*WFO Old motorcycle parlance for Wide Frigging Open.
** That's when your handlebars rapidly shake from side to side and you crap your pants.

Elsie in Baja...

2012-02-02T09:01:00.000-08:00

I'D come within hours to press time, of having my first cover shot. John was apologetic, having been over ruled by the head cheese. Although not a S.I. swimsuit cover, my fame was fleeting, lasting but seconds as I was ingloriously dumped for a pic of the 15th anniversary Fat Boy.

Soon to be dry riverbed.

Now I like all motorcycles and all brands. In my lifelong riding career I've ridden pretty much everything sold in the last 40 years, Harley's included.

Deeley's (CDN HD distributor) had purchased a full page color back cover to complement the CB coverage between the pages of this Terminator/Schwarzenegger's Fat Boy... so, the Doc will have to wait for another day to grace a glossy cover.

Metro Rosarito, this is the town triangle.

Getting back to Baja, after my episode with the flat, followed by a rapid tire fix, I was heading for the Cortez coast towards the non existent village of San Nicolas.

There are numerous part time fishing camps along the route, and in any case I had ridden it back in '04 on my Serow 225.

That by the way, was the last trip I used my 40 year old SLR 35mm camera.

Digital technology has changed forever the way we photograph. In those days, a shot involved setting up on the tri-pod, carefully calculating shutter speeds and light settings, stringing out my squeeze bulb and hoping that when you developed the film back home, you had a good shot.

First glimpse in the distance...

Today's digitals require none of that. Although I carry my premium Canon on most trips nowadays, I still take almost all of my photos with my 8meg Olympus point and shoot. It's very compact, water/rain proof and has a large enough screen to view your photo in pretty good detail. Don't like it, take another one!

In the old days, during the dawn of mankind, while volcanoes spewed their ash, one had to take care to get a good photo.

Now dry riverbed...

Anybody can be a decent photog with a digital. Just keep snapping away and you are bound to get it mostly right at some point...

Yup like everything, technology continues to forge ahead. The days of battleships are behind us.

Looking for welcome shade, scarce in the desert.

No matter where I ride, there is always the truly breathtaking view that occurs at least once or twice every time without fail.

On this particular route around the south end of the Bay, the first one is riding over that crest to see the Sea of Cortez gleaming in the distance. While I'm still 10km from the coast, and have to negotiate countless switchbacks to get there, it nevertheless, brings a tear to my eye and reminds me of what an incredible planet this Mother Earth truly is.

Crossing over a dry riverbed, I take a wrong turn and end up heading away from the coast. Within a kilometer I knew I missed my route (confirmed by my compass) but decided to explore this gravel track until I had to turn back or made it thru.

Nearing the Cortez.

The temperature by now had peaked at about 105 degrees, and in several places the little DT engine was screaming at red line, it's 8 hp straining to carry me and it's own weight across sand washes.

Millions of discarded shells.

At barely over 165lbs, the bike is only a couple of cheeseburgers heavier than I am in my riding gear, I get off and push while clutch slipping thru the hardest stuff.

The temperature gauge is hovering just inside it's danger zone.

I guzzle water from my canteen like a camel filling it's humps after travelling a hundred miles from the last oasis.

There are still a couple of hours of riding, and I am nearly through my first liter. Finally, after crossing the dry bed, several times, I come to a canyon with walls reaching a hundred feet in height, I can go no farther.

They wait patiently for a meal.

Not disappointed, this after is is why I do this.

Once back on the main Jeep trail, heading North with the Gulf of California on my starboard side, I pass through several temporary fishing camps. The Pangas are anchored in shallow water or beached, no one is about it seems but like anywhere there are humans, dogs abound. They yelp and bark and chase me thru each tiny part time village, Somehow given the low seat height of the DT, I feel more vulnerable. They are in most cases a sad looking lot of mongrels, I feel sorry for them. Down in these parts, they are not pampered canine pets, they are working dogs, kept here to fend for themselves for the most part and keep strangers at bay.

Some say I am stranger than most.

Nipping at my ankles, kicking at them doesn't help, it only infuriates them more. What is it about dogs and motorbikes?

In due course I drop down into yet another dry wash. It's a rocky switchback and quick descent to a valley of lush, lined palms, verdant green with pumped ground water.

Seclusion.

I take a short hop to the coast where several very modern houses are perched in a cove, protected by a small fleet of boats. This community is one of several along the Baja peninsula where Gringos roost in seclusion.

It really is a special breed of hardy humans, that venture and live down here in the Baja peninsula...

Flashback Baja on 49cc per day!

2012-02-01T15:29:00.000-08:00

It don't get much better than this...

SINCE my first time in Baja California way back in '98... I have spent many a mile in the saddle of various trail bikes I've had. That first foray into the peninsula was on my then fairly new Yamaha XT 600. I was accompanied at the time by my live in G/F, Deb, on her own identical bike.

Catavina.

WE rode from Phx to Cabo and detoured into So Cal on the return route, for a grand total of nearly 7000 km. The two of us spent about 20 percent of our time on gradual, casual off road trails and the rest on the Trans Peninsular highway number 1.

El Requeson at high tide.

DURING the years, I was back about a dozen times. A few with friends Lantie and Rock from Long Beach, including a trip to San Felipe one New Years with Holly riding an old TS 250 two stroke Suzuki ring dinger! Mostly I travel by myself. I find that when I ride with someone else, invariably there are disagreements about where to eat, sleep, pee... and other variables. On top of that, typically I have the most experience and feel responsible for any companions.

Been here, done that... Gonna do it again someday.

MY Spanish is pretty crude, I can say the usual... "where is the bathroom, (donde esta banos) how are you doing, (como estas) I'm from Canada, (soy de Canada) yes it is cold there, (si, mucho fria) and two cold Pacifico's/Tecates/Corona's please senor, (dos cervezas, mucho fria por favor, senor)"

You really don't want to rely on me to translate for you... I may order you ham and eggs and you get squid with refried beans!

On my first trip I asked a local woman in Mulege, "Hablo Espanol?" Doh!

Baja Mexicano's don't seem to mind, many speak very good if basic English and Spanglish is common.

Tiny stream.

I'VE ridden my 225, a DR 650, my XT 600, Rock's XT 600, and even my Passport!
It really doesn't matter a whole heck of lot what you ride down there. As long as you can do 80kph or better on the pavement, you're not likely to end up as roadkill!

Off road, speed is irrelevant. The faster you go, the more likely you will be feeding the buzzards with your innards!!

No stream.

FUEL is rarely a problem, only on the rather longish stretch between El Rosario and Villa Jesus Maria, a distance of about 350km are there no Pemex stations. Catavina will have several pick up trucks with drums of fuel and wily entrepreneurs brandishing siphon hoses, parked in front of the abandoned Pemex. For a slight premium (get it) they will fill your tank. Not a problem when I drive thru, but if your riding the TP #1, you will likely stop here for a fill.

Catavina is always a good overnight (or longer) stop, in either the sparse but very nice RV park in town, or one of several small hotels. It is known for it's massive boulder field where you can wander (take a compass) or ride or bike.

Jeep trail along the Cortez coast.

THIS particular trip in the fall of 2006, I had my Chevy Blazer 4X4, my Waldon kayak on the roof rack and the DT 50 LC (Elsie) on the MC rack. I had about 3 weeks plus the road time, and leaving from Penticton with Sister (No... she's not a Nun) and BoL driving their massive Bounder MH (at least I didn't have to sleep in a tent) along for the drive, we got to the beach in 4 days.

Ain't this friggin hideous?

ONCE sorted out, setting up camp (and I use this term loosely) I was able to get some riding done. I say 'camp' because although Marg and John (not their real names) pull up next to a palm frond palapa, between the MH and the palapa, they made quite the winter nest, even complete with Satellite TV!!! Having gotten up with the crack (or at least the creak) of dawn, geared up, fired up the diminutive little eensy weensy DT, guess what... flat rear tire!

Rocky Road, but can't eat this one, well unless you endo!

Hurriedly removing clothing in the gathering heat, I had the rear tire off in less than 10 minutes with hand tools, and the tube patched and replaced on the bike in less than 30 minutes. By this time I could leave behind some clothing, that I would have ultimately stowed later on anyway, and headed towards a coastal Jeep trail I had ridden several years before. On that trip, with my Serow I found the going very easy, the Elsie with it's sewing machine sized engine would be slower and a little more cramped but no less fun!

That's the Sea of Cortez/Gulf of California

LEAVING Playa Las Cocos, I turned south and followed the TP around the stunningly beautiful Bahia Conception. Oops... did I say Beautiful and stunning? I meant to say, butt ugly and not worth visiting... nothing to see here folks, keep away...

Butt ugly scenery! Don't come here...

ELSIE is good for a steady 80 kph cruise in 6th gear at 8500 rpm (redline is at 10 grand) but is happier (much happier) at 75k. By the time I reached the end of the Bay, on a dream ride, umm... horror ride... I had climbed high and dropped low along magnificent bends and incredible beauty. The only reason this place isn't crawling with hotels and mega buck resorts is the lack of power and fresh water. THANK GOD!

Much photographed, El Requeson at low tide.

I pulled into the entrance road to San Isidro and La Purisima to take a photo of the road sign I have in my Crossing Giganta story featured in the April 2005 issue of Canadian Biker. A story I very nearly had a cover page with...

The SouthWest

2012-01-31T08:16:00.000-08:00

SOME people advised me against buying a place in Phoenix.

There are many that feel the US is not a particularly safe place, or that Americans are headstrong, gun toting, crazy bastards.

Then there was the volatility of the economy to worry about, they told me.

"You'll lose your money!" Some said.

I was fortunate (?) about receiving advice from all quarters. Co-workers, the gal at the Safeway check-out, real estate professionals, even a couple of sceptical friends, wondered about my wisdom.

Travelling abroad, you've heard all kinds of stories about Americans. I myself have come across some very rude and obnoxious Yankee tourists in the most unlikely of places.

Of course I've also heard or met, rude Russians. Hungarians. French. Poles, and even Canadians!

Rudeness is not limited to a single Nationality it seems.

By contrast I've met friendly and helpful Brits, Germans, Hungarians, Frenchies, Spaniards, Portuguese, Ozzies, Kiwis, Canadians, and yes... even those darn Yanks!

I've learned long ago that most of the well meaning folks that have given me advice about Mexico, or Phoenix or France or Spain... have never left their couches or there local area codes.

With all the latest news about travel and violence in Mexico, of course the topic seems to be, "Why should you go?"

Yeah... I had plenty of advice about buying in the U.S. of A.

Warnings, horror stories.

By nature I'm a pretty cautious man. I don't take a lot of foolish gambles. I tend to weigh the odds even as I approach a tricky downhill.

I've pushed my envelope lots in my life. You can't be on a racetrack without taking risks.

I figure it this way, it's risky driving my Blazer around Calgary. After all Ewen and Charley biked around the World the Long Way Round, and were both hit by drivers in Calgary!

Living is a risky business after all, and will eventually lead to death.

That's one of the irrefutable facts of life.

Nothin' guaranteed 'cept death and taxes right?

I bought my place in Phoenix despite the warnings, because I love to ride my motorcycles.

If we could ride year round in reasonable comfort in Canada, I would. Fact is... ya can't.

Phoenix is my getaway spot.

When I place the key in the lock, I am "home." Not only do I have several helmets hanging there, but it feels like home.

Truthfully, all those things that people say are true.

Someone can rob you of your money, or cut you off in traffic or I suppose, you could be bitten by a snake.

There are dangerous Mexican towns, the French can indeed be very rude.

Living in a foreign country does have it's drawbacks. It's not without it's risks.

I am a pretty good listener. I heard the various opinions, then like I always do... I made up my own mind.

Back during the early part of the World financial meltdown that was precipitated in the good ole USA, I plunked down my hard earned cash and bought my little 2 bed condo.

IT's not fancy, it's not gated, it doesn't have marble counter tops or the latest in kitchen updates. What it is for me, is a home away from home. A place I can sit by the pool and read a fave book or mag.

A place to kick back, drink a cool Rolling Rock, ride my scooter or bike whenever I please.

A place my daughters (being the timid types they are :) will call their homes away from home over the years.

My friends can visit, many are waiting for their opportunity. A place where you may just find a great little stray kitten, that will ride in your lap all the way up I-15 to Canada.

Sometimes... life sucks!

2012-01-24T23:27:00.000-08:00

I was told the other day, I was looking run down. The actual words were, "you look like s__t!" Boy that's what you want to hear in the A.M. before your day really even gets underway.

After a short conversation, that I kinda detested, I made an excuse and hit the road. I mean, first of all, the conversation was depressing me, and the last thing I need with all this stress that goes along with moving and shaking, is that!

Ever notice that many (and I do mean many) people you come in contact with in a typical 24 hour period, are just plain downers? After all, what would you rather hear at 8:49 in the morning...

"you look like s__t!" or "man, you are some boyishly handsome dude."

You hear someone telling you that their wife/girlfriend is cheating on them, or they hate their job, maybe it's the bleakness of winter, or the heat of summer. Perhaps you didn't get that new tool for your garage or solid gold necklace for your anniversary that you were wishing for, and contrary to what that piece of slick marketing crap, The Secret, tells you... things don't just drop into your lap by saying it aloud three times.

Sometimes... life just plain sucks.

That doesn't mean it's bad or you should take a short step off a tall bridge. What it means is, you often need to re-evaluate who you hang around with, whether your circle of friends is as cold as the arctic, or if that piece of junk you're driving really is worth the hassle. Sometimes in fact, you have to make the hard decision and bail. Maybe not forever, but certainly at that moment. After all, could very well be that my companion was having a lousy day, who knows.

The best military tacticians throughout history (forget Custer, the light brigade or insane Banzai charges with bayonets fixed and machine guns spewing lead over and thru your head...) have all suffered setbacks and even retreat. Sometimes you just have to withdraw and live to fight another day. No use being a dead hero is there?

So after my depressing conversation of a few days ago, I have done some re-evaluating. I mean, back in 2002, I got hit from behind by a Mazda driven by a young man that made a very poor decision, that to this day haunts me. My shoulder is beat up, I have a bunch of vertebrae that are constantly ailing. What do I do about it?

I had not one, but two heart attacks when I was 49-50, the second of which nearly killed me. Yupper, I've had to re-evaluate several times in my life.

Anyway during this conversation... I am thinking to myself. Why am I here?

This person has been depressing to be around and in fact, is the architect of their own demise, and still, after all these years, continually brings it upon them self. By making poor choices, Karma will come back and bite your little tush!

That my friends is the law of the jungle. I have listened to the moaning and complaining and after the other day, I thought...

... maybe it's time to re-evaluate.

YOU WHAT?!

2012-01-22T07:21:00.000-08:00

Cooling down, gotta put the fleece back on.

"Everything alright, are you having a problem?"

"Nope... doing fine, just taking a little rest stop."

Lake Pleasant in the distance.

The two deputies met me halfway between their vehicle and my bike. We stood at the confluence of Champie and Cow Creek road.

I'd explained that I was through here once before and was just wondering if the Cow Creek hooked up with Buckhorn rd?

Easy riding...

Why sure, he said to me. You follow the fork to the left and pass Crown King, keep going and you will meet up with the Buckhorn.

That's what I thought I answered him. I went on to tell him about the boys in the Blazer I had run into earlier that had told me otherwise. What he told me next didn't surprise me, but certainly shocked me a wee bit.

"That's the problem back here. People are driving around, haven't a clue where they are or where they are going. They come back here with the family wagon and get lost. Pretty soon they are bogged down in sand or break a crankcase on a rock. They aren't prepared, no water, no jack, no emergency equipment, nothing.

They're foolish to try this stuff. It can get to be a hundred and twenty out here in the summer time and this time of year, very few people are back there except the odd rancher or dirt bike rider. Why hell... we gotta rescue about a hundred people every year from the Crown King!"

Curious for this newfound information, I push him a little further... how so?

"Well ya know, they get back in those mountains on a quad or a dirt bike and crash over some cliff, break an arm or a leg. Nobody dies, but usually we have to go in there and pull them out. Costs the county a lot of money... most of those places you can't drive a truck into."

So how do you get them out then?

"We can sometimes get in from one end or the other with an ATV*... many times we use a search and rescue chopper from Luke** or the county."

The other deputy chimes in, he wishes people would use their heads more often, be prepared for emergencies before they take off joy riding out here.

I tell him I can't agree more...

I could squat here... course that would get me shot!

"I rode the Crown King back in May on my bike." I gesture with my hand. "It was hard, even for my skill level, with decades of off roading and racing. In fact I have a story coming out soon in a Cdn bike mag about the CK."

They shook their heads...

"You tell people to stay out of there, we don't want to have to pull them out because they do something stupid."

Dry spillway in front of abandoned house.

I swore I would let them (the stupid people) know.

We shook hands, they offered to let me ride first so I didn't choke on their dust.

I declined, after all I was stopping every quarter mile to snap a photo or two.

So, the Crown King has a rep, I thought. I wasn't surprised to hear that!

Not a mile further on, I came across two young people parked on the road having some lunch, driving a 2WD Saturn Vue.

I asked where they were headed and guess what... CK he told me. Now it was my turn to shake my head.

After explaining my encounter with the deputies just 30 minutes ago, and my own experiences of the Crown King... they were mesmorized... stunned.

Nice young couple too, mid twenties for sure, I'd guess pretty well educated by their conversation, but I could actually see them driving down that killer hill that gave me pause to think back in May.

Course that would never happen, they would have had that nice but fake SUV hung up on rocks long before they reached my point of no return.

*All terrain vehicle
** Luke Air Force base

Slovak Flashback 2

2012-01-20T11:45:00.000-08:00

Fiddling the FIAT.

AFTER stopping briefly to help out a guy with an overheated, decrepit old FIAT 500, I crossed over into the Slovak Republic.

It wasn't all that long ago, this border station was patrolled by AK 47 wielding, unsmiling Communist soldiers checking paperwork with a fine toothed comb.

We sometimes forget that travel as we know it in the West was difficult if not impossible without visa and carnet's and sometimes cash hidden in a passport here in the former Bloc.

Country # 2

TODAY all that remains of those times is a rusting building, sour smelling bathrooms that make you wish for an outhouse, and a cambio (money changing booth)

Otherwise you ride right on thru, many of these countries now a part of the European Union, and as such have little or no interference crossing national boundaries.

THE young man at the cambio was telling me to forget taking the E 571 west, and to head east instead. There on a hilltop, I would find a glorious restored castle, where they spoke English and Hungarian.

Not to be missed he proudly stated. After that I should turn north on the E 67 to a small town called Betliar, just on the outskirts of Rosnava, where a great little pension (I stayed in Hostales, pension's hotel and Inns during my travels) would take my breath away.

It was surrounded by streams and mountains and the food was magnificent, he placed his fingertips to his mouth in the International gesture of fine dining!

FOR anyone that has ever travelled with me, especially on a motorbike, you know that the best laid plans are those you toss over your shoulder and ad lib!

This over night, 250km ride was going to prove that point with an exclamation mark or three!!!

Lovely view from the ramparts.

I blew right by the turnoff and swung the bike in a wide arc to the east. Within an hour I was passing the E67 and 10 km up the road, pulling into the parking lot of Castle Krasna Horka.*

It was very busy with tourists, the parking lot was nearly full. I set the Divvie on her center stand just outside a small group of shops, asking the mid fifties attendant if she would keep an eye out for me.

Notice the holes?

AFTER all, this was my very first foray with luggage, outside of home base and I always have concern for my gear. No problem she answered in English, and then we switched over to Hungarian. She spoke 4 languages, amazing I would find throughout Europe.

A cathedral in a castle.

UNFORTUNATELY
I opted for the tour, they offered no choice. Normally I despise tours, they move at the pace determined by the guide, you are restricted to taking photos and it is crowded.

This place was in fine shape, and had been inhabited as little as 150 years ago. Oil paintings of kings, queens, princes and princess' adorned the walls.

It was beautifully restored. Hard not to imagine the romance that these baroque castles exude.

Dislike tours...

CONTRARY to the rules, I did snap a few very candid photos, after all... I was a tourist, maybe not Japanese, but riding a Japanese bike. Surely that counted for something didn't it.

These structures were inevitably placed on the highest piece of land dominating a lush valley or confluence of some river or three. This gave the villagers somewhere to plant their crops and still be able to retreat inside the fortress when threatened.

That was a fact of life in medieval Europe.

AFTER the tour had ended, and I wandered the gift shop for a few moments, I anxiously returned down the hill to my bike.

There was no problem she said, and in return for her help I purchased some small jewelry for my girls.

ONCE back on the bike, I headed the few miles west to the E 67 turnoff. I have to admit, I was a bit intimidated but the scope of my trip to Europe. How was I going to handle it personally, returning to my roots so to speak, dealing with the language barriers, the money, the security and in general, the bombardment of new experiences?

Beautiful view west from my room.

WITHIN 20 minutes of the turn-off I was at the Baronka, a quaint two story building across from the village park, incredibly well kept, bright and cheerful.

It was August 2008, and the world was in the grip of a major financial crisis. Throughout my travels, I always found a place to lay my head down, secure my bike, and eat heartily, without breaking the bank.

Wouldn't be the last time I stayed here.

THE staff were very friendly and although I didn't find anyone speaking English nor Hungarian, wherever I went, I would do just fine with hand gestures, the occasional drawing and lots of smiles.

They insisted I bring my bike and park it at the kitchen entrance so it was out of sight and protected.

After a fabulous meal, washed down by a very cold Slovak beer (those Euros love their beer!) I retired to my small but very tidy room and to my surprise, was greeted not only by a lovely view of the opposite valley, but a beautiful blonde Slovak princess by my bedside.

Tummy full, bike secured, a visit to a fab castle, a gorgeous companion, my first night on the road...

Wall art.

I felt like I was in heaven...

*While at the castle, I heard some very western English. After approaching the family, I learned they were from Grande Prairie AB. What are the chances of that?!

Slovak Flashback 1

2012-01-20T10:27:00.000-08:00

DRIZZLE accompanied me the first hour out of Jaszkiser. I dislike leaving anywhere in rain. Rain dampens the mood when you are riding a bike especially long distances.

Besides, the roads in Hungary weren't particularly conducive to knee dragging, wet weather riding. They were somewhat akin to slick tires on a skating rink, especially where patches were hastily laid to cover some potholes.

BY the second hour, the road was mostly dry and the scenery better. After passing through countless small villages spaced about 10km apart, I was in the mountains.

The range known as Matra cannot really be called a mountain range as such, they are more reminiscent of the Quebec Laurentians, or the Catskills... old and worn down. Compared to the Rockies, these were far more experienced peaks. They'd however make for an interesting ride, narrow sweeping bends, tiny bridges over rocky streams... picturesque scenery and undulating geography.

Several groups of motorcyclists were coming down from the hills. Some of Hungary's most favorite riding places are located in the area.

THE Buk 'nemzeti park' (National Park) contains the second highest peak in the country, off to my right and Kekes (cakesh), the highest at just over 1000M to my left.

I swept past enormously elaborate country cemeteries, forests, castle ruins and in the city of Eger... stopped into a winery where the very famous Egri Bikaver is produced and sold. The red wine can be bought internationally. It is one of Hungary's best known exports.

NAMED for the blood (ver) of the bull (bika), it's rich dark red color and slightly harsh taste suit the region of castles, gypsies and history well.

The city itself, is as old as the hills, literally inhabited since prehistoric times. Possible it's best known for the glorious defence against the invading Turks in 1552. The city did fall finally during another campaign in 1596. The Turks wasted no time in converting the many Christian churches into Mosques. (and you thought that sort of thing is a modern day affair!) In fact this entire region of Europe is absolutely dripping with history.

While taking a breather I came across an old gent riding an ancient bicycle. He stopped for his lunch of bread and cheese which he pared with a pocket knife into bite sized chunks.

I don't think he had many of his original teeth but he graciously allowed me to take his photo, shaking his head when I offered him some forint. (even though HU is in the EU... forint is still widely used.

This scene was so typical of what I remembered of Hungary when I had visited the country at 15, way back in 1970. Sleepy villages, no one in a hurry (exept in Budapest!) and pretty laid back.

FEWER and fewer vehicles shared the road with me. I swept past several tractors, and horse drawn wagons, some loaded down with hay.

I was heading for an overnight in the Slovak republic. Looking forward to my first trip out of the country on little Red.

It was an easy 250 km loop over the border and then a left turn, traversing the country before another left back into northern HU.

CALL it a 'shakedown cruise for both bike and rider.

I'd had the bike for about 10 days now and having installed some additional equipment, gone over the nuts and bolts, including some on the bike... I'd had several day rides out of Jaszkiser and was now ready for an over nighter.

SLOVAKIA at one time was part of Hungary and there were still many Hungarian speakers throughout the country as there were in Romania, the western Ukraine, the Czech republic, Slovenia, Serbia and elsewhere. Much of these regions were ruled for centuries by Hungarian Kings, and princes.

JUST a kilometer from the border, I stopped at a bar for a drink... of Coke. There is zero tolerance for drinking on the roads in most of Europe.

I met a very attractive woman in her early forties, a school teacher who quit her job and ran this tiny little rest stop with her husband. They like many Hungarians, have branched out into small, private business' to make a living.

SITTING outside, the weather was still fresh after the rains, I could not help but ponder how in the heck I had gotten here, to this place, at this point in my life. It was 38 years before I had planned these rides on a brand new BMW R60/5. A 600 cc German motorbike. That plan was squashed by my father and brother in law, when they really offered me no choice (start working on your apprenticeship Monday or move out!) that in hindsight may have done me good.

Or... a world of harm! Depends on how you would look at it. By the time I was finished riding around Europe over the coming months, on a Yamaha 600, I was pretty certain I should have done this long ago...

The Law catches up with me.

2012-01-19T00:19:00.000-08:00

HAVING marely made it out of the dry riverbed, only to find a great piece of cutoff trail known as Champie RD...

I climbed my way past some gorgeous homes perched on the mountainsides. Now we are about 50 miles from Phoenix out here in the Bradshaw mountains and some of these are likely million dollar homes (or at least were before the sub prime mortgage meltdown)

NEVERTHELESS they are secluded and expansive. I see a whole subdivision across the valley before me.

Arriving at a T intersection, the surroundings are vaguely familiar although the sign is not. The county must have recently put up new signage, this included.

HOW do I know this... well first of all, the paint has not faded and if the signs were here before last summer... they would surely have suffered in the immense heat. The valley had temperatures well into the teens (that's a hundred and teens) this past summer.

The other sure giveaway to new signage is the distinct lack of bullet holes!

SIGNS in the back country take a beating from 12 guage, 22 and various calibres in between. After all, they do often sneak up on you and in self defence, the AK must be set on full auto!

I've parked my bike on the side stand on the only level ground at the crossroads. Okay, so I am parked in the middle of the road, but had little choice.

I'M taking a few minutes to get my bearings and scan the vicinity. Realizing that I had passed this way back in May on my way up to Crown King, I shake my head in disbelief. Had this sign been where it is now, I would surely have known I was on the right track then, instead of just puttering lazily along in oblivion.

HEARING the roar of a large displacement engine droning along thru a CVT transmission, I see a well quipped side by side fly by so quickly heading towards Lake Pleasant, I have only enough time to turn my camera on and catch it from the rear.

Some day in my life, I can see one of these in my ummm, my life!

YOU can carry a plethora of equipment, sit comfortably and ride public as well as off road roadways. Not more than 60 seconds after it's ripped by me at 50 mph speeds, I see a 4X4 SUV coming down the Champie road. It's painted in the familiar livery of the Police department, in this case the Sheriff's.

Two young deputies stop and exit the vehicle, one adjusting his hat, and walk my way.

THE driver politely asks if I am okay, lost or having a mechanical problem.

I respond that I am fine and no, there is no problem...

We spend the next 15 minutes having an informative chat.

He is surprised I am a Canadian travelling out here by myself and upon my question about CK, begins to tell me his story...

HOLY ICEBERG BATMAN!

2012-01-17T10:22:00.000-08:00

I thought yesterday was frigid!

-30 today.

-40 with the windchill.

Record power usage in Alberta last night, and... it's expected to continue for several days.

F R I G I D A I R

2012-01-16T11:23:00.000-08:00

THIS was one of those mornings that I should have stayed in bed.

After a rather rough sleepless night, my best sleep came just about dawn... the girls were having some issues this AM, loudly, and I finally settled back to sleep after the house quieted down.

That lasted till about 9.01, when I heard the front doorbell ring... twice. I climb out of the sack, throw my housecoat on, and go answer the door.

It's Anna, standing there, bundled up like an arctic explorer.

No school bus!

I get dressed, start the Blazer in the garage, and then off we go to school, a little late but better than the alternative.

The temperature outside... 27 degrees below freezing, that's Celcious.

The temperature in Phoenix today... 22C Not freezing!

Sigh...

Oh just my Thoughts...

2012-01-14T11:52:00.000-08:00

ready for the road

MOST OF YOU... know that this isn't just a Blog about my motorcycle trips.

After all even that can become boring.

In my lifetime, I have met an enormous amount of people. As the old saying goes;

some for a season
some for a reason
some for a lifetime

Uncle Gyula in Hungary, I was 15.

IT WOULD BE IMPOSSIBLE to even begin
naming everyone. I may just try a few.

There was Greg Bahrey back in Edmonton High School days. We both were nuts about bikes. While I knew Greg, he owned one of the first Twin Jet Yamaha's, so far in advance it seemed of my Honda S90. He also had one of the very first Lazerblue Kawasaki 500 triples.

Rebel 350, HW 63
A few days later I was hit by a car.

Greg was a big guy, about 6' tall and near 250 in those days. A middle linebacker type although he was not a sports enthusiast.

The reason I mention this is because he would bet someone that his bike could beat their bike/car in a drag race and after agreeing to some wager, we would show up at the traffic lights at 137th Ave and 97th street in north Edmonton and I would ride his bike!

In those days I wrestled in 114 lb class and after the jeering and leering often we would go ahead. I don't think I ever lost.

On the road in the Rockies.

We most often raced Brit twins and triples, HD Sportsters and even cars.

Then one of my other oddball buddies was Gerald Belke. GB didn't ride but we had that hard rock taste in music that most of our contemporaries hadn't caught onto yet. Black Sabbath, Deep Purple, Led Zeppelin and others. I was then known as "Friz" for my permed afro that barely fit into my helmet!

The 2 Paco's/amigos

Later on during my first Fort Mac stint, I met my neighbour, 'Swervin Mervin' Shreiber. You see I had a bike, I was free to travel and Merv soon enough got one of his own. Mine was a T 350 Rebel and his a GT 250 ram air. During our week off study period before I wrote my departmentals in grade 12, we took off to the Rockies and Miette hot springs. I told SMS to get permission, which of course he neglected to do.

From a payphone at the HS, I could here his Mom screaming into the phone...

"YOOOOU WHAT! YOU'RE WHERE...@#!!@?!!!!"

After the phone call, looking straight into Merv's eyes, I asked him what he told his folks. They had the RCMP looking for us!

Frank at the Frank slide.

... "I told Mom you and I were going for a ride on our bikes."

Course he left out the part about travelling 1200 miles and taking a week to do it!!! SMS rode his Gold Wing out many years later to visit with me on PEI.

In later years, there were people like John Metcalfe and Mike Smith, who oddly enough probably had no idea what great friends they turned out to be. Others you've read about in various stages of this blog.

IN addition I have had some pretty amazing women friends in my life.

First of all was Susan Everill. She was (and in many ways) still is my first love. Timing eh... everything in life is timing...

Heather Green, a gal I met in PEI the first time, is still a great friend and one day I will show up at her doorstep to take her for a ride on my bike. Course she lives in OZ these days.

Nora became a good bud in those PEI days, Bel Smith another.

In later years there is my Frenda Brenda, and my new Phx friends, Lisa and Judy.

Hol and Dad

On top of that, I have two great kids in my life.

And let's not forget the cats... Smokey, Sugar, Maggie, Snoopy, Einstein (my best mate ever) and many others including most currently... little Phoenix!

North of Phx.

I've ridden my bikes in the wilds of Baja, the Angeles Crest hiway, Cape Breton... 22 countries of Europe, and every province in Canada.

My best mate ever!!! :(

SOME OF THE MOST OFTEN ASKED QUESTIONS

On the way to San Jose de Commondu, Baja

I hear go like this... "How do you do it? How can you afford it? Where do you find the time? Why Baja/back roads/forest trails/the desert? Aren't you scared travelling by yourself? What if you have a problem? I could never do that, too busy, not enough time, not enough money, not enough etc etc blah blah..."

Lisa on the right and family.

WHY IS THIS?

After all, I am no different really than anyone else, yet I have taken on all these amazing things in my life.

Italy!

I wanted to run a motorcycle training course, my own bike shop, ride and explore places I'd read about or seen on T.V.

I wanted to be a Dad, maybe more than anything in my life.

TODAY I sent out a little news story to my mailing list. It spoke about the regrets that the dying have in their final days. I have no idea of the validity of the article, but I do know this.

If you don't have an imagination, if you don't have dreams and wishes, and you don't have some nerve/guts... you are wasting your precious life.

You CAN create your own reality. Just think it, dream it and plan it. Then do it. After all,

"Once the decision is made, the doing comes easy."

Chug a lug!

2012-01-13T11:05:00.000-08:00

SINCE leaving Glendale several hours ago, I had been chugging along on the Castle Hot Springs, Cow Creek, and Buckhorn roads.

For the most part, my shoulder pain had been slight. It wasn't until that 4 mile stretch of dry, sandy energy sapping riverbed of Buckhorn that I really began to suffer.

ONCE I got into that bottomless sand pit, my enthusiasm (What is a Dr. N. without Nthusiasm) began to wane, I questioned my sanity.

NOW that I was back on hard packed gravel and I had climbed onto a fairly level plateau, and I could actually see a half mile ahead of the front fender, as often happens when I am out here, I got bored.

WHEN I get bored, I quickly change gears in my noggin'

In this case that meant a downshift to 2nd gear, two fingers slipping the clutch to bring engine revs to about 6000, and still with fingers on the lever... spinning the rear 18 incher thru a series of fast upshifts to third, fourth, and fifth.

By this time the next corner was rapidly approaching and my speed had shot from 20 mph to 55!

Momentarily I thought of another shift to high... but that lasted about a microsecond, the stutter bump filled corner tempering my new found enthusiasm.

I backed off the throttle, popped the lever under my left foot back to 3rd... then 2nd, as we slithered around the rocky surface. That lasted about 10 seconds.

RIDING up on the hard pack, was so much easier then paddling sand traps and frankly... I needed the thrill.

AFTER all... the XT is really a dirt bike that has some lights and a heavy muffler bolted on. In fact many years ago, while living in Fort Mac the last stint, I had an almost identical TT 350 to bang around the bush on. Apart from a plastic fuel tank, minimal off road lighting, and knobby tires, they where pretty much the same bike.

CAN'T help but yell and whoop rather loudly into my lid at times like this.

Hey... whose gonna hear me, right?

DROPPING down into a gulley, now amongst scattered ranches, I stopped at a tiny little dribble of stream water crossing in the shade of some Joshau trees.

I'D spent the last 10 minutes with the throttle wires stretching, and exercising my left foot, laughing all the way.

NOW I was lolly gagging about for a few minutes, snacking on a granola bar (yeah but it had chocolate in it!) and pondering why I do this. Besides the obvious, you're outdoors in a beautiful place, there is still the thrill involved.

MOTORCYCLING, whatever else it may be, is still thrilling!

DEEP in my thoughts, I didn't notice the mare coming from the underbrush. She looked a little sparse, kind like an anorexic former supermodel, but she shyly approached my outstretched fingers to within 5-6 feet. At that point unsure, she paused, swung her head in either direction and came no farther.

Back to George for a moment...

2012-01-11T08:08:00.000-08:00

One more thing... you should really read George' article, it's a simple way of telling us all to smarten the hell up.

During my Western European motorcycle ride on Lil' Red... I spent a whole week with ex pat CDN, and Calgarian, Saskia. She is Dutch, lives in the South of France, keeps pretty much to herself and made an excellent tour guide for my little sidebar on riding the Continent.

During one of our many drives around the countryside, we found ourselves in her VW, chit chatting away, on a glorious summer's day, following some traffic in the local village round about. Like I say, it was hot and sunny. The sidewalk cafes were full of patrons having croissants and latte's. I should point out that round abouts are extremely common over there. They replace stop signs/lights at many intersections and are designed to keep traffic flowing smoothly as opposed to NA cities that are designed to keep traffic stopped so we can ogle retail advertising.

The point of a traffic circle is to enter and exit efficiently, smoothly and swiftly. This day, a convertible Mercedes is directly in front of us. As the driver is exiting stage right, she stops rather suddenly and without warning begins to back up into the traffic circle from whence she came. Of course this is an absolute no-no! Being directly behind her and with traffic backing up all the way round the circle behind us, Saskia quickly gives a look backwards, has no where to go of course, and honks her rather loud German engineered horn. The driver is oblivious and continues to back into us!

Of course the contact is minimal but both Saskia and the woman driving, exit and the woman begins to complain rather rudely and very loudly. Saskia (God bless her) keeps her cool and asks why she backed up into us... and did she not hear the horn blaring it's warning? Having absolutely no qualms, the driver (who looked like she had a good tan) immediately deflects Saskia's question and raising her voice further (wouldn't have thought that were possible) screams for everyone in town to hear, "Just because I am black, you people think you can do anything you want, accuse us of anything you like..." etc blah ad naseum.

To her credit as I mentioned, my Pepieux gal kept her cool and stated very loudly herself... this wasn't about her color but her bad driving habits... some people just don't get it do they!?

George... we know what you mean pal!

Edumacation!

2012-01-11T06:24:00.000-08:00

CONTRARY to what some of my friends think, I do a lot of reading.

I like to read.

I read motorcycle magazines of course. Dirt bike stuff, street bike stuff, touring bike stuff, and how to stuff.

(Rusty, long time friend from my N.A.I.T.* days) even thinks I should be writing how to books! A question to be pondered once I am sitting on my deck looking out over Woodland Heights, coffee in hand.

I read novels about spies in the cold war, I read history, I read biographies. I even read road signs on occasion...

On my library shelf, I have such books as the 'The Atlas of the World, Rommel's War in Africa, John Lennon's bio, another of Stalin.' Guns Germs and Steel, The gangs of New York.

There's The Joy of Not Working, The Joy of Sex... the Joy of Not Working at Sex. **

There's Clancy, Grisham, Louis L'Amour (one of my all time faves), there's Leon Uris and Agathe Christie.

I have fiction, non fiction, dictionaries, encyclopedias, home decorating mags, Reader's Digest, National Geographic's galore, and even some travel manuals.

So what's the point?

My biker friends and in fact my friends in general are a pretty astute bunch of people, well read, educated either in the academic world or the school of hard knocks, sometimes both.

Often, they send me reading material from diverse sources. This morning one of my particularly learned buddies, Ron M. forwards me an article by one Mr. George Jonas. The National Post, January 04, 2012 titled simply "It's Not Me, it's You" I'm sure you could find it online if you'd like to read it. If you don't, here is the essence of what George is saying to us all...

He compares pilots to psychiatrists.

That's right. Flights instructors to shrinks in other words.

Jonas points out that in the formers lives, they teach their students to look for faults in themselves whereas in the latter, those people tell us we are doing fine, we should be proud of ourselves, we should blame our parents, society, the other driver etc etc.

Okay, so I am using a little poetic license here, but that is the drift of the article. Old George (and I don't really know his age but he sounds wise) not so delicately points out that we tend to deflect blame into others in our world.

Think about it... it's true isn't it. That idiot that shot 19 people in Tuscon a year ago, and killed 6, had a troubled past, that's why he really isn't to blame.

I learned long ago on my own, without the help of Freud's bunch, that my parents did the best they could, my sister is really an okay girl, and some drivers are just plain stupid, after all... it is pretty hard to reach that turn signal!

When I ride on the street or in the back country especially, or just lolly gagging around as Barb used to say, I look inwards. What am I doing that I could do better? What can I do to lengthen the odds in my favor today. Maybe a routine piece of simple mechanics, like adjusting the chain or making certain all my lights are working properly.

Maybe changing that burnt out taillight (ever notice how many people drive with burnt out lights!?) Maybe I can simply speaking, pay better attention? I can pay better attention to my riding/driving, to other road users, to my kids, to my spouse, to my better judgement.

Maybe I can live out the next 24 hrs and contribute more than I use... and instead of laying blame or even accepting accolades, just be satisfied in the knowledge that I did the best I could today and tomorrow I vow to do better.

*Northern Alberta Institute of Technology

** There is no such book to my knowledge

Flashback... Piroska!

2012-01-09T11:42:00.000-08:00

Tisza To/Lake Tisza

MY Diversion 600 Yamaha was born in Hamamatsu Japan early in 1993. She was shipped to Italy where she found her first home. Somewhere along the way, the original exhaust system was replaced with a slightly more open, mellower pair of chrome pipes that gave her a bit more 'oomph' and sounded sweeter to me. Never obnoxious, but definitely added some attitude. Perhaps at the same time, the owner added a tail mounted 35L Givi top case and a center stand, both invaluable for my purposes.

Captive vs Free

Having found the bike thru an online buy/sell forum in the very North of Hungary, I communicated with the owner for several months. Although not a late model R6, I knew from personal experience, this bike would very nicely suit my plans. It was comfortable, very reliable, popular over there, and economical while fast enough to deal with pretty much any condition I thought I would come across.

Besides... I had the same bike sitting home in my garage for many years. I was intimate with this model.

Lot's of pubs but zero road tolerance.

The process of putting the bike legally on the road was my first introduction to an expensive and long roll of red tape! Not to be confused with Communism, but certainly shades of. As a non resident I couldn't legally own the bike. It had to be placed in a family members name, insured, inspected and licensed. I would receive written permission to ride the bike. The process cost the equivalent of the purchase price and 6 weeks of patient diligence. Luckily I had my young cousin Albert (Berti) fluent in English, German and the intricacies of the Hungarian system, to carry out this task. It seemed like a never ending process.

One of many mineral hot springs across HU.

Almost every week, Berti would tell me, "okay, we need to get the bike legally imported/inspected/title certified/mechanically certified/safety certified/ etc etc. That will be 40,000/20,000/8,000/60,000/12,000 forint."

Finally after a long delay, (I had named her after Little Red Riding Hood) Piroska and I were underway, the plate bolted on, the first tank of expensive fuel of many many... added, and heading East from Budapest!

Divvie 600 / Simpson 50

From the moment we were legally on the road showing approximately 17,000km when I first rode her, we began exploring the local countryside in and around Jaszkizer. Checking for any malfunctions, potential problems, inconsistencies, fuel mileage, tire grip the two of us toured the area. Tisza To, Abadszalok, Szolnok, Jaszbereny... further afield to Lake Balaton (2nd largest fresh water lake in Europe) Gyongyos, the Matra (highest peaks in the country) and beyond.

Ruins everywhere in Europe.

I'd picked up helmets locally, bought a small magnetic tank bag mostly to hold my map in it's clear case, and had brought a tail bag from home. This gear should suffice for the solo riding I was going to be doing in the next few months. In fact, I took trips as long as two weeks from 'home base' and never felt a need for more room.

River Tisza fishing boats.

The bike seemed to be geared slightly lower than my own Seca II, back home in Calgary, but was delivering fuel mileage in the 60's consistently. With the gear box having six cogs, there was never an situation, we couldn't handle. The only time I felt the bike a bit weak was carrying two up (riding with a passenger) or the occasional blast down an autobahn/autopista/autostrada. Here my top speed limitation of around 190-200 kph seems trivial as I was passed by big Audi, Mercedes and BMW sedans frequently travelling at over 200. For me the 190 kilometer speeds were plenty and given the fact the my interests were in smaller provincial/country highways, perfectly adequate. More important to me was the engine's plentiful and accessible flat torque curve and fuel efficiency.

Piroska comes "home"

Tires were the factory originals and honestly, left something to be desired. Not that they were a poor design, just the age of them had hardened the rubber, and made for interesting excursions on wet country roads. Because my riding was going to be ummm, relaxed for the most part, I didn't see the need to change them.

Very first fill up in Budapest!

I wasn't in Europe to grind my foot pegs to dust... I was there to enjoy and appreciate the roads less travelled, the scenery and of course the people I would meet. And my, did I meet a lot of people!!

Erzsi's place. For the next 12 months, my Divvie and I would live here.

Europe offers an incredible array of experiences. There is of course the history. Travelling from village to village, city to city, country to country, I was in for the most interesting and fascinating and memorable time of my life!!! Those first few tentative rides between villages within Hungary, were just a mere taste of what the 7 months of riding would bring to my life.

T 34 tank tread, monument in local town.

It would be a couple of weeks of preparation, pouring over maps, choosing destinations, and ensuring I had the documentation required for individual countries, before I would head out on my first actual trip/ride. For me to say, this was an "exciting time" is like telling you Vesuvius' eruption in 79 AD, was a minor hiccup!

Little did I know at the time I bolted the plate on, this was to be the highlight of highlights in my long and extensive and illustrious riding career.

We even tackled some gravelled roads!

I was some happy go lucky dude!

Misgivings.

2012-01-04T07:38:00.000-08:00

AS the Chevy trundled slowly into the dust, creaking on it's suspension, I had some misgivings.

I'd turned my XT, 180 degrees back to the direction I had already done.

I was pretty sure that this road made a connection with Cow Creek somehow or other, after all... how reliable was this information from 4 kids in a rusty green 4X4, whose combined ages barely surpassed mine?

IN any case, the point was moot. My shoulder was on fire, I had about 50% of the normal strength, sometimes less and the road I had been riding was energy sapping, gruellingly slow in my condition and just plain fun less. Yes, the scenery was smashing, but a boulder would have been too, had I tipped over in this sandpit riding the dry river.

IT took a good deal of effort just to wrestle the bike in a U turn.

I rode back to the climb that took me out of this depression, onto hard pack trail once again. There had been another intersection a little ways back that I had pondered. It was not signed, and I could see the route crossing the same riverbed I was now in, but climbing into the distance north.

THERE was no hesitation, turning the bike to this new direction.

After all, my purpose in doing these rides is to discover what lay around the next hill or bend. Even though much of the desert seems the same, it is not. You may come across a small herd of wary cows, spook a coyote feasting on one of Bugs Bunnys' cousins... "Nyea... what's up Docccccc..." Crunch! maybe even a tarantula or diamond back.

BY my very nature, I am intensely curious!

Since boyhood I was always the guy craning his neck to see what others weren't interested in. Nothing has changed after all the years have past.

Perhaps my curiosity has even gained ground. I'm always looking for some answer or other it seems.

I climbed across the riverbed, the road was hard pack, but slow. Braking bumps in the corners indicated that this route was well travelled and the constant twists and turns ensured a slow accent.

It was a shame I'd forgotten my altimeter back home in Calgary. I was rising into the Bradshaw range steadily.

Meandering along in lower gears, mostly 2nd and 3rd, the DOHC 4V single chugged along most happily. My tachometer seemingly stuck in the lower third of the rev range. There was no need for using the 8500 RPM redline.

The sun was high in the sky, casting a shadow across the gravel, providing me with company...

SEEING it always makes me smile. It means it's sunny, daytime, and I'm not alone! My Inner Child is always along for the ride.

Doesn't that make sense to you?

We motorcyclists always feel better riding in the sun. Rain, gloomy weather, cloud cover, is always less appealing.

Birthdays...

2012-01-03T09:00:00.000-08:00

Sometimes at this time of year, I have a Birthday. I've pretty much decided this morning that I will do that today. Not a big thing really, in fact I wonder why we even bother. If it wasn't for my Dad's being on the same day... well I likely wouldn't even think of it at all.

Ever year I look back then forward.

Back I see the great things in my life, and the not so. I'm really quite amazed by it all. I do mean that with total sincerity. Although not one to really compare, I'd say that I have come off pretty well thank you.

There isn't enough room in an entire Blog to highlight the Highs nor the lows completely so I won't bother. I'll just say I am pretty happy not to have pulled that trigger when I was 35. Pretty happy to have lived through that encounter with a speeding Mazda, and same goes for the chest clenching, can't breathe, have your chest sawed open, laying on a stainless slab at Foothills while people you've never met, go about saving your life. Pretty happy indeed!

So what's ahead in the coming year(s)...

Well I'll be leaving my Calgary home in 2012. I have now lived here longer than anywhere else in my life. It's been great for the most part, like providing a solid safe, learning environment for both my girls, but like many of us that are aging... the hustle and bustle, the growing selfishness and the general lack of consideration, is wearing on me. This year I will finally get that which I have sought for 35 years, nearly as long as it took me to get to Europe to ride my bike.

With the PEI property deal closing just prior to Christmas, the work on finalizing home details proceeding rapidly, the scarcity of a typical Calgary winter... the relocation is coming quickly. I remember talking with friends about "In a few years..." Then, "next year..." followed now by, "this summer..."

Yup, it's about to happen.

In a scant few months, this boy and his new family, will be sitting in the Ford, Cargomate in tow and heading to a new life on Canada's smallest province. What awaits is an eco friendly home, a little dirt bike track of my own, a beautiful small wooded valley and a ride on tractor.

A chance to sit down at my desk, valley view inspiring me, and finally, after all this time... writing my novels. There's; Catfish Man, Charlie Weyburns Diary, Smyeyatʹsya Poslednim ...The Last laugh, Danielle, How to Invest in Yourself and Your Relationships (from a former financial advisor) and more. Much more. I want to work more on my travel stories both short and long, and turn the Many MisAdventures of Dr. N. Thusiast, into a book or three.

Then of course if I get really bored... there's always my UMVES :)

ON my birthday I wish to say to you all, don't let your dreams disappear, if you don't have any yet, go get some, and above all... "Live Long and Prosper"

Yup... it's 2012

2012-01-01T13:11:00.000-08:00

Be prepared!

EVERY New Years Day... I take the time to reflect back on year's past.

Nothing new about that, I'm pretty sure we all do.

For many years now, I have kept an annual "goal file or wish list"

I'm sitting here now looking at last year's.

Love hard and often!

NOTHING unusual or odd, no lofty items like climbing Everest or scuba diving in Antarctica. I don't dream about curing cancer or even the common cold (although that would be a feat wouldn't it!)

Nope, what I think about are things pretty simple.

Take it like a 'Man'

WHAT types of things you may ask...

I set goals like having an article or two published, during the year, to read more often, to write a little every day if at all possible. Hence the Blog.

I dream small, like keeping my weight under 150 (failed), or cleaning up my yard.

Embrace your sadness.

SOME of the things I set for myself are designed to boost my confidence, like the Crown King ride I did last May, which is featured in Canadian Biker this month. I often push the envelope, why... because I can, and it's the invaluable experience that you can depend on when faced with a major obstacle or decision...

Travel the road less travelled!

SHOULD I leave my job, should I quit this relationship, how will I react if I get a flat tire out in the boonies, will I panic (my motto; Never Panic!) if someone cuts me off in traffic?

I have found over the years that setting goals for oneself is not only very healthy, but absolutely imperative for keeping yourself on an even keel and moving ahead in life.

Make sure you wear protection!

THIS is something I can't stress enough to my girls, my friends and my family.

Hell if a total stranger were to ask, I would preach it like the Gospel to him/her as well.

By setting yourself up for achieving even minor goals or fulfilling small wishes, you create for yourself a positive field of energy that you can rely on when the chips fall.

Cherish your friends and family even if they don't.

And believe me... they will fall.

One of my oft quoted Dr, NThusiasm's is this;

"Life's a Beach, build your sand castles while the tide is out, because it will come in again."

Someone in your life will die or leave you, maybe even a beloved pet, a parent or a lover. Your normally reliable car will break down in some frightening hood of Detroit while you are diligently following your GPS. How will you react to that, will you be prepared, will you keep a cool head?

Keep your shack tidy.

THAT'S why every year at this time I am going over my filing folder and looking back on how I've done over the year (s).

That's why later today, I will be adding to my new list for 2012. Life is not about being safe and living in a bubble.

Nope... life is about living it.

Get out an old filing folder, scrap the crap that's in there and begin writing what YOU want to accomplish this year.

MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY NEW YEAR TO ALL!

2011-12-25T23:24:00.000-08:00

Happy trails... and seasons greeting!

Discretion is the better part of valour...

2011-12-23T13:43:00.000-08:00

AFTER barely four and a half miles of the Buckhorn road, I realized that on this day... this road... was most likely going to defeat me.

Once I'd dropped into the dry riverbed, the surface alternated between short sections of fairly hard pack, to a foot deep sand and loose gravel.

There was absolutely no thought of carrying any speed across the occasional hard surface. Meandering along in a very crooked line, the dry wash gave very little warning of the transition between surfaces. It all looks pretty much the same.

Normally, if my body is in better spirits, I would just dial up third gear, lean back on the seat and work my way thru the soft stuff with throttle.

The problem today was anytime I hit the quicksand... the bike would wag and shake like your long lost collie's tail.

Each time this happened the bars would literally yank my left hand off the grip and with it, my ailing shoulder felt like marshmellows mixed with cotton candy!

The feeling must be akin to being stabbed repeatedly with an icy hot stiletto right in the ball joint!

An old style all steel 70's Chevy Blazer rolled along on four very fat, heavily treaded tires, crewed by four teenagers.

Having parked to snap a few pics, I pushed the bike over to the side of the trail, my Icon's slipping in the gravel. Even though the XT is about half the weight of a GS BMW, it was extremely difficult work with my shoulder in pain.

"Where does this road lead to?" I ask the driver who didn't look more than 16, 17 tops.

"It goes up the mountain to the lookout." the reply.

When asked if it hooks up with Cow Creek, the answer was "No." They motored on leaving me in a cloud of dust.

I had a drink from the cantee... umm, water bottle to ponder my next move. The arm felt like burning rubber and given the situation, I felt it best if this time... I did an about face.

So here's the lesson I always try and make to anyone contemplating doing this sort of thing. Using the best tool in your tool box, that is... your brain... don't be a hero, you could very easily end up dead.

I turned around, that in itself in the soft sand was ordeal enough.

I LOVE THIS STUFF...

2011-12-22T11:27:00.000-08:00

The Resort, now privately maintained and owned.

BY definition, the whole point of Dual Purpose, street trail, Adventure touring is this... the ability to explore multiple surfaces, pavement, gravel, tracks and trails.

I love this stuff!!

Not being confined to a specific road or route... not having to be concerned if you come across a construction zone on your ride, having the choice of veering off the hard pack onto that fire road heading into the hills.

Granny Smith in hand.

Going back to many of my earliest memories riding bikes, I've always been fascinated by that dirt road leading away from the path well travelled. I would ride my 1968 Suzuki A 100, which was nothing more than a street bike with a chromed high mounted exhaust pipe, across cow pastures, down gravel roads to little lakes, charging around back lots.

Choices.

During a summer visit from my Hungarian uncle, Julius... we rode my '68 Yamaha 305 Big Bear* scrambler from my home in Edmonton to Fort MacMurray, he was amazed at the length of the ride. In one very long day, we had practically rode the entire depth of Hungary, more than half of it on dusty gravel roads. Nearly 300miles! For a guy that had a simple two cycle Csepel 125, with dual solo seats and a 3 speed transmission, a long ride being the home in Jaszkiser to Szolnok 40 miles away, it was quite the experience!

Living in British Columbia, riding in southern AB or down in Baja or here in the vicinity of Phoenix... you will never explore all the countless back paved or unpaved roads. NEVER! You will die long before your book of journeys is completed. If I get another chance at another lifetime, and I don't come back as a hedgehog or stripper's pole, I am going to ride every chance I get! There is nothing like it.

Target practice!

Leaving the Hot Springs grounds, I follow a FORD pick-up truck, hauling a trailer with cattle and horses in it. He was picking up and dropping off livestock at various small ranches along my route. Quite a contrast between horse and stetsons vs my Yamaha and Nolan helmet. Almost two very distinct yet somehow similar lifestyles don't you think?

I've ridden much of the Castle Hot springs, Humbug creek, Crown King and Cow creek roads in this area, and I am still fascinated finding places I have not seen or been. Even on this fall trip to Glendale, I wasn't going to be able to get everywhere. Simply not enough time.

I took Buckhorn road north. Thinking I remembered on the morning Google map that this route would ultimately connect me with the NW end of the Cow Creek. Dropping into the dry riverbed, following that truck yet again, the road became quite challenging sand and very loose pea sized gravel.

Normally I would relish such a challenge, but this trip south I was suffering from an aggravated left shoulder. Of course this shoulder suffered a substantial injury when I was rear ended in Calgary in 2002. Lifting weights just before leaving Canada, I had overworked it one day and as a result, lost much of my already reduced range of motion. To make matter worse, there was little strength and acute pain whenever I tweaked it.

Dual purpose anyone?

By it's very nature, the type of riding I was doing right now did nothing but tweak an already painful injury!

*The Big Bear was named after the city and area around Big Bear California where some of the hairiest off road enduro/scrambles took place.

Castle Hot Springs

2011-12-17T08:47:00.000-08:00

View of the famous Castle Hot Springs from the riverbed.

Taking the opportunity while exploring the equipment graveyard on the beginning stages of Castle Hot Springs Road, I shed some early morning clothes. Even though the temps were 'unseasonably cool' according to the weather service, under the blazing sun, I was feeling the heat.

Well manicured somewhat dry lawns still abound.

Remounting the 350, I continued west on the dry riverbed, following the course that Mother Nature, not government engineers, had planned. In a short distance I once again came across Castle Hot Springs. Back in 1865, then commander of Fort Whipple, Colonel Charles Craig, had defeated a group of Apache raiders, in the vicinity of Salvation Peak.

Local Rancher's truck climbing from the riverbed

While there, they stumbled on the healing waters that those same Apaches revered... calling the place Castle Creek Hot Springs. In 1896, the first actual resort opened and by the twenties and thirties, famous Americans including the Vanderbilt's, Rockefeller's and well known westerns' writer Zane Grey, had established bungalows here.

Very pretty spot even today.

Local word is that Hollywood celebrities often came for a discreet clandestine getaways with 'friends'.

During WW2, many convalescing G.I.'s spent what I would say, were pleasurable and peaceful times here.

A great little day ride from my home in Glendale!

Given the three continually filling thermal pools, and the total peace and tranquility, you can easily see why it was used as such.

I'm told that Arizona's first telephone was installed here and it's number was appropriately enough... # 1.

The residents of Crown King may dispute that claim as they say they had telephone service in 1897.

Regardless, even though the resort has been closed for decades (after a 1976 fire destroyed much of it) it's still a wonder to gaze upon, while munching a sandwich.

The CATS of Cow Creek...

2011-12-12T16:19:00.000-08:00

I can still vividly remember the first time I rode here...

The date was February, 1998.

Deb and I had taken six weeks off from our jobs, her at Mountain Equipment
Co-op, and I at Bow Cycle.

I had a disagreement with Jimmy, the owner... over the raise and position he'd enticed me with, that after 2 years, was never going to happen... and I planned on leaving soon after my return.

Yupper... this is the way to Crown King!

In preparation for our long planned 6 week Baja adventure, I'd purchased a Dodge Ram Van that ran on propane. Having taken the bench seat/bed and the center captain's chairs out, I'd fashioned a box in which to bolt our identical XT 600's.

The same one I am riding even today.

Well, not today as it's about minus 10 and snow on the ground in abundance.

Good advice, ya think?!

Beware of flash floods!

That trip we drove the Ram to Phx, left it at the Sunflower Resort in the care of Deb's Mom, Nadia... and once I'd gotten the bugs sorted out, we departed southwestward to Yuma and the crossing into Baja.

It was my first of many Baja trips and I'm not done yet!

We covered 6200 kilometers averaging about 300km a day on our riding days. What a fab experience that ride was. Finally, after many years of reading and planning, there I was.

Ensenada, Mike's Sky Ranch, Mulege, the Cortez, Todos Santos, Guerrero Negro, La Paz and even Cabo, umm... including the Gringo part at Land's End. We even detoured into L.A. on the return leg, and visited with her sister Treena* (not her real name) and lane split to my great delight.

Now how come this is not allowed here? Everywhere I travelled in Europe is was accepted practice and if CA was agreeable, then why not other jurisdictions, like Calgary, Vancouver or Phoenix!

*OK, it is her real name, but she's not really a girl...*

**Okay, Treena is her real name and she is a girl!

Hard to believe that was nearly 14 years ago!

Doesn't get much purtier than this...

Or this...

Since that time I have been so dang lucky to have travelled and biked in about a trillion places.

Now that I have a cute little abode in Glendale, I plan on doing more of the SW US of A. New Mexico. Utah. Nevada. California, maybe even get over to Texas, maybe... even Florida. I'd love to ride the Cays once!

Anywaaaay... I digress.

Presently my mount, a 1998 Yamaha XT 350, was purring away beneath my butt, as I turned up the Castle Hot Springs Rd.

Much of the off road public road riding here in these parts is thru mountainous terrain.

At times I was looking down into canyons, others up from dry riverbeds.

Boneyard.

The temperature was a pleasant mid 70's today, maybe a little hotter. This is just about perfect riding weather.

It had been awhile since I rode this particular leg, obviously Mother Nature had altered the terrain somewhat, but much of it was familiar to me.

Old deuce and a half!

Snakes? Scorpions?? Tarantulas???

Having passed thru another canyon, I rounded a corner in the riverbed and came across a mechanical bone yard of sorts.

There were a number of decrepit trucks, dozers and other pieces of assorted construction equipment I'd never seen before.

Judging by the rust and state of umm, disrepair, they'd been roasting under the sun for quite sometime.

I wasn't sure what all this machinery was doing out here or who it may have belonged to, but old stuff of any type (yes I have had older girlfriends in my life!) carry a fascination for me bordering on maniacal!

As a kid I loved hanging around old car wreckers, the city bus dump, planes and bike shops :)

This was a rare find and a treat. The only thing that worried me was the crack of a Winchester or the zing past my earlobe of a 30.30 slug ...

After all, this is in some ways, still the Wild Wild West.

Flashback... another day... another Zoo!!

2011-12-06T22:53:00.000-08:00

BUDAPEST!!!

You know, the first time I visited the famous Budapest Zoo, which btw is on the Pest side of the river, (pronounced Pesht) I was 15 years of age. The year was 1970, my aunt (Mom's sister) was dying of a hideous cancer. This was my first exposure in my young life to the death of another human and to the ravages that this particular disease brings.

Somewhere along the way during that time, I was fortunate enough to be hooked up with a delivery driver for my Uncle Julius' state collective. Whisked thru the countryside, dropping off/picking up parts in a small van, allowed me to do something I don't get much of, that is... being a passenger.

That little van had a small three cylinder air cooled engine of two cycle design. IN those days, two strokes were very common especially in Eastern Block countries. Pulling up to a gas pump, you dialed in the correct oil and gas mixture and the pump dispensed mixed gas directly into the fuel tank.

On this particular trip, we had a mechanical failure. A seized piston slowed us from normal turtle, to snails pace in the underpowered little box. Somewhere in the suburbs of Budapest (Boo da pesht) next to a curbside, the two of us dismantled the engine using hand tools, the driver lifted the damaged cylinder and leaving me with the vehicle, he left with parts in hand to get them repaired/replaced. Some hours later we had the motor put back together, and went on our way... a haze of blue smoke pouring from the exhaust something akin to being backstage at a 60's Jimmy Hendricks concert...

... or a scene from that 70's show!

Try doing that to any car or truck today! Not a chance buddy... that's one thing about those countries in those days. You could actually fix your Lada yourself with hand tools and some mechanical know how.

Anyway... I digress. At some point I got to see the Budapest zoo, and a very sad visit it was indeed. Like most things in communist Europe at that time, it was at least twenty something years in the past. Be it cars and gasoline pumps, to medical procedures and hospitals.

The zoo had those tiny 10X10 cages where animals pawed at the mesh, or wandered aimlessly around the perimeter. I remember the same tiny little cubicles the first time I visited the Calgary zoo.

This time around with travelling companion/then girlfriend Barb, was a much improved and very modern, international standard facility. Given the small location, the city like the entire country, is pretty compacted... they have done a fabulous job of utilizing the limited space.

We saw animals unique to the general area like wild boar, to storks, a fine aquarium, waterfowl, reindeer, rhino's and giraffes.

After a long cool day, both of us were quite exhausted, and may have even dozed on the subway ride back to the burbs.

Flashback... A Day at the Zoo.

2011-12-06T12:11:00.000-08:00

Phoenix has several wildlife parks and Zoo's, including the City Zoo, largest non profit facility in the USA. Located at 455 N Galvin Pkwy Phoenix, it's easily reached from any number of freeways.

Several loop trails will bring you to a variety of attractions...

There's the Arizona Trail, the African, the Tropics and the Childrens.

I've had the pleasure of going twice last year and will make it a stop on my next extended stay.

Parking is abundant, city buses come and go on a regular schedule and the staff is helpful.

There is a central court as you enter, where you can fill up on food and drinks.

There's lots of shade, it can get pretty hot at times. I was there in December and it was plenty warm out in the sun. Can't inagine what it would be like in the middle of summer!

The animal enclosures are large by typical zoo standards and most of the large pens have more than one viewing possibilities.

Take a picnic lunch, sit out in a shaded location and enjoy your day...

If you see a jungle cat in a tree, don't fret, he won't harm you if you give him respect (and jungle cat food)

If it's especially warm out, you may find him stretched out in some shady corner. I suggest a telephoto lens for a close up of the jungle cat in his native environment.

Just don't disturb him, if you can help it. After all, they like to sleep 22 hrs a day.

Know what I mean...

Driving in the jungle is not recommended... breakdowns can leave one stranded.

Take the day off and visit the Zoo!

Calgary, Toronto, Phoenix, or Budapest!

Canyons, Cliffs, and Caves.

2011-11-28T15:43:00.000-08:00

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.

Who knew Angels could be named Fred?

2011-11-27T17:30:00.000-08:00

As Fred and I bid each other a typical biker farewell, I notice, walking back to my XT, the rear tire going flat!

Mirror image of a famous bridge.

Now what?

Fred comes over rubbing the stubble on his chin, "looks like you got yourself a flat there," he says matter of factly. I sure do. I take a look around, knowing that I am about 5-6 miles from the village of Roosevelt. "Is there a service station in Roosevelt" I ask. No... not even the bait shop is open this time of year, he replies. Nearest place is Globe. That's not very good for me, Globe is in the opposite direction of where I am heading, and I am getting low on fuel.

"What are you going to do?" He asks me. I don't know I reply, and in fact I didn't.

Apache Junction is about 60 miles away, but of course it's reached by the Apache Trail, 23 miles of which is dirt road. As I ponder my somewhat limited options, Fred wanders back to his KLR. Still facing my bike, wondering if I should remove the roofing nail sitting there laughing at me, he comes back and nonchalantly, offers his hand, in which is a green bottle of Slime!

"Would this help?" He asks. I nod my head, "you bet... but I will need to pump air back in the tire, is there a pump in town?" Fred once again goes back to his bike and from the other saddlebag, pulls out a hand pump!

Lord tunderin Jesus, I think... this man is an angel!

When I talk about Karma... this is what I refer to. Think about it, here I have been riding all day, pulling off 20-30 times, and at this lonely outlook, I meet a single rider on a similar bike... and he has the fix to my dilemma... That my friends is very good Karma!

Under the afternoon Arizona sun, on a dirt lookout above Roosevelt Lake, stripped to a T-shirt, we take turns pumping air back into the rear 18 inch tire. It looks like it is going to work I say, as he holds the back end off the ground while I spin the knobby tire.

He refuses to accept any payment for the sealant, I offer my card, ask him to keep in touch. "Probably won't" he says, "Don't have a computer at home..."

I think, 'where is that... heaven?'

Palm sized Tarantula, sunning on the road surface...

Gingerly at first, stopping at 2-3 mile intervals, I turn onto the Famous Apache Trail. AJ is 43 miles distant, we can do it. As the miles roll by, I gain confidence in the fix.

Beautiful!

Ahead of me is a magnificent bridge. The 1008' Roosevelt Lake Bridge is the longest single span steel two lane suspension bridge in North America! In 1995, it was named one of the 12 outstanding bridges in the USA.

Apache Lake is a mecca for boaters.

Just beyond I pull over for some photos of the Roosevelt dam itself. Just another in a series of such structures spread across the Salt river projects, holding back snow melt and what little rainwater falls, to bring water down to the city of 4.5million souls.

Using an available stick... I gently prod the hairy little creature off the roadway and potential death.

The 43 miles of the Trail are some of the most beautiful, excellente, drop dead gorgeous, killer good looking, stunning pieces of motorcycling I have ever done in my life! Don't believe me? Google Apache Trail AZ on your Google Earth and place the cute little street view guy on the Roosevelt bridge and take your own tour of the AT.

Teddy Roosevelt Lake

2011-11-26T21:46:00.000-08:00

What would you expect advertised in the AZ desert, but a topless bar.

Prehistoric looking floodplain...

SOUTH we leisurely travel on Arizona state highway 188.

Since leaving behind the
4 laner 87, we've explored winding blacktop in superb condition, undulating across the low mountains, Anaconda like, drifting through a flooded Amazon tributary, beyond these small settlements, Jake's Corner Bar, Tonto Basin and Punkin Center, rounded a myriad of curves reminiscent of olive skinned, dark eyed, voluptuous Italian movie stars from another era. Curves and pavement craving another 50 horsepower that I didn't have.

A lone cactus guarding the channel.

We ride up and down gravel tracks overlooking a dry riverbed, onwards to water a few inches deep and narrow enough for even I to jump across, eventually opening into a channel cut deep into muddy flats, flowing amongst dying trees and wide flood plains guarded by a lone Saguaro, to Theodore Roosevelt Lake.

Nude beach, but minus the nudists!

Not exactly the 'lake of shining waters', this man made reservoir like all others I'd seen, seemed perilously low on water, the life blood of all living things...

I was in the Tonto National Forest approaching the Roosevelt Recreation area.

Receding waters.

Coming over the rise was a bare beach, like nudists but without the people... one of dozens I passed.

As I stopped to take photos with the waterproof Olympus camera that has served me so well since my first European Adventure, I couldn't help but wonder aloud into my helmet shrouded brain... was this the eventual fate of all these desert cities???

What happens when our unquenchable thirst for back yard swimming pools we rarely use, to green lawns and massive golf courses, vegetation foreign to the desert and our need for fueling vast regions of irrigated super farms... what happens when those demands finally drain not only the man made ditches but the Ogallala aquifer of six million year old water.

What then?

Will places like Phoenix, Las Vegas, Searchlight and most of the southwest revert back to the Mojave, home only to coyotes, scorpions and rattlesnakes, maybe the occasional Gila monster...

Receding shoreline.

This inland, man created shallow sea, home today to bass fisherman, party boaters and Jet skiers, would be just another dried up pond, littered with empty Bud light bottles and oil cans.

Now that's a bridge!

Pondering this thought like a cow chewing it's cud, I pulled into yet another scenic overlook and what do I spot, but a lone rider of a late model Kawasaki KLR 650. We nod in acknowledgement, he's stowing his camera gear as I retrieve mine, we have a short conversation. He's from a small community north of Payson, a small city north of the 87/188 junction. He tells me of some of his favorite rides... I tell him I am taking the Apache Trail. He nods knowingly in silent agreement.

Karma on the Apache Trail

2011-11-24T14:52:00.000-08:00

Finally, heading there. The Superstitions!

East on Olive.
East on Cactus.
East On the vaunted Frank Lloyd Wright Blvd.

Famous name.

I was finally on my way east to the Superstition Mountains. Since reading Frank Connor's in the early US motorcycle magazines... I have dreamed of riding these mysterious mountains.

The Lost Dutchman gold mine is believed to be in these hills, and of course it was a favorite haunt of the feared Apache natives of the region. Today, I was hoping to keep whatever hair I still have, attached firmly to my scalp.

Salt river project.

It took 32 miles from my home in Glendale to clear the city. Once on highway 87, traffic became light and I rolled along at 50-55 mph on the divided blacktop.

The air was cool and as I rose higher into the mountains, almost chilly. Signs warned of 'ice on roadway'

At one point I pulled off, to put on the only sweater I brought along, hoping to take the chill away.

On two of the long climbs, the engine began misfiring, the jetting problem obviously exasperated by the altitude and the relentless uphill grind. At one point I downshifted to 5th gear, helping somewhat with the situation although reducing my road speed to 45.

It's something I will have to solve if I plan on any longer distance riding, like to Mexico!

Just before reaching Payson, I turned off onto State highway 188. This would take me to the Teddy Roosevelt Lake recreation area.

The weather immediately warmed, and traffic became more motorcycle, and trucks pulling trailers with an assortment of boats. Pontoon party craft, aluminum fishing boats, cruisers and high speed ski boats.

Several points allowed access to good quality gravel roads that rose higher into the mountains or down the slopes into shaded canyons.

I pulled off to explore several of these routes, stopping for a bite to eat from my pack and some water to keep my body hydrated as the air temperature climbed.

Hands up! You durn cactus!!

I love being out here, sitting on a stone fence, having a sandwich or candy bar, feeling the warmth, hearing the silence, the sun welcoming me like a long lost friend...

Finishing the last of my PB&J, I whet my whistle, cap the bottle and take a walk down the slope.

The variety of plants especially cacti, is simply astonishing. Most of the vegetation you will see in these parts is of the look but don't touch variety.

They have spines, spikes, needles, and barbs to fend off unwanted attention, kinda like a porcupine.

Hmmm... that reminds me of my marriage

Course that's another story...

I came across a river bed that eventually carried a shallow stream as we closed the distance to Roosevelt Lake. It was rare to see water, especially this year.

I spent an hour wandering around roadbeds that were alternately hard packed gravel, loose sand, or boulders.

Several routes ended in closed gates.

Once back on pavement I passed a number of groups riding Harley's (the bike of choice around here) a gaggle of sports bikes but hardly an Dualies. Odd I thought, with all the trails I was finding.

Just inside the entrance to the Roosevelt recreations area but still many miles short of the village of Roosevelt itself, I did come across a Kawa KLR 650... and it was a good thing I did...

DO NOT STEP!

Flashback Hungary

2011-11-21T14:53:00.000-08:00

Erzsebet hid/Elizabeth bridge

WHEN I arrived in Hungary, after a very long wait of 38 years, I was greeted not only by family, but a time warp.

electric mower, not a toy

HISTORICALLy BUDAPEST is one of the great capitals the World has to offer. I'm not referring strictly to the Grand Period of the Austro Hungarian Empire, but over a span of a thousand years, centrally located in Eastern Europe, the city has been a trade, learning, cultural and religious center.

Streets have hand water pumps

WITHIN days I was in the countryside to greet Aunt Bozsi, my cousin Erzsi and the rest of the clan.

AS Berti and I approached the village of Jaszkiser, driving the Lada sedan, I could clearly remember the entrance way, the train station and the main street, from the only previous visit I'd had in 1970.

I didn't know at the time what a hellova treat I was in for. Over the course of that entire summer, and as it turned out, several months of the following year, I would experience a massive influx into my heart and brain of culture, tradition, history and family.

BEFORE the first week, my senses, my emotions, my mind and my body were so overloaded, I could barely stand on my own two feet. The eight hour time difference and the considerable attention lavished upon me, plumb near wore me out.

AS the second week came and went, and I'd had a chance to acclimate myself to a very different country than the one I had spent my life in, I was catching up on sleep and my breath.

Albert and his CDN cousins.

DURING this period, both my daughters arrived for a scant week for their own visit.

TRUTHFULLY,

I felt they were there for my moral support and whether this was the case or not... it was appreciated greatly.

EUROPE... the Doctor had arrived...

Flyin' Ryan

2011-11-18T21:52:00.000-08:00

      YOU guys may remember me doing a blog on flying an ultralight in Phoenix a couple of years ago (almost).

     AFTER my journey to Humbug creek, I inexplicably pulled off the Carefree highway on my return towards town. Problem with the steering, flat tire, off camber road surface...

        NO...  just felt like riding into the Lake Pleasant aerodrome and see if Jim Blumer was at the hanger. He wasn't there, but right next door I met Flyin' Ryan .

     Ryan was training a group of middle aged men, ironically from the St. Albert area, in the art of Powerparagliding. Something that I have been interested in for quite sometime. Similar to flying an ultralight, but more compact (you can wear the 200cc 2 stroke single on your back) yet different.

     I'm going to give this a whirl on my next trip down here...

                                             stay tuned.

HUMBUG Creek!

2011-11-18T11:41:00.000-08:00

I was heading up towards Humbug creek in my quest for water today.

So far the lifeblood of the planet had beckoned to me... then ran off into the distance like a Saharan mirage!

I was beginning to think the only water my hands would touch today was from my canteen...

I wondered about this short cut-off trail earlier in the year on my way up the Crown King road.

We Capricorns are nothing if we are not determined, stubborn as the proverbial goat, my friends would say...

I passed on Betty's Trailrides on the way up... as far as I'm concerned, it's tough enough staying out of trouble on a bike, much less on a four legged creature with a brain of it's own.

Besides, you break a leg on old paint and "they shoot horse don't they" out here?!

As always I am in awe of the seeming never ending vastness of the desert. Of course that is just an illusion. In realty, the desert is getting more polluted by the year.

The road into Humbug is really nothing more than a series of undulating rock shelves. Fairly easy to pick your way on a single track vehicle but would be more of a bumpy E ticket ride in a rugged old CJ Jeep.

The sign at the top of the terrace leading to the creekbed is shot full of holes of various calibres.

Thinking a .303 can carry for well over a mile, I look across the canyon.

Yep pardner, that'd be about right...

Needless to say... there is not a single drop of water in Humbug Creek. Not that I was expecting any, after all... with water levels so low, it was no surprise.

There was some green vegetation in the otherwise dry valley, sucking whatever moisture it could from the ground. If you were to dig, you'd likely find something down there.

I was happy I had the bottle, at least I wasn't about to die of thirst today.

Flashback.

2011-11-14T19:08:00.000-08:00

St Stephen's cathedral in Budapest Hungary.

EVERY now and again, fairly often, I'll get a message via email or telephone or a chance meeting on the street.

Brandenburg Gate, Berlin.

There are quite a few people from Europe and elsewhere, that I keep in contact with, other than family of course. One of the things I hear routinely is a request for more of my two recent European motorcycle trips.

Croatia

Now that I am here at my home in Phoenix AZ, generally getting more retired, and spending more time writing... I've decided to begin a series of Blogs (still like the sound of that word) I'm going to call... "Flashback"

You guess!

They will feature a clip of my travels not only in Europe, but some of the other trips and adventures I've been part of over the years.

I hope you'll enjoy reading and seeing them.

Dr.N.