Canyons, Cliffs, and Caves.

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

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



Water in the desert, quite a contradiction.


To which Tonto replies,




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

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

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

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

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



6 million year old sea bed.

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

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




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

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

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

                                 

                                                              

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

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



Fish creek cave.

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

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



Another angle...

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

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



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



                                                                       Very nice lady.

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



Cliffs up and down!

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

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

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

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


Tortilla Flats deep within Lake country.

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

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

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

Who knew Angels could be named Fred?

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

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



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



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...