The SouthWest

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!

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?!



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



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

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.

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...