Riding the Mogollon Rim

ready for another day on the trail...

I'D had a troubled sleep.

Restful hardly applies.  I'm in Payson, Arizona.  I'd ridden back and forth through the Superstition mountains yesterday on surfaces ranging from billiard smooth asphalt to rough and tumble jeep trails.

49 degrees F  Brrr.

Last night I arrived at the outskirts of this small city, fueled up the bike, taken a hot shower and had a filling meal at the local steakhouse.

High pine forest, elk haven.

The bed was warm (although hotel pillows are too soft for me) There were a hundred channels on TV and my bike was safe out of general sight (always a concern when I travel no matter where) but in my sight beyond the curtain.

So, why was I restless... you're gonna laugh :)

the easy part.

I couldn't help but think of little Boo boo, back home in Glendale by herself.  This little puss that has sort of adopted me and my home and my tall shade tree as her own, a little feline that has spent much of the past few weeks in very close proximity, whom I would have to leave behind when I depart.  Of course she belongs to Judy next door and is in fact a 'loaner' kitty, but nevertheless, I felt truly bad that she was spending the night and two days on her own.  Yeah there was plenty of food and water, but still... go figure eh!  Guy rides all over the frigging world on a motorcycle, has a newly wed wife at home in PEI, with three kids from Alberta to the Island... and is fretting over a 6 month old kitten feeling lonely.

The village of Young.

In no time I had my meager possessions packed into the cordura bags, water bottles filled and stowed and suited up in every piece of clothing I had.  The sun was shining, but the air was biting cool.  Within miles of leaving the motel, we were climbing and we didn't stop climbing until the Ranger station at the Mogollon Rim, a very cool 7500 feet, where the first thing I saw was a rather large thermometer reading 49 degrees F.  Pronounced Mo gee yon, this escarpment divides much of the central state, and is a forested high mountain refuge for elk, coyotes and people that wish to escape the city.  Only a couple of hours via freeway out of Greater Phoenix, home to millions, you are in a pristine and well kept wilderness.

hitched up at the dead Broke saloon.

The bike did pretty well considering it's diminutive engine output (roughly 22hp) and the elevation changes that ultimately rob even some of that little power.

Route 260 is not heavily traveled, I wasn't holding up traffic, other than the chills, it was a beautiful day for a ride.

Gonna be a long wait for gas at this station.

I met Gene a retired EMT, working part time at the station.  Dashing in his Parks uniform, he filled me in during my hour visit, on the local area, it's history and showed me the many photos that he personally took, arranged on the wall across from the small counter.  Gene was quite thrilled for me, as I explained what it was I did, riding around in this back country on my little trail bike, as often people are when they learn where I just came from and where I am going.

Purty huh!

Just two miles beyond the station, after bidding farewell, I turned off on what would become state route 288.  A gravel highway that varied greatly in it's route down from the mountains back to Roosevelt lake.

Down down I went, the tall pines giving away gradually to cacti covered scrub brush country cut by deep canyons and ravines.

Roosevelt lake

I stopped for some pics and a stretch in Young on a short length of pavement before climbing up once again and on to Roosevelt lake.  This gentle and peaceful area was not always so.  During the late 1800's, the Tonto Basin War nearly wiped out two competing family's.  At it's height what was otherwise known as the Pleasant Valley War was a real life Zane Gray/Louis L'Amour  novel.  Cattle rustling, water rights, sheep vs cattle, yup pard... it was all there.

I watched ma back as I left it behind climbing into the pine forest once again.

The road is circiutous, drop dead purty and stunning views as you suddenly see into the distance with a break in the trees.  You could easily travel this route with a high clearance vehicle, possibly even 2WD as long as it's dry.  The little Yamaha loves this stuff.  Okay, I LOVE this stuff!  The bike probably couldn't care less.

Apache canyons

        

As the elevation decreased, the missing horsepower came back and I found myself coasting down long stretches with the engine off and the 6-speed transmission in neutral.  Silence for company, only the sound of the knobbies breaking it.

Taking it all in...

My whole life, I've been fascinated by that first view of water.  My first view of the Pacific, or the Atlantic.  My first view of the Cortez, the first view of Lake Roosevelt.  By now once again on single lane pavement, dropping down thousands of feet from the Mogollon Rim, I see the lake shining brightly, yet still 15 miles away.

Rugged, not hard to imagine cowboys and injuns!

                                                              

I cross the Salt river and tack back onto route 188.  In Roosevelt, I fill up both the bike and belly, not in any particular rush, with possibly the best cheeseburger and fries I've ever eaten, my first on this vacation.  Sitting outside under a shade canopy at the local bar and grill, I unfold the state map onto the picnic table I have all to myself.

single lane Salt river

Before leaving I chat with a couple of Harley riders, out for a day's ride and a couple of beer.  We agree that we, as riders, don't seem to be getting younger.

Been flowing for a thousand years.

Makes me think... all this generation of youngsters raised on video games, getting their thrills electronically, and here I am... pushing 59, riding around in the back country desert on a motorbike...

Enjoying my great burger in silence.