Cats

Boo on fence patrol

You guys know I love cats, dogs, and animals of all kinds (okay not scorpions or flies, or mosquito's)

Three years ago, just after we had made the BIG move from Calgary Alberta to Prince Edward Island, I had come down, opened up my place and let the warm summer air pour through my digs.  

Very pretty, Boo

While the air was circulating and I was watching some television, a tiny little kitty hopped onto the couch at my arm, with a little bitty meow, I was not only intrigued at this bold interloper but instantly in love with her.  She stayed with me that night and the next day I found out she actually belonged to one of my neighbors,  Boo as she was named lived barely feet from my front door.  She had been rescued soaking wet from under Judy's son's truck and adopted by this loving family next door.

For the following three years, Boo has patiently waited at my door during the week prior to my arrival.  How she knows when I am coming is still a mystery to us all, but she will sit there on the stoop in vigilance for my arrival.  

When I get off the Super Shuttle blue van, she is either sitting at the door step, up in my tree or waiting around the corner, but it never takes her more than a few minutes to arrive.  

Typical of felines, she's give a stretch, maybe a faint meow and tell me in no uncertain terms, "where you been, I've been sitting out here for a week, now open up and bring on the Friskies!" 

Boo has been a great companion allowing me to sleep on the same bed as her, to pet her at her pleasure and convenience and I'm sure we both look forward to spending our Arizona time together.  Mom doesn't seem to mind in fact often when Judy pops in to check on my place, Boo accompanies her.  

Several years ago, in 2010 in fact right before Christmas Brenda and Anna on a short visit brought me a soaking wet, very tiny little fur-ball, whom I named Phoenix for obvious reasons, and when I could not find a home for him, I packed him up and drove him back to Canada.  Then all the way across the country.  Just over a year ago, we found out that little Phx who had traveled a very long way to get to the east coast, was suffering from what turned out to be inoperable cancer and just prior to my return to PEI, he passed away the day before I landed back home.

Seeing little Boo climbing about 'his' tree and patrolling my fence as Phx himself did as a kitten, brings tears to my eyes and joy to my heart. A couple of months before this latest trip our sweet female Abby was hit and killed by a car across from our home.  That made for two of my pals gone in less than a year.

Shortly before I came south we had gone and brought home a new kitty, appropriately named Isabella or Izzy for short.  She has been keeping Willy our toothless boy in the bubble entertained in my absence.  

How can you not Love that!

Anyway, this time round as I am opening up my place, sweeping the years worth of leaves off the little patio, what do I find but yet another young adult cat.  

Third day.

She has been holed up out there under a cover for goodness knows how long.  

It takes several days with food and gentle coaxing before her head poked out. She was very reluctant to come out and given that she had little shelter I made her a box, rode the scooter to Value Village and bought her a chair pillow to place in the box.  

They love my tree! Bring on them birds!!

It warmed my heart to see her climb in there rather than just sitting on the concrete.  

Eventually Cocoa (her color is very similar to Boos as you will notice) warmed up to my gestures and began sleeping in the house during the day but still heading outside into her box at night.  She was skin and bones her ribs stuck out clearly under her fur and she has been damaged, possibly abused.  A lower jaw that is misshaped possibly from a kick, her tail had been broken but healed and she had a puncture under her right eye. 

How can you resist that face?

Over the next three weeks I got to love this abandoned kitty and found her a home with Judy's relatives, who had in fact taken in another scruffy male that showed up at my place two years ago!



I have been thinking these last couple of days what the chances were of my taking Cocoa home to PEI with me on my departure, and have begin looking into the process.  With the death of Phx and then Abby we were down to one cat.  If I could, I'd have dozens of them with a few dogs thrown in for good measure.

All my life I have worked for the underdog, or in this case the undercat!  Having been one myself in my early days I feel a rapport for those that have been hurt or abandoned or homeless.  

Boo, 'I know there's Friskies somewhere...'

If I can succeed in taking Cocoa back to Canada it will be no reflection on the home she is currently in, more to
the fact that I have been taken in by the small brown and black bundle of fur, and because I am a believer in fate, feel that fate has put us together.


  

Stayed tuned...

"No really I can pass as carry on..." ,

Curses... foiled again!

Huge dam made Lake  Pleasant, county Regional park.

IN January 1998 , nearly twenty years ago, then live-in Deb and I trucked, two XT 600 Yamaha's down to Arizona and rode the entire length of the Baja peninsula.  It was my first foray down there although she had visited the southern mainland a number of times.  I relied on her sparse Spanish, "Donde esta Banko, donde esta Bano, mucias gracias, dos cerveza's senor, mucho fria, por favor." I would be lying if I said I wasn't a wee bit apprehensive.  I mean two large bikes, her inexperience (which actually didn't prove to be much of a problem, Deb had a very 'can do attitude) thousands of kilometers on many types of road surfaces, sketchy directions and questionable fuel availability... yup it was quite the adventure let me tell you.

Some of these Islands are submerged parts of the year

Lone Kayak-er, mirror waters

On the back side of that trip I discovered the Castle Hot Springs rd north of Lake Pleasant which of course is one of many man made lakes.  Lake Mead, Lake Roosevelt, and then there's Lake Pleasant.

Over the years I have often ridden this route from my home in Glendale north into the Bradshaw mountains for a photo op at L.P.  From there I have now ridden near and far, across country to Prescott, Crown King, Wickenburg and generally it is my first ride of every visit.  The main route called Castle Hot Springs road is drive-able in a higher clearance car if you have a penchant for that sort of thing.  Mostly what I see out here are Jeeps, Utes, and bikes.  There are a few river beds to traverse which can pose a problem for cars with small wheels or bikers that have no hub deep gravel experience. There are some steep climbs and narrow sections but in general if you want a casual 3 hour tour, without Gilligan and the Skipper too... and you have a suitable bike, it's a great and very scenic I might ad, route.



If you are more experienced and adventurous you can branch off the Cow Creek or Champie or Crown King or Buckhorn roads, and get into gnarly technical stuff.  Not for the faint of heart or those with BIG  ADV bikes.

New sign, no bullet holes!

One year while enjoying a break a couple of Sheriff's department deputies came by to check on me.  They warned me to warn readers NOT to try the Crown King trail, they had to make 100 rescues a year costing the county huge money.  People drive in with their uni-body SUV's and get stuck or high sided or otherwise stranded.  It can be hazardous for certain.

This trip I wanted to get the bugs out of my system so set off for a loop around the CHS road.  I had actually just thought of riding to Morristown and either zip up the highway to Wickenburg for a lunch or maybe just turn around at pavement and retrace my route for the day.  Either way it's about a hundred miles half of it off road.

Today I passed Cow creek turn off which meant I wasn't going to get real technical, then the Champie road turn off and when I got to the Buckhorn road I decided to head north from there.  The first thing you do is descend a steep drop to the dry riverbed.  From here it's about 5 miles to Walker's Gulch, all of it on the riverbed only occasionally navigating off to skirt some towering cliff or rock formation.

Dry riverbed making up part of the Castle Hot Springs rd

The very first time I tried this route about 4-5 years ago I had a badly ailing left shoulder and fighting the deep sand wore me out to the point of tears, I was about half way in but of course had no idea what to expect getting there and once I got there.  I turn around with a great deal of difficulty and backtracked home. Since then I have traversed this ground several times from both directions and knew it as well as you can any trail in the desert especially one that was for the most part, river bottom.

Very cool little 4X4 SJ Suzuki, used to have one of those

With each spring much dependent on run off, these places can change a great deal as attested by the various detours you will find made by Jeeper's.  I had no issue riding in to the junction, but it was obvious I was out of practice or the sand was deeper!  At Walker's Gulch you have several choices, you can cross the wash and continue to follow a narrowing trail and if you have a hard core rock hopper raised Jeep you may be able to ride it to an abandoned mine some 20 miles distant.  I tried this once and u turned shortly after passing a sign painted on a rock face that proclaimed "Jeeps Only"  I had ridden in about 5-6 miles and that had taken about an hour and a half in 35C heat. I'd swallowed my water in gulps and only had enough if I turned around right that second.   There are days I get defeated much as I hate to admit it, sometimes the trail or (the relationship) beats me! 

At the 4 corners of W.G. you can turn left up a steep trail on the continuation of Buckhorn road eventually coming out atop Wickenburg via the Constellation road!  It's a beautiful ride and for the most part no tougher that CHS road.

Taking a break

On the other hand I can follow a boulder strewn snaking dropping, climbing dry riverbed to my right.  This route is Known as the French Creek rd and will get me to a point where I can once again turn north and do a wicked 5 miles to the Wagoner road and turn right to Crown King or left to Wagoner and onto route 87 which will get me into Prescott.

Thor's boulders

I wasn't going to do that today but I was going to ride the French Creek back to Cow creek rd and then onto a lovely view back to Lake Pleasant.  The first 5 miles up from the junction can be very technical and each year as I say changeable.  This was not different.  What WAS different was the rain.  I had left in sunshine but had some sprinkles once in the mountains. Here it began to rain steadily.

You will see everywhere warnings NOT to ride low lying areas at times of rain, flash flooding is a very common danger problem anywhere you are traveling in desert country.  I wasn't worried about today even though I would be crossing and riding in numerous such spots.  It wasn't raining heavy enough nor was there time for the rains to accumulate.  What does happen though when it rains back here are three things.

Walker's Gulch crossroads.

One... the 'slick rock' gets slicker.

Pretty as a picture isn't it... except that sand is a foot deep needed a rock under the stand

Two... The talcum powder on the road surface turns into abrasive multi purpose grease.
and

That's rain!

Three... I get real unhappy!



By the time I reached the turn off to Wagoner, I was pretty unhappy I can tell you.

It was raining steady and pretty hard by this time and my road speed got lower and lower.I would spend most of the remainder in first or second gear rarely creeping above 15 mph!

Not a friggin' clue.......

Even though I was only about 50 miles from Phx I still had about 25 miles to get to pavement. It's times like this I wish I had a pick up truck or maybe even a Star Trek transporter!

The Crown King Trail

Seeing as I had neither I do what I have on hundreds of occasions in my 47 years twisting throttle, hunker down get the job done, don't get hurt! No point in viewing the scenery, one mistake and you could go over the cliff edge and become a permanent part of the scenery!  In any case I couldn't see anything anyway the clouds were low and thick.

When I finally got to the pavement I was soaked through from once side to the other.  I did have a dry fleece in my saddle bag, at least I hoped it was dry. I stripped on the roadside as SUV's coming from L.P. were filled with passengers that were warm and dry.  Curse you all... kidding, I love doing this stuff!



The only good news droning back into the city was that most of the thicker goop got washed off during that final 25 miles.

My teeth were chattering even though it was actually about 18C but being soaked on both sides of my T shirt and riding at 55 mph, seemed to have brought on the goose bumps but not in the same way as if I'd spotted Heather Locklear on the side of the road.  I could picture the shining (wet) knight (moi) on his white stallion pulling off to change a flat for her on the side of route 74, the Carefree Highway as it's known.  Yes sometimes my mind wanders like my path...

Abandoned homestead

When I'd finally pulled into my home, I'd had enough.

I didn't even bother taking my clothes off in the shower...

Greasy!

just kidding of course!

It's about time...

YOUR time.



As far as I know, I'm only going to live this once.  When you think of the BIG picture, you know what I am talking about, if you can look beyond today, the kid's screaming, you car getting towed, or the T.V. all of a sudden going "Fffffft..." it all goes by so fast.  When you're a teen, you think you're going to live forever that you are Invincible as the movie line goes.  Sadly you are not.  I often say to people, friends and strangers alike, if you can live to 50... anything beyond that is a bonus.  After all, you could die from dozens of diseases, accidents, drive by shootings, that fish bone stuck in your throat, all kinds of things. 

Take me for example, at 17, while riding back from Fort Mac on my then new Suzuki T 350 Rebel, I was hit by a station wagon full of Plamondon's, going in the opposite direction on a very dusty gravel road, the 18 year old daughter attempting a pass of a car which just a second ago went by me creating this massive dust cloud.  As was my custom, I was hugging the right tire track, had I been 5 feet to the left or even a foot, I would have been a very dead grill ornament!  As it was we just squeezed by one another at a closing speed I'd guess to be close on 100 mph.  What the net result was, a broken finger smashed up foot and kneecap and some stitches on my back.  Oh of course a smashed bike. Could have been worse, could have been dead, and you wouldn't be reading my wit and charm today...

That's only one very close call, there were more during the years including two heart attacks 6 months apart, the second one nearly got me.

I don't dwell on such things, I don't listen to doomsayers telling me the world is going to end tomorrow at 4 17 Atlantic time,  three hours later in Edmonton. I mean what's the point?  I'm writing this while at my home in the USA, Donald Trump just made a mockery of the US Presidential elections, burying first one then all of the Republican competition(?) and then Hillary Clinton in a major upset.  Nobody took him seriously, the hair, the Apprentice ("you're fired!!) the arrogant attitude, yet here it is, the 45th President of the most powerful nation on earth.  I bet 'Arnie' is wishing he could have been born in the USA... Trump wasing sitting twiddling his thumbs (well maybe he was I don't know)

All these events are bigger than I am.  In the space of time, we as humans singly or even collectively live for what... a brief grain of sand in all the grains of sand in the Universe...

So, if we get 50 or 70 or even 90 years on the planet (see above) what are we doing with it and by it I mean your life?

I used to watch a documentary television program hosted by Clive Cussler. Regardless of what you think of him as a writer you can't argue with the fact that his books have been published in the multi millions.  The show he hosted was called "The Sea Hunter's"  It featured several people that were based in Canada.  It's a well known fact that Cussler has an affinity with the world's oceans and anything nautical as many of his books illustrate.  I myself while having a bite to eat at Berthe's cafe on Bahia Conception, have read some of Dirk Pitts adventures as he and NOAA battle the goons and come out smiling.  Anyway... one of the things I like about the show was the few minutes before the news cast, Cussler himself comes on camera and invites the watcher to 'get up off the couch and find something adventurous to do themselves.'

Now I was riding my small two strokes like the aforementioned Suzuki long before I knew who Dirk or Clive were, in fact some of my earliest adventure were by pedal bike like traveling 15 miles to fish the Sturgeon river outside St Albert Alberta.  As I got bolder and had a motor in the frame, small at first but gradually getting bigger I took on more challenges and now decades later, I'm still doing that.

Clive had it right when he urged the watcher to do something they would look back on as the lights were fading and go out with a smile on their lips.

That's what I hope to do, go out with a smile, but not yet!  :)

SO, here I sit at my little desk 5000 km from (my other)

home in a foreign country (yes ma dear, the USA actually IS a foreign country) riding an old old cooled Yamaha in the mountains, in the valleys, in the desert, racking up not just miles and smiles but memories.



I urge everyone to do the same.  You don't have to claw your way 6000' up a switch-backing mountain trail to Crown King, or even travel to Arizona at all. There must be something you would love to do but have always been too chicken to try, well I'm saying scope it out, plan it, talk to yourself about it and just (like SkiDoo says) just do it!

LIFE is a Freeway!

WELL certainly in the US of A!

AFTER realizing that my vision of the Sonoran Desert National Monument was a letdown made worse by my inability to traverse this huge desert land, I hooked up with OLD US 80 and headed north. 

I could easily have taken the much faster divided mini freeway 85, but since I'd get some of that in due course I rode the old road.  This was our (Deb's and myself) route to Baja in January 1998 when we covered almost 7000 km in 6 weeks of riding, including So Cal and the Hollywood blvd.  Gotta love that lane splitting/filtering!!!

Much of Gila Bend is run down like this not very old motel.

In more recent times while doing the Painted Rock story for Motorcycle MoJo I'd traversed this road a couple of times.  US 80 has little local traffic and except for people like myself, most take the far more modern and fast route just a few miles to my east. 

I passed a couple of solar farms, some industry and of course irrigation assisted mega farming.  The Sun was on it's way to the Pacific, I cruised at 45-50 mph in fifth gear.  I was going so slow I didn't even need to engage sixth for all but the latter part of my trip. 

There is a couple of interesting landmarks on this route the first of which is what looks like an unfinished community.  Entry is barred by a an attractive tall fence and gate, but this looks to me like something begun but never finished.  Unlike some such places, this one is well kept so obviously may yet be completed in the future. I didn't stop for photos this time I'd blogged about this about a year or so ago.  I did however stop once again at the Historic Gillespie Bridge and dam sight.

This impressive structure was once the main route for traffic of all types heading north to south.  Constructed during the early 1920's by one Frank Gillespie primarily to capture water from the intermittent nature of the Gila River, for ranching and farm irrigation use, it became a viable state highway in 1927.



After the huge  winter rainfalls of 1993, a large portion of the dam structure collapsed under pressure of the water but fortunately the bridge survived.  I pulled the 350 off onto the east side parking area in a shaded spot and went for a little walk about.  There was a sole angler beside the water canal above the bridge looking to catch a local catfish or bass.  He hailed from Minnesota, moved out west about 20 years ago.  Never regretted it he says to me. 



I wandered the area for a bit while munching on an energy bar, taking a few photos to add to my previous collection.  The sun was bright I had to shield my eyes even with sunglasses. 

If I had the time, this would be a great place to explore on foot for an hour or two.  The Gila, now only a trickle under the bridge, but home to coyotes, desert hare and other small creatures that live in this green eco subsystem the river provides.  Even in the wilds of Baja you often come across some green in a river valley proving that below the hot surface of the land, there is a channel of water running. 

Bar washed down by s few gulps of H2O and I was ready once again to hit the road.  I was still about 30 miles from my intersection with I-10, the L.A. freeway that I had to use to get me home.



Once back in Buckeye with the airport I reported on a few years back, home to a pretty impressive private collection of vintage aircraft, I saw the gate was closed this trip but in any case I had to step it up a little if I wanted to arrive home before dark.  The temperature was already dropping and the sun was low on the horizon.



I merged into traffic frantic moving east and stepped up my speed to 60 mph.  MY speedometer is 100% accurate several times I have checked against the highway shoulder radar devices.  After about 15 minutes I pulled off in Goodyear for a fill up for bike and body. I topped off the tank at the LOVE's fuel depot.  Gas per gallon on this trip hovers from just under two bucks and on up to around 2.25.

With the 350 in sight I stepped into the air conditioned Burger King and ordered up that cheeseburger, coke and fries!  I rarely eat like this any more but here I was, in southern Arizona after a trek on minor highways and even though my bike said YAMAHA and not BSA, I was still having a gas, no... not having gas, by having a gas...

 

If anything traffic was even heavier as I approached the western outskirts of Phoenix, 5 lanes including an HOV where I could have legally ridden my bike (50% vehicle occupancy required) but I stuck to the right lane as cars, trucks buses and bikes motored by me well in excess of the posted 75 limit, that is until strings of brake lights indicated some slow down or even stop on the freeway.

Eventually I picked up the 101 inner ring road and merged into very heavy traffic moving at a quick clip towards my eventual merge onto city roads.  By this time the sun was just over the horizon, it was definitely cooler, my smoked visor had been up for awhile.  I took Northern avenue all the way to 59th and the last few blocks even my sunglasses came off.  By the time I pulled into my parking spot it was twilight and by the time I got my equipment unloaded, dark. 

I'd covered 175 miles, unfortunately I did NOT get to traverse the Sonoran Desert National Monument but never the less, even a six hour day trip on back roads in southern Arizona was a welcome change to November on PEI.

Mesmerizing

ONCE back on the highway after my brief stop over in Maricopa, the road becomes less traveled and narrower.  Like an ocean with gentle swells, the blacktop rolls ahead of me.  I'm riding at close to the legal speed limit which for most of this route is posted at 50-55 mph, my eyes scanning to my right looking for any entry into the National Monument.  It's just comfortable in my gear while on the road but the few times I pull off, I can feel the heat. It would reach into the low 30's this day and with no clouds visible the heat feels intense.

 Imagine travel in the summer a hundred and fifty years ago.  No man created lakes or rivers, no air conditioned facilities, nothing.  NO wonder the early settlers died by the droves.

A few cars roll past me, most near the posted limit, with the odd Corvette blowing by at a hundred plus.  238 is little traveled.  To the north or south, Interstate's I 8 and I 10 posted at 75 mph attract most of the road traffic



Route 238 reminds me of many of the back roads I have traveled in the SW USA during the past.  Highway 95 from Vegas  through the Mojave, sitting in my Jeep TJ, the Serow bolted to the front rack with no air... except for an open window that serves as a blast furnace as I drive all the way to Mulege, or maybe 89A on the north rim of the Grand Canyon or the famous Rte 66... If it wasn't for the Audi's and massive domestic SUV's or F-150's with huge tires, I could be riding in a different time.

The gradual sweeping turns and undulating landscape lets my imagination take over. I'm riding a red and chrome  BSA Thunderbolt, it's 1968.  My hair longer than the norm, small town cafes with hand painted signs... an ice cold COKE and a messy home made cheeseburger and crispy french fries, on my way from Chicago to L.A.  Looking for adventure, no time table, no job, no particular place to go and no particular time to get there. Rolling on the throttle on the single carb 360 degree parallel twin engine letting the torque sweep me over the hills... 4 th gear, 55 mph... yup, easy to get carried away.

WHEN I was a young teen reading about Frank Conner's adventures riding in the American SW in Cycle magazine, I yearned to do that.  It took many years but I have been enjoying myself immensely.

Sure, it's another time, there are no new 1968 BSA's, there are air conditioned gas stations and national chain restaurants reminding me that those days of Freedom are so long gone.  There was no internet, no cell phones with more computing power than NASA had to send up the Apollo missions, there were no Japanese electrics (only Joe Lucas Prince of Darkness) you got a job by walking into a business and saying "hire me."   Times have changed, but not so much here as I slowly ride though Mobile with it's modern school, PV roof panels providing electricity and a parking lot full of fuel injected sedans with powered tinted windows.

At least my bike was sort of a throwback to 'them days'  Air cooled, shifting gears through a cable operated clutch, kind of dog slow...

I pulled off in several locations looking for that elusive desert road only to be greeted by sign after sign proclaiming closures.  At one such spot as I am removing my gear once again, a BLM pick-up rolls by me on the highway a hundred yards distant, slows and back up.  Yup I'm thinking, he's spotted my bike and thinks I'm either contemplating riding in a prohibited zone or just arrived!



I'm looking over my map wondering where I might find an entry as the White 4X4 pulls up and the driver's window rolls electrically down with a hiss and out pops a pretty BLM ranger's face.

"Am I lost? DO I need assistance?"

After a moment, having not expected a woman, (okay I admit my stereotypical image is a 6 foot tall dude with huge shoulders and an axe to cut through the forest) I reply that I'm just out riding looking for a X country trail I could ride.

Leaving her truck running to keep the interior cool, she provides me with a maps and some history pointing out that literally the entire park is under road closures.  'Why' I inquire. 'Too much vandalism and damages'  she offers.  Many roads have been closed for years.  After a pleasant and helpful interlude, she goes on her way.



During our conversation I find out the the Sonora Desert Monument actually has no monument, I mean there is no cairn or stone ruins or huge plaques proclaiming the park as such.  The 475,000 acre park IS the monument!  I can however take a photo of a sign just up the road that proclaims the park as a National Monument.

Well this kind of changes my plans, I can't ride across the park due to the road closures, there is no park entry site with ruins or some sign of the significance of the park. I have plenty of fuel... She motors off promising to contact me and read my blog.



What now?  I am riding through a huge national park but cannot enter it, well not with my bike, and trudging across the desert in Icon motorcycle boots doesn't appeal to me.

Gila Bend is just a short distance up the road, I decide to go there and take Old US 80 back into Buckeye and then onto the I 10 freeway from Las Angeles (no quaint two laner that).

I'm disappointed but only for a moment, after all here I am in the Sonora desert, it's a beautiful day, my bike is running well (getting 80 mpg) I have no particular place to go and no particular time to get there.

The Sonoran Desert National Monument

ARIZONA has an incredible amount of untamed wilderness.  There are National parks, state parks, county parks and huge municipal parks and of course National Monuments.  In the years I have been coming here, I've gone mostly North into the Bradshaw ranges or east to the Superstitions.  I had rarely headed south.  The reason for this is quite simple, there are more mountain ranges to the north and east. 

The incredible Mogollon Rim  lies to the North East.  

With names like Sunset Crater, Silver Creek, Snowflake, Hellsgate, Horsethief wilderness, Hell's canyon, Gila Bend, Painted Rock and hundreds of others, it's easy to understand if you have a penchant for exploring like I have, why some parts of the State appeal to me more than others.  

The other thing is range.  MY XT 350 with the latest gearing set up  is marginally better on the highway and definitely poorer off road.  

When I first bought the bike it had gearing for trail use, what the previous owner used it for.  Highway travel was painful and freeway use impossible. Sixty miles and hour was about 7500 rpm and at that rate, things would melt or blow in short order.  I could uses third gear riding off road trails.  With this latest incarnation of sprockets, freeway riding for extended distance is possible but off road first gear is really too tall.  I would likely go back to my last choice with travel speed limited to 55 mph with the odd run up to 65, but better off road capability.  

No matter how you slice it, to get around here in the Arizona desert, you have to have highway reliability.  As I age, I feel less desire to ride some of the types of trails I have done here and in Baja over the years.  Death would be very unpleasant if a rider suffered a mechanical or human failure out there.   Some of the places I've ridden have likely seen fewer humans in a year than the Toronto Maple Leafs!  Is that possible...

Four hundred and seventy five THOUSAND acres, Whew!

Because it is "street legal" I can run off road designated trails as well.  Each year new signs pop up where I hadn't seen them before, proclaiming that vehicles must be street legal to traverse the country trails.  

I freely admit my butt is not as tough as it used to be, riding the Yamaha I pretty much limit myself to areas no further than 75 miles one way distance from my home for day rides and typically less... and over-nighters I usually venture no further than 100 miles distance in a straight line.  I don't have the luggage range or fuel capacity and certainly not the comfort for longer rides than that.  

Having said that, I could live for another 50 years and not see it all.  Much less longer trips like New Mexico or California or Nevada or Utah!

The Estrella Mountains

Getting back to the Sonora National Monument, I did some research on the net prior to making the decision to head south.  There were three mountain ranges in my path and I wanted to find some dirt roads I could ride.

THE bike gives amazing fuel mileage, this trip alone delivering an honest 80.1 m/p US gallon.  That is nothing short of phenomenal! That means I have about 175 miles to reserve which nets me another 20 or so miles.  Having said that, there are few SHELL or Chevron service stations around Arlington or Wagoner.  That fuel mileage is aided by an efficient 4 valve Double Overhead Cam twin carb engine and of course, by the tall gearing.  My butt (double underhand cheeks and two valves) is usually good for 50 miles on road or 10 off, before I have to stretch and work out the kinks!  To say nothing of my beat up back or shoulder, the result of that rear end hit I took back in '02.

At least the ground was hard enough to deploy the side sand.

I loaded my two frozen water bottles, some energy bars, an apple and some gum into the cooler bag I have attached to the rear frame.  Some people have commented that I should have a neat tail bag that would look more appropriate, but they don't ride where I do.  Frozen water that condenses in you cordura tail bag wouldn't work for me.  The cooler bag has a built in plastic bucket stiffener, and a top compartment for my food and ice water.  Besides, it's kind of color matched to the bike!

It took 12 miles of stop and go, sometimes waiting three three red lights on city streets to get to my fuel stop in Komatke, where I filled the tank and checked with the two locals about my route.  Of course neither of the staff members had a clue where the Santa Cruz road was and as it turned out, neither did I!

I kept heading south, it would come to me eventually.

It did.  

A sign pointing to the Sierra Estrella range, some emergency braking (after a quick mirror check) and I managed to turn off onto what was a good quality paved road through the Gila River Native community. My idea having perused Google maps the night before, was to follow the dirt road to a rendezvous with highway 238, the Maricopa road, bypassing Maricopa itself which lay to the south east, then following desert state road 238 through Mobile then on too Gila Bend.

I knew there would be some road closures having read voraciously everything on the various websites, but I hoped to cross the National reserve diagonally to pick up Old US 80 on the west side of the park.

First problem that showed itself instantly after 2 miles of pavement was a desert road.  No biggie, this is why I chose this route.  



However as often happens once you get away from those solid lines on the map, within a short distance, there were tracks heading off in multiple directions.  I knew that I would be skirting the Estrella Range to the east while heading basically towards Mexico, but what I hadn't counted on were the myriad of paths confronting me.  Keep in mind, the sun is just getting into the late morning sky, it's about 30 C and climbing, I'm dressed for the road in MSR enduro jacket my Baja MUV* bits of body armor and now... I've entered a flat maze.  I rode another mile or three and had already branched off at least four times and hadn't a clue which of these multiple trails was Santa Cruz road!

You never know if the trail heading out of the wash you've just entered converges later on over the hill or diverges to who knows where.  

Sand, sand and more sand.  NOT FUN!

WHEW it was as the buckaroos say, 

"Gettin' plenty hot out thar"

I had just slithered my way in low gear up a foot deep sand wash, then a rocky climb onto more sand!  Remember I said my gearing was now biased to highway use...well at this rate, slipping the clutch was going to result in my going nowhere pronto! 

I'm sure the local natives knew all these back roads by heart. 

No GPS for those guys, but even if it worked out here and as I found in Baja many years ago, you couldn't get a cell signal and all you GPS showed was a Blue SUV on a white background!  Even Candy, my snarky GPS girl hadn't a clue where we were.

Hauntingly beautiful this desert country.

Discretion being the better part of valor, and facing 30 miles of this, I did an about face and after making several mistakes, finally found my way back to an abandoned building behind a chain link fence and the entry road.

I hate to admit defeat, but the 5 or 6 miles of fighting deep sand and working up a sweat to say nothing of abusing my overheating wet clutch, taking the longer paved route didn't seem like a bad alternative.  After all the scenery was the same if a little isolated from the country, but I knew I'd live to fight another day.

At Maricopa, I turned SW onto route 238.  I stopped just before exiting town at a large shopping center parking lot and parked under a sparse shade tree for a couple sips from my thawing canteen.  A pick up truck with a salty haired gent pulled up and asked me if "I was that guy riding around the world?"

The darker orange indicates trail and road closures, but...

Big as the Arizona desert is, my travels today were of a shorter nature.  We had a very nice chat, he telling me he'd given up motorcycling awhile back, "... lack of confidence' he admitted, something I felt was a dam good reason to quit.  I'd like to think I'm smart enough to know when enough is enough like I did on the Santa Cruz road!

I was getting thoroughly over heated in my gear and said my farewells and headed to Mobile. 

*Multi Use Vest designed by myself and built by Deb

The Doc goes Walkabout...

Walking the access road up the mountain 33C and heat coming off the pavement

LET me make one thing clear, I didn't disappear off the face of the earth, nor did I walk the entire coast of Oz.  When I say, walkabout, I really mean... I walked about 8. something miles, wearing sandals over my bare feet, in 30 degree weather up and then down a mountain. Originally all I had in mind was to spend a bit of time at this amazing library in the foothills, visit the interpretive center to see if there was anything new since my first visit about 5 years ago, and in general take some photos before heading home again.  

Giant Saguaro cacti

Once there of course, plans changed and I'd decided to try some of the foot paths in the park, ultimately my goal was to see what it would be like to spend a couple of days in a tent while walking some of the many designated trails.  

Even here in the White Tank mountains you can't just wander about.  



There are trails laid out that guide you around to various picnic areas, camping or hikes.  Many of the trails are multi use meaning you could encounter other hikers, mountain bikers or horse traffic.

  I wanted to walk the Waterfalls trail and I knew it would be uphill most of the way.  



To get to the trail-head though I did not ride my bike, instead chose to walk from the library.  By the time I got to the Black Rock loops I'd been on the road, literally, for an hour, and all of it was uphill!  There was little in the way of shade and I was rationing my lemonade.  I knew from experience I could maintain a fairly brisk pace at home but here in the heat and with no cover, well that might be a different story.  As I often do when riding my bike in places where the terrain is difficult, I always vow to choose discretion over valor.

Curious Ground squirrel atop the boulder, would hide whenever I got any closer.

In the Rocky mountains, the Sierra Giganta of Baja or the Arizona desert, failure to heed the signs could lead to premature and painful death.  There is nothing gallant about breaking your body or your bike (or both) out in the middle of nowhere with no cell signals and no traffic.  

Hohokem rock art

I remember well the two deputies that came across me north of Phx a few years ago telling me the county makes about 100 emergency rescues from the Crown King Trail each year.  I was just taking a breather while they thought I had a breakdown.

As I had thought once off the main road hikers were very sparse, in in the entire day I don't think I met 50 people!  

I headed inland bypassing the short then the long loop of Black Rock.  Looking at the well laid out paper map I had in my hand, I knew the connecting Waterfall trail was perhaps 3-400 yards ahead. 

Just up that staircase and around the next bend, and you're there!

I was still feeling really good using the maps in my hand to shade my eyes from a bright sun.  For the better part of an hour now, since the last car past me on the access road, it was dead silent, not even a cricket chirped a friendly hello!  

Them's the Falls!!! About 500 feet.

10x10 pool at the base.

Apart from the abundant tiny lizards there was nothing alive except for the cacti!  

A few people about but not many.

Imagine my shock when two low flying F 15's come over the nearest mountain on their return to Luke AFB.  Of course looking into the sky I see nothing because the two jets are traveling, and have outdistanced their exhaust by several miles.  In the next two hours I would see several more, mostly in groups of two or three, some so high as to be mere dots, and others passing by close enough to see their dappled gray colors... the roar of these low flyers deafening.  

More rock art.

THE Waterfall trail is not wheelchair accessible, huge boulders lounge on the trail at different points and there are many switchbacks as I climb.  I meet few people coming down and pass no one going up.  Eventually I get into shade created by the sheer cliffs rising above me in the canyon, several hundred feet into the sky.  Once at the waterfalls I clamber through a narrow cleft to a tiny pocket of water, cold to the touch and barely large enough to cover a hundred square feet.  I look up, waaaay up as the Friendly Giant used to say, and try to imagine what it would have been like a week ago when we had 24 hours of rain.  You wouldn't want to be standing here I guessed.  It would be the most forceful pummeling shower you've ever experienced.  There is no way to approach the falls during rainy periods.  The last few hundred feet to get there are on actual stream run-off bed, the boulders now bleached but in a torrent it would be madness.  You'd be crushed by the weight of water (about 8 lbs/gallon) among the rocks and boulders.




Photos do this place absolutely no justice, there is no perspective while looking up into the sky from the pool I am standing in front of.  You just have to see it for yourself.

On the walk down the mountain I decide to hit the parking lot and while there, fill my now empty lemonade bottle with clean water, luxuriate in the immaculate and modern loo and check my map once again.

I say to myself, "self, it's all downhill from here" as it turned out, far from the truth!

I pick up the Mule Deer trail at parking lot #4 and begin climbing and climbing and well, you get the picture.  The trail climbs right over a mountain and from here I have an amazing view of the valley, somewhere over there, in the afternoon heat haze, are my digs.  

The Mule Deer is classed as moderate, there are no other humans, I am starkly, alone!  Once again I say to myself, here I am, in this incredibly beautiful place, pristine wilderness, with this million dollar view, and I am alone.  Dam, this can get annoying at times.  I don't know how many times I have thought, Brenda would love this, she'd get off on this walkabout, but she's not here.  She's at home in PEI, doing touch-ups to unit 1 for the new tenants, and of course, keeping an eye on Anna, who this year especially has given us some cause for concern.  




BY the time I hoof it back to the library parking lit, it's 4 30 in the afternoon, the lot is nearly empty, I replace my pant legs, use the facilities, marvel once again at the panoramic view of the surrounding White Tank mountains from the library windows and realize that I'm hungry enough to tackle a mountain goat!  Probably good thing I didn't see one!

Scene right out of the Lone Ranger...

Leaving the park entrance gate behind, I laugh hard in my helmet.  Not because I recalled anything funny Ron or Tom had told me, but just from sure pleasure.  

Soon enough back home!

We live on a magnificent planet... whether out in my Spring Valley during the winter months on the Polaris, or riding my XT over the Senator Highway at 7000 feet, or having just walked in bare foot covered sandals over 8 miles of trails in the regional park.

I am so lucky to be alive to admire this experience.  On the way home I realize I'm famished, and gee whiz... right before my eyes appears a Burger King... just like in the old days!

I order up a meal with fries and an ice cold Coke, the first one I've had since arriving here, she sure goes down good.

Amazing library and Interpretive center, Maricopa county White Tank Mountains.

Like Clive Cussler used to say at the end of each Sea Hunters program... 

That's greater Phx in the distance.

"get off the couch, and get out there and do something..."  

or words to that effect.

That's what I've been doing...