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.