Well... (deep subject)

IT hasn't been exactly 'Purple Rain' but it has been 'hard rain'  or at least hard water.

The week has been so nice with slightly about zero temperatures and lots of sun, in fact if I weren't so dang busy... I was actually thinking of gearing up the 225 and going for a spin.  I do own several snowmobile suits so I wouldn't have froze to death.

Alas, I got busy and didn't try. 

Our driveway is about 6' lower than road level. It is Glare ice!

The last 24 hours has seen temps just warm enough to allow a huge rainfall and just cold enough to freeze it onto everything it hit.  Several communities in the Maritimes have had power outages including some of the Island but we squeaked by without any problems.  The Gen set is serviced so in a worse case scenario we wouldn't end up as human popsicles!

There are reports of power lines and trees down all over and I did  fill some water jugs and even a bucket, just in case.

FORD encased in ice!

We're already nearing the end of January and pretty soon it will be March and spring, can hardly wait.  I have many plans on two and four wheels, while the Polaris sits idle by the house for lack of snow. 

Did some work on the DL Suzuki last couple of days.  I bought the bike to ride out west a couple of years ago but ultimately flew instead (see blog summer 2015)  It's really the Swiss army knife of bikes, I know so many people that have/had and love them.  My neighbor Jamie has one, Ronnie has one and long time buddy Deryl put about a gazillion miles on an early edition.  Not particularly glamorous but they do get the job done. 

Mine is a very pretty copper orange with all the luggage so it does may a pretty good Trans Labrador type tourer.  Although some call the ADV bikes multi purpose machines, which they are, dirt bikes, they are not!



Stand extender.

Adds 1/2 " to the length.

Just yesterday I modified the already modified side stand by buying a 1/2" thick cutting board and after tracing the silhouette of the already widened add on stand, I was about to lessen the bikes lean and make it easier for me to lift the not so light V Strom upright.  The plastic pad won't rust, weighs virtually nothing and changes the angle by one or two degrees, just making it a little bit easier to lift.

The other thing I recently did was put an auxiliary 12V DC power outlet into the fairing to power the GPS (yes yes... it's the 21st Century I get it...) and also want to raise and pull back the stock bars.  Given the width of the tank (good for 500 km) I have a wee bit too long a reach to the bars.  The kind that gets you in between the shoulder blades after about a half hour in the saddle. 

Just proves there's no such thing as the perfect bike.

 

The best all around motorcycle out there...?

 

 

 

WHEN I last left you, I had come up against the proverbial "brick wall".   Here I was, after having been lost for more than an hour of my day, cut off from my priority route by a very solid gate.



Now I have nothing against Bald Eagle's, I myself am losing hair... and, there is a mating pair that inhabit the tall woods just south of my home during the warmer months.  On occasion Brenda and I have been strafed, ME 109 style by a parent on our spring walks up there in the past, but what puzzles me is if there is an ongoing migration to a known location such as Lake Pleasant, and the road is closed 6 months of the year... why am I looking at a locked gate 4 days before the 6 month suspension?

I did an about face, as there was no answer to that question and chalked
it up to experience and bad luck. 

As it turned out while looking for the Old Mine road which apparently according to some local 'sportsmen' and their AR/AK rifles was somewhere in these here mountains... I'm doing a slow 360 as one bearded chap was waving his hand in the air. This is the same guy that seeing me ride in took on a definite defensive posture.  Seems he somehow mistook me for a BLM Ranger coming to give them grief. I wasn't sure how my off road gear could have been mistaken for a uniform but as I explained to him that I was "CDN" and not "BLM", he had nothing to fear from me. 

Once he realized I was not here to inspect his license to shoot, and that CDN actually was the internationally accepted acronym for "C a n a d i a n" he got a bit friendlier.  I know that many Arizonan's especially I might ad, those whose trunks full of semi-automatic weapons, have a natural suspicion of anything that ends in the letters ...ment, 

We weren't exactly buddies at this point, he told me right off that he'd just as hell shoot one of them "Commie bastards" I, realizing that he had no clue where the Old Mine road was, decided to mount up and retreat, which I promptly did as the firing resumed!

State law enforcement was grudgingly tolerated but anything originating in Washington D.C. out east, was to be scorned and reviled!

A N Y W A Y... the shadows were getting long and with my early delays, when I finally came to what I believed to be the route I was looking for, I found a very thoroughly washed out rocky, streambed that  could have been my route up into and over the mountains. 

Or could not! 

Not like there is an overabundance of road signs out in these sticks!  I had maybe 2 hours of useable daylight and if I could pick up the Old Mine road, I would be riding on the east side of a north south mountain range in the shade and eventually, the dark. 

Once again, as so often happens in the back country, short days, rough terrain, physical pounding and cooler temperatures would make my ride home less than desirable. 

I retraced me route to I 17 and rode the highway back to New River, and even though I did in fact ride in through and open gate on a barely visible desert track there was a handful of 4 by 4's and several Dads shooting with their teenage boys!

They were from Scottsdale in the north of Phoenix and told me this was State land and required a permit but they didn't bother with such trivial details, after all it was "State Land" and they in effect were citizens of the state!

Fair enough...

I mounted up and vowed to come back and find that elusive route through the mountains, at some later date.

By the time I pulled the bike into the back yard, with the speedo/tripmeter showing 109 miles, I was dead tired.  I sacked out and slept for 10 hours!
THE following day I pulled up Google Earth again and comparing Satellite and Map views alternately, I realized where I had gone wrong.  They were simple mistakes if you totaled the distance, I'd missed the Old Stagecoach road by perhaps a quarter of a mile and the actual Table Mesa road west by maybe double that!  I was that close!

As Maxwell Smart would say...

"I missed it by this much!"

 

BRAP...... two... three... four... five...

AND Brappp, shifting into sixth gear!

I was accelerating on the I 17 on ramp at such an acute angle I felt I wouldn't actually "be" on I-17 until I passed Black Canyon City, heading towards Flagstaff.

The bike was running really well and I settled into a sixty mile per hour rhythm in the right lane.  Not because I was particularly slow after all I was traveling in excess of 90'/second! 

On the other hand, traffic was rocketing by dual purpose single cylinder standards. 

Table Mesa west

It's not unusual to see Americans and yes indeed, tourists as well, traveling at velocities that not that long ago would have been setting records on the salt flats of Bonneville, but the USA is such a large country well serviced by a most excellent road network of Interstate freeways and state highways and even secondary roads, that they are almost compelled to travel as velocities (thumbing noses at the early 80's National 55 speed limit) unheard of in many countries of the World with the exception of those that mark their auto (pronounced like O T T O the name of the German that designed the concept) routes with any word beginning with "auto".  For example, there are Auto Pista's, Auto routes, Auto Strada's and of course Auto bahns! 

Yes during my half year riding the Yamaha Diversion around the "continent" I had the opportunity to ride the loaded Divvie I affectionately named "Little Red" (as in the character of childhood story fame, and while on that I will add, what a scary story to tell your children...) on many such roads once actually topped out leaving Berlin for points south, at 190 kph! 

That folks, was in the middle of three lanes.  The outer lane was reserved for BIG Mercedes, Audi's, Porches, BMW's and Hayabusa's that whooshed by me like, well... like the Audi's and Mercedes and Porches and BMW's and Hayabusa's with the occasional Ford thrown in to represent the 'poor' folk in the valley... were doing right now!

Yes, these are the types of thoughts one has when 'droning along' at third world speeds well under the ton. 

It's all relevant of course, my 60 mph ride on the XT 350 would be scary in Calcutta for example!

Before I arrived at the off ramp to Table Mesa road I could see where I must have gone wrong 2 hours earlier.  Following the same dry riverbed I had been on initially there was the odd glimpse of the Old Stagecoach road.  When I had made that initial right hand turn and stopped to survey the route, the road must have continued directly "through" somebodies front yard.  One thing I have found riding around in the SW, often people in rural communities many take a wee bit of liberty and post what is obviously a public road, with NO TRESPASSING or KEEP OUT or YOU WILL BE SHOT ON SIGHT IF YOU DARE TO ENTER signs.  One of these must have 'fooled' me resulting in my unintended detour!

Pulling off I immediately had a Deja vu moment.  Okay... three moments. 



Late November a couple of years ago 7000'

It took me an instant to remember this place.  A couple of years ago after a very late November adventure to Prescott up a frozen and snow covered ride in the northern Bradshaws, I was coming home and found what was listed in a road and trail guide as a 'difficult' Jeep Trail following the New River Canyon.

 

New River Jeep trail

 On a whim I had taken the exit ramp found the entry gate (State Land) and spent the next several hours riding some incredibly remote and gorgeous trails on some extremely difficult terrain.  There were some mountains switchbacks that would have been extremely difficult for a Jeep to negotiate in a single turn of the wheel! 

This is where I came across the guy dressed in shorts with a Glock on his hip! 

That day I was riding mostly east by south east, not getting home till after dark given my 4 hours detour!

That was Table Mesa Road east.

Today, after leaving the Interstate I headed west with the intention of riding across the top of Lake Pleasant where Google map shows some gray lines if you zoom in about a hundred times.  I should point out that some lines on my laptop screen may NOT actually translate into anything even remotely ride-able and the route did have some short blanks spots but I did have an alternative option if I could not make it.  If there was an issue I could still have some "fun and exercise" well it would be mostly exercise, catching the Powerline road that again, showed up as a gray line of slightly larger dimension on my trusty Google earth map.

This could take me along the mountain range, nearly all the way back to the Carefree highway 74.

HAVE I even mentioned you have to be pretty fluid riding back here?  Well... you have to be pretty fluid riding back here.



It was Sunday, December 11th.  Now normally I don't ride anywhere on the weekend, too many crazies flying around the corners on their UTE's and ATV's thinking they are Parnelli Jones  990 miles into the Baja Mille!  One of my biggest concerns riding the back country (and I have several) is getting center-punched by a Side by side coming around a cliff! 

Sign says "NO SHOOTING" or something like that.

This Sunday as I quickly found out, I happened to be in a "shooting allowed" area.  There were high clearance Jeeps, Buggies, family vans and yes even sports cars, that had conveyed thousands of people into this particular area today to try out their marksmen (or markswomen) shooting skills.

Off Table Mesa road several parking areas gave directions and rules for discharging weapons.  Many of these target areas were designated but of course most people just pull off the road back dropped by an slight incline or dry wash and have at 'er! 

Now having been to Cabela's, and being the owner of a 1942 Lee Enfield .303 plus a CIL single shot .22 that was last fired by Holly at age 11 "somewhere" north of Fort Mac, so I understand that Arizonan's LOVE to shoot!  I could see rifles of every stripe, large caliber, small caliber... AR's, AK's, single shots or doubled magazines, pistols galore and discarded shell casings by the gazillion! 

Although the Arizona desert is huge (you could fit Europe in here easily enough!) it's a little too small for me when hordes of militia types and grannies wearing coke glasses, and children are firing live ammo come hither and yon!  To say it was a little creepy wouldn't be misstating the truth.

I rode the length of the Table Mesa west road coming to a stop at a rather substantial closed gate! 

Eagles must have arrived early, road closed and it was only the 11th!  I was pissed.

The sign read something to the effect that the road would be closed from December 15th to June 15th inclusive for Bald Eagle's doing it, you know, making little bald eagles! 

Now having lived around Calgary when a major portion of highway west of town is also closed for seasonal animal migrations, this did not come as a surprise, yes... a disappointment but not surprise.

'Cept... it was the 11th of December. 

And yes, the gate had a substantial padlock barring the way with wire fence on both sides, so unless I could get ahold of Chris Angel to levitate XT over the barrier, my trek across the top of the reservoir wasn't going to happen! 

Well pretty much says it all!

...and this after I had decided that I would be making future trips in the spring!

Anyway, the sun was hot by my standards, there was no amount of wishful thinking going to do it so I had no alternative but to put PLAN B into effect.






Somewhere in the last half hour I had passed by the Old Mine road.  I would find it and take it home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So what else is new... department.

THERE is something to be said for being lost and confused in the desert!

Here I am again, wearing my 'lost and confused in the desert' look.

Granted I have not traveled the Sahara, the Gobi or the Atacama, however I have ridden thousands of kilometers in the American Southwest, the Baja peninsula and even the Okanagan valley as far north as Kamloops which, laugh if you wish, is part of the Great Western desert system, or as Ronnie likes to put it... The Banana Belt!

The major difference between Baja and Arizona deserts, is of course being lost in Baja on some track that often leads to an abandoned rancho, you are never far from the sea! Even if you don't have a compass, heading east or west (sun rises in the east and sets in the west) will eventually drown you.  Stop prior to that!

There is no ocean in Arizona, certainly not these days, but down there eventually you'll hit a road with an I number, in any direction of your compass.  As I have said to interested parties in my Baja days, GPS will basically tell you that yes... you are in the middle of nowhere and yes... you could very well die out here.

This day, I didn't have anything to worry about.  True I had found the Old Stagecoach Road and also true I'd seemingly very quickly lost it!  There was no point in my staying put where I was... the stage wasn't running today or at all!

I knew something was amiss when I climbed up that hill and even though I could see in the distance a line of traffic on I-17 heading to points north, which included Prescott, Flagstaff, Lee's ferry and eventually Utah... I was now headed south when moments ago I was pointed north!

I actually backtracked a bit and came across a man walking his dog. 

Now before you get the wrong idea, this is not code for someone taking a pee at the base of a cactus in the back country, in fact it was a man walking his scruffy and friendly off leash pooch!  I don't know who was more surprised, him or I, after all there is rarely anyone around where I ride, but suffice to say that he was a local and had some answers to my questions.

As it turned out, they were the wrong answers and I wasted 90 minutes  riding trails that came to NO motorized vehicle signs, Entry by permit only fences, residential dead ends neighbor hoods (no offence guys you have a lovely home and front yard I just rode into!) or otherwise wild goose chases.  He did mention that "on my bike I could get there from here, no problem."  Ultimately his best advice was to ride to the top of the hill, (finger pointing here) and from there I could see the trail that would take me to Table Mesa road East about 10 miles distant.

 


Yup once there turn left and keep going...

I thanked him... started the beast and rode up  a steep washed out gulley to the top of the hill.  The view was splendid I will add, I had a 360 degree hilltop from where I could see route 71 heading off into the haze, the aforementioned Interstate and about a gazillion trails!  Parking was a bit of a problem as the wind at this point was very brisk threatening to blow my bike over.  On the Atlantic we would call them "Gale force"  ( I used to have a temperamental girlfriend in my early life named Gail and believe you me, it's aptly named!)

The trail I came up on, the one he had recommended, quickly dropped over the edge so steep I was afraid to get any closer than 6' and even then all I could see was loose rocks, over top of loose rocks.  In the distance about 500 feet away I saw were it came up for air and traversed the next slightly lower hill.  Trouble was, it and several other branches seemed to be going in the wrong direction.  I checked my compass although with the Interstate in plain sight I knew where North was, and these trails seemed to be heading east and south! 

That thin line in the far distance is I 17... heading North while I seem to be heading away from it.

Now, when I am riding country I do not know, I am always concerned with riding into a place that I may not be able to get out of.  This can happen!

Even more puzzled than before, I decided that I would follow the access road I came in on which I was certain was the Old Stage Coach road and keep following it even though it seemingly went south.  Imagine my surprise when just a half mile farther on I came to some houses and a road sign that proclaimed I was no on North Coyote Pass! 

GALE FORCE WIND.

I did a 180 went back up the hill and had another look.  Yup... I was lost!

Okay, friendly ? person had indeed suggested I could keep on the road and ride down to the village to a mail box pull out and turn left there, following the dry riverbed. 

I did.

Of course what he failed to mention was the fence crossing the dry riverbed.  Not having wire cutters or a left over Bangalore torpedo on hand, I continued on the North Coyote Pass road and intersected the New River road.  I had come up the New River road about an hour ago from Phx and I knew I was only a mile or so from the Interstate which I could just take for 10 miles, and get off at Table Mesa.  You know I deplore riding Interstates.  My bike is light, the speed limits are generally 75 mph where traffic is considerable faster whilst I am significantly slower.  I can do an uncomfortable 60 mph for 15 or 20 or even 30 miles if need be and I can even manage 65 for short stints... but it kinda hurts and goes against my principle of taking the road less traveled! 

Suffice to say I'd rather not.  However NR road does continue east so I turn left and ride until I find a north south road and take that, which I did.  I found some very nice homes back there, gargantuan RV's parked in huge oversized driveways and lots of NO Trespassing Private Property signs.

Eventually on one of these I come across what I believe to be the same riverbed I'd crossed earlier.  The paved road turns right but the riverbed is to my left. 

WHEN in doubt, go west!

I pick up the riverbed and ride through it several times only to come up to a fence erected by the State declaring that I am on public land but need a permit to travel here, available in Tucson or some such place far from where I not sit overheating!  Backtracking, I come back to the pavement and follow it east.  Surely the fence will have an open gate and I can continue northward.



The fence is to my left only a hundred feet away and on the other side of that is wide open desert country, I am feeling confident.  I'm riding comfortable at 40 mph until the road suddenly veers off to the right.  having little choice I follow it once again pointed south, and shortly after it takes a left turn, you guessed it... into someone's front yard!

I said something like "Heck, heck, heck" under my breath and now have no option but to backtrack the 8 miles to the Interstate, which I grudgingly pick up and head north at 60 mph among the heavy Sunday traffic.  Somehow or other as often happens, I've been had.

 

 

 

 

 

Getting old(er)

Yesterday I turned 62.

Wasn't such a big deal, I saw it coming, it didn't sneak up on me. 

I feel fine, except for the ache in my left knee which isn't usually as bad as the left shoulder that was injured in my 2002 rear ender.  My right knee gets nearly as stiff, but my right shoulder is pretty good 50% of the time.

Then there is the constant hurt in my lower back, to say nothing of the 10 damaged ligaments in my thoracic spine (that's the part between me bum and me head)  also a result of the Mazda running up my tail pipe in '02.  My left hand gets cramped up but not quite as often as my right, which of course works the throttle.  At least riding my scooters I don't have to use the clutch often, they're automatic (occasionally the brakes) but it's kind of slow going if I can't twist the throttle and there are days I can feel that.  I still get the headaches whenever the barometer rises or falls any significant amount.  Dr Molyneaux's staff used to hold a lottery on when the ice would give way in the strait.  Usually within 48 hours of my annual visit to deal with my aching head. I can probably predict a storm coming more accurately than the television weatherman!



I took this photo about 15 minutes prior to getting hit on HW 63

I get more cramps nowadays in my legs, sometimes bad enough that I feel like I'm going to fall over, but even they subside. 

Okay... so I'm not perfect, who is right?

I was thinking this morning of that near head on collision riding my then new 1972 Suzuki T 350 Rebel back to Edmonchuk, on a very dusty May long weekend on highway 63, which in those days was nearly all gravel.  Had I not been hugging the right tire track as was my custom in them days, I would of had a very short life.  I was barely 17 at the time.  Pretty near didn't make it to 18! 

The whole point of life is to use it, right!  Racing Motocross was dangerous, riding in the woods was dangerous, there was that time Dean and I, after pretty much an all day grind riding our TY 175's, I got stuck crossing a swift flowing Hangingstone  within sight of my digs.

The swollen river had washed over my engine and tank, killing it instantly. It was all I could to in thigh deep (read cold) water to keep myself and more importantly, my bike from being slept downstream to the Athabasca!

Jasper AB back in 1978 Then new RD 400E

Riding in Baja was dangerous...

Just Wingin' it!

Never mind, riding in traffic pretty much anywhere is dangerous! 


Getting married was dangerous!  Twice, even more so!!




Crossing the Continental Divide so many times I can't remember!

So I turned 62 yesterday. 

I used to think my father was old when he was early 40's.  I wasn't born until his release from a hard labor camp where he spent 6 years working the coal mines after defecting to France in '47 and then (perhaps foolishly) returning in '48.  I survived our ordeal of  leaving the country in '56 while the Rooskies were in there shooting the hell outa the place!  Course my survival had nothing to do with me, other than being small enough to fit into a potato sack that Pops carried to Austria, and eventually England and Canada.  Well, course I mean I wasn't in the sack except for the Hungarian portion...






There are benefits of being a 'senior' like you can buy meals for less. 

Of course they also give you less. Last night's dinner was just large enough to qualify as an appetizer.  When Brenda asked what I wanted to do after sitting back in the frosty Dodge, I said "let's go to Tim's" and there I had a large coffee and a Boston Cream doughnut.  Then I ate a Maple covered doughnut as dessert.  She thought it may have been a bit too much sugar but I've ridden my Divvie into the heart of Athens during rush hour and survived, what could two very sweet doughnuts do to me...



BEEMER to the west coast 1974

This is the time of year I plan my next 12 months.  I know I alluded to that a couple of days ago but I will repeat for my own benefit (my memory is not great these days) that I have some hefty plans this coming 12 months.  I've been covering long distances by bike since my early riding days, there was Lake Wabamun on the Super 90 at 62 mph flat out, followed by such epics as the Rockies with Merv back in my senior year of high school in Fort Mac.  Since then they have gotten longer.  A friend of mine pointed out to me several years ago that I've likely traveled a million kilometers on two wheels.  I don't think it's that much, a million is a lot of zero's but half that, yeah... could very well be. 


There is no danger of my filling in the back half of that million anytime soon but if I even do 75% of what's on my Goals sheet for 2017, I will have to do a lot of Kegals to strengthen my butt muscles!  Did I mention they hurt too?

So my birthday past quietly, very few people even remembered but the most important ones did.  I scored a nice dinner, a welcome card or two, best wishes from my girls and closest family and friends, even my Sister who at this moment is still asleep at Naranjo down in Baja CA, sent me an email!  She rarely remembers so I am still in shock!

I never forget my BD as it was and still is the day my Father was born.

Been there done that, riding the Diversion 600

 

Hah... Hah...

The Old Stagecoach road in New River AZ

I'M not laughing.  That's the stage coach driver urging on his team! 'Giddy up'

I'm imagining myself a hundred fifty years ago, when this part of the USA was virgin territory for white folk.  It's hard to believe that settlers came from as far away as Virginia or Pennsylvania or Ohio and made their stake in the desert.  Boy, you'd have to be pretty dang hardy to survive the climate which can be a hundred twenty five degrees under a sun so hot it would bake a rattlesnake in minutes, and nights below zero temperatures! 

In those days there were still marauding Apache, the hostile climate and always lack of water.  Where Roosevelt Lake now stands, there was barely a seasonal trickle.

Another beautiful Arizona day!

 SMALL settlements sprang up around water holes, gold and silver deposits, maybe  the odd ranch or farm, and men and women and their children using guns and ammunition, ambition, hopes and dreams and perhaps a whole lotta intestinal fortitude (guts) tried to eke out a living or strike it rich. 

Tales such as the Lost Dutchman mine worth a fortune abound in the South West.

Just off the freeway and already I'm lost although I don't know it just yet.

TO get from the east to the west, you could sign up for a slow moving wagon train that gave some measure of security against hostile Indians, bandits and robbers and of course the terrain.  Many a Trail headed to the promised lands of California or Oregon but before they got there, you had to cross impassible passes, deal with the unpredictable weather and often starvation or thirst. 

If anti social as many were or simply impatient, some would strike out alone or in small groups, hungry for that claim of land or riches.

Fine tool the 27 horsepower XT 350

THERE was the Old Oregon Trail, the Santa Fe Trail, the Mormon Trail, the California Trail,  the Spanish Trail and others.  Many, like the Donner-Reed party of 1846, ended in disaster or worse.

Just ridden up a hill 50 feet higher than the one in the photo, washed out and boulder strewn.

EVENTUALLY it was inevitable that communities would spring up and if only for a while, settlers settled either from promise or exhaustion!  In a very pleasant valley just an hour's drive/ride on I-17 north of where I was now taking a break at New River, sat the lovely little city of Prescott AZ.  You could read of several adventures I have had in and around the area, traveling the Old Senator highway or the New River Trail. 

About the only way to get around in these parts during the late 1800's and much of the early 1900's was by stage coach.  Made of wood with tall wooden wheels, baggage stowage and a team of hardy horses, the passengers and driver typically with his partner riding "shotgun" carried passengers along trails from on community to another. 

Beautiful day but about a 50 mph breeze up top the highest mountain within 5 miles!

THE route from Prescott, a distance of roughly 100 miles (160 km) with stops at Mayer, Cordes Junction and New River and onto Phoenix would need a good week to do by stage.  Even at legal speed limits on the freeway today, a Hayabusa would cover the distance in not much more than an hour! 

It's hard to believe that we have come from a horse drawn stagecoach to supersonic jet travel in barely more than a century.

ON one of my last rides this trip, I was looking to hook up with the remnants of the Old Stagecoach road in New River, and ride that north to Table Mesa road which goes in both east and west directions.  Once there I hoped to find my way either to the northern reaches of Lake Pleasant and from there maybe cross directly west to the Cow Creek road and ultimately back onto the very familiar Castle Hot Springs road from where I could ride home in my sleep (well nearly)

Alternately if I couldn't find that cross country trail I could maybe find my way south on the Old Mine road that branched off Table Mesa.

Doesn't look steep, but it is!

NOW I will mention that many of these "roads" are nothing more than Jeep trails or perhaps right of ways like the Power Line road which I'm guessing gives access to and follows one of the many high tension systems that criss cross the desert.  Of course as usual, I had my gear, food and water, and a full tank for what promised to be an exciting day trip!