Damn hard ride from Austin.
I walked out of my Motel 6 and it was suddenly HOT. Humid Hot. I'd been in this place for two nights, trying to get my shtuff together and get some rest.
Some guy from the bike shop up on Rt. 35 had suggested I make it past 6th Street in the capitol district... as that was where the Action was. After installing anew air filter and new Arai faceshield, I motored up the "freeway" to the capitol district and headed in. The bike had been experiencing some popping and spitting off idle, which I recognized as dirt in the (a) carburetor pilot jet(s). I planned to take them all apoart and clean them out before leaving Austin.
The downtown 6th Street had about twenty bars.. most of them dark, cavernous rooms with square, Texican facades; ancient bricks and moldy rafters poking through un-apologetically. Obviously well used, these places had seen um-told number of bands over the years.. and Austin(ians?) are very proud that their city is supposedly THE Live Music Capitol of the World. Okay, well... maybe.
I roamed through half a dozen joints.. having a Lone Star beer here and a pulled-pork BBQ sandwich there. I saw three or four acts, as it was late Happy Hour / Early Evening... and the air was just beginning to humm as I left to go back to my hotel. Don;t want to take too many chances drinking in these lower states.
So in morning left my Motel... the scariest one yet for worrying about my motorcycle. Everyone I spoke to recommended that I keep close tabs on my Stuff.. as Austin (and southern Texas) are real hotbeds of gang-land cultures.
I opted to pour in half a bottle of Tecktron fuel-system cleaner, and see what happened prior to doing a complete 4-carb overhaul. Good move; it eventually cleaned things out.
Anyway, I headed out on I-35 for Louisiana and went the wrong way for half an hour. Once turned around, I kept running in and out of lines of heavy showers... so I would be wearing my full plastic suit for a while in the very hot sun... finally get tired of that and stop to pack it away, only to pull it back out and go through the donning process onbce again as rain started falling. Over and over. Riding in the rain on a motorcycle is a Requirement on a long trip, and if you have good rain gear it makes it a lot less miserable... but when you are in and out of showers all day it wears you out.
Small Texas towns .... nothing special to report...
[TO BE CONTINUED WITH PHOTOS.... I'm too bushed foir anymore tonight...]
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
AUSTIN TEXAS
Near the downtown of Austin, (the capitol of Big 'Ol Texas, for you 8th-Grade flunkouts). Staying at a Motel 6... my apparent Motel D' Choice on this little excursion.
Backing it up....
I left Sierra Blanca mid morning.. uh.. yesterday. Yup. Got onto ornery Interstate Route 10, heading across the bottom of the state... and turned on the gas. Lots of miles to cover in Te.xas... as far as I'm concerned, West Texas has nothing... just barren, straight, and endless.
No one gives a rat's ass how fast you go; drive Indy 500 speeds for all they seem to care. I saw one, count 'em.. one police vehicle going the other way during the entire drive over to Austin, 550 miles.
Not a whole lot to report about that. The ride was numbing and utterly tedious, with little except tumble-weed- desert to look at. Towns were few and far between. It's a chore to keep your mind from daydreaming into complete sleep.
I made the mistake of forgetting to look at my fuel guage for too long... At 95 mph, my gas mileage is halved...and when I noticed that I was already down into the Red Zone on my dial. With 28 miles to go... bucking a headwind... uphill. I layed down on the tank road-racer style and dropped my speed down to 65 mph to get the best fuel economy. People roared past me doing 100 in giant manly pick-up trucks (they all seem to have 'em here), looking at this nut with a New York license plate, doing only 60, laid-out like he's screaming along at Bonneville. What the....
Thank God Fort Stockton appeared on the horizon at the very last minute.. talk about running on fumes...the needle on my guage was completely outside of the red zone... on the bad side.
A hundred mile later I rolled into a town called Ozona.. biggest 'burb in the region, and not saying much. Strange little place... real back-woods, southwest Texas town. Little agricultural village, in the middle of Great Nowhere; west texas buildings with the square facades and Old West, castled roof-lines. But they had a modern tidy high school with a team called the Wildcats... and a little, dry, town square where I pulled into to take a photo of Davey Crockett,.. who apparently has no connection with Ozone whatsoever except for the fact that they both have something to do with Texas. Hey, everyone needs a hero. While I was trying to take a snapshot of old Crockett, my wispy strands of long hair floating around my face, I turned and saw that an ominous, white, Dodge Charger with a big "Texas Ranger" pointed star painted on the door had just pulled into a strategic position very nearby, too nearby, and seemed to be watching me carefully. Now, this being a town so remote from yer modern Ikea Civilization, the very idea that some Yankee with a queer ponytail could possibly be riding a motorcycle through there might be Sufficient Cause, and as I just didn't need anymore Texas K-9 experiences, thank you. I gently replaced the helmet over my Coiffure and motored along back to the highway as quietly as possible. Heh Heh.
Back to the Bottomless Run... El Paso to Austin, which is something like 550 miles. That's a long day, and I don't care what you're riding. At 90 mph steady, the vibrations were doing a number on my hands and Ball Package, which, if you've ever spent time on a sportbike, you might understand. I took numerous stops, re-arranging a carefully-folded bandana in my shorts, but every halt simply increased the duration of the trip. Really... just a stupefyingly long ride.
At one little pull-off I walked over to a bush in the desert to takle a Wizz, and there were lots of desert grasshoppers and ants milling about. As I was shaking out, I noticed two of what must have been dung beetles, rolling little balls of.. well, shit. Someone trucker must have been there before me... Anyway, I ran back to get my camera, because it's not just everyday you see big black insects toiling over balls of feces. When I was taking a short video I saw a little black spider jump out of a hole and launch at one of the beetles... little black spider.. with a red hourglass on it. Black Widow. Never saw one before. Before I could get a decent photo, it zipped back into it's little lair, but I do have a little video for later.
Onwards.
Endless... simply endless.
Yes, I said that already, but, well, fuck you. You weren't there. I have the right to repeat myself. Go start your own goddamm blog.
heh heh...
Eventually the hills became longer and taller and the vegetation more green. Clouds appeared on the horizon, something I really hadn;t seen since I left the Coastal range in California. Dusk drew near, and although the sky was textured and beautiful, I was running into lines of drizzle... that became more frequent as I approached Rte 290 over to Austin. 290 is a much more interesting road, runs along through the Texas "Hill Country", home of LBJ, (you see signs quite often). More little towns popped up between the rolling, now-tree-filled landscape. Ctalle Country.. where the original Cowboys would start their drives up to Kansas and Dodge City.
Finally, after scurrying under various looming storm clouds, I headed right into a line of showers that kept up for the two further hours into Austin. Tough slogging, as the road was wtisty and poorly paved, and trying to peer through a plastic faceshield covered with water droplets after dark is draining.
Before Austin, still in the hills, I came across a dramatic scene where a small car had run into a ditch somehow and a cop was shoving some kid forward, up and out of it, locked tightly in handcuffs. The cruiser still had it's siren blaring away. The cop didn't look happy at all, and neither did the kid. I passed by slowly.
Down into Austin finally. Exhausted, I rode down through monsterous highway overpasses within the nightime city limits, looking for Motel 6 signs... my signal that I'd reached Budget Drydock. Tough to find... but when I finally did, the girl behind the bank-glass-thick window just about Read me my Rights, if I wanted to stay there. Obviously a high crime area.. which a motorcycle shop worker, very articulate and educated, attested adamantly to today... "These Mexican 'bangers will take that bike of yours and hoist it by board onto a pickup truck before you can even take your hands out of your pockets".
Crashed out happily, bike locked up as best as possible outside my window and my soggy rain-gear dripping off hangars across the room.
--------
Today I got up and had an expensive breakfast at a divey place that had no air-conditioning, and I realized that I'm now out oif the Desert and into the South. The humid South. I began sweating immediately, and all day tropical showers have been pelting the area. I went out and found a large bike shop to get maintenance parts (air filter again...chain-cleaning materials...new faceshield for my helmet... $145 ouch). The guys there were super friendly, and this does seem to be the Norm in Texas.. people ultra kindly. Unless they want to steal from you. Watch them. They're not happy. Anyway, I was told where I should go as a tourist, and I managed to get to at least one place: Downtown Capitol district, 6th Street. Twenty bars and plenty of live music... and Austin prides itself on being the "Live Music Capitol of the World". Personally, I think that's a bold claim... but the Texans are happy to boast about almost anything Texas-related, so...
I wiggled my bike into a parking spot on 6th Street, and of course this is one of the great benefits of touring on a light motorcycle: manoervability and parking. I wandered up and down the street... the architecture is a blend of 1890 square-topped facade and modern urban pragmatism... most of the places I went into were cavernous and very old... almost all had a stage of some sorts. Raw, ancient rafters and crumbling, hundred-year-old bricks were the norm. I was there just at the end of Happy Hour, oin a Tuesday, (is it? How nice to lose track)... and as such I was between shifts of sorts. Nonetheless I had a few Lone Star beers and watched a handful of bands gettinmg started. One thing I could clearly see: there are plenty of guitar players in the South and boy, you'd better have your chops together if you expect to play Austin. I was sorry to end it early, but I simply don't want to take too many chances with the Public Safety (cops) on this part of the Tour. I packed it in around nine PM and rolled back to my homey Motel 6. Everything is scattered around this room... totally un-packed... but I did LAUNDRY... a great luxury, as generally you rinse out your socks and underwear for the next day... every few days wash out the one pair of black riding jeans... usually still wet in the morning when you squeak them on, cold and soggy.
Tomorrow back up to the bike shop on Rte 35, where I will disassemble all four carburetors in their parking lot asnd clean out as clogged pilot jet that has started causing some hiccups. Not taht I need to do it at a bike shop... but it's not far away, and God Forbid I snap something off like I did in Urbana, at least I won't need a tow-truck.
Backing it up....
 |
| ANTOHER FINE HINDU-AMERICAN INN IN SIERRA BLANCA, TEXAS, $45 YANKEE GREENBACKS |
I left Sierra Blanca mid morning.. uh.. yesterday. Yup. Got onto ornery Interstate Route 10, heading across the bottom of the state... and turned on the gas. Lots of miles to cover in Te.xas... as far as I'm concerned, West Texas has nothing... just barren, straight, and endless.
 |
| MOUNTAINS ARE IN MEXICO |
Thank God Fort Stockton appeared on the horizon at the very last minute.. talk about running on fumes...the needle on my guage was completely outside of the red zone... on the bad side.
A hundred mile later I rolled into a town called Ozona.. biggest 'burb in the region, and not saying much. Strange little place... real back-woods, southwest Texas town. Little agricultural village, in the middle of Great Nowhere; west texas buildings with the square facades and Old West, castled roof-lines. But they had a modern tidy high school with a team called the Wildcats... and a little, dry, town square where I pulled into to take a photo of Davey Crockett,.. who apparently has no connection with Ozone whatsoever except for the fact that they both have something to do with Texas. Hey, everyone needs a hero. While I was trying to take a snapshot of old Crockett, my wispy strands of long hair floating around my face, I turned and saw that an ominous, white, Dodge Charger with a big "Texas Ranger" pointed star painted on the door had just pulled into a strategic position very nearby, too nearby, and seemed to be watching me carefully. Now, this being a town so remote from yer modern Ikea Civilization, the very idea that some Yankee with a queer ponytail could possibly be riding a motorcycle through there might be Sufficient Cause, and as I just didn't need anymore Texas K-9 experiences, thank you. I gently replaced the helmet over my Coiffure and motored along back to the highway as quietly as possible. Heh Heh.
 |
| "BE SURE YOU ARE RIGHT, THEN GO AHEAD" |
Back to the Bottomless Run... El Paso to Austin, which is something like 550 miles. That's a long day, and I don't care what you're riding. At 90 mph steady, the vibrations were doing a number on my hands and Ball Package, which, if you've ever spent time on a sportbike, you might understand. I took numerous stops, re-arranging a carefully-folded bandana in my shorts, but every halt simply increased the duration of the trip. Really... just a stupefyingly long ride.
 |
| A BAD CHOICE |
Onwards.
Endless... simply endless.
Yes, I said that already, but, well, fuck you. You weren't there. I have the right to repeat myself. Go start your own goddamm blog.
heh heh...
 |
| FREDERICKSBURG, TX |
Finally, after scurrying under various looming storm clouds, I headed right into a line of showers that kept up for the two further hours into Austin. Tough slogging, as the road was wtisty and poorly paved, and trying to peer through a plastic faceshield covered with water droplets after dark is draining.
Before Austin, still in the hills, I came across a dramatic scene where a small car had run into a ditch somehow and a cop was shoving some kid forward, up and out of it, locked tightly in handcuffs. The cruiser still had it's siren blaring away. The cop didn't look happy at all, and neither did the kid. I passed by slowly.
Down into Austin finally. Exhausted, I rode down through monsterous highway overpasses within the nightime city limits, looking for Motel 6 signs... my signal that I'd reached Budget Drydock. Tough to find... but when I finally did, the girl behind the bank-glass-thick window just about Read me my Rights, if I wanted to stay there. Obviously a high crime area.. which a motorcycle shop worker, very articulate and educated, attested adamantly to today... "These Mexican 'bangers will take that bike of yours and hoist it by board onto a pickup truck before you can even take your hands out of your pockets".
Crashed out happily, bike locked up as best as possible outside my window and my soggy rain-gear dripping off hangars across the room.
--------
Today I got up and had an expensive breakfast at a divey place that had no air-conditioning, and I realized that I'm now out oif the Desert and into the South. The humid South. I began sweating immediately, and all day tropical showers have been pelting the area. I went out and found a large bike shop to get maintenance parts (air filter again...chain-cleaning materials...new faceshield for my helmet... $145 ouch). The guys there were super friendly, and this does seem to be the Norm in Texas.. people ultra kindly. Unless they want to steal from you. Watch them. They're not happy. Anyway, I was told where I should go as a tourist, and I managed to get to at least one place: Downtown Capitol district, 6th Street. Twenty bars and plenty of live music... and Austin prides itself on being the "Live Music Capitol of the World". Personally, I think that's a bold claim... but the Texans are happy to boast about almost anything Texas-related, so...
I wiggled my bike into a parking spot on 6th Street, and of course this is one of the great benefits of touring on a light motorcycle: manoervability and parking. I wandered up and down the street... the architecture is a blend of 1890 square-topped facade and modern urban pragmatism... most of the places I went into were cavernous and very old... almost all had a stage of some sorts. Raw, ancient rafters and crumbling, hundred-year-old bricks were the norm. I was there just at the end of Happy Hour, oin a Tuesday, (is it? How nice to lose track)... and as such I was between shifts of sorts. Nonetheless I had a few Lone Star beers and watched a handful of bands gettinmg started. One thing I could clearly see: there are plenty of guitar players in the South and boy, you'd better have your chops together if you expect to play Austin. I was sorry to end it early, but I simply don't want to take too many chances with the Public Safety (cops) on this part of the Tour. I packed it in around nine PM and rolled back to my homey Motel 6. Everything is scattered around this room... totally un-packed... but I did LAUNDRY... a great luxury, as generally you rinse out your socks and underwear for the next day... every few days wash out the one pair of black riding jeans... usually still wet in the morning when you squeak them on, cold and soggy.
Tomorrow back up to the bike shop on Rte 35, where I will disassemble all four carburetors in their parking lot asnd clean out as clogged pilot jet that has started causing some hiccups. Not taht I need to do it at a bike shop... but it's not far away, and God Forbid I snap something off like I did in Urbana, at least I won't need a tow-truck.
Monday, September 20, 2010
SIERRA BLANCA, TEXAS
AH, shit... here we go again.
Who was it said, "I hate writing but love to have written"?
me too. I'm so bushed each night when trying to cover everything. Fortunately I have a cold six pack of Bid bottles here.
Right.
I rolled into the Navajo Nation three days ago in the late afternoon. The distance between discernible points out West can be daunting; you ride and ride and ride and it seems like your not getting anywhere. Lots of pretty scenery with NOTHING regarding Human Habitation to break it up. Raw Wildernesss... a full snoot-full.
Anyway I pulled into a little town called Kayenta in the northern center of the Navajo Reservation, the largest in the United States... home to something like 400,000 Navajo people in a huge area the size of Connecticut. I was excited to be there, partly because of an odd, mid-life desire to understand Native culture better... and secondly because Monument Valley was just up the road... a place I had considered running past ever since I left New York.
Great. Deep in Indian Territory... and this weren't no cheezey "casino reservation" up in the Catskills with a bunch of watered-down toothless freaks that look more like drunken Irishmen than Native Americans. No, the Navajo Reservation is the Real Deal; a major seat of Indian culture in America.
Problem was that all the hotels (3) in town were FULL, and I got "lucky" in finding a room ten miles outside of Kayenta in a real dump called "the Anasazi Inn", a collection of thin-walled rooms in what were essentially corrugated shacks. I wouldn't have minded this so much except that they GOUGED me NINETY-FIVE BUCKS for this leaky, hafl-broken room. Ah well... Grin & Bear it; I supposed that I had to pay back some ancesteral karma for all the rip-offs and tears the Europeans put the Navajo through. Went back into Kayenta and had steak fajitas at a nice little cafe called "Amigos" .. good taste but the beans .. well... let;s just use the word explosive.
Next morning I got up and out early, as I was told Monument Valley is best seen early morning. I rode out of Kayenta about 25 miles to the Welcome Center, (entrance fee a reasonable $5). The vista from the parking area was already spectacular... but I went over to a little outdoor booth manned by Navajo people, offering tours of the Valley. You couldn't drive it by yourself; there was no pavement and it's generally off-limits to non-Navajos.
I ended up taking a chance and spending a significant $75 for the "complete" 2-1/2 hour tour. A few European tourists (Holland, England, Austria) stood around the designated "Jeep"; an old 1967 Ford pick-up truck with the bed modified into sort of a Safari tour bus. There was a slight discussion about who would be our guide, and eventually a wiry young guy with very long hair, a natty black felt hat with Rock & Roll chrome studs, and pink colored shades jumped forward and we lumbered off into the Valley.
Wow.
Double Wow.
From the beginning I was blown away by the sheer scale and texture of the geology there. Any photos you'll ever see of Monument Valley simply can't convey the immensity... and profoundly magical feeling of the place. Each time the old Ford clanked around a sandy corner of a mesa everyone in the back would gasp in unison. Simply spectacular, and I realized quickly that the 75 Clams was well spent. I've dreamed of Monument Valley for years... and sudenly there it was, in full, red-cliff, monolithic spendor.
I also quickly realized that our guide, Travis, was an exceptionally cool rock & roller, and as such I asked if I could ride shotgun up front with him; he never hesitated: "Sure Bro!" he said, in a sort of Southern Californian accent, "Welcome aboard!"
One of the best moves I've made on this entire trip. Not only was Travis fully in tune with the magic of the Valley, (he took us to a number of places generally off-limits to tourists), it turned out he was a rock drummer who's played iun four bands, incluyding one that toured out East briefly, (Native Rain). We had a blast in the front of the truck... he was hysterically funny and a very, very sharp cat. Full-bloode Navajo, he was pleased to answer a lot of my burning questions regarding life in the Nation, as well as about the Spiritual nature of the Valley, ("VERY").
Here are a couple of photos... I have far too many; show you them later if you want.
Travis took us to a special place that was like a natural ampitheater in the rocks. Almost shperical, the acoustics were astonishing. We sat up on a ledge and Travis, (who'd brought a small traditional drum), waited until we had absorbed the utter silence of the place, then sang a sort of blessing in Navajo, while keeping a steady beat on the skin drum. It was simply chilling and beautiful... really the moment I'd been hoping to experience. Haunting.. especially considering something like 10,000 years that the Navajo and their predecessors, the Anasazi, had dwelt there. Travis showed us ancient Anasazi hand-marked pertoglyphs on roack walls. It was the coolest afternoon.... something I'll never forget.
On the way back Travis and I were yakking up a storm, mostly music talk, which we both agreed is the Universal Language. Along the way the old truck wouldn't start, and I jumped out with him and we ducked under the hood while the Europeans sat in the back confused. We looked at the tangle of wires around the battery box and both of us looked at each other and giggled; he was almost ready to accept that we were stuck out there (they'd given him one of the older machines). Finally we got it started and roared off across the sands, hooting ahd hollering.
Travis mentioned that there would be a Blues Festival of sorts in Kayenta that evening, and his band would be one of the groups. Because we had been talking closely for a couple of hours, I decided to take the opportunity to meet some local people.. and so went back and paid another hundred bucks for a hotel room.
A Navajo Blues Festival....
Around dusk I took my motorcycle over to the community center where the action would take place, and Travis' band was already playing. The outdoor venue had a small stage, decent sound system, and capable lighting set up. During the night I estimate there were a few hundred people in attendance; teenagers, parents with their little kids.. (super cute, and apparently very happy and well-loved). After Travis came off I helped with his drum kit and he later introduced me to a number of people who were involved in music: his brother Ryan.. tour manager Jo (Ann)... some of his band mates.. etc. It was a really special evening form me, and I found everyone to be very modern thinking and friendly to me...with the exception of on slightly drunk guy with his girlfriend who were hanging around by my bike. He wasn;t, like, threateneing...but he made a point of wwarning me that there were people around who "might try to take your stuff"... or create problems for me somehow. I didn't know what to make of him... everyone else I met had been so hospitable.. so I just chalked him up as a guy soured on outside tourists. Nobody gave me anything except shy smiles and hospitality. I feel very priveledged to have some of these good folk as friends now... we have all contact info.
At one point during the evening an adorable little girl, about two years old, came up to me and stared at me innocently. She then pointed meaningfully into the distance... towards the south. I pointed with her. She came back and did this same thing a couple of times... and finally I realized she was an angel who was directing the next leg of my trip. Southbound indeed
Moving along.
The next day I rode out past something callled Mexican Hat, an odd geological formation. I stopped at a roadside shack to buy some very reasonably-priced silver pieces for my nieces, adn had a warm chat with a young married Navajo couple. Very modern and easy going. I really got such a charge out of those folks I met there.
Out through the Reservation... and as I said, the Navajo Nation is vast. The landscape is wildly varied, but with these extremes of geological enormity and earth-hued vastness. Soon I was running through small, cottonwood tree'd villages with a gas station or general store. I came across some sort of a local festival... with a few small carnival rides and a whole lot of horse trailers... some sort of rodeo festival. I took a chance and motored on in... but quickly realized that this was a Navajo event, no tourists in sight... and although I'm quite sure no one would have minded, I felt like a New York guy on a Japanese motorcycle just didn't belong there. I kept rolling.
Two stations in a row had no power, adn I was running low on fuel. At the second place I met a couple of Harley riders, out touring for a few weeks, now headed home to Texas. We ended up pal-ing around for a couple of days; going to Four Corners, a place where four states come together in one spot, (the only place in the US)..
then travelled until dark... and due to mechanical reasons with "Bear's" bike (air cleaer dirty), we stayed over in a dumpy little town on the old Rte 66 named Grants. It had an Autozone shop where the kids working it were extremely helpful and generous... we fixed trhe air filter and Bear and GoJo decided to stay over. I'd aleready decided to stay in townb that night, so I was happy they got a room as well. Two guys in their Sixties (and in good stamina condition to make this trip), they are both serious "bikers", Bear used to be a full 1%'er.. I believe he said he was a member of ..... ah, well, it doesn;'t matter. A major, national bike club.
Anyway, we went out and found a deserted, funky bar and played pool and drank off the day's aches. Lots of fun, but we had to be careful on the way backl to the hotel, as the cops were on the move. The town was half a ghost-town; just one mine and a prison as economic supports, the place was decrepitating quickly, like most of historic Rte 66. Dingy, coroded, and dark. The hotel, although rather full, was a REAL dump, smelly and damp, with half the electric not working. Apparently the owner had died and his daughter was trying, somewhat unsuccessfully, to make a go of it. It was a real crubling mess... the worst I've seen on this trip so far.
In the morning we got up around the same time and agreed to get coffee at a nearby Denny's. Had some laughs (pretty funny guys), and we ended up riding out past Albequerque together before I peeled off for the south. They headed for Amarillo and Points East. Good people, they are mover and shakers in a bike group of Free Masons. We exchanged adresses/e-mails... we'll be in touch. Two REAL bikers... not like the dozens and dozens of Europeans who rented shiney Harleys in LA for exhorbitant prices and were hanging around the hotels posing, blabbering away in French and acting tough.
I headed south on a small red-line route, breaking away fro m the two Masons at a town appropriately named Moriarty, for those of you into the Kerouac thing. The ride was warm and scenic, but flatter and a little ... greener. I went through some small ghost-towns (places that just didn;'t make it and might have only a gas station still open. I started seeing more and more Harley bikers rumbling around in all directions; when I reached a tiny spot called Willard there was a cafe/bar by the crossroads that was FULL of Harleys... maybe two hundred., with more arriving. I thought for a second about pulling in and enjotying the moment... but I was deep in the countryside on a Jap motcrcycle with NY pl;ates... and it didn;t seem wise.
A short time later I pulled up for gas at a nameless gas station that had a gravel lot and pumps left over from 1964... I was dismayed to realize that the whole driveway and pump area was filled up with Bandidos, a very serious biker gang, well known for their violence and "1%" attitude. I waited... very patiently...for all of them to fill up and move off on their own. A follow-vehicle was there, loaded with some serious, mean looking people, adn I thought, ahh... weapons transport. I slunk out of there quietly, making sure I was going the other direction. Remember; this is Waayyyy out in the vast countryside.... 50 miles between towns.... and as such you are extremely vulnerable.
Many, many bikes on thje road; some guy at a rest area told me there was a big rally nearby. This is the Wild Wild West; soon I was on the Mescalero Apache reservation... and there are some very dangerous people out here in the open territorties. I'm ususally not concerned with "bikers", but there are scary looking Mexican and Indian dudes on stripped-down Harleys that do NOT look friendly.
Alright. Went past Almogordo.. where they lit-up the first atomic bomb... but there was some serious police activity in the middle of town (with a helicopter hovering over a house), and they sent us on a detour. I could only take a photo of the plain where the bomb went off.
Eventually I got farther and farther south, towards the western tip of Texas and El Paso. Along the way there were all sorts of signs of the national push to contain illegal immigration; helicopters overhead, long barbed-wire fences running for fifty mile stretches... Homeland Security police cars... and scary road check points exactly like crossing a national border...well inside the US. I had to go through one tonight adn for some odd reason a dog nearby started barking at me loudly after I was quizezed by well-armed militairy people under a Quanset hut in the middle oif the highway. Woof.
Down into El Paso and it's a HUUGE city... but lovely colorful in the night, adn you can see Juarez Mexico stretching out in lights straight to the horizon. I made my way through El Paso on Rte 10, and ended up running right out of town... missed the normasl "hotel Row" (when you see the Hotel 6 signs you know you've found the Budget motels)... and just continued right out of town... into the darkness, now lit by a large, bright moon, shining brilliantly on the low, flat, puffy western clouds.. the shining lights of Juarez gllowing sharply across the Rio Grande Valley below... and I went farther and farther out of El Paso until I was back in total Wasteland again... and found myself high in some windy mountain range... finally arrived in this tin crossroads of ... uhh... Sierra Blanca... the White Mountain... and of course there's one motel here, just one... owned by, yup, a Hiundu inkeeper.
$45... no tax... clean and quiet.... say my prayers in fantastic gratitude for this unbelieveable, spiritual experience.... will attach more photos to this installment later.. takes soi fuckinbg long...
goodnight
Who was it said, "I hate writing but love to have written"?
me too. I'm so bushed each night when trying to cover everything. Fortunately I have a cold six pack of Bid bottles here.
Right.
I rolled into the Navajo Nation three days ago in the late afternoon. The distance between discernible points out West can be daunting; you ride and ride and ride and it seems like your not getting anywhere. Lots of pretty scenery with NOTHING regarding Human Habitation to break it up. Raw Wildernesss... a full snoot-full.
Anyway I pulled into a little town called Kayenta in the northern center of the Navajo Reservation, the largest in the United States... home to something like 400,000 Navajo people in a huge area the size of Connecticut. I was excited to be there, partly because of an odd, mid-life desire to understand Native culture better... and secondly because Monument Valley was just up the road... a place I had considered running past ever since I left New York.
Great. Deep in Indian Territory... and this weren't no cheezey "casino reservation" up in the Catskills with a bunch of watered-down toothless freaks that look more like drunken Irishmen than Native Americans. No, the Navajo Reservation is the Real Deal; a major seat of Indian culture in America.
Problem was that all the hotels (3) in town were FULL, and I got "lucky" in finding a room ten miles outside of Kayenta in a real dump called "the Anasazi Inn", a collection of thin-walled rooms in what were essentially corrugated shacks. I wouldn't have minded this so much except that they GOUGED me NINETY-FIVE BUCKS for this leaky, hafl-broken room. Ah well... Grin & Bear it; I supposed that I had to pay back some ancesteral karma for all the rip-offs and tears the Europeans put the Navajo through. Went back into Kayenta and had steak fajitas at a nice little cafe called "Amigos" .. good taste but the beans .. well... let;s just use the word explosive.
Next morning I got up and out early, as I was told Monument Valley is best seen early morning. I rode out of Kayenta about 25 miles to the Welcome Center, (entrance fee a reasonable $5). The vista from the parking area was already spectacular... but I went over to a little outdoor booth manned by Navajo people, offering tours of the Valley. You couldn't drive it by yourself; there was no pavement and it's generally off-limits to non-Navajos.
I ended up taking a chance and spending a significant $75 for the "complete" 2-1/2 hour tour. A few European tourists (Holland, England, Austria) stood around the designated "Jeep"; an old 1967 Ford pick-up truck with the bed modified into sort of a Safari tour bus. There was a slight discussion about who would be our guide, and eventually a wiry young guy with very long hair, a natty black felt hat with Rock & Roll chrome studs, and pink colored shades jumped forward and we lumbered off into the Valley.
Wow.
Double Wow.
From the beginning I was blown away by the sheer scale and texture of the geology there. Any photos you'll ever see of Monument Valley simply can't convey the immensity... and profoundly magical feeling of the place. Each time the old Ford clanked around a sandy corner of a mesa everyone in the back would gasp in unison. Simply spectacular, and I realized quickly that the 75 Clams was well spent. I've dreamed of Monument Valley for years... and sudenly there it was, in full, red-cliff, monolithic spendor.
I also quickly realized that our guide, Travis, was an exceptionally cool rock & roller, and as such I asked if I could ride shotgun up front with him; he never hesitated: "Sure Bro!" he said, in a sort of Southern Californian accent, "Welcome aboard!"
One of the best moves I've made on this entire trip. Not only was Travis fully in tune with the magic of the Valley, (he took us to a number of places generally off-limits to tourists), it turned out he was a rock drummer who's played iun four bands, incluyding one that toured out East briefly, (Native Rain). We had a blast in the front of the truck... he was hysterically funny and a very, very sharp cat. Full-bloode Navajo, he was pleased to answer a lot of my burning questions regarding life in the Nation, as well as about the Spiritual nature of the Valley, ("VERY").
Here are a couple of photos... I have far too many; show you them later if you want.
Travis took us to a special place that was like a natural ampitheater in the rocks. Almost shperical, the acoustics were astonishing. We sat up on a ledge and Travis, (who'd brought a small traditional drum), waited until we had absorbed the utter silence of the place, then sang a sort of blessing in Navajo, while keeping a steady beat on the skin drum. It was simply chilling and beautiful... really the moment I'd been hoping to experience. Haunting.. especially considering something like 10,000 years that the Navajo and their predecessors, the Anasazi, had dwelt there. Travis showed us ancient Anasazi hand-marked pertoglyphs on roack walls. It was the coolest afternoon.... something I'll never forget.
On the way back Travis and I were yakking up a storm, mostly music talk, which we both agreed is the Universal Language. Along the way the old truck wouldn't start, and I jumped out with him and we ducked under the hood while the Europeans sat in the back confused. We looked at the tangle of wires around the battery box and both of us looked at each other and giggled; he was almost ready to accept that we were stuck out there (they'd given him one of the older machines). Finally we got it started and roared off across the sands, hooting ahd hollering.
Travis mentioned that there would be a Blues Festival of sorts in Kayenta that evening, and his band would be one of the groups. Because we had been talking closely for a couple of hours, I decided to take the opportunity to meet some local people.. and so went back and paid another hundred bucks for a hotel room.
A Navajo Blues Festival....
Around dusk I took my motorcycle over to the community center where the action would take place, and Travis' band was already playing. The outdoor venue had a small stage, decent sound system, and capable lighting set up. During the night I estimate there were a few hundred people in attendance; teenagers, parents with their little kids.. (super cute, and apparently very happy and well-loved). After Travis came off I helped with his drum kit and he later introduced me to a number of people who were involved in music: his brother Ryan.. tour manager Jo (Ann)... some of his band mates.. etc. It was a really special evening form me, and I found everyone to be very modern thinking and friendly to me...with the exception of on slightly drunk guy with his girlfriend who were hanging around by my bike. He wasn;t, like, threateneing...but he made a point of wwarning me that there were people around who "might try to take your stuff"... or create problems for me somehow. I didn't know what to make of him... everyone else I met had been so hospitable.. so I just chalked him up as a guy soured on outside tourists. Nobody gave me anything except shy smiles and hospitality. I feel very priveledged to have some of these good folk as friends now... we have all contact info.
At one point during the evening an adorable little girl, about two years old, came up to me and stared at me innocently. She then pointed meaningfully into the distance... towards the south. I pointed with her. She came back and did this same thing a couple of times... and finally I realized she was an angel who was directing the next leg of my trip. Southbound indeed
Moving along.
The next day I rode out past something callled Mexican Hat, an odd geological formation. I stopped at a roadside shack to buy some very reasonably-priced silver pieces for my nieces, adn had a warm chat with a young married Navajo couple. Very modern and easy going. I really got such a charge out of those folks I met there.
Out through the Reservation... and as I said, the Navajo Nation is vast. The landscape is wildly varied, but with these extremes of geological enormity and earth-hued vastness. Soon I was running through small, cottonwood tree'd villages with a gas station or general store. I came across some sort of a local festival... with a few small carnival rides and a whole lot of horse trailers... some sort of rodeo festival. I took a chance and motored on in... but quickly realized that this was a Navajo event, no tourists in sight... and although I'm quite sure no one would have minded, I felt like a New York guy on a Japanese motorcycle just didn't belong there. I kept rolling.
In the morning we got up around the same time and agreed to get coffee at a nearby Denny's. Had some laughs (pretty funny guys), and we ended up riding out past Albequerque together before I peeled off for the south. They headed for Amarillo and Points East. Good people, they are mover and shakers in a bike group of Free Masons. We exchanged adresses/e-mails... we'll be in touch. Two REAL bikers... not like the dozens and dozens of Europeans who rented shiney Harleys in LA for exhorbitant prices and were hanging around the hotels posing, blabbering away in French and acting tough.
I headed south on a small red-line route, breaking away fro m the two Masons at a town appropriately named Moriarty, for those of you into the Kerouac thing. The ride was warm and scenic, but flatter and a little ... greener. I went through some small ghost-towns (places that just didn;'t make it and might have only a gas station still open. I started seeing more and more Harley bikers rumbling around in all directions; when I reached a tiny spot called Willard there was a cafe/bar by the crossroads that was FULL of Harleys... maybe two hundred., with more arriving. I thought for a second about pulling in and enjotying the moment... but I was deep in the countryside on a Jap motcrcycle with NY pl;ates... and it didn;t seem wise.
A short time later I pulled up for gas at a nameless gas station that had a gravel lot and pumps left over from 1964... I was dismayed to realize that the whole driveway and pump area was filled up with Bandidos, a very serious biker gang, well known for their violence and "1%" attitude. I waited... very patiently...for all of them to fill up and move off on their own. A follow-vehicle was there, loaded with some serious, mean looking people, adn I thought, ahh... weapons transport. I slunk out of there quietly, making sure I was going the other direction. Remember; this is Waayyyy out in the vast countryside.... 50 miles between towns.... and as such you are extremely vulnerable.
Many, many bikes on thje road; some guy at a rest area told me there was a big rally nearby. This is the Wild Wild West; soon I was on the Mescalero Apache reservation... and there are some very dangerous people out here in the open territorties. I'm ususally not concerned with "bikers", but there are scary looking Mexican and Indian dudes on stripped-down Harleys that do NOT look friendly.
Alright. Went past Almogordo.. where they lit-up the first atomic bomb... but there was some serious police activity in the middle of town (with a helicopter hovering over a house), and they sent us on a detour. I could only take a photo of the plain where the bomb went off.
Eventually I got farther and farther south, towards the western tip of Texas and El Paso. Along the way there were all sorts of signs of the national push to contain illegal immigration; helicopters overhead, long barbed-wire fences running for fifty mile stretches... Homeland Security police cars... and scary road check points exactly like crossing a national border...well inside the US. I had to go through one tonight adn for some odd reason a dog nearby started barking at me loudly after I was quizezed by well-armed militairy people under a Quanset hut in the middle oif the highway. Woof.
Down into El Paso and it's a HUUGE city... but lovely colorful in the night, adn you can see Juarez Mexico stretching out in lights straight to the horizon. I made my way through El Paso on Rte 10, and ended up running right out of town... missed the normasl "hotel Row" (when you see the Hotel 6 signs you know you've found the Budget motels)... and just continued right out of town... into the darkness, now lit by a large, bright moon, shining brilliantly on the low, flat, puffy western clouds.. the shining lights of Juarez gllowing sharply across the Rio Grande Valley below... and I went farther and farther out of El Paso until I was back in total Wasteland again... and found myself high in some windy mountain range... finally arrived in this tin crossroads of ... uhh... Sierra Blanca... the White Mountain... and of course there's one motel here, just one... owned by, yup, a Hiundu inkeeper.
$45... no tax... clean and quiet.... say my prayers in fantastic gratitude for this unbelieveable, spiritual experience.... will attach more photos to this installment later.. takes soi fuckinbg long...
goodnight
Sunday, September 19, 2010
GRANTS, NEW MEXICO
Pulled into town after dark this night along with two serious Harley bikers..one from Fort Worth, the other from Nashville. We'd been traveling from way up in the Navajo nation where we'd met at a defunct gas station. Good dudes, veteran riders who were off on a three week ride. Both were serious Freemasons... both in their Sixties.
God I'm tired. It;s about 1:30 AM and this is one of the shitiest motels I';ve ever found. Those guys' room next door smelled so badly of piss that the Mexican woman running the joint had to go in and spray everyuthing heavily. Stinks like Lysol now. My room has carpeting covered with water from a leaky bathroom pipe. I have no TV because when I turned on the microwave to cook cheap hotdogs from the Rocket 66 Mart some fuse must ahve blown and now I only have one lightbulb and this compuyter for lumninescence.
But we had a good time... found the only bar in this part of town open. The town is half a graveyard... most of the hotels are dark, as are most of the storefronts. We had to stop here because Barry's Harley had a clogged air cleaner (I did the diagnosis) and we needed an auto parts store. As it was after dark I wanted to find a cheap motel, and these two guys finally gave in and got a room also. They were originally going to run out past Albequreque.. but the air cleamer thing slowed them down, and now they expect to make a 700 mile run to Fortb Worth tomorrow. Ouch. That's a long way... even on a touring Harley.
I left the Navajo township of Keyanta this morning... went oyut past Monument Valley and Mexican Hat... across hundreds of miles of dry, barren Navajo territory. At one point I came across a local Indian festival on a back road; a rodeo and some carnival rides. At first I entered the parking lot... but realizeed there were many horses that were skittish of the motorcycle. Also, looking around, I felt strong vibrations that this was NOT a place that I belonged... and yes, I have pushed my way into many strange places in Asia and Europe before... but this looked LOCAL and there were no Eurpoean Americans. Lots of lean Navajos dressed western-best in cowboy hats and western gear. I saw one guy on a horse, walking it sideways witrh ease... and I concluded that this was a Navajo-only event. This was far out in the middle of the reservation.... on a small road. Across the street, where I looked to buy gas, were a couple of dozen Harley riders... they all looked Native and they all looked grim... and I Vamoosed the hgell ouyt oif there.
Long ride today past many barren landscapes where you would easily DIE if you got stuck.
I'm beat... it's way late.... and I mustr sleep.... tales of the Blues Festival on the Navajo Nation next time.. made great friends... learned the Navajo Ways,,,,...... goodnbight
God I'm tired. It;s about 1:30 AM and this is one of the shitiest motels I';ve ever found. Those guys' room next door smelled so badly of piss that the Mexican woman running the joint had to go in and spray everyuthing heavily. Stinks like Lysol now. My room has carpeting covered with water from a leaky bathroom pipe. I have no TV because when I turned on the microwave to cook cheap hotdogs from the Rocket 66 Mart some fuse must ahve blown and now I only have one lightbulb and this compuyter for lumninescence.
But we had a good time... found the only bar in this part of town open. The town is half a graveyard... most of the hotels are dark, as are most of the storefronts. We had to stop here because Barry's Harley had a clogged air cleaner (I did the diagnosis) and we needed an auto parts store. As it was after dark I wanted to find a cheap motel, and these two guys finally gave in and got a room also. They were originally going to run out past Albequreque.. but the air cleamer thing slowed them down, and now they expect to make a 700 mile run to Fortb Worth tomorrow. Ouch. That's a long way... even on a touring Harley.
I left the Navajo township of Keyanta this morning... went oyut past Monument Valley and Mexican Hat... across hundreds of miles of dry, barren Navajo territory. At one point I came across a local Indian festival on a back road; a rodeo and some carnival rides. At first I entered the parking lot... but realizeed there were many horses that were skittish of the motorcycle. Also, looking around, I felt strong vibrations that this was NOT a place that I belonged... and yes, I have pushed my way into many strange places in Asia and Europe before... but this looked LOCAL and there were no Eurpoean Americans. Lots of lean Navajos dressed western-best in cowboy hats and western gear. I saw one guy on a horse, walking it sideways witrh ease... and I concluded that this was a Navajo-only event. This was far out in the middle of the reservation.... on a small road. Across the street, where I looked to buy gas, were a couple of dozen Harley riders... they all looked Native and they all looked grim... and I Vamoosed the hgell ouyt oif there.
Long ride today past many barren landscapes where you would easily DIE if you got stuck.
I'm beat... it's way late.... and I mustr sleep.... tales of the Blues Festival on the Navajo Nation next time.. made great friends... learned the Navajo Ways,,,,...... goodnbight
Friday, September 17, 2010
KAYENTA, NAVAJO NATION
[jeez, what am i supposed do say about all this...]
[...okay...i'm going to take a swing at it..]
This is a slice of Kanab, Utah, as I was pulling out yesterday morning. Pretty little town on the western edge of Zion National Park. Hotels X-PENSIVE.. and quick to fill up. Scary when you're out on the road in wilderness after dark and that little refuge dot on the map has NO VACANCY signs all lit-up and gaudy red neon .
Onward.. heading for northern Arizona border.. and I have spent the last two (three??) days back and forth between Utah and Az.
The landscape keeps changing steadily as you go east (or west, err).. in this case it got drier and more sandy ever since leaving Yosemite. Hills get more striated and more "mesa" flat-topped. Vegetation changes constantly with elevation and moisture availability. New Rider of the Purple Sage... now I AM one:
I rode for a couple of hours, and though not wildly hot, it was exceedingly dry. Nice ride though; bike running smoothly and Mp3 blasting Merle Haggard or U2 or Richard Thompson or anything else into my now-shredded ear-balls.
Stopped in a roadside "Land Use Bureau Information Site". Some skinny hiker with a Winnebego was peppering the gray-haired lady with non-stop questions until I a-hemed and he finally skulked off with many pamphlets of area trails. I made a point of not being a Dick and as such approached her slowly, quietly, politely...asked her where a dusty saddlebum should look for Cool Sites. She mentioned a "short hike" just off the road a couple of miles down, to view something called "hoo-doos" or "mushrooms". Besides that, she strongly advised, (since I was not prepared for any serious off-roading, with my lack of proper foot-gear and all).. to make sure I saw Monument Valley a couple of hours farther down the road. I'd been seriously considering this even before I left NY.. so that sealed it.
Meanwhile I did pull off at the trailhead that she spoke of, to see the Hoo-doos. I really wasn't prepared to be hoofing through serious desert conditions... motorcycle road-racing boots... black cut-off t-shirt.. black jeans.. black baseball hat.. But hell, I needed to see SOMETHING off the road on this trip, and the gal assured me that it was only about a 3/4 of a mile walk.. easy to do".
Yeah.
If you're properly dressed, well-hydrated, and in some sort of decent physical shape. I took my little water bottle with me, (I watch Man vs Wild so I know these things), but it only had about a pint in it. I walked about 50 yards before wondering if this wasnlt a mistake... but I was determined and how bad could it really be, after all?
Bloody HOT... especially when I'd been used to 80 mph's worth of breeze. Now all was still and airless... the sun was crackling hot and relentless. My stupid armored boots slogged through loose sand and crumbling strata and within a short time I was panting. I keep forgetting the altitude in these places.. and at 5000 feet you're breathing heavily. The only "trail" there was amounted to previous footsteps...often hard to see. Basically I just followed the dry "wash".
Eventually I did reach the first set of hoo-doos. No one else was around and I took a few pictures...made half an attempt to push onward, over a chalk-dry hill to see the next set, (as suggested), but soon gave up. I was 3/4 of a mile off the road, almost out of water, and wheezing and puffing in my beer-gut suit. It's like swimming in the ocean; if you get overwhelmed there's no calling TIME OUT. I turned back, feeling I'd done my best.
Besides this little lizard creature, the only other life-form I saw was a tiny kangaroo mouse (long bouncy legs), no bigger than my thumb, curled up under a little overhanginthe sand. He looked dead, but I gave him a little poke and his eyes widened slightly and his little paw moved a bit. Almost dead.. so I poured a little splash of water on him.. he moved a tiny bit more; so I filled up the plastic cap from my store-bought water and left it full, right at his mouth. A pathetic act.. at a pathetic moment. Ah well..I walked away, back to the bike.
Back on the Road.
Down past Lake Powell, a manmade lake caused by the damming of Glen Canyon River. The lake is extremely blue.. and there were a zillion boats being trailered into it, some quite large. Talk about pathetic... that lake looked neither long nor deep. I suppose when you live in a bone-dry land any mud-puddle is like the Atlantic.
[...okay...i'm going to take a swing at it..]
Onward.. heading for northern Arizona border.. and I have spent the last two (three??) days back and forth between Utah and Az.
I rode for a couple of hours, and though not wildly hot, it was exceedingly dry. Nice ride though; bike running smoothly and Mp3 blasting Merle Haggard or U2 or Richard Thompson or anything else into my now-shredded ear-balls.
Stopped in a roadside "Land Use Bureau Information Site". Some skinny hiker with a Winnebego was peppering the gray-haired lady with non-stop questions until I a-hemed and he finally skulked off with many pamphlets of area trails. I made a point of not being a Dick and as such approached her slowly, quietly, politely...asked her where a dusty saddlebum should look for Cool Sites. She mentioned a "short hike" just off the road a couple of miles down, to view something called "hoo-doos" or "mushrooms". Besides that, she strongly advised, (since I was not prepared for any serious off-roading, with my lack of proper foot-gear and all).. to make sure I saw Monument Valley a couple of hours farther down the road. I'd been seriously considering this even before I left NY.. so that sealed it.
Meanwhile I did pull off at the trailhead that she spoke of, to see the Hoo-doos. I really wasn't prepared to be hoofing through serious desert conditions... motorcycle road-racing boots... black cut-off t-shirt.. black jeans.. black baseball hat.. But hell, I needed to see SOMETHING off the road on this trip, and the gal assured me that it was only about a 3/4 of a mile walk.. easy to do".
Yeah.
If you're properly dressed, well-hydrated, and in some sort of decent physical shape. I took my little water bottle with me, (I watch Man vs Wild so I know these things), but it only had about a pint in it. I walked about 50 yards before wondering if this wasnlt a mistake... but I was determined and how bad could it really be, after all?
Eventually I did reach the first set of hoo-doos. No one else was around and I took a few pictures...made half an attempt to push onward, over a chalk-dry hill to see the next set, (as suggested), but soon gave up. I was 3/4 of a mile off the road, almost out of water, and wheezing and puffing in my beer-gut suit. It's like swimming in the ocean; if you get overwhelmed there's no calling TIME OUT. I turned back, feeling I'd done my best.
Back on the Road.
BANDITS ON THE BLUFF
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