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Arizona Moto Sport Touring 2005 |
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Written by Daniel Hienzsch
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Monday, 07 May 2007 |
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Page 1 of 5  Middle of Nowhere
Arizona Sport Touring Photo Album
At 11:30 AM on Friday March 18th I set out. The ride on I-10 from Santa Monica to Phoenix, AZ is usually one of the most abjectly boring stretches of pavement in the US during the summer, but in the spring time, after a light rain it was a joy. The only trouble lay in lane splitting the typical Los Angeles traffic to get the hell out of dodge in the first place. Two hours of stressful SUV carving in the rain on the 60E was not my idea of fun and a lousy way to set the body up for a 6 hour slab ride.
By the time I had rejoined I-10 out past Pomona and was on my way to barrel past Indio, the sky cleared and the air warmed up. The desert was lightly dusted with green growing things and I couldn’t believe my fortune to be back on a motorcycle, riding along in gorgeous weather. Other than a hailstorm of migrating butterflies that everyone seems to be riding through around here recently, the road ahead looked to be smooth if not exceptionally exciting.
 Vintage Triumphs
Crossing over the Colorado River into Arizona the first thing that struck me was the sudden and abundant presence of Saguaro cactus. How the hell those things haven’t managed to migrate across the river into California is beyond me, although I think it has something to do with rabid Arizonian tourism officials sneaking across the border each night to pluck the nascent cacti from the land of the Golden State. Secondly, you can’t help but notice the landscape. Buttes and monuments growing like weird dusty red pillars out of slowly rising plains of scrub grass. It’s austere, but absolutely gorgeous. I could stare at it for hours if I didn’t have to concentrate so hard on the cages moving 90 to 100 around me; seems drivers in the desert like getting places, not going places. Other than some random traffic that cropped up for no reason known to man just outside of Phoenix, the ride onwards to north Scottsdale was uneventful. I got in around 6:30 with nary a burp or hiccup… just sore shoulders and a weary mind ready to eat, drink and be merry.
My buddy and I spent the weekend taking in some Spring Training, playing pool, eating well, drinking beer and strange Italian aperitifs and hanging out at the clubhouse of his apartment complex. You wouldn’t believe this place. They have a private movie theater, 48” plasma TV’s to play PS/2 and Xbox, cooking classes, two pool tables, free popcorn, library and wine/beer storage space. All included in the rent which is about ½ of what I pay in LA. And I’ve got two less bedrooms and no dining area! That's a high premium we pay for an Ocean!
Saturday night after much pool, darts and beer, I called Robyn and said that I was thinking about just heading east the next morning. I’d call work and say I wasn’t going to be back for about a week or so and just see where my front wheel took me. While agreeing with me on the principle of the thing, she did mention that after all was said and done, I might not enjoy it. I hadn’t thought of that but in retrospect, her un-addled mind was right. I wasn’t equipped; hell I didn’t even have a map or warm clothes with me let alone a cell phone charger; an excellent idea in principle, but perhaps a little too commando for the moment. Sunday morning came and I gathered myself together for the ride back. I packed my clothes into the Cortech tailbag and brought it downstairs to bungee down. That’s when I noticed that the rear tire was flat; and not just a little flat… flat and off the bead.
Moving a bike with a flat tire is akin to moving an oversized futon: heavy, dull and lacking in mobility. I finally got it around and out of the garage into the sunshine and quickly learned that there was no way that I was going to fix this myself. Calling several bike shops in town and mechanics showed that there was no way I was going to find someone to fix this on a Sunday. I dejectedly made reservations on American West and I flew home frustrated, leaving all my gear and my pretty Sprint behind. The return ticket was for the following Friday at 9:30AM. How in the hell was I going to get this fixed from 350 miles away?
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