Day 2

Finally Ready

No time like the present though and I headed out, gassing up quickly at the Circle K so that I could get as far as fast as possible.  East on the 101 Loop and right onto interstate 17 northbound and smack into stopped traffic.  No lane splitting either; crap.  Four miles and 45 minutes later I finally ride past a five car collision piled up with emergency services in the median.  Well, it’s not like I’m not getting used to waiting in lines of things and once passed the accident, the way opens up and so does the throttle.  It’s warm, but not oppressively so and the wildflowers are beautiful.  The road climbs gently up and out of the Valley of Fire as I make my way to Flagstaff.  I think several times of pulling over and taking pics of flowers, but I don’t want to risk the time loss so I keep on keepin’ on.  I make the first of many sacrifices by passing right by the exit to Sedona without thinking twice.  It just give me an excuse to come back next spring.

By the time I hit Flagstaff, the tank is pretty much empty but I don’t want to stop there, I could make it a little further.  It was getting pretty cold too and I couldn’t help but notice the white dusted summit of Humphrey’s Peak and accompanying mountains in the very near horizon.  I turn off onto I-40 and continue climbing in altitude.  Then I spy my first patch of snow on the ground and a smile breaks across my face.  Somehow, this makes all the trouble to this point worth it.  Riding my bike over and around snowy pine encrusted ridges is exactly what I’d been hoping for and definitely worthy of a picture or two.  I spied a side road with a neat looking little lake by it and decided to take in the moment.

Private Road

I went to the Grand Canyon once as a child, and I remember that I was amazed that something that big could be so completely invisible until you are literally standing right next to it.  There isn’t the barest hint of what you’re approaching from the south as you bound up over the high mesa towards the Canyon.  It’s flat and desolate and you wonder why anyone would ever want to come out here.  The better part of the day has passed and, after struggling through a 50 car line to get through the front gate, I pull up to the main viewing area where all the cages converge and hop off the bike in a very illegal parking area.  To this point, I STILL have not seen the Canyon.  Only after walking a few yards further north do you finally break through the cedar trees and behold the absolute stunning glory of the thing.

I run around and snap pictures before hopping back on the bike.  Getting bumped from my flight the day before ensured I’d get to spend no time here but just GETTING there felt like a major accomplishment.  I headed east along the rim, not flogingg it too hard because it was a holiday weekend and the Rangers were out hunting.  It also just didn’t seeeeeeem right to go barreling through nature’s glory without slowing to at least look at the landscape.  And what magnificent landscape it is too.  Sweeping vistas of mesas and monuments, canyons and rivers as far as the eye can see to the North, the Peaks around Flagstaff to the South.  It’s like God decided to try out his new chisel set and figured what better thing to do than spend a couple millennia slowly digging a ditch between Utah and Arizona.  If you’ve never been, a picture cannot possibly do that section of land justice.  You have to see it for yourself.

Grand Canyon

By the time 64 had joined up with US89 it was time for more gas and decisions.  By this time, making it to Mesquite was definitely out of the question.  I could stop here for the night as the sun was already nearly set or I could continue onwards.  A sign post said that Page, AZ was only 82 miles farther.  Since it was all desert I figured that meant roughly over an hour’s travel time.  I’d get there around 7:00.  But that was in the wrong direction.  Then I looked at the GPS and saw that Kanab, UT was 150 miles.  That would put me in around 8:30 or so of which two hours would be night riding.  What the hell I figured, that’s where my Dad always stays when he comes down this way, why not aim high.

Stupid.  As I pulled out of Cameron across the Little Colorado River (over a bridge that I immensely regret not taking a picture of) I thought of a book  Robyn gave me for Christmas about a guy that rode his KLR from New York City to Ushuaia in Argentina.  His one major rule for that whole trip was “never ride at night”.  I knew I shouldn’t be doing this but I did it anyway.

The desert got very dark, very fast.  As soon as the sun was below the mountains behind me, I discovered that my headlights didn’t quite seem up to the task.  This was one of those things I’d hoped to learn about my bike by riding it to Phoenix and back.  Now was the wrong time to figure it out.  The barely illuminated pool in front of my bike was caused by improperly adjusted headlights that were pointed above the line of the roadway rather than the road ahead.  Well… there was nowhere else to go but forward.

I passed the exit to Page and continued north to Marble Canyon and made the turn over the Colorado River and headed off into the night.   As I passed through the town I spied a gas station and a motel and thought that this might be a good time to stop.  It was already 7:00 and I was still 70 miles or so from Kanab.  But the ever present clock ticking in my head said keep going.  I had the gas so I moved on down the road.

I don't think I have ever felt so alone in my life.  As the fat white moon came up over the horizon to light up the Vermillion Cliffs, I felt a horrible malevolence that put my previous apprehension of the ride to shame.  The complete feeling of “If you screw up out here, no one will ever know where to look for your body.”  Top that off with a  feeling that something’s gonna TRY to make you rack the bike into a Coyote or something and I should have stopped and turned around.  I continued on though, through the canyon and saw a series of blinking lights at an undeterminable distance; a lot of lights: reds, blues and yellows.  I thought it must be a sobriety checkpoint or some such thing and headed towards it confident in my sobriety if not my sanity.  The road rose slowly off the mesa and into the hills where I came upon the cause of all the commotion of lights.

The Damage

The traffic was let through and a state trooper who had been mulling over the action I was performing came over to check on me and make sure I sounded like I had a brain in my head.  I told him I was just cold and tired and at this point just wanted to stop.  He warned me that shortly after this hairpin, the road rose another 4000 feet and dropped about 15 degrees in temperature.  At the summit though was a town called Jacob’s Lake and they could probably find a room for me up there.  I thanked him and the flagman for their efforts and got on the big and thumbed the starter.  The bike wouldn’t kick over; for the last 15 minutes, I had left the key turned in the ignition with the engine off and left the lights on, vest plugged in and heated grips warming their little hearts out.  The battery was almost dead.  I took out the key and unplugged and turned off every last farkle I could think of while I stood there stewing.  I contemplated the road ahead and thought, if I can make it to Jacob’s Lake, you may as well go all the way to Kanab.  To hell with all this dropping the bike shit, it’s not going to deter me!  If only I can get the bike started.  After a few minutes I tried the bike again and she leapt to life, the engine kicking over after a feeble moment of pain, purring at idle in neutral. I thanked my lucky stars and took a quick survey.  As the engine came up to speed I saw blue smoke pouring out of the exhaust.  This could NOT get any worse.  If I thought I was alone before, I damn well KNEW it now.  I couldn’t figure out how simply dropping the bike could have done that much damage but now was not the time to challenge the hills and back country.  I had to give in and go back.  I thanked everyone for their trouble in helping me right the bike and look around with flashlights for oil spots on the ground or cracks in the crankcase.  I found the broken piece of fairing and tucked it into my tailbag and turned a delicate off balance u-turn and headed back where I’d come from.  I remembered the hotel back down the road apiece and I prayed they had a vacancy.  I slowly added throttle and shifted smoothly up through the gears listening carefully for any lashing, crashing, complaining or grinding; one eye on the road and another on the oil temperature light.  The engine hummed gloriously well though as the moon peered maliciously down on my troubled ride.  I rode past the village called Cliff Dwellers.  No lodging.  I thought that’s where it was… must have been back in Vermillion Cliffs.  Nine more miles down the road…still no motel.  Where in the hell was it?  Was it back across the river somewhere?   Will I have to go all the way back to Cameron?  What if I throw a rod in the next 5 miles?  Where in the hell is the nearest Triumph dealer?  I see the large Marble Canyon sign and there it is… sweet, sweet lodging.  I start to slow down and discover I can’t downshift!  The linkage was bent back in the fall and while I can push the lever down past the linkage, it can’t pop the gearing back up into the lower gear.  I’m stuck in fifth.

I take in the clutch and brake to a stop, turning the ignition off with the key instead of the kill switch and inspect again.  No oil anywhere but the shift linkage is very obviously bent.  Oh man I’m starting to get the fear now.  I hunt around for the rental office and find it.  Empty.  I walk into the gift shop.  Empty.  I walk around the whole place and finally see a man walking back to the office.  I get room 309 and ask if the restaurant is open.  He say’s it’s been closed for a while, not really explaining if hemeans a couple of hours or a couple of years.  There is no food in the gift shop either but the gas station about 100 yards down the way is still open for another 15 minutes.

Emergency Rations

My cell phone works and I describe my travails to Robyn who has been trying hard to  reach me all day to find out the status of my ride.  Last she heard I was at Probity Cycle and George and I were about to head out to CycleGear to pick up the tire.  We agree that tomorrow morning I will call her before I leave so that she knows exactly where I am and when to expect me.

I grab the Anchor Steam and notice that the damn thing is in a plastic bottle.  Who the hell thinks of these things?  This is the first Anchor Steam that has ever tasted bad to me and I wind up pouring the last third down the bathroom sink.  I try to turn the heater on and listen to it crackle and gurgle to faint life and turn it off again.  I crawl into bed and curl up.