Sunday July 7th, 2002
Start: Scottsdale, Arizona
End: Flagstaff, Arizona
229 Miles
After a late night on Saturday at Tom's birthday
party, we check out of the Resort Suites
around 11:00 AM.
Although the hotel room is plush, in some
ways I'm glad to be going. I haven't been
able to get used to the fake adobe, the fake
waterfall in the pool, the fake waterfall
in the fountain, the general glitziness of
the place, and the immigrant service workers.
Immigrants don't bother me; they're just
trying to make a better life. I've done grunt
work myself, washing dishes up at the Orme
Ranch when I first arrived in Arizona, and
then again in college for a short time.
It's actually their subservient manner -
I'm not used to people who treat me as if
I'm their superior. I've gotten very comfortable
with the atmosphere at work, where we're
constantly reminded that we're all in this
together and if I ask a favor of somebody
in the plant they'll look me straight in
the eye and tell me when they can fit me
in. I've come to believe that all people
really are equal, and the "servant"
persona makes me very uneasy. I'm used to
having conversations with people that provide
a service - waitresses, bank clerks, cashiers.
But here, the service people just mumble
"hello..." with a Spanish accent,
and then look away or at the ground.
Sharon tells me to forget it, that
the jobs
they hold here are far better than
anything
they could get back home or they wouldn't
be here. She tells me basically to
go with
the flow, when in Rome, so I do. But
still....
I leave Scottsdale rather uneasy about
what
I've seen here on our visit.
It's another very hot day, with a predicted
high of 112ºF-115ºF. We head over
to Tom's house for one last visit, and to
drain off the extra oil that the dealer put
in at the oil change.
Tom has me pull the bike inside his
garage;
he's still feeling pretty good about
the
party last night. The garage is at
least
shaded.
I try to drain off just a quart or so, and
end up burning my hand on the oil as it drains...
It appears that oil in 112ºF heat really
does run at a much higher temperature than
back home. I'll be alright, but that smarts
a bit.
I go over the bike, check the rear-end
lube
and the battery level. Rear-end lube
is fine,
as expected. But the battery is very
low,
in a couple cells the plates are only
half-covered.
I do keep an eye on that stuff, and
had checked
the battery before we left. I don't
know
if it's the heat or the age of the
battery
- it's original at 63,000 miles - but
in
either case it's something I'll have
to keep
an eye on.
After the bike is fixed, Dawn repairs
a seam
that had come undone inside my riding
pants.
Then a lunch of birthday party leftovers,
while talking with Tom and Dawn. Together
they have a nice little house, and
a nice
little family. The air is on, and we're
in
no hurry to go back out in the heat.
So we dawdle and procrastinate, talking and
dawdling and talking some more. We finally
leave Phoenix late, around 3:00 PM, hoping
that the heat will have subsided somewhat.
It hasn't.
Headed north on I-17, and it's extremely
hot. Back home, the temperature gauge on
the Concours never gets above the halfway
mark if we're moving. Here, running along
at 75-80 mph in 110ºF heat with a passenger
and a full load of luggage, the needle runs
around the 3/4 mark.
Outside the city limits, I realize that I'm
glad to be out of Phoenix. It's a wonderful
city, but I much prefer the more wild parts
of Arizona. The desert has changed little,
so it's comfortable and familiar to me.
I-17 between Mayer and north Phoenix used
to be my daily commute to Motorcycle Mechanics
Institute, back when I lived up at the Orme
Ranch near Mayer in the early 1980s. Probably
the most beautiful commute I've ever had,
with about a 3,000' elevation change and
about a 60ºF temperature change from
the time I'd leave the ranch in the AM to
the time I returned to wash the lunch dishes
for several hundred people. I'd leave in
the AM bundled in a fleece lined denim jacket,
scarf, and gloves; and by the time I got
to Phoenix that gear would all be bungeed
on the back seat with the temperature at
105°F or so and climbing.
Over the 3 months that I did that 60 mile
commute, I memorized each mountain and landscape,
as well as most of I-17's curves and grades
and all of the gas stations. There's actually
not many... but there was also fuel available
at the ranch, and the KZ-650 could do 1 round
trip on just over a half-tank. I ended up
buying gasoline every single day.
At the time, I didn't fully appreciate the
scenery. I'd use the landmarks mostly as
mileposts, rather than see the beauty. I
guess that's what happens when you live somewhere
nice - you tend not to really see what's
in your own backyard.
I-17 stays flat for about 20 miles outside
Phoenix. There's some development out there
in the desert, but not a lot - especially
compared to Phoenix. The scenery is mostly
brown gravelly desert, mesquite, and saguaro;
punctuated by on occasional mountain or mesa.
Some boarded-up gas stations at a couple
of the exits, I remember when they were open...
and then I-17 begins to climb out of the
valley.
I used to love this part of the commute,
but not for the scenery. It was the only
part of my commute where I'd get to go fast.
I knew the cars couldn't run fast up that
grade without overheating, so the uphill
section was never patrolled - though it's
probably best you don't take my word for
it. Your mileage may vary.
At the start of the grade, there's a big
yellow highway sign that says:
"Avoid Overheating! Turn off your Air
Conditioner!"
I'd forgotten about that sign, and how it
always used to give me a chuckle on the commute
back up to the ranch, as I'd go past sweating
like crazy... And then the grade begins.
Basically I-17 winds it's way around the
side of a huge plateau, in big sweeping arcs
as it climbs to the top at around 4,000'
elevation. There's also two long downhill
straights, each about a mile long, where
I learned that my KZ-650 could do about...
well, it could go really fast on those two
downhill stretches. It was a lot of fun to
carry a bunch of speed up over the crest,
and then accelerate at wide-open throttle
down the other side...
We climb and climb, smugly passing maybe
a half-dozen cars stopped along the side
of the road with their hoods up and steam
coming out of the engine compartment. We're
feeling pretty good, we're on a motorcycle
and motorcycles simply don't have cooling
problems, right?
Well - I watch the temperature gauge slowly
go where it's never been before. Higher and
higher we climb, and the temperature gauge
does the same.
I think a bit - this is the kind of test
an engineer might come up with to severely
test the cooling system: extreme ambient
temperature, 75-80 mph speeds, a passenger
and a full load of luggage. That needle makes
me nervous as it slowly goes higher and higher...
A few miles from the top, I realize that
there's a lot less shame in cresting the
top at 65-70 mph than there is in pushing
the bike uphill in the 110ºF heat. We
back off the pace just a tad, and the needle
stabilizes just below the red zone.
Suddenly we're over the top edge of the plateau
and the saguaros abruptly disappear. In their
place are the low-slung prickly pear cactus,
and lots of dried yellow grasses. In a few
spots, there's evidence of brush fires -
large patches of black. This is the desert
after all...
|
View from
Sunset Point |
We pull off at Sunset Point, the roadside
rest at the edge of the plateau. There's
a scenic overlook there, which looks out
over a large basin to the west of I-17, and
to the Bradshaw Mountain range beyond. I've
been down there; the mountains on the far
side of the basin contain several old mining
towns and a great route into Prescott if
you have a Jeep or a dirtbike. But not for
us, not today.
Instead we let the bike cool while we sit
under some shade. We refill our water bladders
with fresh water, and talk about how hot
it is. I used to stop here every morning
on the way to school at MMI in Phoenix, and
just pause for a few minutes to take in the
scene below. The place would be empty then,
and it would be about 55°F at that time of
day in the high desert.
We take a few pictures, and then continue
north to Cordes Junction for fuel.
Cordes Junction used to have two run-down
truck stops and a few ragged houses scattered
on the nearby hills. Now there are two convenience
store / gas stations and a McDonalds, as
well as new construction visible on the hills
all around. Amazing - it seems McDonalds
are everywhere now, in almost every small
town across the US. I don't know if this
is an improvement over the previous businesses
or not, though. And the new housing - I can't
figure out how people up here could make
a living, there's little besides ranching
and tourists.
North another ten miles or so, and we exit
at the Orme-Dugas exit. The Orme Ranch is
3 miles west down a graded dirt road, the
Dugas Ranch about 5 miles east down another
graded dirt road. We're not going to visit
the Orme Ranch, I wouldn't know anybody there
now - plus there's really deep sand for about
1000' that I'd just as soon not deal with
on the Concours - the memories of negotiating
that sand on my old KZ-650 each morning are
still pretty vivid.
Instead, Sharon's been wanting to see
some
Indian ruins. There are some (not developed
or excavated - just ruins in the desert...)
right at the exit, if you know where
to look.
We park the bike where the pavement
ends,
pile our gear on top of the seat to
avoid
fire ants, and take a walk into the
desert
among the mesquite bushes and prickly-pear
cactus.
I'm hoping I can remember where they are...
there! We walk among the ruins; there are
2-3 walled structures that haven't been used
in centuries. Walls are only about 18"
tall now, I'd guess.... It's haunting to
walk among the ruins, while using just a
little imagination. To think that hundreds
of years ago people ate here and slept here,
made love and had children here, probably
tended a small farm below... all gone now.
Just a few piles of rocks remain. Will I
leave a more lasting impression? Somehow,
I doubt it. What's left of these walls has
been here for a very long time.
And then we talk about the Orme School and
Ranch. I look over the two mesas in the distance,
the school is right below and between them,
but not visible from where we are. I've camped
on each of those mesas, once with my then
5 year old nephew and another time with my
then 6 year old niece. The land hasn't changed
a bit, it's exactly as I remember it. I'm
glad; I'm at ease again. This is a good place,
with very good memories for me.
This is just all so pretty, and so familiar
and comfortable.... I can see the faces of
the students and the cooks and the cowboys
and the mojados that I worked and lived with
as if it was yesterday. But of course you
can't go home again, the very best you can
hope for is a nice visit. And that's what
I'm having now, a nice visit, out here in
the Arizona desert. Sharing the things I
know about the place with somebody special,
smiling and then being lost in thought for
minutes at a time... This whole trip is turning
into a wonderful trip down memory lane for
me.
Sharon smiles, she understands perfectly.
She's lived in places that were later torn
down and it's as if a part of you goes away
when the places you've lived no longer exist,
or a place is changed too much.
We return to I-17, and take it north
to AZ-169.
Then AZ-169 west to the small town
of Dewey,
Arizona.
Dewey has grown too - why am I surprised?
There are new homes all over the hills in
the high desert around Dewey - where does
the water come from? I assume wells; there
are no canals up here. Wonder how long well
water can last....
Out of Dewey, and now headed northwest
on
AZ-69 towards Prescott Valley and Prescott
itself.
Prescott Valley used to be a small place
with a couple gas stations, couple restaurants,
and a handful of stores. Surrounded by rolling
high desert, it always struck me as rather
bland - especially when you consider that
in Prescott, 5-10 miles away, you can have
trees. But for whatever reason, Prescott
Valley has matured - there's a mid-priced
motel or two, and nice stores. More houses
than I recall - and then we're through it.
A few minutes later, and outside Prescott
we go from high desert to pine forests.
We
also see various chain stores, just
like
back home... I'm rather surprised at
just
how entrenched the name brands have
become
in small town America. I somehow hadn't
realized
it before this, since Pemberville Ohio
seems
immune to that sort of economic development.
We just graze the eastern edge of Prescott;
we don't enter the town itself. Instead,
we head northeast on US-89A towards
Jerome.
And somewhere between Prescott and the base
of Mingus Mountain, on the open range north
of Prescott Valley where I rode my first
BMW long ago, it hits me: I don't miss Arizona
anymore. For almost 20 years I've been wanting
to move back out west, to live in Arizona
again. Suddenly, I don't - the craving is
gone. Just like that. So while I'm still
sad that Arizona has changed so much while
I've been gone, it doesn't much matter to
me anymore. It's over... a weight is lifted
from my shoulders. I sigh contentedly, and
we continue. We'll be home again in a week.
The road into Jerome is both familiar
and
wonderful; it consists of medium speed
twisties
climbing through the pine forests.
Then over
the top, with the Verde Valley and
the red
cliffs of Sedona spread out below,
and then
down into the former mining town of
Jerome.
On the outskirts of Jerome, there are all
kinds of mining relics. Jerome was a Phelps-Dodge
copper mining town built on the side of Mingus
Mountain, overlooking the Verde Valley below.
A fairly modern town, it appears to have
been abandoned in the late 1940s-early 1950s.
But like many other ghost towns throughout
the west, people started moving back to the
old town - opening art studios and gift shops
and restaurants. Nowadays, Jerome looks pretty
much filled up. Houses are in good repair,
most of the shops downtown have tenants,
and Jerome even has a police force! Watch
your speed passing through....
We ride down into the Verde Valley, and it's
hot - again. A thermometer in Clarkdale says
102ºF, which I guess isn't as bad is
it could be.... we continue north on 89A
towards Sedona. The shadows are getting a
bit long now.
On US-89A between Clarkdale and Sedona, the
scenery is gorgeous. You leave the pine forests
and high desert behind, and suddenly you're
in a red desert with red sandstone buttes
and mesas in all sorts of strange shapes.
The red dirt is dotted with green brush,
so there's a contrast between the red and
green throughout. And besides all that, the
sun is low so the scene is bathed in a reddish
light.... The scenery around Sedona is the
Arizona stereotype.
We pass through Sedona rather quickly,
we're
hungry but the sunlight is fading and
we'd
like to make it up Oak Creek Canyon
to Flagstaff
before calling it a night and grabbing
a
bite to eat.
Oak Creek Canyon is nice, but it's so dry...
normally there's heavy traffic through the
canyon in the summertime. One major reason
is Slide Rock State Park, a natural water
slide that draws visitors from all over during
the summer months. Water has cut a trough
in the sandstone, and the trough is lined
with a very slippery moss. You sit down in
the trough, let go, and are flushed down
the slide. If you like ice-water enemas,
slippery-slimey moss, and wearing a hole
in the bottom of your denim cutoffs; this
is your kind of place! On the other hand,
if your tastes run more toward just watching
everybody else their T-shirts cold and wet
on a hot day, well.... there's normally plenty
of that kind of scenery as well.
But this year, between drought and
wildfires,
Slide Rock State Park is closed. We
motor
past, not even allowed to pull off
for a
look-see. There's not much water in
there
this time around. Oh well, maybe next
time...
We continue up to the head of the canyon,
where US-89A follows a series of switchbacks
up the face of a cliff. At the top,
there's
a scenic pullout that's not to be missed.
It offers great views of the length
of the
canyon, as well as of the road snaking
it's
way up... But due to fire danger, it's
closed
too.
Above the top of the canyon, it's pine
forests
all the way to Flagstaff.
Along the way, it appears as though
the forests
have been cleaned recently - there
are no
loose twigs, all loose things have
been bulldozed
into a series of conical piles here
and there,
and the forest floor is mostly clean.
Fire
control measures, I assume. We watch
the
sky turn orange and pink as the sun
goes
down, out of our sight.
In Flagstaff, we find an older, inexpensive
motel near a bunch of restaurants....
perfect!
We can walk to dinner, so we do.
Dinner is Mexican - with two Margaritas to
increase my salt intake in the heat. I've
read that you need to get plenty of salt
out here, and I'm trying...
After supper, we clean up and watch
a bit
of TV before turning in.
Not a lot of miles, but a pretty good
day
all in all. A good day isn't necessarily
something that can be measured with
numbers...
Best,
Doug Grosjean
Pemberville, Ohio |