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FROM THE PILLION
MEMORIAL
DAY HIGHCOUNTRY WEEKEND
 Day One.We had been planning this three day trip since early March and the week preceeding our trip was filled with last minute checks, lists, confirmations, and map checking. The work week was very hectic, as I had to fly to Los Angeles on Wednesday night for a recurrent class in my dangerous goods training on Thursday. Air travel, for me, is always a stressful time, as I can never get through security checks without a big hassle. I wear a metal collar, which cannot be removed by anyone but Master, and I have nipple piercings. Its standard operating procedures to be segregated from the general public to be ‘wanded’. I had hoped I could avoid a lengthy explanation of my collar by bringing a picture and description Master printed from the internet, but Phoenix security wouldn’t be satisfied until I removed the piercing, so this was an unpleasant distraction before our wonderful trip. Thankfully LAX security is a little more enlightened so it was a breeze getting back home. I had taken Friday off to get last minute preparations made for the trip while Master worked. I spent the day pricing and researching video cams so we could make the purchase and take video of our trip. Saturday morning arrived and after getting ready I took the girls to Doggy Dude Ranch so they would be properly supervised while we were away. They didn’t seem to mind, as they had been there several times before. After dropping them off and coming home we loaded our bags, both saddle bags and the round touring bag, and in the bright sunny morning of May we were off for adventure. We had opted to wear long sleeve t-shirts with our vests, hoping this would be bearable until we got to high country. The morning was in the upper eighties, but it wasn’t too bad, and not long before we were climbing the mountains and headed towards Prescott. Our first stop was Wickenburg via hwy 60. We had been riding for about an hour and since we hadn’t eaten breakfast before leaving we thought it would be a good place to get a bite to eat before heading up through Peeples Valley and onward to Jerome, where we would stop for the night. It was the worst breakfast either of us had every tried to eat, half cooked pancakes we waited almost 45 minutes to eat! After comping our breakfast we were glad to leave this diner behind, making a mental note to never stop at that place again!  Off
we went, staying on the 60 and headed up Yarnell Hill and headed
towards Peeples Valley . I was getting steadier with the cam and
took video of the journey from my vantage point. It was no easy
task, as we had quite a bit of cross wind all the way up the
mountain. The vistas were amazing despite the wind. There
were layers of mountains and valleys stretching out for as far as the
eye could see. No electrical lines, no telephone wires, just vast
open expanses of land. You could easily envision cowboys and
wranglers herding large heads of cattle across that land, or Indians
caravanning across the wilderness on their painted ponies. I
didn’t know whether the camera could capture all this beauty, but I was
giving it my best shot. We rolled into Prescott amid a throng of people who were there for the weekend. There were many art vendors set up around the courthouse, and the main street was literally bumper to bumper. We stopped for a quick rest and a cold beer before heading across the long valley that precedes the mountainous climb into Jerome. As we crossed that valley the winds picked up to about 40 mile an hour crosswinds. It was terrifying. At times I would try to lessen the wind drag by hunkering down into Master’s back, but nothing helped. We were lashed with wind and dirt and at one point a huge tumbleweed blew across the desert, blowing across the road and attacked us -smacking us both on the side of the face before continuing across the road and off into the desert. We both thought we must be bleeding, it hit so hard. We pushed on with the relentless wind determined to slow us down, and we made it to the steep part of 89-A, that took 158 curves in 12 miles, leading us to the town of Jerome. The mountains along this highway are called the Mingus Mountains. Trees so thick, sometimes, you can’t see the forest for the trees. It could be anywhere in Colorado, Montana or Wyoming, but looks nothing like you would imagine Arizona looks like. The road seems like someone threw spaghetti down on the earth in random swipes, curving back and forth for a few curves, but then just as you get comfortable in the leans the next curve will turn into a complete 180 hairpin. it’s a motorcyclist’s dream. We hit Jerome about 3pm and wound through the little streets looking for our bed and breakfast, the Ghost City Inn. It was at the bottom of the twisting roads that ran through the town, and we found a small space to park Vixen while we went inside to check in and get ourselves settled after that windy ride. The town was booming with tourists, because of the holiday weekend, and we were assured by the woman who ran the B&B that most cars would be leaving by 4pm, at which time we could find a more suitable place to park Vixen. After a short rest, unpacking and securing Vixen, Master and I took a walk up the street to find an eatery, since we had not eaten since the botched breakfast in Wickenburg. It was around 4:30 now, so we were pretty hungry. The hills were very steep where the main part of town was built, and at 7,000+ ft I was gasping for air by the time we got to level ground. The surrounding buildings were very old, very colorful, and filled with local art, t-shirt shops, jewelry and antiques. There were several bars, one of the oldest being the Connor Hotel. It had several bikes parked out front so we crossed the street and ventured in to see if it looked like a good place for a beer and a bite to eat. It was packed, standing room only with a live band playing rock/blues and people dancing. The music was really good, but way too loud after our last 3 hrs of wind beating us around. We left the Conner and searched further up into the little town for something else. We found a really great rustic building that had the wonderful aroma of Italian food wafting outside. We entered to find a short wait time for a table, so we ordered a beer and watched the Detroit/Miami game for a bit. This was one of the few places in town that had a dish, so they were packed with b-ball fans. After a few minutes we were motioned to the upstairs seating overlooking the restaurant and chose an appetizer and two calzones. Feeling rather stuffed, we left and decided to explore the little city further, now that our bellies were full and our hearing was starting to come back little by little. We found a great gift shop off one of the side roads, where the town theater used to be. They were in the process of restoring the old silent theater, and you could go upstairs and see the old organ that was used with the silent films, sit in the old seats, which were wonderfully restored, and see a short film about the history of the city. It was quite amazing, as this town has burned down several times in its history, always to be rebuilt. The town jail has even had its odd history, having slid down a hill over 200feet while still in use. We both got t-shirts that had a very appropriate saying on the front: I rode 89A, 158 curves in 12 miles. We made our way back to the room and kicked off our boots, made ready for the evening, In the common area they had a library of tapes you could watch in the room, so I picked up Pearl Harbor and we settled down to enjoy the evening. |
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Day Two. We woke up early, not by choice but by the sun streaming through the window reflecting off the big Victorian home behind the B&B. I dressed and went down to get Master coffee and the hostess was busily preparing breakfast and had already set all the little tables in the dining room. We sat for while in the little gazebo outside our room until we could fully awake, and soon enough we showered and prepared for the lovely breakfast our host had prepared. We ate in the dining room, chatting with another couple who had ridden in on their Yamaha. She was on her first ride and doing pretty well so far. Most riders we talk to are people whose children are grown and they find enough time to spend hitting the highway and seeing the sights. After sharing a few stories we were ready to lock and load and hit the road again, bidding a fond farewell to a great little piece of history in Jerome. The morning was clear and bright, with a little chill in the air. We knew we were going to be riding in high country that day so we decided to wear our jackets until the day got a little warmer. I took a few more pics as we wound our way out of Jerome, and onto the highway which would lead to Pinetop and Strawberry. The sky was such a bright blue it almost hurt your eyes. The wind had disappeared so we thoroughly enjoyed the scenery. Beautiful mountains stretching off in the distance, the pine trees and golden hills were breathtaking. We passed many other riders enjoying the day on their various bikes, and it was especially nice not having much traffic on the road behind us. We could just enjoy the view and the clean cold air rushing past. Around 10am we pulled into Strawberry, a rustic and charming little village with cabins and lodges filled to the brim this Memorial Day weekend. We pulled into the Strawberry Lodge to have some coffee and warm up a bit before moving down the road again. It was packed with vacationers, making service a bit slow. At one point a friend of the proprietor jumped in to help serve, and we watched as huge plate after plate of steaming breakfasts were snatched up by harried waitresses. We mounted up and rode on, the wind picking up markedly, and headed out of Pinetop towards Payson. The scenery changed from thick pines to rolling hills, then back again to trees. It was very chilly and we were both glad we had our leathers for protection. I was able to get a lot of footage and hoped that the vast open spaces would translate on the tape. We rode through Payson, and then on to Christopher Creek, where we were looking forward to one of those famous Bloody Mary’s that can only be made from scratch at the tavern there. By this time it was about 1:30pm and we were ready for a drink and some food for the last leg of today’s journey. We chatted with the locals there, had a delicious drink and lunch, time to stretch and have a smoke before donning our leathers and heading out again. We encountered a group of riders coming out of Christopher Creek, which slowed down the surrounding traffic somewhat, but there is no hurry when you are carefree and riding at your own pace. The hills became greener and the air took a marked dip in the mercury. The wind started to pick up and we hit some gusts that were pretty strong. The road up toward Show Low was difficult with the wind buffeting us along the way. I gave up trying to get any footage, as the wind would not allow my arm to stay steady enough to get good shots. We gassed up in Show Low about 3pm and headed on the straight road into Snowflake, about 17 miles away. The wind picked up again, and we were pummeled all the way into Snowflake. It was hard work for Master to keep the bike going down the road, having to lean markedly in order to stay on the road against the wind. The scenery had changed dramatically between Show Low and Snowflake, with a more mid-western look. Rolling hills and old oak trees were the landscape now, and with more open space it increased the strength of the wind, with nothing to block or slow it down. We pulled into Snowflake, and I swear you could be in a little Midwestern town in middle America. Small clapboard homes lined the street, with block businesses, green lawns and Elm and Oak trees everywhere. Soon we came into the Heritage district, about one square block of old brick homes, beautifully restored. Our stop for the evening was Omar D Heritage Inn. We pulled up and walked through the rose garden, up the expansive porch and opened the front door. The proprietor welcomed us, and checked us in, asking about our ride, and where we found out about the Inn, etc. He proceeded to give us a short tour and some history about the home, how it was restored and all about our amenities as guests of the Inn. Our room was behind the main house, in a restored building, mustard yellow with white trim. There was a beautiful little fountain and patio between the big house and our cottage, so after bringing in our belongings we sat at a table outside while the host regaled us with tales of the history of Snowflake. It was delightful, and we both enjoyed seeing his face light up while talking about the Mormon history of the town named for ‘Brother Flake’ and ‘Brother Snow’. It was wonderful, and we enjoyed the stories as much as he enjoyed telling them. Amazingly enough, though it was Sunday in Snowflake, there was one little restaurant still open on the edge of town, so we didn’t have to brave the windy journey all the way back to Show Low for dinner. There were only ourselves and one other couple in the restaurant, and we enjoyed a hearty Mexican dinner which had been well earned over the last 4 hours of being buffeted by the wind. We returned to our Inn after dinner and watched the Phoenix Suns in their playoff game. Amazingly enough the Inn had Dish Network, so even though we were in the ‘middle of nowhere’ we didn’t have to miss one of the big games. We were both worn out from that day’s riding and soon fell asleep in the big Victorian bed. I was able to stay awake long enough to enjoy a luxurious soak in the footed bathtub though! |
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Day Three. We began the last day of our journey at the butt crack of dawn, unfortunately long before the coffee was ready! It was about 60 degrees that morning, chillier than we had experienced in a long time, as it was already in the 90’s in the valley where we lived, and it felt good. Bright blue skies without a cloud in sight, and the weather report declared the winds dying down today which was great news. One of the housekeepers came out and told us coffee was ready so I went in through the kitchen to get two mugs. The proprietor and his helpers were busy in the big kitchen busily cooking up a huge breakfast. The tables were already set up with beautiful glasses and linen tablecloths, the guests were beginning to find their way through the west patio chatting and drinking coffee. There were steaming trays filled with bacon, country sausage, eggs and biscuits, not to mentioned the sweet trays filled with rolls and danish as well as bowls of sliced fruit and yogurt.. We ate a leisurely breakfast, strolled back to our room to gather our belongings and soon enough we hit the rode for our last day of freedom. We thanked the owner for a wonderful stay, and headed on the road back through Show Low. Master wanted to take me on a side trip to see Sunrise Ski Area, so we headed east out of Show Low into the thick pines. We saw many summer homes, cabins, and lodgings along the road. We rode about 20 miles up into the mountains and stopped for a short rest at one of the big Indian Casinos. It was still very chilly, so we decided to keep our jackets on for the next few hours. We headed back down the mountain, back through Show Low and headed South toward the Salt River Canyon. I was amazed at the geology of the areas we rode through, bright red rocks, layers upon layers of mountains and hills, winding roads and big blue sky. It was truly amazing to feel like you are flying through untouched rugged land. It’s hard to put into words, but I’m sure anyone who rides knows exactly what I mean. Freedom, clean air, beautiful countryside unmarred by homes and businesses. Unmarred by power lines and telephone poles. Soon we were heading on the winding road through Salt River Canyon, with red rocks turning into almost pure white rock, trees sprouting out of boulders and hawks circling above. There wasn’t nearly as much traffic heading home on this Memorial Day as we thought, and we were able to move freely through the curves and canyon at a reasonable speed. Each switchback revealed more and more of the road as it wound first up, and then down to the canyon floor. Down further and further until we were crossing a huge bridge at the bottom where Salt River flowed. It had become appreciably warmer at the bottom, so we stopped at the visitors center, where local Indians were gathered to sell their jewelry and trinkets. We rolled up our jackets used bungie cords to secure them to the back of Vixen. After a quick break we mounted up again and headed up the other side of the mountains through more winding switchbacks and curves up toward Globe. The wind wasn’t bad at all today and the sun beat down on us as we wound our way through rock walls and finally at the top through more trees and a long tunnel that opened out onto Globe. We gassed up again, and took a quick ride through the historic district of this copper mining town. It was very quaint, with blue buildings and storefronts, one old theater which make you think of ‘Back to the Future’, looking like it must have in the 30’s and 40’s Soon enough we were back on the highway headed to Superior and ultimately through the Valley back to our home. It wasn’t a frantic ride, as the vacationers had apparently decided to stay in their locations until the last minute, so we didn’t have the usual frantic journey on the freeway home. We pulled into our carport, and though really glad to get back in the AC, very sorry the journey was over. My feeling is the best way to get over the blues is plan the next journey, so we unpacked and stretched out to think about the next adventure. |
