Editor’s Note: Morning! If this is your first venture into Marlow’s American Road, please join him this morning in a plunge into the American Southwest. This adventure was a couple decades ago. It reflects the change in our lives with drama.
– Vic
My bike, it no start. Damn. Damn. Triple Damn. Battery was barely 2 ½ years old. Push starting was the initial departure option of choice. Steve and Rich, the pushers, me the steering and cursing pushee after two unsuccessful tries. With Rich and Steve wheezing like 19th century sanitarium tuberculosis patients in the 7300 foot plus altitude hills, we moved onto towed starts using a borrowed rope from Rich. Did I mention it had begun lightly snowing? Or that we were on loose gravel and dirt roads? Several towing attempts provided eye opening and unhelpful noise — telltale signs (weak putts, skidding tires) of the engine’s and tire’s unhappiness about turning over on a dusty gravel surface. It was like a big fat calf roping contest with my bike yanking Steve’s this way and that way.
At this juncture, Rich suggested moving to a big hill. Ah just love me some escalation. Along the way there, we tried 2x’s with no joy. At the top of this long downhill. They pushed me with the Fatboy’s velocity increasing measurably past 18 MPH with the enhancement of a fine rainy drizzle. On this the 8th try, it fired up and stayed that way. Snowfall started. May!?!?!?!? Nevermind — it’s the Rockies at 7300+ feet in early May. Rich and Joyce departed for work. Steve and I packed up our bikes and departed. Rich has presciently offered up his rope. We accepted.
We didn’t check the Beaudry’s satellite dish connected TV for a weather forecast, since Rich assured us that this was mountainside snow effect snow or some other official sounding, weather-guesser term. Westward ho!
-do do do do, do do do do – Twilight Zone terror, confusion, oddities, discomfort theme music
(danger, danger, danger)
-do do do do, do do do do – Twilight Zone terror, confusion, oddities, discomfort theme music
(danger, danger, danger)
We stopped ASAP for gas. We were much colder and wetter. We put on all available wet and cold weather gear we had. The snowfall rate increased. Visibility 1000 yards +/- 500. Five miles later we slowed down to under 50 with the snowfall rate again increasing. We couldn’t see squat. Windshields iced up less than two minutes after hand scraping an eye window hole. Ice caked up on my plastic bag covered gloves borrowed from Steve. Ice build-up on my boots and raingear achieved half an inch in less than 15 minutes.
Lesson Learned #6 after twice breaking it off: ice coatings provide insulation.
I took the lead twenty miles from Durango as Steve had led for about an hour. We might be staying the night if we couldn’t exit this crap. A normally 30-minute-long segment to Durango was tripling in time. Not much scenery could be seen. Just snow, ice and three adolescent elk on the left roadside, skittishly contemplating a crossing. Madly honked my after-market horn klaxon to dissuade them (it worked) as I pointed them out to Steve (He was unsure whether he saw them!!) Durango arrival after several clutch in rolling conk-outs. Uh oh. Boots fully and dangerously ice-bath soaked. Plastic bagged sodden gloves worthless.
Stopped at the Honda motorcycle dealership. Left the Fatboy outside idling — no more push or rope tow starts for us today. We warmed up, dried off and began defrosting. Once our snow frosted coatings had melted. Dealership staff approached and said we looked like lone cowboy ghost storm riders. All of them including their mechs turned to — getting us weather reports, warm fluids, and weather avoidance alt route ideas. We’d have to backtrack and (wait for it) go south to Shiprock, New Mexico.
Either that across several narrow mountain passes or remain in Colorado for a four-day snow blow. We located deep in the back-room storage area some decent snowmobile GORE-TEX gloves and yellow plastic shoe and boot covers. Made the purchases. Put on my dry short work boots and stylish shoe covers. Great dealership staff. Will write thank-you letter to corporate.
After a 60-minute stop, we departed. Our new route’s pass traversals meant huge increases in snowfall rates that quickly decreased as their peaks passed into our rear-view mirrors. “This is only temporary” became our silent mantra. Sixty minutes and fifty miles south, we entered the Reservation’s plains with the snow abating. We pulled off at a local burger joint to warm up, rest and eat.
Roadtrip Tip #3: Never ignorantly violate your ride rules. Check The Weather Channel (TWC) reports.
Roadtrip Tip #4: GORE-TEX is good.
Our subsequent Day 7 ride through the Navajo and Hopi Res’s in NM and AZ revealed big positive differences from what was observed during a similar trip in the late 70s during a change of duty station out west from the Florida Keys. No more grinding poverty stigmata of junker cars, dive bars, public drunkenness, and homelessness. Much reduced numbers of “Indian Trading Posts” selling imported crap from Taiwan; real Native craft stores; better homes, clothes, cars and trucks, decent Res bus systems; better Res restaurants, job opportunities, hotels etc; most if not all businesses were Res owned; first rate handmade Native jewelry sold at road side stands.
Likely reason for change: Res casino cash flow; integrated tribal biz development plans and broader, deeper and wider social service delivery systems. Improvements still ongoing.
On some Res’s, people receive $20K per year checks before they earn a dime.
Next, we rode through Monument Valley under slate grey skies and were pounded by two hailstorms. Welcome to Arizona. Whoa.
We proceeded to Flagstaff at 7800 feet above sea level. It was dark night and cold as hell since the weather had slowed us down quite a bit. It was Steve’s turn to pick out our lodgings. He chose well — just past some railroad tracks — the Whispering Winds Motel. Proudly proclaiming itself “American Owned,” WWM offered “sanitized for our protection” porcelain equipped bathrooms and paper bath mat equipped tubs at $33/night tax included. They were furnished with well worn furniture from the 1950s. We were rocked to sleep by the slow rumbling 4-5 trains per hour rate. Cheap. A notch above scuzz. Just the way we liked them.
Asked our hosts for non-chain and non-fast-food dining options. Totally stumped them. She wasn’t wearing any shoes; his looks were reminiscent of Strother Martin.
Ate at Wild Bill’s Tavern. Good steaks. We crash.
Day 7 miscellany and counts:
Daily Windshield Bug Smash Bingo Game winners: called on account of Al Gore’s upside-down hockey-sticked climate change.
Query count as of the end of Day 7:
Where’re you going? – 8
What’s that? (Steve’s Valkyrie) – 3
Damsels in distress? – 5 (6 if you count us dudes as being in distress on Day 7)
Select photos from Day 7
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