August 15-16, 2009
"A Ride on the Wild Side"
|
Ever since John bought his motorcycle, in October 2007, the open road has been calling to us. There are many adventures to be had out there, and yet, there is never enough time to experience them. And, well, then there is the fact that there are three of us, but only room for two on the bike. That can be a problem, too... At the end of June, John's parents returned from their four month trip in their motor home. While they were gone, they said that the one thing they missed the most about being away from Arizona was their grandkids, Mary and Joshua. As soon as they were back in town, they insisted on having one weekend with each kid, before leaving again in their motorhome. "Great idea!" I said. "How about the weekend of my birthday?" Really, that was the first weekend that she was available to spend with Grandma. The next few weekends were jammed packed: a trip to Disneyland for the 4th of July, two weeks in Canada, and finally, Mary's ninth birthday party sleepover. After that, Mary was free to spend time with her Grandma. So, on Friday night, August 14, Mary went to Bill and Erika's house for a weekend of fun. And the next morning, John and I got on the motorcycle and hit the open road. Well, sort of... We had the brilliant idea of sleeping in on Saturday morning, a mistake we don't make too often. As a result, we didn't leave the house until 8:00 a.m. Our first stop was at the QT for gas and water and snacks. (John explained that these were our "emergency" supplies, in case we broke down. Not that we were in any danger of being stranded, even if we did break down; we were going to be on state highways the entire time.) As soon as we stopped, John had an epiphany: we didn't bring the keys to the cabin in Overgaard! How were we going to get inside? So, after we bought gas and snacks and bottled water, we went right back home to get the cabin keys. That put us back on the road at 8:20...much later than usual for us! And as soon as we merged onto Interstate 17, we remembered why it is that we like to leave the house so early: to avoid the traffic! Traffic came to a dead stop, just shy of the Happy Valley Road exit, and it wasn't moving. It wasn't long before we were sweating out there in the heat with our jackets and helmets on. We needed to get moving soon or we were going to roast out there. Lucky for us, we were on a motorcycle, because that allowed us to switch lanes easily to take the Happy Valley Road exit and get out of that mess. John knew that he could get to State Route 74 by way of Happy Valley Road; it would be a long detour, but at least we'd be moving again. Our detour took us west on Happy Valley Road, to 83rd Avenue, then north on 83rd to Lake Pleasant Road. From there, it was just a short distance to the Carefree Highway (State Route 74), which was the road we wanted to take into Wickenburg, our first stop. At the end of the Carefree Highway, we came to the junction with US 60, which we took north into Wickenburg. While in town, we stopped for water and a snack at a gas station, where we got to talking with another biker on a nice blue Harley. He and John exchanged stories about different road trips that they had done and places they still wanted to ride. So many adventures, so little time... As we left Wickenburg, we started north on Highway 93 and soon merged onto State Route 89, which would take us into Yarnell and eventually Prescott. At that point, I pulled the GPS out of my waist pack so that we could do a little geocaching along the way. Now, geocaching on a motorcycle is not as easy as it looks. True, you can get full satellites being on a motorcycle, because there is no interference that can sometimes occur inside of a car. (My Camry is the worst when it comes to interfering with the GPS signal.) You can also park on much smaller spaces along the side of the road, in places where you can't normally put a car. No, the big problem is the inability to communicate with each other. Since John needs to keep his hands on the handlebars, I am the one who has to hold the GPS and give directions, using sign language, from behind. Obviously, the best solution would be to install a mount for the GPS on the handlebars of the motorcycle or to invest in a communication system in our helmets. Someday... Nonetheless, we managed to find two geocaches on Yarnell Hill. The first one was cleverly hidden in a road sign; the second was stuck to a guard rail near a hairpin, on a winding section of the highway. While we searched for that cache, we were passed by lots of motorcyclists, most of whom were riding high performance sport motorcycles - motorcycles that are built for speed. (These bikes are sometimes referred to as "crotch-rockets".) About three minutes after we got back on the road again, we came upon a safety pullout, on the outside of a tight curve, one that was so tight that John even scraped his foot on the asphalt. Unfortunately, the curve had been too tight for one rider; we arrived on the scene just as the cloud of dust was settling in the pullout, and the rider was just picking himself up off of the gravel. Being good citizens, John and I stopped to help him out. The rider was injured, but despite his injuries, he was up and alert and walking around. He said that he had low-sided on that last turn and was sent spinning on his bike. He must have spun four or five times before landing in the safety pullout. The accident occurred in front of a station wagon, coming from the opposite direction; the driver of the car pulled over, but never offered his assistance to the downed rider. (He was still there, sitting in his car, when we arrived, seconds behind the accident; he lingered, inside his car for several minutes then drove off. Very odd!) We did what we could to help the injured rider. John and I helped him right his motorcycle and determined that it was still rideable; the damage was cosmetic and not structural or mechanical. We offered to call for help, but he insisted on waiting for his buddy, who would eventually realize that he was no longer following him. The good news was that his buddy figured out that something was wrong much earlier than he expected, and within ten minutes, we could see him coming down the highway. Once he was reunited with his buddy, we left them and wished them a safe journey. The next stop on our journey was in Prescott, to fuel up the motorcycle. We also considered stopping for a beverage on Whiskey Row but decided against it. It was already getting close to lunchtime, and our plan was to eat in Jerome, which was still a half an hour away. The ride from Prescott to Jerome was truly a scenic one. We took SR 89 to SR 89A, which took into the Mingus Mountains. Once in the pines, the air was much cooler, and that, of course, made the ride so much more pleasant. Moreover, the views were stunning. I never realized how much more you could see from the back of a motorcycle, versus riding in a car. I could see old mining equipment, lying at the bottom of a ravine, old foundations for buildings long since demolished, and even old car parts; these were things I would have never seen from the car! Our ride through Mingus Mountains took us past a forest fire, the third one we had seen that year. This particular fire had closed Highway 89A during the week before and nearly caused us to alter our travel plans. Fortunately, the road reopened just days before we left, even though the fire was still burning. As we passed through the burned area, we could see the flames on the side of the mountain, and the air was thick with the smell of charred wood. We arrived in Jerome around 12:30 that afternoon, a bit later than we expected to be there. Right away, we parked the motorcycle in a small parking near the old fire station, and we went into the Spirit Room for a lunch...only to find out that they don't serve food at the Spirit Room. Not that it mattered; we each had a beer anyway and enjoyed the music and the fun. Once we were finished with our drinks, we walked down the street to Grapes Restaurant and Bar, just a block away. At Grapes, we had a very enjoyable lunch - plus, we had the chance to rest from the long ride. While we were there, I snapped a picture of John with my iPhone and immediately uploaded it to Facebook, just for the heck of it. It wasn't long before a response was posted by our friend Remi, a skydiver; he said, "Looks like you're at Grapes!" Apparently, he's been there before! After lunch, we got back on the motorcycle and continued on our road trip. From Jerome, we stayed on SR 89A until we reached Clarksdale and Cottonwood. We didn't intend to stop in Cottonwood; however, we were both in need of cash and decided to stop only if we found a Wells Fargo or a Bank of America ATM. The first bank we found was a Wells Fargo, so John pulled up to the ATM and let me off of the bike. While I was busy getting cash, John leaned over and attempted to thin the fuel. His motorcycle has a tendency to backfire when it is riding up in the mountains and it's because of the richness of the fuel; he thought if he made an adjustment to it, it might ride better. What he didn't anticipate was that he would be making that necessary adjustment with his fingers dangerously close to the fire-hot tailpipe! By the time I returned with my cash, he had managed to burn his fingers! Now, I don't need to tell you that trying to grip the handlebars of a motorcycle with second-degree burns on one's hand, in one hundred degree temperatures, is not the most pleasant sensation in the world. In fact, it hurts like the dickens! By the time we made it to the Bank of America ATM, just down the road, John was in a lot of pain and wasn't sure if he would be able to go on. Fortunately, we were near a Safeway; I suggested that he go inside and buy a tube of burn cream. He did so, and it wasn't long before he was able to get back on and ride again. The next leg of our journey took us east on SR 260, through Camp Verde and onto the Mogollon Rim. Along the way, we passed by the Mail Trail Trailhead - we pointed and nodded, but didn't speak a word about it. (After all, we promised that we would never speak of that place again.) We took another break as soon as we were in the cool pines again, on top of the Mogollon Rim. We had been hoping to make it to Strawberry before stopping again, but our rear ends needed the rest; they were getting sore!
John and I stayed at Sportsman Chalet for about a half an hour, which was just enough time to give our bodies a rest from the long ride. We each enjoyed an ice cold beer and watched sports on the TV set in the corner. Then, around 3:00, we settled up and hit the road again. About fifteen minutes later, we arrived in Payson. Instead of going through town to get to the junction with SR 260, we cut across Payson along Tyler Parkway. That shortcut probably shaved five minutes off of our trip through town, and it saved us a lot of aggravation, too. In no time at all, we were in Star Valley, leaving Payson behind. The last leg of our road trip took us east on SR 260 to Heber-Overgaard, where we would be spending the night. By that time, we were very tired and ready to get off of the motorcycle; we had sore rear ends and John's hand was throbbing from the nasty burn. Perhaps we had been too ambitious on our ride; in hindsight, John said, we should have stopped in Strawberry and stayed at the Windmill Corner Inn. But, of course, hindsight is 20/20... Our journey along SR 260, from Payson to Heber-Overgaard, was truly an interesting one. Just outside of the Canyon Point Campground - the same campground where John and I had once hiked into a sinkhole (only two years earlier, on my birthday trip) - I saw the rotting remains of an elk, lying on the side of the road. That's a visual that it hard to erase from your memory... At long last, John and I arrived in Overgaard, around 4:30 p.m.; and we went straight to the Gaard-Chak to decompress before figuring out what to do for dinner. It felt so good to sit back and relax in the comforts of home that we almost didn't want to go out again... ...But we had to. After all, there wasn't anything to eat at the Gaard-Chak, and we were hungry. Once we were rested enough, we got back on the motorcycle and took a drive to the local grocery store to buy some sodas for the Gaard-Chak; then, we went out to dinner at the Casa Ramos, a Mexican restaurant in Heber. It was dark and cold outside when we left the restaurant that evening; it was just cold enough that I wished I had a thicker jacket. We were also completely exhausted and glad that we didn't have far to go. Originally, our plan had been to go to Pinetop-Lakeside for dinner; then, we were going to see the new Harry Potter movie (as we had done two years earlier, for our anniversary). We were so glad that we didn't go with that plan; we couldn't imagine how tired we would have been after riding for eight hours and then adding another two-hour ride on top of it! As soon as we were back in the comfort of the Gaard-Chak, we both went to bed and fell asleep quickly. Another long ride awaited us in the morning, and we needed our rest... The next morning, after a good sleep and a nice, hot shower, we hit the open road once again, stopping first at June's Dairy Delight for a good, hearty breakfast. Our route that morning took us east on SR 260 to Show Low - a half an hour ride that was very pleasant in the cool early morning. Along the way, I saw the largest jackrabbit I had ever seen in my life; he must have weighed at least ten pounds! In Show Low, we stopped at a gas station to fuel up and to buy more snacks and water to replace the ones that we had used the day before. While we loaded the water bottles in the duffel bag, a mother and her little boy, who looked to be about three years old, walked by us. The little tyke stared in awe at the motorcycle, and he beamed when we smiled and waved back at him. It was very charming! As we left Show Low, we started heading south of US 60. About fifteen minutes later, while I was watching the scenery pass me by, John started gesturing wildly at me; he made a slicing motion at his neck with his hand then tried to tell me something, but I couldn't understand a word that he had said. It wasn't until much later, while stopped for a break, that I finally got the whole story: he had run over a squirrel. It was, of course, a complete accident; he tried to avoid the critter, but it ran in the wrong direction and wound up under the tires. I never felt the bump, and, thankfully, I never saw it happen either.
At 10:30 a.m., we rolled into Globe - where, of course, I was born thirty-nine years (and three days) earlier. It seemed appropriate that our road trip should pass through there. It also seemed like a good place for a break, and John knew exactly where he wanted to stop: the Shamrock Bar, on US 60 in Claypool. There was a story behind the Shamrock Bar - a story that pre-dates my days with John. Many years ago, before John was even a skydiver, he had taken a drive through Pinal Mountains near Globe and accidentally got his car stuck. It was late on a Sunday afternoon and he thought for sure that he was going to be stuck there all night. Much to his surprise, he was rescued by a young Mormon family, who gave him a ride all the way back to Phoenix. The next day, he and his father and his grandfather drove out to the Pinal Mountains to fetch John's car, and they stopped at the Shamrock Bar for drinks along the way. John was pleased to see that, two decades later, the bar was still open. I guess the classics never die. We only had one beverage each at the Shamrock Bar; after that, we hit the road again. At this point, we were in the home stretch: we were just an hour and a half from home... Our ride took us through the community of Top of the World and the beautiful rock formations of the Devil's Canyon, which is even more stunning when seen from the back of a motorcycle. We also drove through Superior, Gold Canyon, and Apache Junction without stopping; we didn't take our next break until we reached the city of Mesa. We stopped again in Phoenix, for lunch at the Applebee's at 44th Street and Thomas. Our motorcycle trip ended at 1:00 p.m., when we finally arrived at the house. With sore behinds and tired legs, we slowly made our way into the house, where we were greeted warmly by Bootsie the cat - apparently, he had missed us terribly. He was glad that Mary was gone, though, because she had left all of her Webkinz toys at home; he had stolen seven of them! After taking a shower and changing clothes, we drove over to Bill and Erika's house - in the car this time - to pick up Mary; we stayed for a little while and took a much-needed dip in the pool. Soon thereafter, we all went home and relaxed. Another great Verley adventure had come to an end... | |
Return to Naked in the Woods. |
|
| This site maintained by John and Heather Verley, © 2001-2010. |
We
stopped again in Strawberry, at the Sportsman Chalet, located next to the
Our
journey took us through the Salt River Canyon, one of our favorite scenic
drives in Arizona. Along the way, we stopped off at an overlook, not
just to take a break but to admire the beauty of the canyon as well. It
brought back memories of my