3/2/15 Watchtower

Each new road is winding piece of twine that binds us closer. Today we tied some knots!

Waking up to sleet and 36 degrees, we lingered over a warm breakfast. When the mercury hit 40, we ventured out, wearing much of the clothing we brought with us. The lure of a fabled river run drew us into the wind and weather and south to the Rio Grande.

West on 67 to Marfa, then south to Prosidio we devoured miles of desert, being sucked in by that now familiar one point perspective that characterizes many roads in Texas. Excited by a few twisties that broke the trance, we navigated some mountains, but then again, we were riding toward that worm hole in the horizon. 

T- boned at Prosidio and the Rio Grande, we were excited to see the river stretch out beside us. Then things got serious! 

Winding east along the river, we made our first attempt to picnic at the entrance to Big Bend Ranch State Park. We were totally alone. Wild, windy and beautiful, we accessed our lonely table with me walking and Jules muscling the rocky, rutted dirt path. I held my breath until he reached the top, sitting proudly on Rascal, the King of the hill. The sight of them, with the mountains of Mexico hovering in the background and the river far below, burned another vivid image in my brain that will be pulled up at random for the rest of my life. 

Keening wind joined us as we tried to keep it from taking our wine and cheese. Huddled together, alone at the brink of our world, strains of a haunting song whirled around us...."Outside in the cold distance a wildcat did growl, two riders were approaching and the wind began to howl!" 

Swept away, these two riders made an exit. As Jules negotiated the moguls, I followed on foot. Glad to be reunited at the bottom, I happily put my boots in the stirrups, ready to ride. 

And it was a ride to remember. Cliffs ledging the river so far below, climbed to hills that seemed  to end in the clouds. Sometimes screaming into the wind on straightaways, then gearing down into free falls, we ran the Rio. This beautiful and lonely road is only feet from the border, yet there are no patrols or fences. Nature provides a wild and impossible barrier to cross. 

A second and more sheltered picnic took place in a teepee, were we savored the break from the wind. Our continuous companions on this ride were the blue bonnets of Texas. Flowering prolifically where  little else grows, these brilliant desert flowers lined the roads, adding artistic accent. Here, by our teepee, they rioted. 

In Alpine, we knew that we were heading into an isolated part of the country. Few accomodations flashed up on the internet, so we booked in advance in Teralingua, the only "town" in proximity to Big Bend National Park, our next adventure. The Chisos Mountain Mining Company Motel was our choice, and when we arrived we quickly renamed it the Cheesy Mountain Motel! But it was warm and dry and a starting gate for the next day and the ride that had tempted us across the desert.

At home we wait for the perfect day to leave the garage. Never would we ride out below 50 degrees when the wind was a battle to fight. But traveling, we join the forces of weather, riding with them, maybe cursing a little, but ending the day, red cheeked and numb saying "Holy shit .... 

What a ride! " And that's why we take to the road. 

Pink!

The high desert

King of the Hill

Windswept

The long road down

The Big River

Shelter!

Texas State Flower

Cheesy Mt. Motel

3/1/15 Texas is BIG!

The posted 80 mph is a necessity if you ever want to get anywhere in Texas. So we joined in on the speed fest. 

Flying along route 10, we banked the Rio Grande. So different to be north of the border, we soared through desert paradise as Mexico haunched on the other side, a still life of jumbled houses and abandoned cars. 

Miles evaporated. Breathless in this desolate landscape we evolved. Riding through terrain that was flat and elevated at the same time, we looked for mountains that gave rise to our discomfort, but there were none. We were in the high desert. The same geological  anomaly that gave rise to the Copper Canyon, our host  a few weeks before, entrapped us again. And so, altitude in a desert was our lesson for the day.

At lunch we looked out for rattlers.

From 10 we took flight at Davis up route 118. Texas drew us further in with a new show. Flat sage covered desert gave way to mountainous roads, luring us upward. A ride made for us, there were straight shots at 80 mph that chillingly morphed into climbing curves and descents. The temperature mooded constantly and we sweated in our leather, knowing that the next descent would knife the temperature in half! From 75 to 45, we rode a meterologist's roller coaster - and it was fun!

We had a destination - it is necessary in Texas. The Rio River Road and then Big Bend, so far from everything, drew us into Alpine, TX. Nestled in the middle of nowhere, this charming town is an oasis leading to one of the most magnificent National Parks we have ever seen. Lucky to get a room ( the Cowboy Poetry Festival [????] had just taken place there that weekend) we graciously took our boots off in the historic Holland Hotel. 

I am a bad trip planner. I start with an open mind and wherever we land is home. Jules maps and figures. I record the aftermath. Every day on the road is a surprise to me. Every day on the road is a gift from Jules. I am one lucky bitch!

2/28/15 Tumbleweeded to Texas

Lunch in New Mexico ... Dinner in Texas!

We ran out of Arizona being chased by ominous rain clouds. The big talk at breakfast was that Phoenix was going to get hammered with rain, apparently an earth shattering report. Globe was next on the list so we high-tailed it south.

Double layered, we rode out in 40 degree temperature range. With the storm creeping up our backs, we kept our eyes on a lonely patch of blue in the distance that teased us for half a day. Blown about by ferocious wind gusts on route 70 and then tractor trailers on 10, we finally found some respite. We ate, sheltered by a faux adobe, hunkered down against the wind that found its way into the shelter and threatened to blow lunch!

Reluctant to get back into the wind, we forced ourselves to saddle up. And then all the clouds disappeared, the wind died down and the temperature rose 20 degrees. Cruising in the sun without the wind factor goaded us into Texas where we planted our feet in El Paso for the night. 

Twin Peaks, a western Hooters, entertained us for dinner with shot-skis and "splendid views". Naïveté consumed me as I thought we were really going to see mountains in Texas.  Maybe tomorrow.

2/27/15 Riding Day

Some days you just have to get somewhere. Today was one of those.

A smiley face, sky-written on a perfect day, greeted us as we mounted Rascal to ride out of Yuma. Determined to crunch some miles, we headed for the highway. Route 8 catapulted us east as we ducked under Phoenix. We had now ridden full circle, but thousands of miles still lay ahead. A rest stop lunch couldn't compete with some of our other picnics, but it was warm, there were mountains in the background and the company was exceptional.

After successfully avoiding another major city, we headed north through copper country. Here, it's all about copper, or at least it once was. Abandoned mines were the backdrop for many Main Streets as we rode by broken storefronts, avoiding tumbleweed. Depressed by these ghost towns, we continued silently, our thoughts on an economy broken. But, as we rode into Globe, our spirits were lifted. Here, copper is still king, and businesses thrive. And this is where we gratefully ended or run across Arizona.

A day of high speed and little scenery may not be written as one of the most memorable on our trip. But I know for sure, I will never forget the utter joy I felt at being smiled on from above.

Good morning!

Are we still in Mexico?

Desert mountains

Rest stop lunch - not the NJ Turnpike!

Abandoned mine

Going, going, gone

 

2/26/15 Salty Dogs

Water, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink!

Indio disappeared in our rear view mirrors as Rascal pointed her nose to the Salton Sea. Through Coachella, we were treated to an irrigated paradise. Date, citrus and nut orchards were tucked in among thousands of either newly green acres or those just prepared, awaiting their turn to produce. 

And then the Salton Sea. An accidental landmark, it was created in 1905 when an engineering mistake caused the Colorado River to burst through an irrigation canal. Because of water flowing freely into the basin of the ancient Cahuilla Sea for 18 months, a salt water playground was born. The rich and famous flocked to the area like pelicans and plied their race boats on these waters for years. But the increasing salinity of the lake and the lower water levels, due to irrigation restrictions, have caused the once popular vacation spot to become a ghost resort. 

Yet we were charmed with the sea and the bright "sand", actually composed of fish bones and mollusk shells. Pelicans worked for their dinner as we ate our lunch, mystified by the mountains on the horizon. It is said that as the temperature rises in this area 234' below sea level, it becomes quite pungent. But today, only a whisper of sulphur sailed in on the breeze and the dead sea creatures beneath our boots kept their place.

The Imperial Valley guided us away from the Salton Sea as we headed south through another Eden of irrigation. The Colorado River, the main source of life in California, is parceled out in thousands of ways to satisfy the legions of thirsty consumers in this desert terrain. Amazed that one river can do so much, I also wonder for how long this fountain can be tapped. 

Riding snug to Mexico, we encountered our first Border Patrol. None of the concern we felt in Mexico when stopped by the Federales gave rise here. We knew we were in our own territory and were waved through with a smile. God bless America!

Arizona welcomed us as we headed toward Yuma ( Jules thinks this a humerous place) where we arrived at 3:10. Our resting place for the night was the Historic Coronado Inn, the first Best Western motel.  

Today we witnessed life and death. The Coachella and Imperial Valleys battle the desert by eking  out water wherever they can. Yet ironically, 300 plus square miles of water hangs between them. Tempting but unusable, this desert of water will never grow a crop or fill a drinking glass - a beautiful but cruel joke for this drought stressed state.

Date farm

Our picnic spot today

Pelicans

Sun and "sand"

Imperial

Old School

Welcome home for the night

2/25/15 Joshua Tree

From the artificial to the authentic, we rode out from a city characterized by falsely  green lawns and surgically plastic faces into a desert whose beauty stands on its own. 

Heading to the barren Yucca Valley, we dusted Palm Springs. Relieved to be surrounded by reality, we rode warm toward Pioneertown. A touristy entity, centered on "famous" Pappy and Harriet's bar (love the name) we were slightly comforted that everything was closed. Devoid of other tourists, we wandered through the ersatz Old West village freely, having a hoot posing in faux jails and outhouses. So much for the genuine!

As we passed washed out gullies and impassable roads, our decision to wait out the weather in San Diego was reaffirmed. Rain in the desert is an ordeal for any traveler, but on the bike, it could become dangerous.

We are summer bikers. The desert has always been unapproachable - hot, barren, an obstacle rather than an urge. So today we won the lottery of a lifetime and the grand prize was free riding Joshua Tree National Park in the winter. This park, these trees, this desert, flowering everywhere, immediately consumed us as we bucked the wind and embraced the primeval atmosphere. As a cliché, deserts are characterized as solitary, unproductive and sterile, but the abundance of plants, birds and mystical Joshua trees broke any of our misconceptions.  

Through Lost Horse Valley to Keep View, we stopped to view the Coachella Valley. Los Angeles, Palm Springs and other metropoli suck water from ground springs and canals in this gorge that quench their thirst. Again, water pushes to the front of the geological discussion. How much? How long? Who benefits?

And then the Joshua. Legions of these enigmatic trees surrounded us. Humbled to be in the presence of plants that grow only in a confined section of the Southwest US, we gloried in their eccentricity. Ancient and stable, the mystery of their existence  hallowed our ride through their home. 

Rocks began to burst from the ground in static firework displays. The dynamic change in view fed us anew on each turn and we were electrified. Strong winds intensified our experience and finding a warm, secluded rock sheltered swatch of ground to open our wine, we melted into our surroundings.

"Look where we are" whispered from us simultaneously. Said so often, each new high point in our travels evokes these words. Gypsies by heart, the wonders yet to see push us on. We want no climax because who could wish for the denouement! 

Changes occurred abruptly as we headed out after lunch. The Joshua Tree "forest" disappeared and huge boulders and fantastically formed pillars erupted from the landscape. Sculpted by weather and time, their presence guided us into the afternoon. Still in leather, we began to cook in the desert sun.

Indio, CA was our oasis. We shucked our chaps and wallowed in the air conditioning of our small motel, home for the night.

Finally, I understand the desert. As we rode, I pictured numerous dead cowboy actors crawling across the terrain, savoring their last drop of canteen water. Hollywood dropped the ball on this one. There is an overwhelming virtue in this ecosystem, in its life and history. Mystically gripping, we were entrapped forever by the aura surrounding this ride and the intrinsic beauty of Joshua Tree. 

Just don't put me here in July!

Pioneer Town Detainee

Will Berry 

Buckboard Betsy

On a steel horse he rides!

Coachella Valley

Suddenly

Shelter from  the wind

Joshua

2/24/15 Alone

A slow peel from the coast up "the 5" and then east to Lake Elsinore eased us back into riding mode. 

California hills, green from the recent rains, presented a new perspective of this terrain. Always brown on our previous travels, the mountains surrounded us with a new mysticism. Do Hobbits live here in the winter?

As we braided the twists of amazing route 74, Rascal flew again and stretched her wings that had been folded in the city.  Just before the lake we ran into a unique biker bar. Hell's Kitchen has every kitschy accoutrement that a biker bar could offer. Outdoor music, politically incorrect signs, and  plenty of skulls and flames welcomed riders to relax here. An ornate coffin, a skull to automatically lift the lid and an array of salad bar items within. Only in California can the leather meet the la-de-da.

Down time on the road after lunch lead us into Hemet. A morass of malls and traffic lights almost sucked us in, but we persevered and  the outcome was sweet. Into San Jacinto State Park, route 243 lifted us into a road bordered by snow and ice. As the temperature plummeted, swishy turns and grinding climbs, intensified by the chance of ice on every wet curve, challenged and exhilarated both bike and riders. Freed from itineraries and schedules, we rose together into heights of a new joined experience.

Down onto the 10, Palm Springs called us to rest. Fearful of golfers in Bermuda shorts and black socks, ancient Cadillacs cruising recklessly at 25 mph and leather faced snowbirds, we were pleasantly surprised to find a restaurant where we were the oldest patrons. Perhaps the rap music kept the zombies away!

Alone together again! It has always been about the two of us. Selfish of the time given us, we choose to be welded back to front on a bike built for two. And today we flew solo!

Green California

You could buy it!

Lots of flames

Oops!

Yes!

Do you dare to enter?

Snow

Flying solo

We went to a museum!

Oyster shooters and more