Date: Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Start: 0930 (0715 wake-up)
Finish: 1930
Travel Time: 10 hrs
Distance: 414 miles
Total Distance: 4062 miles
We managed a good night's rest in a couple of beds that didn't seem they were capable of such of activities when we first arrived. It's amazing how nearly 4000 miles can have such an impact over time. We packed up and met Kyle for breakfast at a diner just down the road. We filled up on hotcakes and eggs and then parted ways. Kyle was off to catch up on some laundry and continue on the trail. We, on the other hand, were headed towards the infamous Rt 666.
Our route would take us through Albuquerque, and then due west to the Arizona border. It was our first day of heavy highway miles since we started the trail and in comparison to the continuous questioning of our GPS co-ordinates, navigation was a piece of cake... but boring. It was actually a pretty trying day. One thing we can say about highway miles is that you sit there and don't change position nearly as much. Your mind is in a state of being only semi-engaged in the activity at hand that you can become fatigued pretty quickly. Seems backwards right?
When your riding off road you are changing position so often, and your mind and body are truly engaged in the task at hand. Its literally a sport. That can be exhausting too, but there's a certain level of alertness that comes with that level of activity. Road riding is comparatively boring and uneventful. It certainly helps to have helmet comms. Goda and I have said a hundred times this trip would have been an entirely different experience without the comms. Just finding our way around towns was made infinitely easier with the ability to simply converse and consult each other. Navigating off road was made easier as well, and with the added bonus to be able to warn the following rider of potholes, puddles, and other dangers.
At times like these, the comms were a godsend. We could chat like we were sitting in a car next to each other and it really helps to pass the time. I've known Mr. Pagoda since the fourth grade, but now I know his top five favorite bands of all time, and in return, he knows my top five video game experiences of all time.
You can tell we were bored right?
Well that would soon change as we made our way into Albuquerque. Since day 3, the only roads we encountered were winding country roads. You know the kind with only two lanes and the occasional car or three? This was not the case. Albuquerque may not be Philly, and it certainly isn't Los Angeles, but it was the closest thing we'd encountered in over a week to either of those. We were hitting town near the lunch hour, so traffic wasn't horrible, but it was a nice change of pace that certainly got the heart rate going a bit. We navigated through town in a sea of sedans, occupied by people going about their daily business, and even worse, going to work! We were reminded that we were on an awesome trip and currently on the way to the Devil's Highway. There were worse things.
Once through Albuquerque we hooked up with the 40West and nearly instantly sunk back into the doldrums of boring road riding. Highway miles have a tendency to blend together. So here we are a year after the fact trying to recall and write down all the cool stuff that happened. Let me say, there are far fewer of those moments on highways than any category of the trip. There was one, though, on this particular stretch. We were passing these enormous rigs that were carrying one windmill blade each. That's right, windmill blades. here we were on our iron horses, doing battle (or the traffic version of battle) with giant windmills. I felt like a modern day Don Quixote.
Once we left the windmill caravan in the rear view, things slowed down significantly. We switched from the helmet comms over to our Mp3 players and zombified for the next several miles. When we reached our first fuel stop, we were stiff and bored and hungry and hot. It sucked. Luckily our first detour would be right around the corner.
Just ahead, we would turn off the highway again and take one of those welcoming back roads to hook up with highway 60, which would lead us to the top of route 666. This was certainly one of the most unexpected sections of the trip. We found ourselves passing through beautiful, rural, Northern New Mexico desert. These deserts are more like the Mojave than the Sahara though. They are chock full of flowering plants, and low-lying shrubs which blanketed the gently undulating landscape. All of which was set against the picture perfect blue skies with large puffy white clouds. It was a pleasure to behold and a pleasure to ride on.
Somewhere about half way through we encountered some strange and beautiful lava formations. There were countless lava tubes laid out like one of those corrugated welcome mats to our right. They were onyx in color, and the vegetation was more sparse than the desert sections we'd passed through earlier. On our left the formations rose from the ground to form a set of cliffs and high-hills that were reminiscent of the badlands in South Dakota. They were darker in color and their curved exteriors seemed to betray the flowing process that created them. It was oddly out of place and pretty interesting but for whatever reason we didn't really stop for a photo opportunity. We were tired and a bit groggy and honestly I think we just wanted to make our miles for the day. We decided to run the helmet cams so we could capture this section, whose flowing shapes looked like they could still be moving, while in motion.
Before long we hit our next intersection, and with it our next stop. We ate lunch at yet another road-side diner that had surprisingly good grub. When we headed out to the bikes, we found we had a fan. An older gentleman was checking out our gear. He had ridden a similar set up in his younger days, and still managed to get he and the wife out on weekends for a cruise on the Harley. If there's anything we can tell ya about motorcyclists, its that they are some of the finest, friendliest, and most approachable people folks you will ever meet. The trip wasn't even over yet and I was having a hard time remembering how many fun and wonderful people we got to chat with... He bade us farewell and good luck and, with that, we were onto the last stretch before AZ.
A quick jaunt down a breezy, hill riddled highway found us in Arizona at last. We stopped to fuel up, make a few quick calls to the loved ones, grab a beverage and a snack, and then we squared up with the Devil's Highway. PS. This road has earned its reputation by having more fatal accidents in a smaller length of miles than any other road in America. This serpentine stretch of roads winds through, around, over and under some very diverse landscapes, and most of these turns lack guard rails despite having steep, several hundred foot drops.
It was a formidable foe, and the reputation did proceed here. In fact, Arizona wants America to forget all about the "Devil's Highway". You'd be hard pressed to find a shop selling a shot glass, refrigerator magnet, or t-shirt with words on it. They've even renamed the highway to the nice and neutral "Route 191". To top that, I'm sure on any given weekend there'd be police hanging out at the front, back, and middle of the thing trying to deter riders from enjoying themselves to death, and not for nothing. This was not a weekend, however. It was a Tuesday! We had this beauty all to ourselves. We mounted our steeds, swallowed hard, revved the engine and shot ourselves head first in the the belly of the beast. Time to tango.
In recounting the details of this trip, let me say this... The biggest surprise of the trip was northern New Mexico and Arizona. When I think of those two states I think of blistering hot desserts, red rock formations, and sand. Nothing close to the diversity of scenery and landscape that we had encountered so far. It was beautiful and I consider myself lucky for having my minds eye set right.
The Devil's Highway lay before us and it was nothing like what I expected. It began, with a flirt. A relatively gentle road that swayed lazily back and forth through alpine meadows and glens. It was cool and humid. It was mountain terrain!? I felt that I'd somehow been transported to the Central California Sierras. I took a moment to check the GPS only to find that we were at approximately 8000ft. That is 2000ft higher than an average peak in the Angeles forest, and more than half-way to the highest peak in the contiguous United States. I was expecting a red-desert-devil of a road and got a smooth and satisfying jaunt through what looked like my backyard canyon roads in California. It was gorgeous! We pressed on ultimately surprised by the agreeable conditions, as we passed over a few peaks and valleys things started to slowly get more interesting. The flirtatious sweepers started to progressively tighten up, like the road was surreptitiously making a fist and preparing to strike.
A flicker of anxiety began to rise in my chest. The temperature was slowly climbing. I felt like I'd been lied to. Like I'd been lured into a trap that hadn't been sprung. Goda and I sparsely chatted over the intercoms. What began as a whimsical back and forth had gradually dropped in frequency as our task demanded increasing levels of attention.
We rode through open sided mountain sections where a vast valley to the left or right continuously pulled your gaze away from the black and yellow path of safety. Like a siren in the distance... Like part of the plan! Our lifeline was a 16ft wide patch of pavement in the middle increasingly less forgiving terrain, in the middle of nowhere, and it was all too easy to loose yourself in the amazing views. We cut through strangely wooded sections as well, where the birch trees crowded in on the road, making me feel like I was riding one of the many back country roads of my youth. It seemed strangely out of place for what began as an alpine environment. We were descending. The vegetation was changing, the air was getting warmer, the road was getting tighter and more aggressive. We decided to pull over to take in the view, rest up, and prepare for what we somehow unconsciously knew was coming.
We pulled off into what I think was a picnic area. It was small and non-descript and sat atop a plateau that the road snaked around. We enjoyed some jerky and a sip or two from our camelbacks. We stopped for a quick photo op. The bikes were set against the blue sky, and the progressively descending mountain tops. There was a smell of a rotting animal in the air. We could not find the source. I thought quickly about the last hour or so of riding. This moment seemed to epitomize the experience. The beauty of the landscape was juxtaposed to the reputation of this road. There did seem to be something strangely malicious about it, yet you couldn't deny how plainly gorgeous it was. I stopped myself. This was ridiculous. I'm standing in the midst of an incredible landscape, on one of this country's most historic roads. There was no hidden agenda, there was no subversive force attempting to tear us from the pavement. This was flat out one of the most incredible riding experiences I've had, and in one of the most beautiful places I've ever been. We hopped on the bikes and hit it again, ready for round two.
Within the next 20 minutes or so there was an abrupt change. The lush green gave way to browns, reds, and yellows. The tall trees gave way to scrubby bushes. We were transitioning into dessert terrain. Here's where the personality shift in this schizophrenic road occurs. The turns began to tighten drastically, we found ourselves in wonderful leans, pulling eagerly around blind turns, hairpins and chicanes. The road moved up and down and much as it did side to side. This was it. The hidden surprise was sprung upon us. Instead of a cruel-hearted beat up, it was a roller coaster ride. The road seemed to want to thrill you as it upped the ante around every turn. It was incredible. It was the craziest and most fun road-faring experience either of us have ever had the privilege to encounter. If you can't enjoy yourself on this road... you don't have a pulse.
We laughed over the comms, and exclaimed in every sort of manner. We simply couldn't believe it. I made a comment that if I was tasked with designing a road for a motorcycling video game, it would be something like this. Something LIKE this, but not this. I don't think I have the imaginative capacity to birth such a triumphantly twisty tale. If you asked me a day ago, I'd say that it was improbable that anything like it existed in reality. It was like we were living some one's dream of a road. This simply couldn't be real. We stopped and set up some video fly-bys. We traded leads. We tore, wide eyed around turn after turn. We were having a ball.
All good things come to an end though. Luckily, ours was not abrupt or unwelcome. The turns did get gentler, but they didn't leave us entirely. The road smoothed out and finally we began feeling like we were back on earth again.
The insanity of the road was instantly replaced with the insanity of scenery, however. It was like the forest and the sky opened up in concert. That wasn't all that opened up though. The ground opened up as well. To our left was the most magnanimous man made site I've ever seen. The Freeport Copper mine stretched nearly as far, wide and DEEP as the eye could see. We were blown away and had to pull off for some photos. We attempted, in vain, to capture the size and splendor of the sight before us. A camera simply won't do.
We packed it up and headed into the town at the base of the mine. We found a happening little hotel there and got set up in our room. We cleaned up, and headed out for some tacos and beer just as the sun was setting. The food was great and the drinks were welcome! This hotel also served as the mine's museum, of sorts, and had every manner of copper products on display. We checked out several strange looking contraptions and found our intrigue piqued. We'd have to ask more about the mine and its history tomorrow.
We headed to bed, once again, hardly able to comprehend what we'd been through in the previous 14 or so hrs. There's not been a single day on this trip that I could have predicted, and I felt it was pointless to try. As we hit the hay, I thought to myself, "Lights out... Time to head back to dreamland."
/s/ Yobo
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