No Excuses. Well, yeah, some excuses. (A Number of Occasional Other Matters)

If you’ve been following my Sort Of Sabbatical Phase One By The Day Posts, you probably decided long ago that I finally succumbed to the spectacularly distracting Pacific Coast Highway views and crashed the Ducati into sparkling azure sea.

I didn’t.

So that's good.

Today I thought, as a writing exercise, I’d relate the long list of excuses that brought my posting to a halt.   Do enjoy!

My computer has been acting suspiciously since my return from Sort of Sabbatical Phase One.  Specifically, it has been giving me error messages when I back up my data.  I have, mostly, been successfully ignoring this problem (Me - 1, Computer - 0!), except for the minor side effect that I am not particularly motivated to work on my photographs if there’s a decent possibility I might lose all my work.  Surely you understand.

Then I went on Sort of Sabbatical Phase Two.  Of course I took photos. You’ll see them later.

Then I came back.*  My computer did not fix itself in my absence.  Harrumph. (Computer - 1, Me - 0) After some time-consuming yet unsuccessful attempts to rectify the problem, I went back to my original plan, namely, ignoring the problem.  Not surprisingly, this tactic brought on those same pesky minor side effects.

Then I went on Sort of Sabbatical: Epilogue.  Of course I took photos.  You’ll see them later.

Then I was sequestered, pretty much without internet or phone, for a week in a tiny town in northern New Mexico.  I lived in a retrofitted Airstream trailer, complete with kitchen and farm animals.  I didn’t eat any of the farm animals, but I did  have some two-thumbs-up tapas at La Boca in Santa Fe.  Overall, the week was fantastically hilarious.

It's not often I open an Airstream trailer door.  Even less often do I find a horse begging for a snack on the other side of said door.

Do I have to say that by the time I finally made my way back to Tucson, my computer still wouldn’t back up correctly?**  Heal thyself! (Please?)

Then there was the matter of my last post.  I was, for a time, rather distracted by it all.   Recently, I saw a dead dove in the middle of the street.  Its body was crushed, with one delicate wing miraculously still reaching skyward.  I wish I had taken a photo of it.  Because that’s exactly what it feels like to be run over by a bus.  I know, because just as surely as Julia was betrayed by Winston,*** I was thrown under the bus in a manner so clever I almost admire it, by someone who was (supposedly) my greatest ally.  Pfft.  Not exactly the stuff of superheroes.

Then it was September.  It’s generally a lovely month. I ease myself gently back into work, while enjoying all the local day rides I haven’t seen since May. Except this September I was leisurely repairing the Ducati in time for a track day at the end of the month.  (You’ll find out why the Ducati needed repairs round about, oh, Sort of Sabbatical Phase One Day 25, give or take.)  Leisurely making repairs?  More along the lines of “leisurely inflicting further damage.”  No, I didn’t have it fixed in time for the track day.  I still don’t have it fixed.

Then I decided perhaps it would be more efficient to drive 26 hours to retrieve my Kawasaki, which had been residing in TX, than to fix the Ducati.

Then there was the short but all consuming project of my very first paid food photography gig.  I was actually paid (still waiting on the check, to be honest) to cook and photograph the process of making a certain risotto recipe****. I borrowed a decent camera, turned my little house into a photo studio, cleaned my stove, and took the requested five specific photographs.  If I’m lucky, it’ll boil down to minimum wage.  But it was amusing, and I got to eat a great deal of risotto over the next few days.

The ingredients. And a cookbook.  Although I didn't actually use a recipe from this book.  Do you suppose the Risotto page would lie nicely in the middle of the book like this?  Of course not.  Hurrah for color copiers and tape.

It's quite a trick to pour broth AND stir AND release the camera shutter with your toes or teeth. (I know about self-timers.  Couldn't use it. Long Story.)  The lighting on shiny pans can be rather problematic.  After spending hours getting it right, the sun had moved into the kitchen window. Argh.

Then October hit me like a 12" All-Clad Saute Pan.  I’m still standing here blinking stupidly from the how-did-I-not-see-this-coming avalanche of work.  Speaking of side effects, however, it is nice to finally have some paychecks rolling in.

And my last excuse?  I have a new friend in my life!  Remember this sad day?  Well, I’ve been dog-less and dog-longing ever since.  (No sense in getting a dog before the Sort of Sabbatical).

“Miss Molly” arrives and my heart sings!

My nine year old darling came from Southern Arizona Beagle Rescue.

There she is! All 42 pounds of her!  She's already discovered that I'm immune to the sad brown eyes trick. (Boo!)  But I like to walk. (Yay!)

Hard to say who is happier.  What a lovely, lovely conundrum.

There.   No more excuses. Except neither the computer nor the Ducati work yet. And now I have to borrow a proper camera to get a proper beagle portrait.

*By that I mean I continued on to UT.  To work.  A tiny bit.  And ride more.
** Yes, I should just buy a new one.  Or at least reinstall the OS to rule that out as the problem. (I really don't think it is.)  But the amount of work (and frustration) required by either of those things makes Ducati repair seem like fun.
*** "Do it to Julia!" he cries, when faced with his greatest fear, in George Orwell's 1984.  To be fair, Julia also betrayed Winston in Room 101, we just have fewer details. I still hold some respect for both Julia and Winston, though, based on their circumstances and the final scene where they actually own up to it.
****Shrimp, chile, pine nuts, carrots, and black olives?  Really?  I suppose I wasn't paid to approve of the recipe, just to make and photograph it.  What a silly use of some expensive ingredients.

NM Reprise (Ode to AZ 78 a.k.a. the Curley Traynor Memorial Highway)

Small state parks aren’t necessarily my favorite places, with their trash cans, eau-dor de toilettes, and premium camping fees, but, as you saw in my last post, I find myself plunking down my tent at these very sites with some regularity.  Having to make a point to dismount well before sunset, I do enjoy the little amusements they offer within walking distance of my home-away-from-home.  A short hike, wildlife viewing, a swim, or soak in a natural hot spring is a fine way to stretch out and pass the time between my safely-before-sundown-arrival and the point at which I relinquish and burrow into my enormous down sleeping bag.  So, for my first “weekend” (actual day of week not withstanding) since early January, I found myself at Roper Lake State Park yet again.  Its location near so many wonderful roads makes it an obvious choice*, and what’s not to like about riding your Ducati by day, and testing out your new Ducati bikini (thanks, Santa!) in the hot springs by night?

I was feeling rather lazy, by camping standards, so instead of moving on to a new site each night as I usually do, I pitched my tent only once, and returned to the same location each evening.  Oh, languid luxury!  Since I absolutely, positively needed a repeat of NM 152 (last seen on my foliage ride in October 2011), this arrangement meant I needed to go to Hillsboro and back in one day.  You might remember that last time the ride there** took me seven or eight hours, so I pared it down to the essentials.  AZ 191, AZ 78, NM 180, NM 152, Hillsboro for lunch, then straight back the way I came.  Even so, I had 350 miles to cover, much of it sporty and twisty.  So much for languid luxury, but I wasn’t complaining.  Bring it!

I opened the door to the Hillsboro General Store & Country Cafe with its customary jangle, and there he was!  Embree!  I’m not sure whose eyes lit up quicker, but we recognized each other on the spot.  After a bear hung greeting, I enjoyed my repast (this time a cheeseburger and fries – an inalienable right when motorcycle touring) with non other then Embree Hale, Petroglyph Hunter extraordinaire, who I met in this very cafe last October.

For someone who is full of smiles and laughter, he sure takes a serious portrait.

 



We discussed the finer points of various wild west lost treasure stories, the location of a few of the thousands of petroglyphs he’s photographed to date, and marveled at our good fortune, having met again by pure coincidence.

A beautifully ornate turquoise and silver watch.  I can’t think of a better place for it than Embree’s wrist.

I was sure I would repeat the “up and back” method the next day on AZ 191, or perhaps a loop going up 191 and back down a more northerly portion of NM 180.  So I was surprised to wake up and find my bike pointed in a different direction.  What, no moto-bliss of AZ 191?  Headed west, instead, out into the straight away nothingness that is AZ 70?  Motorcycle camping demands a spirit of exploration, and I knew the Coronado Scenic Byway (now AZ 191 but once known as Rte 666 “The Devil’s Trail,” perhaps for good reason) to be a gravel fest this time of year, so I decided to investigate the tiny strip of gray around San Carlos Lake, Indian Route 3, that morning, and then see what the afternoon would bring.  Well, I’m here to tell you that just because the map legend informs you that a thin gray line is indeed a paved road, it does not mean it’s an appropriate place for your racing rims and sport suspension.  Ouch.  Lovely scenery, but the bumpity bump bump for 40 long miles brought to mind the stern admonishments of the Ducati dealer advising me to treat my Marchesini rims with love and tenderness, and the guilt I bear from trashing both my bicycle rims commuting on the city streets of Tucson.  Evidently, “paved” is open to interpretation and can also mean dirt, sand, gravel, and (mostly) vast stretches of pot holes lacking any safe zones of asphalt whatsoever to balance upon to circumvent said potholes.  I’ll say it again.  Ouch.  (See Update Footnote!)

San Carlos Lake is formed by the Coolidge Dam.  It was completed in 1930, an age when, it seems, beautiful architectural details were still the norm.

The Gila river as it leaves Coolidge Dam

More architectural whimsy

Pairs of lamps grace each entrance as IR 3 passes over the dam.  The place was utterly deserted.  How many people actually see these lovely details?

San Carlos Lake, as seen from the faraway and desolate land of unending jarring potholes known as IR-3.

As a reward for a job well done despite the circumstances, the Ducati got a long drink of premium unleaded and I enjoyed an ice cream sandwich. (Like bacon cheeseburgers, ice cream sandwiches are also a moto-touring inalienable right.)  Thinking we needed a breath of, well, smooth asphalt, the afternoon called for a repeat of AZ 78.  I haven’t told you about AZ 78, have I?  I can’t imagine why.  On the map, it appears so very plain and homely.  Don’t be fooled, it’s a gem that has it all – from tricky, dippily, sneakily, blind, narrow, switchbacky sections to cliffhanging sweepers that go on so long they’re positively dizzying, with everything in between – and, (get this), all of it is on pavement worthy of a racetrack.  No gravel, no cars, no tar snakes, no pot holes, no suspiciously loose looking chip and seal, absolutely nothing to impede your death defying journey into New Mexico.  The first time I rode it, I found myself thinking I could happily spend an entire weekend camped out in Safford, AZ riding this 30 mile stretch to Mule Creek, NM over and over and over.  Turns out this was my weekend to fully consummate my love affair with the “A.M. Curley Traynor Memorial Highway***.”  Oh yes, and it was good.  In fact, (Ah, fickle love of woman!) the next morning I forsook Mount Graham completely (plenty of snow up there still, and conflicting reports regarding access to and condition of the road) for more of the same.

The view from the never ending time and space continuum warping sweepers dare you to take your eyes of the road.   Best to wait until the ride comes to a complete stop.

The Ducati and I catch our breath outside the Mule Creek, NM Post Office.

Mule Creek, NM.  I never tire of these lonely grassy landscapes.  So different than the AZ side of the state line.

It was hard to tear myself away, but all good things must come to an at least temporary end.  Not able to bear the thought of 100 miles of mind numbing freeway, I headed home past San Carlos Lake (Skipping IR-3, thank you very much), to Globe, AZ, west on scenic US 60 to Superior (this stretch being one of the first I saw on a youtube video featuring a posse of squidly**** motorcycle riders),  and down the dramatic 10% grade of AZ 177 (as steep as I remembered from the first time I rode it, back in my pre-blog days, stuck behind a slow moving truck, and concerned I would start rolling backwards if I went any slower).  Oh, the last fuel fill up before home is a sad one!

*Not to be stuck in a rut, I have a new plan for later this month. Same area, different campsite, different roads, different motorcycle!
** Last time I went a bit further, to Elephant Butte State Park, but riding to  Hillsboro gets the job done as far as covering the sporty fun part goes.
*** So named in 1974 for the area rancher who was instrumental in having a paved road between the two states.  The few remaining gravel portions were finally paved in the mid 1970’s!
**** “Stupidly QUick and Imminently Dead,” or something like that. You know, those safety gear-less riders, screaming about on their ratty Suzuki Gxsrs, who are unable to keep both wheels on the ground on public roads.  They give us all a bad name.
UPDATE - Next ride out, and guess who has a leaking fork seal?   (Kicks self.)

Fall Foliage Ride – New Mexico 2011

Lest you’ve been duped into thinking that I’ve been keeping current on my posts this year, here’s one that’s nearly six months behind. Wouldn’t it be nice to be equipped with a fancy netbook for my upcoming big trip?  In any case, I had a few days at my disposal late last October, and decided a foliage viewing ride was in order.  That’s as good of an excuse as any, right?   Northern AZ perhaps?  With low temps predicted to be in the teens?  Try again.  Why not revisit some roads in New Mexico, but this time without the rain?

Not about to mess with perfection, I started the trip the very same way, pointing my two wheels directly at Mount Graham, with its formidable Swift Trail Parkway that rises, via a delightful concentration of steep hairpin turns, from 3,000 feet to over 10,000 in 33 miles.  I can’t think of a better way to warm up the tires.  Except by the time I got there, it was too late in the day to do anything other than settle into camp at Roper Lake State Park.  It’s a tricky transition, that first night out.  Still shaking off the frustrations of the work day and the inevitable packing hang ups, I wasn’t happy to find hoses reminiscent of porcupine quills sticking out of my bike when I dismounted that evening.  My set-up-camp routine was rusty, too, but all those gremlins, along with my disappointment in not having had time to enjoy Mount Graham were soothed by the natural hot springs I knew, from this trip, to be waiting for me.

This hose sprang from the emissions canister, another from the top of the vertical cylinder. I shrugged, put them back, and that was the end of that.  Gratitude for small (big?) favors.

Good morning!  It was quite a lively night, between the growling animal just outside my tent that thankfully ambled off in response to a stern “Go Away!,” and the truly unearthly sound of coyotes yipping and singing like far-gone lunatic dogs touched by the moon.  Next stop:  Elephant Butte Lake State Park, carefully selected for its location on the far side of NM 152, and the fact that it and the site I was leaving were the only two spots anywhere within reach not forecast to drop below freezing.  The roads between the two sites?  Without question, the stuff of sport touring motorcycle advertisements.  250 miles, a dizzying percentage of which are twisty enough to be first and second gear material. Signs warning that it will take at least two hours to cover the 45 miles of narrow and windy NM 15 between Silver City and the Gila Cliff Dwellings can only mean one thing:  Good times ahead!

All told, the day’s journey took me seven or eight hours.  Not that there’s anything wrong with that.  I hadn’t had such a satisfying stretch of technical riding (sans traffic and road hazards, to boot!) in, well, maybe ever.  Sweet Ducati, with its sprung hoses of yesterday, all is forgiven! 

Elephant Butte Lake State Park was my first real peek at the American Southwest many years ago.  It knocked me flat then (in spite of the centipede I pulled out of my sleeping bag), having never seen anything like it,  and it was amusing to see it again, with eyes that have seen so much of the wondrous west since then.

I knew the ride east would be a long (and glorious) day, which meant the camera stayed in its case, and lunch was a sandwich while re-fueling.  On my return, I decided to skip NM 35 and 15 (“Trail of the Mountain Spirits Scenic Byway” – such romantic scenic byway names!) in favor of breakfast in Hillsboro, NM and a few photo stops.

Hillsboro, once home to a Labor Day Apple Festival (sadly ended in 2007), is a cute little town on the Geronimo Trail Scenic Byway (NM 152), and was just the right place on the map to stop for the first real meal I’d had since I left Tucson.   The hash browns and toast  at the Hillsboro General Store & Country Cafe were serviceable, if not notable, but the “Picante” spicy sausage omelet was a hit, as were the endless antique odds and ends displayed throughout the shop.  In an unusual variation of my solo dining theme, I had the pleasure of a fascinating dining partner, curious miner/cowboy turned photographer, Embree “Sonny” Hale, who, after finding his favorite one stolen, has made it his goal to photograph every petroglyph in New Mexico.  He showed me his nearby studio, and he saw me off as I launched.   Funny how we peered at each other, equally fascinated, as if through a telescope of space and time, me on my red spaceship buzzing with myriad electronic gizmos, he, in his dusty boots and neckerchief, a for-real man of the genuine old west.  I didn’t know it then, but our paths would cross again one day.

Embree “Sonny” Hale, Petroglyph Hunter

A little detour onto NM 211 afforded a pretty vignette of the Gila River.  Not quite the fall colors of New England, but since out here any tree at all is cause for celebration as a source of shade and harbinger of precious water, a view like this is every bit as breath taking, and perhaps more meaningful.

 

Ducati, Picturesque (in my opinion) Dead Tree,  and Cotton Field, near Solomon, AZ.

The next morning it was time to take care of some unfinished business.  Mount Graham, king of the Pinaleño Mountains, awaits!  Up, down, up, down, up down!  Left, right, left, right, left right!  Until the gas tank was as close to dry as I dared.

Fall Colors atop Mount Graham: Yellow Aspens with Red Ducati

I had a final stop in mind before heading home, but which would win out?  My phobia of riding the “long dirt road” to get there, or my desire for a slice of pie at Apple Annie’s orchard?

Despite the dramatic internal conflict, I obeyed my sweet tooth.

A crisp cool apple was just the thing after living a few days on camp food.  Check out the road behind me.  I guess “long and dirt” sometimes means “short and paved.”  Unfortunately the reverse can be true as well.  I recently learned that a map indication of “paved” can be open to interpretation.  More on that next post.

Three stars for this trip.  It was so good that I rode much of it again, along with a few new roads, last weekend.  And I won’t take six months to show you the photos.

Recipe:  Put three green tomatoes on the windowsill. Go motorcycle camping. Come home and make up for lost vegetable eating time by devouring an enormous tomato salad.

What I Did Last Summer - Part Five (Hatch Chile Fest!)

What? Where's Part Four, you ask? Surprisingly, I wrote about that in a timely fashion. I returned to AZ from WY via, OK, of course!

So, on to Part Five.

First stop - Mt. Graham and its Swift Trail Parkway, outside of Safford, AZ. It's a fine place to enjoy the anatomy of a turn. What a way to start a trip! I camped there one night under a glorious full moon and amongst the company at least one skunk rustling around my tent. Thankfully I did not become a victim of my little nocturnal friend.



Next stop - lunch and a walk around the old town area Silver City, NM. 1Zero6 caught my eye, but they didn't open until dinner. Instead, I enjoyed a yummy Italian Mushroom Melt at Vicky's Eatery. Since I don't get mushrooms through my CSA, I often order them in restaurants.




The smell of chiles roasting and growing is getting stronger and stronger as I approach...

Hatch, NM, Chile Center of the Universe! Everywhere you turn there are chile fields, roasting factories and warehouses to process and send chiles in every form all over the nation, not to mention the smaller "Mom and Pop" outfits on every street corner.

I got a fine seat for the Chile Parade, thanks to the generous fellow riders who offered to share their ring-side table with me at the "Pepper Pot." Ironically, I have no chile shortage at home, in Tucson, so I ordered French Toast. It was a bad idea. When in Hatch, eat chiles.


Mike and Mary, new found dining companions, and fellow riders.



The Chile Queen!



Ristras on every corner



I headed back towards Silver City via NM 152, which turned out to be the surprise of the weekend. What a great road! I'll be back there for Hatch 2010, I hope.

Now on to the bargain of the century - NM 15 is signed "44 miles, Travel Time 2 hours," which should give you an idea of its twisty goodness (free!), the Lower Scorpion Campground in the Gila National Forest with its pictographs and small ancient dwelling on its "Trail to the Past" (also free!) and the the Gila Cliff Dwellings National Monument ($3!).

Cliff Dwellings




My pretty little campsite. No the weather doesn't look good, does it? It's about to get exciting...




Remember that fun (aka treacherous) Rt 15 I rode to get UP here? It was similar to the road up Mt. Timpanogos, UT which I seem to remember describing as something the Shriners and their little tricycles might build? And how I'd never, EVER want to ride something like that in bad weather? Well, it poured the entire way down Rt 15. Not drizzled, not sprinkled, but poured. I survived, but I can't say it was enjoyable.

After (literally) wringing the water out of my socks and having a well deserved rest, snack and iPhone weather radar map consult at a Shell station in Silver City, I headed up towards Alpine, AZ in fine, fine weather. It's at that point that I learned that if one is to use a hefty bag to protect one's sleeping bag from rain, one should arrange it such that the hefty bag in on the inside of the luggage, not outside. Bits of hefty bag stuck in your brakes significantly reduce braking power! No harm done, lesson learned. Since then I've actually purchased a REAL raincover for my luggage. The fine, fine weather didn't hold. I rode in the rain most of the way to the Bear Wallow Cafe in Alpine, AZ where I stopped for a grilled cheese sandwich and strategy session. Do I brave several miles on a likely very muddy, rutted and slippery road to get to where I had planned to camp, wander around looking for an alternative site, spring for a hotel? As I'm considering my options, a fellow motorcyclist tells me his group is throwing in the towel and going home early because of the weather. I'm welcome to his campsite, which is right off a nice, comforting paved road. Yay!

Alpine Divide Campground is cold and there are heaps of snow and hail on the ground from the storms earlier that day. It's so cold I can't really even sleep well. But I enjoyed the yipping songs of a band of coyotes while doing "stay warm calisthenics" in my sleeping bag for much of the night. The next morning I was off again, and traded the tarp gifted to me by the same riders that gave me their campsite to my camp "neighbors" in exchange for some hot coffee and enjoyable conversation.

Once again I was rewarded for my trials. The trip from Alpine back to Mt. Graham is AZ 191, (yup, it's another spectacular byway, the Coronado Trail Scenic Byway, and could very well be the best of them all.) One HUNDRED miles of scenic, twisty, turny fun, and, what luck!, not another car on the road nearly the entire way. And I was granted picture perfect weather to boot!

You can't help but arrive home a better rider after a trip like that.