In the morning at Alpine Buckboard Cabin #3, I found Larry removing the car cover from his Lexus.
I’d chided him the previous night, refusing to take a picture of him securing the cover as “it would only encourage you.”
As to my own ride I’d simply said, “Good night, Nada 3”, and left her where she was parked, unconcerned that in the morning she’d be coated in thick frost.
I’d chided him the previous night, refusing to take a picture of him securing the cover as “it would only encourage you.”
As to my own ride I’d simply said, “Good night, Nada 3”, and left her where she was parked, unconcerned that in the morning she’d be coated in thick frost.
As Larry toasted and spread cream cheese on a bagel on my behalf he repeatedly reminded me that if I didn’t get moving – as opposed to writing and publishing Dispatches – I’d end up riding across Phoenix in 100 degree heat. If that happened it was no problem for him; he’d simply observe the climate control of the Lexus working a bit harder.
But my foible I mean duty to my semi-cohort only cost us half an hour; Alpine’s sole gas station, The Tackle Shop, wouldn’t open until 8:00, and by 8:30 I was topping up -- Nada 3 now thankfully unladen by all the bulky camping gear that had been transferred to the trunk of the Lexus.
But my foible I mean duty to my semi-cohort only cost us half an hour; Alpine’s sole gas station, The Tackle Shop, wouldn’t open until 8:00, and by 8:30 I was topping up -- Nada 3 now thankfully unladen by all the bulky camping gear that had been transferred to the trunk of the Lexus.
I then followed the Lexus a couple miles north on US-180 to the turnoff to what had until recently been an unpaved sequence of forest service roads, but was now a silken ribbon of delightful pavement that might well have been “built by elves”, as Larry liked to say.
At that point he waved me ahead and I had the road to myself.
This road, and subsequent route selection that took us through Fort Apache, worked splendidly to avoid a crawl through the traffic and traffic lights of Pinetop-Lakeside and Show Low.
At that point he waved me ahead and I had the road to myself.
This road, and subsequent route selection that took us through Fort Apache, worked splendidly to avoid a crawl through the traffic and traffic lights of Pinetop-Lakeside and Show Low.
This led us to Salt River Canyon, which I succeeded in capturing on Go Pro. Last time I’d come this way, while riding Therese, I’d turned the camera off (thinking I was turning it on) just as I entered that set of twisties that winds through one of those places I’ve been to that’s more Grand Canyon-esque than Palo Duro.
In Miami, Larry and I stopped at a roadside park for lunch and refreshment and, in my case, additional disrobement. He was already in shorts and T-shirt, but I was still in full riding kit with layers appropriate to the White Mountains where the morning’s ride had begun.
By the time I got to Phoenix the temperature had climbed, just as Larry had predicted, to triple digits. But as I wound through the valley’s freeway system it wasn’t bad – traffic was light and moving very fast.
Until it wasn’t.
I’m sure I deserve demerits, but I’m not sure how many, for my response to the appearance of a cascade of brake lights ahead on AZ-202 as I approached 24th Street. In a very rapid sequence of discrete lane changes I’d like to think were well-executed but I know were excessively risky, I translated from one side of the freeway to the other as each stream of vehicles in turn decelerated for no obvious reason. In the end it proved a nearly useless maneuver as every lane in succession ground to a stop; however, my resulting position did (barely) enable me to exit at 24th street and descend to a parking lot with shade, where first I completely drained my nearly full canteen in a single gulp and then used Google Maps to plot an alternate route around the accident that had blocked the freeway at 16th street.
The surface streets were no fun, and I tallied no demerits for refusing to honor the first few milliseconds of a red light that would have had me broiling in the sun while the temperature of Nada 3's air-cooled engine rose at an exponential rate.
Back on the freeway beyond the traffic jam, I rode the final leg to Mom’s house where I got to hug her for the first time in well over a year.
I was able to do it without undue fear for her health; she’d had her second COVID vaccination several weeks before, I’d had my first shot nearly two weeks earlier, and throughout the course of the pandemic and especially during the recent days I’d done my best to limit my exposure to potential carriers (Larry had also been fully vaccinated for quite some time).
My sister Sue arrived at Mom's not long after I did, with a takeout Thai dinner.
One other reunion took place that afternoon: for the first time since 2017, Nada 3 was sharing a garage with her much younger sister Therese.
By the time I got to Phoenix the temperature had climbed, just as Larry had predicted, to triple digits. But as I wound through the valley’s freeway system it wasn’t bad – traffic was light and moving very fast.
Until it wasn’t.
I’m sure I deserve demerits, but I’m not sure how many, for my response to the appearance of a cascade of brake lights ahead on AZ-202 as I approached 24th Street. In a very rapid sequence of discrete lane changes I’d like to think were well-executed but I know were excessively risky, I translated from one side of the freeway to the other as each stream of vehicles in turn decelerated for no obvious reason. In the end it proved a nearly useless maneuver as every lane in succession ground to a stop; however, my resulting position did (barely) enable me to exit at 24th street and descend to a parking lot with shade, where first I completely drained my nearly full canteen in a single gulp and then used Google Maps to plot an alternate route around the accident that had blocked the freeway at 16th street.
The surface streets were no fun, and I tallied no demerits for refusing to honor the first few milliseconds of a red light that would have had me broiling in the sun while the temperature of Nada 3's air-cooled engine rose at an exponential rate.
Back on the freeway beyond the traffic jam, I rode the final leg to Mom’s house where I got to hug her for the first time in well over a year.
I was able to do it without undue fear for her health; she’d had her second COVID vaccination several weeks before, I’d had my first shot nearly two weeks earlier, and throughout the course of the pandemic and especially during the recent days I’d done my best to limit my exposure to potential carriers (Larry had also been fully vaccinated for quite some time).
My sister Sue arrived at Mom's not long after I did, with a takeout Thai dinner.
One other reunion took place that afternoon: for the first time since 2017, Nada 3 was sharing a garage with her much younger sister Therese.
Sue had driven her Prius to work and then over to Mom’s where it was left for my convenience. This meant I needed to give her a ride back across the valley to her home in Gilbert. I could have transported her in Prius but she really wanted to ride – it’s worth a mention she grew up riding dirt bikes just like I did, and for quite a while had a Honda street bike.
She was a very skilled rider until she developed a better sense of self-preservation.
Since I now keep a complete set of riding apparel in Phoenix for use with Therese when I fly-and-ride (which logistical strategy had been working great until COVID), Sue was able to gear up for the ride, which was on Nada 3 because the R1100RS pillion saddle is much more comfortable than that of the K1300S. By this time the weather had cooled nicely and cross-town freeway traffic was back to its standard expeditious pace.
Upon my return to Mom’s house, Nada 3’s latest transcontinental epic could be considered not only complete but utterly trouble free. She’d started the trip with a total mileage of 136,616 and 2,936 miles later all she needed was a top up of motor oil.
Fred likes these charts so here’s the one for this journey:
She was a very skilled rider until she developed a better sense of self-preservation.
Since I now keep a complete set of riding apparel in Phoenix for use with Therese when I fly-and-ride (which logistical strategy had been working great until COVID), Sue was able to gear up for the ride, which was on Nada 3 because the R1100RS pillion saddle is much more comfortable than that of the K1300S. By this time the weather had cooled nicely and cross-town freeway traffic was back to its standard expeditious pace.
Upon my return to Mom’s house, Nada 3’s latest transcontinental epic could be considered not only complete but utterly trouble free. She’d started the trip with a total mileage of 136,616 and 2,936 miles later all she needed was a top up of motor oil.
Fred likes these charts so here’s the one for this journey:
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