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I love the smell of Flagstaff; a hint of pine tree and vanilla. It's from the pines, that hint of vanilla. Walking about town reminds me of being in the Sierras, for just that reason.
And it's a quiet little place, college and gateway; the Grand Canyon is just up the pike a bit, and the Coconino forest is all around.
Getting here was hard. I got going on Monday, a few minutes behind my time, and straight into the morning sun. The weather was cool, and the traffic pretty light, down 101 to 152, and turn east. The road is nice, for the first twenty miles or so it's slow (55mph) and winds through garlic country, past Casa de Fruta, it's more like a chunk of interstate; the speeed is 65, and the traffic is doing 75. The curves are easy and the road just unrolls. The sun is blinding (there is a reason I am so obsessive about cleaning my visor), and as soon as I hit the top of the Pacheco pass, at San Luis Resevoir... the heat. It was a sudden thing, that jump of 10 degrees. From here on the day was going to be hot.
Got to five, and headed south. The road was moving, and I'd say I was averaging about 75 mph. Stopped for gas, soaked the cooling vest and then I came up on "The Apricot Tree", and decided it was time for breakfast. The has was tasty, the hash browns decent, and the eggs commercial (having owned chickens, I've become a bit... picky isn't right, sensitive, I suppose, to the difference in taste between eggs from chickens who get better feed, or the chance to really roam about). The hash was pretty finely diced, and a bit salty; though the other seasonings were good. I scrambled it into the potatoes and it mellowed some.
The waitress and I talked about pepper (I have a portable mill I keep in my camera bag). She thought it was a great idea because the pepper at tables is usually crap. So it gives her an excuse to drive the hour to Fresno and visit the Sur la Table there, which she'd wanted to do, but never had a reason.
Back to the highway. Oy... I-5 is no more interesting on a bike than it is in a car. I did pass a Gold Wing with an older couple on it. Helmets, and shirtsleeves. As is my wont, I waved. Cruised down to the Loves at 146 and 5, stopped to cool off. The vest works well enough at preventing overheating, but what one feels is hot and sticky (this is better than feeling as the guest of honor at a turkey dinner, which is how I felt when I wasn't wearing it at the start of the ride the next morning). I also wanted something to drink. As I was getting ready to leave I saw the Gold Wing; it was pretty distinctive, as they were hauling a trailer. So I went in, looked about, saw them and went to talk about stuff. They were heading home to Texas, and she remembered me waving (that and my yellow jacket, and blue bike are perhaps a bit notable... I really need to get Army Vet plates, since I feel like an advert for the Blue Angels).
They asked if I new LA well... I allowed as I did. They said they were planning to spend a couple of days playing tourist, but wanted to get a decent room, not too far from points of interest (Santa Monica Beach, etc.). I recommended a motel I know in Pasadena (low tourist traffic, rental car [they didn't feel like trying to negotiate LA on the bike, which seemed sensible], close enough to what they wanted to see, pretty locale, etc.), and gave them directions to Santa Monica; more to show it's not that hard to get around LA, esp. the parts they were interested in, from Pasadena. It also gives them more bragging rights, since the hotel is right on the parade route.
Got to 58, and once again resumed easting. Oi... the heat from before... more so. Temps in excess of 100°F. The bike doesn't care. Running a bit warmer than at home, but ticking over like a dream. 80 MPH indicated = 5,000 rpm (I've been paying more attention to the indicated rpm, not that I didn't before, but now I'm trying to record it in my mind). Got to Bakersfield about 1500. HOT.
Stopped for gas. I seem to be getting about 47 mpg, which is better, by a bit, than I was getting in the city (my average, in and about town, seems to be about 38). Went to Chili's for lunch. Pondered the weather. If I stopped now, I have all afternoon to recover from today. If I pressed on to Barstow, I'd cut two hours off the desert trip. It was a question of 7 hours saddle time today, or seven hours saddle time tomorrow.
1500 is the peak heat of the day. If I pressed on the heat would be dropping, so too would the light. Decisions. I was getting cold. The shirt I'd been wearing under my vest was soaked. My DCU trousers were also soaked. I went to the bike, changed to a dry shirt, and left the wet one on the bike.
It was still hot.
More water. More pondering. The price of room is the same in Mojave (about an hour away), as it is in Barstow (2 hours away) as it is in Bakersfield (zero hours). I decide that I can make at least Mojave, and I'll see how I feel about Barstow. Change back to the first shirt (now dry), resoak the vest, and back on the road. It's hot.
But it's easy riding. I get near Mojave (which is a slight detour N) and blow on past. Barstow here I come. The riding from Mojave is not so easy. Vicious wind, viscous too. It's hard off the right quarter, about 2 points forward of the beam. Worse, when I pass a truck, the wind has a strange double-luff and then I'm in the lee of the truck, a complete wind shadow. The first time I cleared a truck the bow-wave of the truck, added to the reprise of the wind shoved me about 1/3rd of a lane to the left. For the next truck I timed a bit of push into the wind, and kept my place.
Gassed up, and drank some juice. Called Marna (it's a pleasant quirk of how my housemate, and girlfriends, interact with each other, and the net, that I have a support team. If I did SMS they'd probably be happier, but it is what it is), and she placed a reservation for me in Barstow, and gave me rough directions on how to get to the motel.
Easy-peasy. Checked in, and ended up spending about an hour and a half swapping war stories with a pleasantly batty woman in the lobby. She's been in Intel (officer, after enlisted) back in the '80s. Went to DLI for the ill-fated "Aural Comprehension" course (non-immersive, listening only. Not the detailed analysis of grammar, with writing we had). Told a story about a guy who put one over on the Army, which I'd heard before. She told it in a way which made it seem likely she'd been there at the time. I wonder if any of the various tales I heard about myself (tales which lingered at Ft. Huachuca for at least a couple of years after I left) have moved to iconography; stripped of names and details, as those with personal knowledge have faded, to become mere object lessons.
Makes me wonder about my various students too... I know I was memorable to them. I've seen the caricatures, and heard the nicknames (one does not become known as, The Karnosaur" for being a forgettable sort of instructor).
Went across the way, had a pint of Guinness in an, "Irish" pub. It was, in so far as such pubs can be found in Ireland. It was a local, not the sort of nostalgic/ex-pat bar one associates with "Irish Pub" in the states. Watched the Dodgers beat the Giants; a good game. The Dodgers had their 11th team game with five double plays, but the star turns of defense were a failed double play (1-4-3, where the comebacker groundball was flopped on, tossed to second; who did a split to make tag the bag at catch; twisted and shot to first, who was doing the same split, and might have been receiving the ball ahead of the runner, but dropped it.... the next batter knocked it out of the park to put the Dodgers 2 runs up. A bit later the center-fielder [Giants] caught a ball before bouncing off the wall, landing on his back and tossing it up to the right fielder, showing he'd not lost it). A good way to spend the last night in California.
Up in the morning, and on the road, a bit later than I wanted (about 20 minutes) and once again into the sun. I figured I could skip the vest to Needles, and I could, but if I'd been another 15 minutes, that would have been a bad idea.
Breakfast in, as I told people, "Beautiful Needle". Believe me, you don't want to see the ugly part of town. Logistics are tricky. From Needles it's an hour to Kingman. From Kingman, Flagstaff is at the far end of my range (based on my mental sense of 40 MPG). It's a 5,000ft+ elevation gain. Then I remember the Love's outside of Kingman. That's an extra ten miles, and gives me a place to cool off.
I soak the vest and decide to skip the shirt. This is the way to wear the vest in the desert. It's hot. Really hot. I hit a roadwork detour outside of Kingman. 20 minutes to cover half a mile. I kill the bike three times, so I can let the fan run without the motor... I am frying.
I end up sitting at the Loves for about an hour, taking on some liquids and a snack. Tank up, and off I go. This time I've opened my jacket a couple of inches at the neck. I am not "cool", but I am not hot either. I am also aware of just how hot I was, because the sleeves of my jacket are soaked. I take turns hanging my arms in the slipstream to cool off, and dry them out.
As I climb there are clouds. They are streaming virgin rain, the trailing mist reminds me of the fringed teeth of the mysticetes. The temp cools. The smell of vanilla starts to appear. I get misted by some light rain. By 1700 I am in Flagstaff, and checked into the hostel. I shower, wash my hair, change into fresh clothes (and shoes, for the first time in days I am not wearing boots), start some laundry, and stroll out into town.
I stop at the nearest brewpub (Flagstaff is a bit of a beer mecca) and spend time on the phone with Merav, while I drink it. Then I wander back to "The Greek Isles" a smallrestaurant. I get some water, and order some saganaki. I talk about tzatziki with the women at the table next to me. They have no greek coffee: they ran out that morning. They do have restina (but sadly the only lamb is in the gyros) , and I order a glass. When my meal arrives (a pork chop, saffron and cardamom rice. greek salad, and pita: $13). I ask for some more kalamata, and he asks if I have been to Greece. He says I pronounce everything correctly. We get to talking about food, greek restaurants I've known. He mentions mavrodaphne. At the end of the meal, about closing time, a friend comes in, and they talk about new children. I ask if I might have a thimble of mavrodaphne (a sweet red wine), he pours a full glass, and tells me the wines are on him.
I continue to have excellent luck with being fondly thought of by the owners of greek restaurants.
So, I have coffee now, and five hours in the saddle ahead of me. I'll probably have breakfast in Winslow. I stopped at a grocery last night, and bought a case of Tiger's Milk bars (my emergency rations of choice), so I now have food and drink on the bike. With luck, I'll be in Albuquerque by about 3 p.m., swing by the REI to get a new bite valve for the camelbak (which abandoned ship in Bakersfield). I will ponder the GPS, but probably wait (the one I want is, after I get the Canada road maps, between 5-700 bucks). I'd really like a precise trace of the route, and it will help when I take other photo trips, but that's an extravagance I can't really justify right now; I will need new tires in either New York, or Ottawa. I'm seeing some squaring now, and another 1,500 miles is only going to make it works. Since Gibbs will probably want to take a ride on some "good roads" I think some tires which roll easily will be in order.
I should also ponder a pocket camera. Stopping the bike to take photos is a lot more effort than a car (there were some pretty good shots to be had during the detour... it was a long dead chunk of Route 66, but between the heat, the hassle of getting the bag off the bike, the camera out of the bag; and me out of [at least some of] my gear] and the thought of trying to get back into the horror of that mean trickle of motion, I wasn't able to make myself do it). If I had a pocket camera I would stop and take some more shots.
And it's a quiet little place, college and gateway; the Grand Canyon is just up the pike a bit, and the Coconino forest is all around.
Getting here was hard. I got going on Monday, a few minutes behind my time, and straight into the morning sun. The weather was cool, and the traffic pretty light, down 101 to 152, and turn east. The road is nice, for the first twenty miles or so it's slow (55mph) and winds through garlic country, past Casa de Fruta, it's more like a chunk of interstate; the speeed is 65, and the traffic is doing 75. The curves are easy and the road just unrolls. The sun is blinding (there is a reason I am so obsessive about cleaning my visor), and as soon as I hit the top of the Pacheco pass, at San Luis Resevoir... the heat. It was a sudden thing, that jump of 10 degrees. From here on the day was going to be hot.
Got to five, and headed south. The road was moving, and I'd say I was averaging about 75 mph. Stopped for gas, soaked the cooling vest and then I came up on "The Apricot Tree", and decided it was time for breakfast. The has was tasty, the hash browns decent, and the eggs commercial (having owned chickens, I've become a bit... picky isn't right, sensitive, I suppose, to the difference in taste between eggs from chickens who get better feed, or the chance to really roam about). The hash was pretty finely diced, and a bit salty; though the other seasonings were good. I scrambled it into the potatoes and it mellowed some.
The waitress and I talked about pepper (I have a portable mill I keep in my camera bag). She thought it was a great idea because the pepper at tables is usually crap. So it gives her an excuse to drive the hour to Fresno and visit the Sur la Table there, which she'd wanted to do, but never had a reason.
Back to the highway. Oy... I-5 is no more interesting on a bike than it is in a car. I did pass a Gold Wing with an older couple on it. Helmets, and shirtsleeves. As is my wont, I waved. Cruised down to the Loves at 146 and 5, stopped to cool off. The vest works well enough at preventing overheating, but what one feels is hot and sticky (this is better than feeling as the guest of honor at a turkey dinner, which is how I felt when I wasn't wearing it at the start of the ride the next morning). I also wanted something to drink. As I was getting ready to leave I saw the Gold Wing; it was pretty distinctive, as they were hauling a trailer. So I went in, looked about, saw them and went to talk about stuff. They were heading home to Texas, and she remembered me waving (that and my yellow jacket, and blue bike are perhaps a bit notable... I really need to get Army Vet plates, since I feel like an advert for the Blue Angels).
They asked if I new LA well... I allowed as I did. They said they were planning to spend a couple of days playing tourist, but wanted to get a decent room, not too far from points of interest (Santa Monica Beach, etc.). I recommended a motel I know in Pasadena (low tourist traffic, rental car [they didn't feel like trying to negotiate LA on the bike, which seemed sensible], close enough to what they wanted to see, pretty locale, etc.), and gave them directions to Santa Monica; more to show it's not that hard to get around LA, esp. the parts they were interested in, from Pasadena. It also gives them more bragging rights, since the hotel is right on the parade route.
Got to 58, and once again resumed easting. Oi... the heat from before... more so. Temps in excess of 100°F. The bike doesn't care. Running a bit warmer than at home, but ticking over like a dream. 80 MPH indicated = 5,000 rpm (I've been paying more attention to the indicated rpm, not that I didn't before, but now I'm trying to record it in my mind). Got to Bakersfield about 1500. HOT.
Stopped for gas. I seem to be getting about 47 mpg, which is better, by a bit, than I was getting in the city (my average, in and about town, seems to be about 38). Went to Chili's for lunch. Pondered the weather. If I stopped now, I have all afternoon to recover from today. If I pressed on to Barstow, I'd cut two hours off the desert trip. It was a question of 7 hours saddle time today, or seven hours saddle time tomorrow.
1500 is the peak heat of the day. If I pressed on the heat would be dropping, so too would the light. Decisions. I was getting cold. The shirt I'd been wearing under my vest was soaked. My DCU trousers were also soaked. I went to the bike, changed to a dry shirt, and left the wet one on the bike.
It was still hot.
More water. More pondering. The price of room is the same in Mojave (about an hour away), as it is in Barstow (2 hours away) as it is in Bakersfield (zero hours). I decide that I can make at least Mojave, and I'll see how I feel about Barstow. Change back to the first shirt (now dry), resoak the vest, and back on the road. It's hot.
But it's easy riding. I get near Mojave (which is a slight detour N) and blow on past. Barstow here I come. The riding from Mojave is not so easy. Vicious wind, viscous too. It's hard off the right quarter, about 2 points forward of the beam. Worse, when I pass a truck, the wind has a strange double-luff and then I'm in the lee of the truck, a complete wind shadow. The first time I cleared a truck the bow-wave of the truck, added to the reprise of the wind shoved me about 1/3rd of a lane to the left. For the next truck I timed a bit of push into the wind, and kept my place.
Gassed up, and drank some juice. Called Marna (it's a pleasant quirk of how my housemate, and girlfriends, interact with each other, and the net, that I have a support team. If I did SMS they'd probably be happier, but it is what it is), and she placed a reservation for me in Barstow, and gave me rough directions on how to get to the motel.
Easy-peasy. Checked in, and ended up spending about an hour and a half swapping war stories with a pleasantly batty woman in the lobby. She's been in Intel (officer, after enlisted) back in the '80s. Went to DLI for the ill-fated "Aural Comprehension" course (non-immersive, listening only. Not the detailed analysis of grammar, with writing we had). Told a story about a guy who put one over on the Army, which I'd heard before. She told it in a way which made it seem likely she'd been there at the time. I wonder if any of the various tales I heard about myself (tales which lingered at Ft. Huachuca for at least a couple of years after I left) have moved to iconography; stripped of names and details, as those with personal knowledge have faded, to become mere object lessons.
Makes me wonder about my various students too... I know I was memorable to them. I've seen the caricatures, and heard the nicknames (one does not become known as, The Karnosaur" for being a forgettable sort of instructor).
Went across the way, had a pint of Guinness in an, "Irish" pub. It was, in so far as such pubs can be found in Ireland. It was a local, not the sort of nostalgic/ex-pat bar one associates with "Irish Pub" in the states. Watched the Dodgers beat the Giants; a good game. The Dodgers had their 11th team game with five double plays, but the star turns of defense were a failed double play (1-4-3, where the comebacker groundball was flopped on, tossed to second; who did a split to make tag the bag at catch; twisted and shot to first, who was doing the same split, and might have been receiving the ball ahead of the runner, but dropped it.... the next batter knocked it out of the park to put the Dodgers 2 runs up. A bit later the center-fielder [Giants] caught a ball before bouncing off the wall, landing on his back and tossing it up to the right fielder, showing he'd not lost it). A good way to spend the last night in California.
Up in the morning, and on the road, a bit later than I wanted (about 20 minutes) and once again into the sun. I figured I could skip the vest to Needles, and I could, but if I'd been another 15 minutes, that would have been a bad idea.
Breakfast in, as I told people, "Beautiful Needle". Believe me, you don't want to see the ugly part of town. Logistics are tricky. From Needles it's an hour to Kingman. From Kingman, Flagstaff is at the far end of my range (based on my mental sense of 40 MPG). It's a 5,000ft+ elevation gain. Then I remember the Love's outside of Kingman. That's an extra ten miles, and gives me a place to cool off.
I soak the vest and decide to skip the shirt. This is the way to wear the vest in the desert. It's hot. Really hot. I hit a roadwork detour outside of Kingman. 20 minutes to cover half a mile. I kill the bike three times, so I can let the fan run without the motor... I am frying.
I end up sitting at the Loves for about an hour, taking on some liquids and a snack. Tank up, and off I go. This time I've opened my jacket a couple of inches at the neck. I am not "cool", but I am not hot either. I am also aware of just how hot I was, because the sleeves of my jacket are soaked. I take turns hanging my arms in the slipstream to cool off, and dry them out.
As I climb there are clouds. They are streaming virgin rain, the trailing mist reminds me of the fringed teeth of the mysticetes. The temp cools. The smell of vanilla starts to appear. I get misted by some light rain. By 1700 I am in Flagstaff, and checked into the hostel. I shower, wash my hair, change into fresh clothes (and shoes, for the first time in days I am not wearing boots), start some laundry, and stroll out into town.
I stop at the nearest brewpub (Flagstaff is a bit of a beer mecca) and spend time on the phone with Merav, while I drink it. Then I wander back to "The Greek Isles" a smallrestaurant. I get some water, and order some saganaki. I talk about tzatziki with the women at the table next to me. They have no greek coffee: they ran out that morning. They do have restina (but sadly the only lamb is in the gyros) , and I order a glass. When my meal arrives (a pork chop, saffron and cardamom rice. greek salad, and pita: $13). I ask for some more kalamata, and he asks if I have been to Greece. He says I pronounce everything correctly. We get to talking about food, greek restaurants I've known. He mentions mavrodaphne. At the end of the meal, about closing time, a friend comes in, and they talk about new children. I ask if I might have a thimble of mavrodaphne (a sweet red wine), he pours a full glass, and tells me the wines are on him.
I continue to have excellent luck with being fondly thought of by the owners of greek restaurants.
So, I have coffee now, and five hours in the saddle ahead of me. I'll probably have breakfast in Winslow. I stopped at a grocery last night, and bought a case of Tiger's Milk bars (my emergency rations of choice), so I now have food and drink on the bike. With luck, I'll be in Albuquerque by about 3 p.m., swing by the REI to get a new bite valve for the camelbak (which abandoned ship in Bakersfield). I will ponder the GPS, but probably wait (the one I want is, after I get the Canada road maps, between 5-700 bucks). I'd really like a precise trace of the route, and it will help when I take other photo trips, but that's an extravagance I can't really justify right now; I will need new tires in either New York, or Ottawa. I'm seeing some squaring now, and another 1,500 miles is only going to make it works. Since Gibbs will probably want to take a ride on some "good roads" I think some tires which roll easily will be in order.
I should also ponder a pocket camera. Stopping the bike to take photos is a lot more effort than a car (there were some pretty good shots to be had during the detour... it was a long dead chunk of Route 66, but between the heat, the hassle of getting the bag off the bike, the camera out of the bag; and me out of [at least some of] my gear] and the thought of trying to get back into the horror of that mean trickle of motion, I wasn't able to make myself do it). If I had a pocket camera I would stop and take some more shots.
