BACK TO SEATTLE

They say that all good thinks must come to an end. Whoever "they"are. Why is that, anyway? Never mind. It was time to leave and get back to Seattle. We headed out on the I-84 to Pendleton OR, then to Hermiston, and crossed the Columbia River into Washington, then took the backroads to Yakima. While on I-84, we went down Deadman's Hill, a very steep and sudden drop. I suspect that was the western flank of the Rockies, and that we were then in the valley between the Rockies and the Cascades. I say valley, but perhaps a more accurate description might be rain shadow. The eastern and central portions of Oregon and Washington are surprisingly dry and barren looking, Nothing at all like the lush western edge, which gets nearly all the rain coming in from the Pacific. On the way down, about all we could smell was burning brakes. The thought "I hope they're not mine" flashes involuntarily into one's head at such times. Fortunately I wasn't using mine a great deal, such is the remarkable engine braking capacity of the Gruntmeister. But the truck in front certainly was, We could see a steady stream of smoke coming off the rear wheel assembly. I opted to get a long way ahead of this guy. Not long after reaching the valley floor, there was a burned out rig parked on the side of the road. The entire truck and trailer had been incinerated! Very recently, I suspect. Deadman's Hill indeed.

Anyway, the area around the once mighty Columbia River (which is still pretty big, despite having at least two dams on it, maybe more for all I know) is not a pretty sight in these parts. Hydro electricity and high voltage power lines will spoil any view. Despite looking pretty dry, as one would expect in late Summer anyway (rain shadow notwithstanding), the countryside looked very productive, due to extensive irrigation from the Columbia River. Spuds and onions seemed the go. We saw the onions falling off the back of a truck in front of us, and had to dodge a few. By the time we got to Yakima, there were hop fields everywhere. Keep em coming, guys!! It was obvious that the local Indians and hordes of Hispanic workers had a big hand in the agricultural production in this region.

The Indians have every right to be here, its their country. Some of the Hispanics are US citizens too, I imagine, but a lot are not. Incidentally, there are supposed to be 20 million illegal immigrants in this country. That's almost the entire population of Australia, and its a pretty hot election issue here. Speaking of which, boy, am I over the endless gabfest which has been going on for months, and which has been over analysed and debated till it has made most people catatonic. Just hold the bloody election. Please! Anyway, back to the illegals. The only reason they sneak in is to work, so they must be out there somewhere, doing something. I certainly didn't have any trouble finding a lot of them. Donald Trump reckons he can find all of them, and they should be put on the other side of his new wall. Hillary just wants to pretend they're not there. She might be onto something, actually. Try looking in any motel in the country, or any area that needs labourers like market gardens, or any kitchen that needs dishwashers and waiters and cleaners. In fact, just go to Yakima, you'd swear you were in Mexico. How did all this happen? Because it suits the capitalist system, and because it has been allowed to happen, that's how. A downtrodden underclass that does all the crap work for a pittance and can't complain about it to anybody is fundamental to the economy of just about every country on the planet. Don't expect it to change. Go ahead, surprise me, somebody!

But I digress. All that aside, our plan was to head into Mount Rainier National Park, so we hit WA 410. Immediately the traffic volume dropped off, as the through traffic uses US12, so we were back in the land of nice twisties and great scenery at last. And glacier carved valleys, let's not forget, in case you're thinking I don't appreciate a bit of geology.

Marvellous glacier carved valley, that!

Nice bit of road construction too.

That dot on the road is a vehicle. Then of course, there's this, the namesake of the Park.

             
Throw in a few alpine meadows carpeted with flowers, a couple of alpine lakes and blue skies, and you have a pretty good combo. Down the other side, and we were soon back on US12 heading for the I-5 and its abundant motels etc. However, it had been a long day, and we were feeling it a bit, so the decision was taken to bail out at the first suitable opportunity. That happened to be at a one horse town called Randle. Talk about a time warp. We drove straight into the first motel, and it was like something from a 1950's sitcom set. I half expected Ralph Kramden to walk in. We weren't expecting much, and we didn't get much either.

The gourmet kitchen with extensive bench space. Mm-mmm.

Loads of storage space, unless you need the other bed. Note the fat screen TV. That's not a misprint.

Original not retro furniture. What's been going on in here? How the hell do you set fire to a chair??
Using a portable gas stove in your room, possibly. (I know, I know!)

And here's how you set fire to a switchboard! There are never enough power points.

And the patched-up bathroom was not a pretty sight either but it came with one useful accessory. A super heavy duty plunger for clearing those annoying obstructions in the sewer line. It was required. Twice. And fly screens? You couldn't fault those. There weren't any. But the place didn't promise to be anything else. Believe me, I've paid good money to sleep in a lot worse, even on this trip. Day's End in Durango, CO and Americourt in Elizabethton, TN spring to mind. Now they really did suck.

So, next morning, we headed away from Seattle for a bit, to visit the Mt. St Helen's National Volcanic Monument. This is centred in a large, un-populated region, due largely to the volcano's spectacular eruption in 1980. Nice ride in too. The 1980 eruption blew the top of the mountain right off, with a shock wave that splintered the surrounding forest into matchwood, and the filled the valleys with ash and soil. This has since consolidated, and begun to erode. Nature doesn't stand still. Its an eerie sight, even after 36 years, and the scale of the devastation is incredible. We were reminded that the volcano is dormant, as opposed to extinct. Click, click, can we go now?

So, after all that excitement, it was time to wrap it up, and go back to Seattle. This time we stayed off the I-5 as long as possible, until we realised we were actually going nowhere, fast. So we bit the bullet and got amongst it. Most of the time, the traffic moved at a reasonable pace, but every so often, there was a bottleneck, and the traffic would screech to a halt, then crawl forward. As much as I tried to position myself where I could get an overview of the traffic, I mostly found myself  behind a truck/van/semi-trailer, where I was the last to know what was going on. As much as I tried to leave some space in front, it usually disappeared as someone else stole it by changing lanes. I am not pleased when someone tailgates me either. But such is the dog eat dog world of the I-5, even 70 miles from Seattle. Then it gets worse! It was a revelation to Kaz too. I concluded that I would really struggle to live in a city where I had to spend hours every day battling this kind of congestion to get anywhere. I even complain about Adelaide traffic. Hah.

However, we eventually got here, back to the relative sanity of Tukwila. Time for bike cleaning, shipping and repacking. It was kind of weird to think of all that had happened in the last three months. That was 20,499 km ago, and it seems like an eternity as I look back on it. I visited 28 states, including 9 for the first time, and 3 Canadian provinces, including one for the first time. I caught up with some old friends, and I made some new ones. I had a pillion passenger to share the adventure with for the first time, and it helped make the journey a lot more fun. And there are some things better left unsaid, because I still struggle to find the right words. Ok, thanks for reading. Well, I've got a plane to catch. Hasta la vista, baby.

GOODBYE YELLOW STONE ROAD

After four nice days at Yellowstone we were due to depart, and there had been a big storm with lots of rain overnight. A wet start is never a pleasant prospect. By the way. it was bloody cold as well. Fortunately the rain had stopped at leaving time, but the street was slushy and the bike cover was packed up wet. We went  northwards, straight out of town on US191, then took the turnoff to US 287. I had used this route last trip, and it was a spectacular ride, even though I copped a drenching, and got blinded by two big semis one behind the other in a cloud of spray. Not the kind of thing you forget. Shortly after passing Hebgen Lake, we ground to a halt due to roadworks. We had a long wait, and finally a pilot car appeared. It turned out that this was a very long stretch of roadworks, and just as we neared the other end of the section, a warning light appeared on the instrument panel. A light I had not seen before on this bike. It was the low temperature alert, which cuts in when the ambient air temp drops below 4 deg C, alerting the rider to the possibility of ice on the road. It was reading 2.5 and that funny stuff whipping around in the breeze was snow. At one stage it got down as low as 1 deg, and the clouds were so low I was concerned that we would be soon riding blind. We were also severely under-dressed for these conditions.

We had no option but to continue on towards Ennis, some 70 miles north of Yellowstone. I was wondering what the hell the weather was going to do next. I had the grip heaters on max, but my fingertips were numb, and I tried to heat them up on the grips. If you think that's easy, try it! Finally we got to Ennis, and went into the nearest gas station. After thawing out a bit with some hot coffee, we unpacked the luggage and put on anything we could find that was warm. We had to do this in the ladies toilet, a memorable experience. Remember all that stuff we posted home from Durango? Like thermal liners and winter gloves?? Some other riders came in soon after, and we compared notes. It appeared that the worst of it was over, and the system was moving away. Eventually we got moving again, but we both had so much clothing on that neither of us could move much at all. We must have looked like a couple of sumo wrestlers. When we left Ennis, the wind was fairly howling, and buffeting the bike all over the road. Very unpleasant riding. Goddamn the wind in this country, there's nothing like it anywhere, except maybe Patagonia and/or Antarctica.

Moving further up into Montana, we had planned to get up to Missoula via US 93, much further to the west, but under the circumstances decided to bolt up to the I-90 and seek refuge. The first town of any size was Butte, and we found a motel immediately. I would have been happy with a foxhole by this stage, and Kaz was turning blue. I think it was about 1 pm at this point, and we had fought for every mile.

Next morning, suitably thawed out and rested, we resumed our journey. The weather had improved greatly. So much so that we began with a look around Butte. Not as pretty town, but a hard, tough looking mining town which had seen better days. It reminded us of Broken Hill. As with many mining towns, there is a great contrast between the property owned by those who are making the big money, and those who are doing the dirty work. I wouldn't be a miner for love nor money. Nevertheless, we headed across to Anaconda for a bit more of the same. There is a huge brick chimney here, belonging to an old smelter. Apparently copper was the go in these parts, just as the world discovered electricity, and they produced a hell of a lot of the stuff right here. I imagine a lot of people suffered and died for it too, without sounding too left wing about the whole subject. By the time we arrived in Anaconda, we were cold again, so we put the Michelin man costumes back on for the next few hours while we headed up to Missoula, and found our way onto US12, the road heading for the hamlet of Lolo, and more importantly, the Lolo Pass, in the Bitterroot Range. One of the last crossings of the Rockies to to be made because of the difficult nature of the terrain, I'm lead to believe. The State line between Montana and Idaho runs right through the top of the Pass. It was a nice run up to the summit, not particularly high at some 5,000 ft. The road surface took a turn for the worse as soon as we crossed back into Idaho, suggesting some inequality in spending on road infrastructure. Not long afterwards, we spotted a sign saying the road was pretty twisty for the next 90 miles, and warning motorcyclists in particular to take care. Ah-der! That's why we were there, and we both let out a simultaneous Woo-Hoo.

Lolo is not your usual mountain pass, in as much as its not as steep and scary as many others we saw in say, Colorado. It felt to me like it pretty much has a gentle but relentless downward slope, which lasts for about the whole 90 miles. Most of it has nice sweeping bends, again making it ideal for cruisers, and making it as fast as you are prepared to take it. It just went on and on, and was even a little mesmerising. We had nice weather by this stage, and there was not a lot of traffic on it, so we hooked into it somewhat. Not too many gear changes, you could just blat the throttle and let the engine's grunt and gravity just propel the bike, then back off and let the engine braking do the work as you set up for the next bend, generating a nice smooth rhythm. Then repeat ad infinitum. Heaven on a stick! I was so busy having fun that I failed to notice how far it was between gas stations, and we only just made it into Kooskia, on the Nez Perce Indian Reservation, 30 litre tank notwithstanding.

By this point, it was actually hot, and we were finally able to shed some clothing. a great relief. The plan at this point was to ride to Lewiston, ID, right on the border with Washington, grab a motel and enjoy a well earned break after a pretty good day's riding. This took us through some interesting countryside. You could see where those famous potatoes grow. The soil was deep and dark, and paddocks stretched to the horizon in some places. And in other places, some steep gorges straddled by very old trestle bridges carried the railroad. Progress can be hard fought for, no doubt about that. As we came into Lewiston, we passed a massive factory of some kind. Pretty soon, as we routinely walked in the front door of a Motel 6 looking forward to a shower and a well earned coldie, we found out that it was a paper mill. And the bad news was that the factory was in shutdown mode. And that meant that all the available accommodation in Lewiston, and neighbouring towns, had been swallowed up by an army of contractors doing shutdown maintenance on the mill. Talk about "trooble at Mill". We were buggered.

Allright then, we'll move on. We had planned to ride from here to Enterprise, Oregon the following day, on OR3, about 100 miles south. This somewhat obscure road had made it onto my list of the fifteen best motorcycle roads in America, at number fifteen. We would have preferred to tackle it fresh, first thing in the morning, but we had no option but to keep going. Still, not too much of a drama, said I. Its midweek, we should have no trouble getting a motel down there. Well, this road turned out to be wild. The initial climb out of Clarkston, WA was almost helical. Then we had a little daylight, followed by sunset and twighlight before it became dark. Manageable, in my humble opinion. Once we climbed onto the plateau, we started to see deer on the road. Shit, I forgot about them. So I slowed down a bit, and asked Kaz to ride shotgun and keep a lookout too. Soon we were spotting the bastards on a regular basis, but at least they were on the sides of the road, or out in paddocks, and seemed content just to look at us. The countryside changed to precipitous hills and deep valleys, and demanded respect. We were making slow progress. Then it started to get dark, and the temperature began to drop noticeably. I began to grind my teeth. We stopped to rug up, and I tried to reassure Kaz, "No problem, I do this all the time" I lied. Well, Brian Cullinan and I did ride 80 km in the dark on gravel road, dodging roos and cattle, to get into Birdsville a few years back after an outback trip went pear shaped. That counts, doesn't it?

Well, pretty soon it was really dark, but luckily there was a full moon adding a little to the illumination. This allowed us to spot even more deer. Finally the road evened out a bit, and we saw lights in the distance. Whew, we made it. There were several motels in Enterprise, and we headed straight to the biggest one, the aptly named Ponderosa. I thought the car park was fairly full for a weeknight in the middle of bloody nowhere. More bad news. Didn't we know about the annual conference of the local hopscotch umpires association or some such, asked the manager. How did I miss that?? He at least had the decency to ring around for us, but every goddamn motel was full.

By this stage, its about 8 pm, and we were both pretty cranky.  Ok, lets go to Subway and eat something while we consider our options. The guy behind the counter soon learned of our plight, and even made a few more calls to various people, but to no avail. After the coffee kicked in, I realised there was no option but to continue about a further 60 miles to La Grande. At least it was a sizeable town on the Interstate, and time was wasting. The Subway guy was horrified, telling us we had to ride through a gorge full of deer. Kaz was frozen, and not a little scared, but went with me on this one. I decided to keep the speed down to 80 kph, and had the fog lights on, confident I could see well enough, and that I could stop in time if I had to. Away we went. It didn't take long to see more deer. When we reached the first of several villages, I thought I could at least relax a little as we rode through the deserted streets. Wrong. There were more deer wandering around the front yards of houses than there were out in the paddocks! Not long after this we approached what looked like the gorge. Almost immediately we both spotted deer on different sides of the road. On my side stood a massive stag, with an impressive set of very pointy antlers. All he had to do was take one step and he would have been  right in front of me. Lucky for us he didn't flinch. I dropped the speed a bit more. Jeezus, what next?? This is like the Twilight Zone, I thought to myself.

Well, the rest of the ride was relatively uneventful, although we did see a lot more deer around. We finally hit La Grande and went into the first motel we saw. It was around 11 pm. Yes they had a room, and I've rarely, if ever, been happier to find one. (Thailand, Chris? or Pakistan?) We were spent. It had been a long, long day. We both went out like lights.

The following morning, we walked to a Denny's diner next to the motel, and ordered a humungous breakfast. I'd like to say we both lived happily ever after. But wait, there's more. We both felt a little cheated because the Universe conspired to make life difficult the previous day. So we decided to make a running change to the itinerary. The luggage was removed from the bike and we decided to retrace our steps and see what we had missed in the dark. Check this lot out! These were all taken between Lewiston and Enterprise. The section between Enterprise and La Grande was less spectacular, but a beautiful, fast bike road nonetheless, particularly through the gorge region along the river.

By the time we returned to La Grande, we had ridden this stretch three times, including once in the dark. If it isn't one of the best bike roads in the country, I don't know what you have to do to get on the list. There is even a cafe at the lowest point, named Boggans Oasis. Despite the extra G, no Aussie could fail to see the humour in the name. One could consider this appropriate!

Great stuff. Now all we had to do was get back to Seattle. But that's a story for next time.

A BUSY DAY IN UTAH, IDAHO, WYOMING AND MONTANA.

Now to break some more new ground. Leaving Panguitch we followed US89 north, turning onto UT62 just past Circleville. Farm country, some forest and lots of wide open spaces. Sweeping vistas might be more accurate. By the time we got to a fly speck on the map called Koosharem, it was coffee time. We headed into the diner with the pick up trucks parked out the front. As we opened the door, all heads inside swivelled expectantly to see who was coming in, and all conversation stopped. That was freaky. Gradually the conversations resumed, albeit now in hushed tones, with the odd furtive glance in our direction. We both felt like we had just landed from another planet. In some respects, I suppose we had. Shades of that scene in Easy Rider.

The old guy behind the counter was wearing Levis held up by suspenders, and had a straw cowboy hat on his head. We ordered two coffees, the decided to take up the offer of today's special, cherry pie. Not bad either. But there was no further dialogue from anybody else to us. There were several guns of various types mounted on the wall, and in the adjoining room the walls were lined with the heads of various animals. Some looked decidedly like they didn't come from these here parts at all. Closer inspection revealed that they were in fact antelopes, and had indeed been bagged by some local guy on a big game hunt in South Africa in the 70s. Oh well, everybody has a bucket list. Well, we reluctantly tore ourselves away from all this congeniality, and continues north through Salina, a busy agricultural town, and back onto 89 through Manti and Ephraim.






A couple of spectacular Mormon temples later, we joined I-15 at Spanish Fork, heading into Salt Lake City. This was Kaz's first taste of riding on an Interstate, and it was pretty full on. We never had plans to stop in Salt Lake, we thought we'd just check it out as we went through. Well, the traffic was pretty diabolical, and the place seemed to go on forever, so we just kept going. The bits of the lake visible from the Interstate looked pretty ordinary, and we rode past one of the biggest petrochemical plants I've ever seen. I don't care much for them either, as vital as they are. We pushed on past Ogden, and finally things calmed down a bit, so we decided to turn off the freeway and hit Brigham City, not sure what to expect. I half expected to see religious nut jobs preaching on every street corner, to be honest. It wasn't quite so "in your face", but I suspect there is a strong undercurrent in this State.

We decided to go upmarket a bit, and checked into a Hampton Inn, which was long overdue. By this stage my knees were killing me, and limiting my ability to walk much further than a few hundred yards. It was late, but we managed to find a good Mexican restaurant nearby, which was just about to shut, but stayed open long enough to feed us. Another long but interesting day, seeing new country. Next morning we got away late, and headed back onto US89 and up towards Idaho, a highly scenic route. The view of Bear Lake from the summit of the adjoining range was absolutely stunning. The Lake was a striking turquoise colour, the like of which I recall seeing only once before (at Peyto Lake in Canada). Even Kaz's camera failed to do justice to the remarkable scene before us. This was a highlight for sure.




By the time we reached the northern extremity of the lake, we were in Idaho, and the wind was blustery, and I though we were in for a hard time. A quick stop at Montpelier for lunch, and Kaz spotted a real cowboy wearing spurs! True story. Not sure if you need them to drive a Dodge Ram, but he had em anyway.

The stretch from Montpelier to the Wyoming state line was a cracker of a road. Not much traffic, and beautiful sweeping curves that didn't tighten up on you, which inspired confidence, so we let rip. I intend to plead the Douglas Bader defence again, Your Honour. After crossing into Wyoming, the traffic density increased considerably, and it became a bit of a pain. And there were a lot more cops, so we behaved. It took forever to reach Jackson, but I was looking forward to having another go at the Teton Pass, then getting back on the back roads on the Idaho side of the Tetons and heading up to West Yellowstone. A great ride in 2012. Sadly, this time there was so much traffic around this very steep and exciting Pass was a real pain in the arse. Then as we made our way north, the wind picked up to serious levels, and we really got hammered. Kaz was getting a bit anxious, and with good reason. It was a tough ride. To just finish off the day properly, the dark clouds were gathering as we neared Montana, and we narrowly avoided a real downpour. However, we made it to our exorbitantly priced little log cabin (operative word is little) on the corner of Electric St North and Alley B. Not the most desirable part of the town of West Yellowstone, Montana, but much better than the Bolivar Cascades. We settled in for the next four days. Every convenience was within walking distance, but the problem was I couldn't walk. Not without pharmaceutical assistance anyway.

And time for some laundry.

Not much royal about this humpy!

We were hampered by the weather to some extent, there were a few thunderstorms and quite some rain, and a burnoff in the Park that got a little out of control. But we were able to do some riding in Yellowstone, checking out all the usual stuff, including a decent sized herd of buffalo, and a herd or two of elk. No moose or bears though. We also saw a car that nosedived off the road quite spectacularly into a ditch, and had its back wheels in the air. Oops. Driving 101- Watch the road, Dopey. The next thing you drive into might be a motorcyclist.

THE WILD WEST

I have just finished loading my photos onto the laptop, and it has become painfully apparent that while I was doing the driving, I was too preoccupied to take many photos of some of the premier bits of awesome scenery and to record other whimsical happenings that took my fancy. On the other hand, Kaz has about a million photos on her phone. I just have to figure out how to get them onto the blog, so I'll post the best ones after we figure it out. Meanwhile, I'll revert to the written word, and you'll just have to believe me.

So we headed off to see some more of Colorado, Gunnison to be precise. Here the Econolodge provided really good value lodging, its a shame we only had one night there. But westwards to the Black Canyon. Great roads, very little traffic, awesome scenery, pleasant weather. What else could anybody ask for? Alright then, world peace. Now let me get on with the story. The Canyon must have taken some finding. It's narrow and deep and dark, and you can't see it till you're right on top of it, and it was only discovered by the palefaces in the late 1800s, Not until 1901 was any serious attempt made to evaluate it as a water source, or to exploit it in any way.

Suitably impressed, we continued to the delightful town of Ouray, ready to ride the Million Dollar Highway, so called because of its cost of an alleged million dollars per mile, but otherwise known as US550, south to Durango where would hole up for a few days. We were not disappointed, you can take that to the bank. The steep climb out of Ouray was tricky, but spectacular. Red Mountain Pass was breathtaking, and so it went for the rest of the day. The only blemish was that we had to stop for roadworks at one point, and a lengthy delay followed, which broke the rhythm a bit, and put us behind a big line of traffic. I soon worked my way to the front of the pack once we got moving again. No cops, fortunately. But in the words of legendary WW2 fighter pilot Douglas Bader, "Rules are for the obedience of fools, and the guidance of wise men". A flimsy defence, I admit.

It turns out that the Four Corners Bike Rally was in progress for the whole week at nearby Ignacio, New Mexico, and the whole region around Durango was Biker Central. A lot of  accountants and lawyers and other wannabes, probably with henna tattoos. But also some seriously heavy looking bad asses too. The rumble of Harleys was all you could hear 24/7. No wonder I had trouble finding accommodation all those months ago! All I could get at a price less than the National Debt was a joint called Days End, not to be confused with the Days Inn chain. Well, it started out ok, despite the world weary attitude of the female attack dog working at the front desk. Then one night, we awoke to the sound of running water. It was coming from the room above. Every time someone flushed the toilet. Our bathroom ceiling was dripping wet, and some form of sewage was discharging all over the floor, the towels, and the benchtop, and Kaz's  toothbrush. A visit to the front desk, followed by a demand for a new room, was met with some initial indifference, and a give away admission that "I told maintenance to fix that". We immediately renamed the motel the Bolivar Cascades. (Local joke, Adelaide will understand). While we were doing that, another irate guy came in, steam rising from his collar, wanting to check out immediately, and demanding a refund for the balance of accommodation. Got the picture? Anyway, we were offered another much smaller room, and much noisier at that, but at least it appeared to be dry. It was a seller's market, as much as I would have liked to tell the cow where to stick her motel. Kaz bought a new toothbrush, by the way.

Across the road was an establishment named Gandolf's Smoke Shop. Dope is legal in Colorado, and this place was the Home Depot of the drug world. Kaz went in for a look and a few photos, and came back with the news that, according to Gandolf, our motel was always full of meth heads, and the cops are called to the place at least once a week. I reckon the bath towels are a good indicator of a motel's quality. Those glorious, soft, fluffy, absorbent Egyptian cotton jobs you get at the Hilton are worth paying for. At the Cascades, you get a sheet of sandpaper. If you're lucky! Now for the bad bit.

Just messing with ya. Otherwise, our stay in Durango was great. The place has a real vibe, and we located some terrific eateries. We had melt in your mouth steaks at the Orehouse (love the name!) and some very tasty Washington reds. We took a few day rides, eg out to Mesa Verde, and then ducked back into New Mexico to the Navajo Dam, and to the incorrectly named Aztec ruins. We also decided to lighten the load by posting some of our luggage home. Unused items like heavy Winter riding gear, and liners, magazines, etc. A tactical error as it turned out, but more on that later!

So, off to Four Corners and Monument Valley. The weather was warming up as we neared Arizona, and the wind was picking up ominously. I had to abandon a visit to this area on my last trip because of a howling dust storm, and I knew how bad it can get around here. But we were fortunate on this occasion. For the uninitiated, Four Corners is the only point in the US where four State boundaries meet at a single point. Plenty of threes. And fives are right out! The States concerned are Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona and Utah, to save you looking it up. You can stand on the very point if you wish, and there was a long line of punters waiting patiently to do just that. Personally, I didn't have the patience, and anyway I considered it a bit artificial. Then I remembered I actually paid someone in South America to take me to see the point where the borders of  Brazil, Argentina and Paraguay meet. Its at the junction of two rivers, so all you can see is water anyway. Now who's stupid?

Anyway, here are some photos of people with more patience than me. Actually, most people have more patience than me, but here are some who were already at Four Corners on the same day.

Note the cell phone to breathlessly announce to the world that "I just stood on the spot". And I'm thinking "Yeah, and now its half an inch lower ".

Not her. She wasn't already here. But the Indian trinket sellers certainly were. And they run the place. Actually, some of the stuff they were selling was really good, particularly the jewellery. I also liked the real handmade Indian arrows.

Finally, we got to Monument Valley. Now this was really worth seeing. I remember watching countless Westerns as a kid, with these spooky looking mesas, buttes and chimney stacks rising from the red dirt. So much so that I once thought the whole of America was covered in the things. And giant Cacti as well. So much for the illusion peddled by filmmakers. But the geology is truly awesome anyway. Looks like the Indians have a controlling interest in this region as well. I was surprised at how much development there was in the area, most of it unsympathetic, which detracted from the natural beauty and majesty. But there was no admission charge, unless you wanted to actually touch the things or take a tour.

Well someone is happy to be here!

After  this we headed up the road to Utah, were I had booked a room at the San Juan Trading Post just outside Mexican Hat. I was a little concerned as to what this might be like, with the memory of the Bolivar Cascades still fresh in my mind. My fears were unfounded, and it turned out to be a wonderful place to spend the night. So, first thing next morning, we were off to start exploring the vast geological treasure trove that is Utah. First stop was the feature that gives Mexican Hat its name. Viewed from a certain angle, the rock balanced atop a pinnacle looks just like a sombrero with the brim pushed back by the wind, as it might be if a Mexican was riding a horse at speed, no doubt about that. Weird! Sorry, no photo yet. I was too busy trying not to drop the bike on the track we took to get in close. Next, the Mokkee Dugway, just up the road. This is an unpaved old mine haul road cut into the face of a steep escarpment. We zeroed in for a look-see. Hell, it was steep allright. From where we were, it was going up, as opposed to going down. All the footage of it that I've ever seen shows the view from the top, so in my mind I have always imagined riding down. And I would have felt much more confident riding down rather than up, even with a pillion and a lot of luggage, but we convinced ourselves that discretion was the better part of valour this time. Better safe than sorry, but it meant a lengthy detour to get us back onto UT276 and on to Escalante and Bryce Canyon.  The ferry across Lake Powell was closed for repairs, so we had to go the long way, but this is no hardship. This is an awesome road, which I rode last trip, but in the opposite direction. For a long period of time we had it nearly all to ourselves, and we were fortunate because this was special. Those infernal tar snakes across the road which freaked me on the last trip were still there. More of them if anything.  I could feel the front wheel slipping when I hit them in the corners, and a couple of times we really slid, which resulted in a big front end twitch of the handlebars, a real wake up call. I had to really watch where I put the front wheel. We stopped for another look at the Hite Overlook which impressed me so much last visit. Then I had it all to myself, but now there were heaps of bikers on group tours who call in here. Oh well, the word is out. But it was nice to run into a bunch of  Kiwis all the same.

Spot the bridge we just rode over? This gives an idea of the scale of this place. Also note the mesas in the background. Monument Valley has some competition.

So on to Bryce Canyon and its bizarre landscape. This really blew Kaz out. See below.

The Park was very busy this time around, and we had to do a bit of faffing around to find accommodation after this visit. Eventually we found a surprisingly good motel down the road at Panguitch, but had to resort to dinner from the panniers because everything else was closed by the time we arrived. A long day but some awesome riding. Especially the bit near Escalante, where the road topped out along a ridgeline. No road shoulders, no guardrails, a precipitous drop on both sides of the road, and it was blowing a fair gale. Not for the faint hearted.