Day 9; Solo in Vegas

Sat., April 6, 7:55 p.m., PST
I'm here again in the Caesar's Palace Sports Book. There are nine minutes left in the second semi-final NCAA March Madness game. Amongst the din and the cigarette smoke, the pressure is building. Michigan is up by three but Syracuse is making run. The decidedly pro Michigan crowd is getting jittery.
See: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ya_-aKharaE
The tipsy woman next to me is making small talk; do you come to Vegas often, are you here on vacation, are you staying at this hotel, isn't this cigarette smoke unbearable? Come on lady. Aren't my one-word responses enough of a clue. How about the fact that I am typing on this iPad and not looking at you while you're talking? This is the Final Four for god's sake. Leave me alone. For the first game, Louisville vs Wichita State, I nursed a lemonade (free refills) and a chicken salad at the Mirage Sports Book. Thankfully, there were no such interruptions. The Mirage attracts a more




discriminating clientele of boozed up basketball fanatics.
Eric and I returned the bikes this morning after watching Margot and her soccer team play in an 8 a.m. tournament game in nearby Henderson. Her team didn't fair very well, dropping the contents 5-0 to a powerhouse squad from California.




Thankfully they later rebounded, winning the second game 2-0 and tying the third one 1-1. They play again tomorrow morning before driving back to LA for a red eye flight back to Boston. It was great to see her and to meet some of the teammates she has been talking about for so many years.
Our final stretch yesterday, as Eric suggested in his previous post, was scary, exhilarating, depleting, fun and more than anything, stupid. Next time we take a turn off of a main road and encounter a "Road Closed" sign, I, and I hope Eric, will think more carefully before proceeding.
Our intent was to shave off 27 miles and 30 minutes by cutting the angle down Route 317 (see photo of map).




Route 317 for 14 miles was spectacular, hugging Kershaw Ryan State Park with stunning mountain vistas in every direction.
That however, came to an abrupt stop. With no forewarning, 317 ended, the road changed to dirt and soon thereafter, to deep gravel and sand. Yikes! We had to cut our speed significantly. (See; http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bpDRXKWuIvs ) Our tires were sliding left and right, the wobble like nothing I had ever experienced while riding. Thinking these conditions would be short lived, we mushed on. A big mistake. What resulted was 40 miles and three hours of hair raising skidding, wheel spinning and near wipeouts. (See: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FmnqErDRZgc ). White knuckled the whole way, we struggled to control 650 pounds of bike and luggage. It's amazing we made it out unscathed.
The remainder of the ride was uneventful, except for the trucks passing at 80 mph on route 93. Not fun, especially when the resulting air flow attempted to suck us underneath as they flew by.
What a remarkable trip this was. The bikes, the scenery, the many interesting people along the way and of course the camaraderie with Eric... I enjoyed it immensely. So much fun.




We arrived at the Best Western Plus where we caught a cheap meal and then hit the sack. A wild, exhausting and rewarding day.
I'll be staying here in Vegas until Tuesday. I'm attending the National Association of Broadcasters show, learning the latest and greatest about video production, equipment, trends and best practices. Tomorrow night I might attend the Country Music Awards. It depends on how I feel after a six hour conference session called "Second Screen Summit". Sounds fascinating, I know. Not! What an abrupt re-entry into the world.
Until the next time.. thanks for following.
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Location:S Galapago St,Denver,United States

"Hey Eric, let's take a shortcut."

These words have haunted us before but this one seemed to make eminent sense. We could cut the hypotenuse and save 40 miles. It was the second recommended route on the infamous "AppleMaps," which, perversely, suggested to us that it was the preferred route. The scenery looked gorgeous, cutting between two mountain ranges east of Nowhere, Nevada. And this was really nowhere. Besides it was only thirty two miles according to AppleMaps.
Four hours later, George and I slumped on our bikes and we reentered the world of paved roads on Route 93 south toward Las Vegas. We had covered over 40 miles of graveled dirt roads but these were not our friendly gravel roads that we have ventured on so often. Lots of loose gravel. First gear gravel and wobbling front wheels about to go down kind of gravel.
We saw two cars on the dirt today. Neither was friendly and the white pick up almost took me out coming over a blind rise. It was challenging and even fun. For the first twenty miles or so. And then we concluded we were really lost. The voice over the microphone sounded concerned. How much water was left in my camelback (almost none)? If we have to stay out, how cold could it get? (George never gets cold). Could I find the spare batteries for my handheld GPS? No cell phone signals out here.
The GPS showed the two mountain ranges coming together but that looked a long long way away. Off to our right, a mile or so off the main dirt road was a large semi truck and what appeared to be a 14 foot rental van. There was a meeting. What's going on over there, I asked George. Should we take a look? It seemed like a potential major drug exchange. "What are you thinking?" asked George.
You can't appreciate the remoteness of this place if you are from the east. We haven't seen a police car in four days. No one ever comes to these places. Off in the distance, you often see a collection of trailers or small homes made out of what appear to be scrap metals. We went up a few dirt roads to see these settlements but turned around quickly. BMW's are not welcome vehicles in these parts.
Fortunately, the winds were calm today and there were no tumbleweeds. We first encountered these devils in Arizona. It was amusing at first as I tried to avoid the small ones and you could see them coming from across the scrub. But as the winds picked up, these weeds became small monsters and they came into the road fast, sometimes lingering and swirling in front of us. What if I hit one? Not clear. The wheel and spokes might just chew it up but it was just not clear. So we just went slow and played dodgeball.
So we are safe in Las Vegas and the dangers that we conjure up are largely illusory. Probably the most dangerous place we visited was the bathroom at the Best Western. A very fun, challenging trip that we both enjoyed tremendously. Initial orthopedic issues that somehow got resolved with harder riding and more adventures. Lots of envious admiration of our bikes and, by extension, us. We looked the part; dusty rugged adventurers in black motorcycle suits and body armor strapped to our t shirts which we always enjoy showing off. Never ever a plan or a reservation. It will somehow work out, even if we have to sleep under a bridge. The road will take us where it takes us.
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Location:N Boulder Hwy,Henderson,United States

Day 8; Fear and Loathing in Cedar City

Friday, 6:20 a.m., Cedar Falls, 43 degrees
There are not a lot of early risers in Cedar City. I just got back to the Best Western after a 20 minute walk. I headed down Main Street and then cut south on University.




A gas attendant at the Phillips 66 station was tending to a customer. A young barista was prepping for opening at The Grind Coffeehouse. An auto repair shop converted to a make shift gym had a bunch of bulky guys, maybe Southern Utah football players, pumping iron and jumping rope. Other than that, no one.
I read Hunter S. Thompson's "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" in high school. I don't remember much of it. I do however, recall the seething rants about American consumerism and excess. As we get close to Vegas, I sense Eric's Hunteresque tendencies kicking in. When I suggested that we spend tonight on the strip and take in a show, a diatribe ensued. Yikes. Maybe a suburban Bed and Breakfast will do.
We took the leisurely trip down rte. 12 yesterday, then cut down rte. 89 and over rte. 14 to Cedar City. See Eric's entry for a somewhat accurate recap of the day.
Last night we were trying to figure out which route to take down to Vegas today. The most direct way is 182 miles straight down Interstate 15. The safer and much more scenic route goes west through Kershaw-Ryan State Park, south through Desert National Wildlife Range, over to the Valley of Fire State Park and down into Henderson. Total mileage for this route is 299 miles. After seeing the front page headline in this morning's Cedar City Daily News (see photo)




I've solidified which way I want to go. I'm not looking forward to the debate with Eric when he wakes up in a few hours.
I'm experiencing some writer's block this morning. Rather than force it, ill upload some photos and videos for your enjoyment pleasure.
Have a good day.
-George
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V-rNINaNvgg
















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Location:S Main St,Cedar City,United States

Eric's update

THURSDAY
Two days since my last entry and George is on my case.
We are nearing the end of a great trip. These periods are often characterized by a good deal of freneticism as George uses his devices to plot various side roads, filled with dangerous intersections and 25 mph hairpin turns, that we can take to avoid the dreaded safety of the American Interstate highway system. In this case, his fears are a tad magnified because it appears that the only way back from where we are is Interstate 15. Followers will no doubt recall George's experience with I-15 four and one half years ago.
It is true that he was riding a 730 pound motorcycle and his only prior experience was with a 12 horsepower moped. Still, it was hard to stick around while he travelled 20 miles an hour in the breakdown lane with his flashers on. So I elected to go ahead, flat on the tank at 90 mph safely passing the tandems trailers while George was engulfed with the whirlwinds caused by their tumultuous mass.
We are approaching 1-15 again. In fact, it is within two miles of the great college town that we highly recommend, Cedar City, home of the University of Southern Utah Nighthawks. As I write the blog, George is zooming in on various side roads that would allow us to bypass the highway. Most of them are class 3 or 4 roads reserved for four by fours. So I will likely not travel on them as we have 182 miles to Las Vegas, a very fast 2.5 hours on I-15. We will see.
The last two days have been truly spectacular. A much used term on this trip. We really recommend Capitol Reef National Park, much overlooked by its more popular and very busy cousins, Bryce and Zion. We were able to go hiking for the first time, down the Great Wash trail, aptly named because it can go from what appears to be a drive river bed to a raging river in a matter of minutes, precipitated by a thunderstorm in the Henry Mountains more than a hundred miles away. We walked down a mile or two to a slot canyon and then waddled back a mile and a quarter. Some more adventure riding on dirt roads and then a great motel (the chuck wagon in Torrey) and organic restaurant in the middle of nowhere.
We never make plans on where we are going to stay or eat. It is probably foolish but it just seems to work out. We bypassed the most highly recommended restaurant in Cedar City tonight and walked a mile to a bar that was, amazingly, even too tawdry for George. Even though it was close to 8.45 when we came back, the original restaurant was still open. It just seems to work.
Everyone is fascinated by our bikes and our story. Our bikes look adventurous and it appears that we have come a great distance. Sometimes we don't disabuse the viewers from their belief, for fear of disappointment. I had quite a spirited conversation in French today with the outdoor adventure leader of a California State University who we met at a scenic turnout on Utah Rte 12 today. His dream was to own a BMW and ride to Alaska. It was clear to everyone, including his 12 students, that he was waiting for an invitation to get on the bike and so I invited him to try George's. (His bike sports the lower suspension and this guy was about 5 foot three). Fortunately there was no mishap as George has a $1,000 damage deductible on his bike. But the point is that to many we meet, we are real adventurers, naked and exposed on the road to all the elements, and we don't want to spoil what is really an illusion. Granted it's not the easiest way to travel, but these bikes are so solid, have advanced safety equipment and are happy at 60 mph and, as I discovered on a very safe and isolated road today, equally content at 115 mph.
The intercoms are really useful. I cannot recall all the banal talk that goes on; it lacks substance but it makes the miles go by easier. We could attach the intercoms to our iphones via bluetooth and listen to our podcasts or itunes, but there is never a thought of that; George is my podcast and it's all live.
There is a great section of southwest Utah called the Cedar Breaks area and we were up there at the end of the day. You go up about 4,000 vertical feet from a dessert to a mountaintop lake (Navajo) covered by ice and snow. The temperature goes down almost 25 degrees and then 17 miles back the down side, from trees and alpine conditions back to redrock scrub and desert. You can take Utah 143 or Utah 14; it all ends up at Cedar City. We recommend both routes, and a stop at Cedar Breaks Monument at ten thousand five hundred feet. I have been in this area three times on a motorcycle; it is truly exhilarating.
So much to see and do out her. I can't wait to bring our jeep (garaged 700 miles to the east in Colorado) out here and explore the Burr trail, Moab and the thousands of miles of wilderness four by four trails; hopefully with Celia next month. My knees need work before I can come back and do the long hikes I would like, and George has back issues. We have eaten well and exercised and done our PT. Strangely and unexpectedly, our joint pain has actually lessened as these days go by and these big solid bikes purr on . . . .
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Location:W College Ave,Cedar City,United States

Day 7, Canyon Reef. Breathtaking

It's Thursday, 6:30 a.m. and a brisk 26 degrees out. It's not the kind of cold that makes you want to take cover. It's more the kind that makes you feel hearty. inviting you to take a vigorous walk, knowing that it will be 50 by 9-10 o'clock.
Another day another breathtaking sunrise. My goodness. Even the locals take pause here in Torrey, Utah as the mountains light up across the way. Janenelle, the local storekeeper, said she's watched it every morning for 29 years. No matter what she is doing, she stops for a few minutes to soak it in.
We are staying at the Chuckwagon Inn in Torrey,




Just outside of Capital Reef National Park. God's country if there ever was any. Our longtime readers might remember that in 2009 we came within 100 miles of here. Back then our time was running short and the winds were howling so we never made it this far. I really wanted to. Matt, my cousin had raved about it. Well Matt, you were right.
Yesterday we came up rte. 24 from near Lake Powell. Once we got passed Hanksville, we weaved through canyons and over mountains that completely blew us away.




We knew that we had to spend an afternoon here. We stopped here in Torrey, grabbed a quick sandwich, checked into the Chuckwagon, dumped our bags and headed into the national park for an afternoon of hiking. I'm so glad we did. We hiked down a red rock canyon for a couple of miles. Above us were cliffs, domes, overhangs and canyon sandstone walls with deep alcoves, lightly streaked with a dark desert varnish. We had the place mostly to ourselves. See video clip for a first hand look ( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4V6zf-BNgjM ). It was a terrific day ended by an evening at a local restaurant with a nice steak salad for me and the trout for Eric.
I'm now sitting in the back of the general store. A retired economics professor from Wyoming is talking to a local cowboy in the booth next to me. The cowboy had an injury and can't work anymore. He gets no government assistance. He doesn't want any. He doesn't believe in in. He says capitalism may be a good thing for some people but he isn't taking part in it. His form of government centers around "blue sky, the clouds, the rain, the snow and the wind." He'll let others worry about the other stuff. His one wish is that the government would play a smaller role here in America. "I've learned to be self-sufficient. Why can't others do the same. Wy do they need to turn to Uncle Sam for so much help?"
I'm not touching this conversation with a ten foot pole. Politics and gun control are off limits. I want to get out of here alive.
Harriet, the pastry chef got here at 3:30 a.m. to start her prep. The waft of her efforts hit me as I opened the door. If I had closed my eyes I would have thought I was in Paris. I don't know what she calls all of these pastries but they are different shapes and sizes and are sitting in the glass case covered with cinnamon, icing, powdered sugar, maple frosting and chocolate sauce. I'm having the French Toast. It's to die for, made out of round cinnamon roles, a recipe passed down from Harriet's grandmother. Wowser.
Today we are going to take rte. 12 down to Bryce. This is one of the most extraordinary roads in the world. Google it. You'll see what I mean. Margot, the kids and I drove it about 15 years ago. We stayed in Boulder, UT for a night. I hope to stop there for lunch at the restaurant Margot still raves about.
Have a great day everyone.
-George
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Location:W Main St,Teasdale,United States

Day 6, Somewhere in Utah

Having gained an hour by entering the Mountain time zone yesterday, I am having to wait longer this morning for the sunrise. No worries. I have the hotel cafe to myself, or almost to myself. Matthew, the rambunctious proprietor's son, is begging me for a ride on the motorcycle while he waits for the school bus to take him the eight miles down to Bullfrog, Utah (the local Chamber of Commerce might want to tweak the name a bit).
Matthew, the poor soul. He is 11 years old but his maturity, both physically and intellectually, is stunted. I would have guessed him to be closer to five or six. He says he is bored stiff in this town; no friends, nothing to do. His mother and older sister work 24/7 running the motel. His energy is over the top. He asks more questions in a minute than I thought humanly possible (what's your name, how old are you, where you from, are you married, what's her name, is she nice (duh) do you have children, what's their names, which motorcycle is yours, did you ride from Boston, will you drive me to my Aunt Rose's in Pennsylvania...). He has no filters. We are a good match, at least for awhile. Even I, however, might eventually tire from his boundary-less curiosity. Not yet though. I feel bad for him. As gorgeous as this place is, it's not fit for a peerless child. Maybe we should take him to Rose's place.
Such a breakfast feast to choose from; a variety of dry cereals, 113 gram cups of yogurt (why just strawberry everyone) frozen waffles and bagels, little pastries (the kind you get at hotel meetings), hard boil eggs, 5.5 ounce cans of v8 juice and orange, apple and "Pass-o-Guava" juice direct from the Sunkist beverage dispenser. Yahoo! So many good choices with so little time to enjoy them.
Eric's entry captured yesterday well, for the most part. I may have described the glove incident and my original travel plans a little differently but I'll avoid the public squabble. Our readers are intelligent. They know how to dissect fiction from the truth.
I've thoroughly enjoyed the days with Eric. Having the intercoms allows us (sometimes forces us) to talk. Most of our conversation is light hearted, some of it is juvenile, and sometimes it's serious. We seek counsel on our respective work challenges. And, for the first time, we've talked about our age and the need to take full advantage of our lives while we can. Our aches, his knees and my back, are persistent reminders to keep moving. The time remaining is short.
Despite the fun times with Eric, I like having a few hours of alone time each morning (if you can call being with Matthew alone time). The sunrises, the breakfasts, the blog posts, and the people help me to settle in for the day. It's restorative and relaxing.
Below are links to some unedited footage from the helmut cam (thanks again Colin).
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xROLJSMBLzQ
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IdMccF2dg7Q
Have a great day.
-George
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Location:UT-276,Hanksville,United States

Day 5, A Day Like no Other

Today was not unlike so many other great days; it seems like many days built into one.
It started late; as George will explain, most of breakfast time was centered around George's interview with Joey. I will let the interview speak for itself; my general feelings on this subject are well known, but I have to say that this one was interesting.
George has show a lot of internal courage this trip. His back has been bad, but he was up for




adventure. So we headed out of Mexican Hat to do a dirt road around the "Monuments" called "Valley of the Gods." It was not challenging and truly magnificent. 30 miles of dirt road past the red rock canyons and these spires




that frequently feature a larger rock on the top hanging on by what appears to be epoxy. No one there; almost total solitude; it seems amazing to see wall to wall people at the Grand Canyon and two hour table waits for dinner and absolutely no one at these spots that are a little out of the way but so worth traveling to.
Out of the Valley of the Gods and the up the dirt switchbacks of the Moki Dugway to the top of this incredible Mesa and then back on asphalt. For about 20 miles. As devoted followers will remember, our trips are frequently characterized by walls of black that are visible for miles ahead. We stopped to take a look and a jeep coming from the opposite direction stopped to tell us that the roads were covered with white (ice) ahead from the hail. We thought we saw the front moving west to east, so we stopped for a bit. George explored a nearby ditch, took more Advil for his back and then . . . disaster. He had lost his left glove.
Let me digress about the day George bought these gloves. It was the Harley dealer in Meredith, NH and because George does not believe in spending money on himself, he opted for the ten dollar vinyl pair which he thought would go well wit the rest of his gear -- the key components of which were purchased from Craigslist. But these gloves has been on a lot of great trips and they have sentimental value.
We spent a full hour looking through the clay and the scruffy bushes near the bikes, the ditch -- wherever we could remember (increasingly hard) that George might have wandered. Usually these stories end when George finds the lost item in his pocket, but, alas, no such luck; our first really lost item since I misplaced my gps in northern Quebec only to find it 500 miles later wedged in the front forks of the bike. We checked there too, but no luck.
The weather broke and it was time to leave. I dutifully fished out a sock and seamlessly handed George my new, $90 pair of BMW GS gloves (they match the bike) and put the sock on my left hand; it's about 48 degrees. George did not hesitate as he took the gloves. No words were exchanged. These things are understood.
The thing about socks on hands is that they do not accommodate thumbs. Or clutch handles. But I was able to manage.
I have to say that there is absolutely nothing between Mexican Hat and Hanksville, which is over 130 miles away. Nothing except the most




magnificent scenery I think George and I have ever
experienced. You must drive Utah route 93 when you have the chance. So many dirt roads, snowy mountains, desert plateaus, huge vistas and the Glen Canyon National Recreation Area. Crossing the Colorado river was




remarkable. Yes the river goes through this area but it is not what it used to be; the lines 50 feet above the Canyon wall make it clear that this was once (before the dam) a much wider and wilder river than it is now. So around the river are these huge mud/sand flats and beyond them the canyon walls. It is so vast, so unspoiled and, again, no one is around.
We are stopping so much that progress is slow. It's 4.30; two hours of daylight and we are 28 miles from Hanksville where there may be a motel. (Reservations are not part of these trips). Rocketing through a twisty canyon and the around the last bend to blackness. This one was not
ambiguous; lightning and thunder right in front of us.
Fortunately there was one of those rare bridges as Utah 276 goes left and down to Lake Powell. (40 miles). I hate lighting and motorcycles; they don't match and I have had bad experiences with lightning and mountain climbing in Wyoming. I tell George I am ditching the bike (metal) and going under the bridge. If necessary for the night. But George is in a festive and adventurous mood and says we should head south to Lake Powell because there is a tiny town on the way (26 miles) named Ticabo. It seemed presumptuous to me that such a dot on a map might contain lodging or food and this is far far away from cell phone towers so no inquiry was possible.
I resisted. But the front was slow moving and it looked like it might mean a night under the bridge. Going south down a one 26 mile cul de sac seemed insane but when George gets upset with me, I am no match; so off we went. Besides, I got to make the decision to go north at a dicey time of year to Utah; so I owed him one. His plan had been to spend three days going 150 miles to Flagstaff and then relaxing at a spa.
I have to give him credit. We are in a motel it Ticabo and had a very nice dinner at the Chevron station. We may go to Lake Powell tomorrow; have not gotten there yet.
This trip may be the best yet. It started off slowly with little planning but has come together beautifully. The remoteness and wild beauty of where we are, exposed on these little machines, is something I don't recall experiencing. And we still manage to get along -- well, as it turns out -- and these little adventures only solidify our friendship.
The weather looks tricky; there are big mountains where we are going if we don't go boating; but I am certain tomorrow will be another adventure.
Eric
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Day 4, Mexican Hat

It's Monday night. We are eating at the cafe at the San Juan Trading Post motel in Mexican Hat




, Utah near the middle of Monument Valley. (See http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=81KNYpftWWw ) I'm having a salad with grilled chicken. Eric is having the trout. I'm also having one of the local beers. Check it out.




It's one of the more interesting labels you'll ever see. The brew isn't bad either.
There are a couple of cowboys at the table next to us who are in the area for a few weeks working on some sort of electric substation down the road. They are lining up shots of vodka and having a jolly good time. One of them is trying to help a German family learn to play pool. I don't think he realizes that his assistance is unwanted and that his inebriation is affecting his aim. The family is very patient and polite, as all of these European families tend to be. He told us that he lives in Arizona while his wife and kids live in Colorado. Ah, the life of a nomad worker in America these days. You got to get work where you can get it. I just wish he would drink a little less of his paycheck and send more of it home.
We got here around 5p.m. after riding a couple of hundred miles from the South Rim of the Grand Canyon. The going was a little slower, mostly because of the intense winds. There is nothing like going 65 mph on a canyon road while getting buffeted side to side by 15-20 mph cross winds. It's something that I will never get comfortable with, though Eric doesn't seem to mind it.
Tuesday Breakfast;
It's 9:15. I've been waiting for four hours for Eric to wake up. That boy sure can sleep. I've been nursing my coffee. Joey, my server, has refilled my cup many times, too many for me to remember. Joey is a Native American (Navajo) about my age, who looks many years older. He's had a very tough life and it shows.
I asked Joey a few questions not expecting the detailed answers that I got. My booth felt like a confessional as Joey sat across from me and shared his life story. He has been on his own since he was six. He has lived in orphanages, foster homes, sententious centers, shacks, tents, under bridges... anywhere he could lay his head. Joey moved up from Albuquerque three years ago.




He hated it there. It just couldn't stand living amongst Mexicans. He hated them. He said. "They think their sh*t don't stink." Harsh, i know. Joey's bigotry was difficult to listen to. He explains it off as too much exposure to Mexican gangs in prison. 16 of his prison years were attempted murder.
If you are interested in hearing more about Joey in his own words, see the two links below.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=24Bv7jlbdcI
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IVJYYe7jV7I
Have a great day.
-g.
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Location:Mexican Hat, Utah

My first blog entry in two days of riding. Shameful. (Eric)

This is now our fifth trip and it is great to be back near Utah. I shouldn't be confident, but we are starting to get this down. George is not afraid of the freeway and rides confidentally on it when necessary. We don't overpack and there is actually room in our saddlebags. We have the right bikes -- new R1200GS BMW's and they just purr along.
We stopped in Kingman AZ last night after a trip to the Hoover Dam. What impresses me about the people we have met is just how hard off people are around here. Arizona has eliminated health care for adults who are poor and don't have children. Kingman is very poor. I talked to a woman in K Mart who showed me where to find George's deodorant and back brace. Two jobs; take home income of about 17k; she doesn't have a doctor and would not know what to do if she had a medical problem.
The bright, friendly motel clerk. Four kids; cannot afford them and sleeping on her manager's coach. There may be another story here, but it was not obvious. It seems so clear and apparent to me on this trip how many people there are who just aren't making it and how many of them are working hard. Fifty million Americans who are "food insecure" -- they don't know where they are going to eat tomorrow; or if they are.
But these issues are not discussed out here. The airways are flooded with anti gun control ads -- those background checks are a clear violation of the Second Amendment. The billboards -- get an advance (at 25 percent interest) on your next pay check.
This horrific inequality is about to catch up with us. It is simply "unsustainable."
Sorry for the diversion. I am really enjoying this trip. I was last at the Grand Canyon in 1987 when a client who ran a school for emotionally disturbed kids took me on a parent child trip down the Colorado river for seven days. Great trip -- when the kids were not trying to throw their parents into the 45 degree water. I never thought I would like seeing it all from above but I could stay here for days. There is a terrific walk around the canyon rim and I caught it as the sun was setting.
Lots of good times with George as always, including jokes about our deteriorating bodies. We did a video work out at the work out room of the Quality Inn. I discovered I could not do jumping jacks! Knees are in really bad shape and hurt so much I sometimes feel like I am 80. I am going to have to look at surgery when I get back as the PT just is not doing it. I hear so many people who are happy with their new knees. I want two!! But I can't see putting Celia through a double knee replacement. It may so sound strange, but I am not the best patient.
So we are off into the really remote areas of Northeast AZ and then back into Utah, where we will end up retracing some of the routes from our first grand excursion. We have come far.
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Day 3; Sunrise Over the Grand Canyon

I'm sitting in the dining room of the Bright Angel Lodge, having the El Tovar's Pancake Trio served with Honey Pine Nut Butter and Prickly Pear Soup, a cup of coffee and a glass of water and overlooking




the South Rim.
Life is so good.
I just came in after spending 20 minutes on the ridge, braving the 21 degree temperature and the gailing winds to see one of earth's most spectacular sights, the sun rising over the Grand Canyon. My goodness, life does have its splendid rewards.




There were others out there too, regaling me with a concert of German, Finish, French and English accents. I have no idea what they were saying but ill bet you a million bucks it was poles apart from the bellyaching of the New York family. If you dislike the cold so much, go back home and watch your Yankees. Don't lace my time hear in heaven.
Yesterday I finally woke up Eric up at 8:30. Too much to do, too much to see.
We went to the fitness room of the Quality Inn. We started with a 20 minus workout using a routine that I had saved to the iPad. From there we wanted to lift a few weights. However, the weight options were limited (see photo)




. So we went to have breakfast instead. We got on the road about 10 a.m.
The riding yesterday was great; some manageable 10-15 mph wind gusts but nothing bad enough to interfere with our steady 65-70 mph speeds down fabled Rte. 66, the original coast to coast road made famous by the early 60's tv show and the accompanying theme song by the same name




. A couple of times I put on the helmut cam that Colin lent me. Hopefully I can get some good footage from it.
On the open roads Eric constantly needles me to follow his bursts to 100+ mph. It's not happening. I prepared myself for this pestering and purposely do the opposite when he starts in. It's a ying and yang thing, a mutual state that is with us most of the time. Our readers have surely picked up on this over the years.
Eric had requested that I plan out the itinerary for this trip. I was happy to do so since he had dome the bulk of this pre-work in years past. My plan called for us to make our way from Vegas to the Gand Canyon and spend much of the time along the way making detours, doing off-road trips and hiking. When we picked up the bikes, Eric talked at length with the motorcycle dealer. Coming away from that conversation he wanted to rip up my plans and head north to Mexican Hat, Moab and Capital Reef and then come back through western Utah (where we went on our first trip) to Vegas. His plan, that he is pushing for, adds nearly 1,000 miles of riding and goes through daily temperatures 40-50 degrees colder that what I had packed for. I am reluctant to make the change but his desire to go north outweighs mine to go south. He wins. We're fueling up and heading for rte. 160 north (a desolate 100 mile stretch of road) in a little while.
Who knows where we will stay tonight. We, and you, will find out later.
Have a great day.
-George
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