Day 12
5-02-10
Winslow to Holbrook
I woke up late purposely giving me an extra hour of sleep, staying up late last night was on purpose also knowing that today’s journey would only be 36 miles. The wind was blowing, but I didn’t give it a second thought. For some reason within myself I knew it would be to my advantage. Breakfast was taken leisurely and the news broadcast was as follows: Winds from the Northwest not to exceed 40 mph, clear sky with temperatures in the mid-60s. My thought, excellent riding conditions. I packed everything on my bike only to face a downpour of water from a cloud-filled sky and temperatures in the 40s. So much for the weather broadcast. I contemplated a moment in even attempting the 36 miles while looking onto the highway with low visibility. But once again I listened to my instincts and conclude that I would go on. I unpack my pannier rain covers and rain gear, and prepare for the unpredictable experiences ahead. As I slip my right glove on an opening in the sky takes place allowing the sun to set its light upon me and the surrounding ground I am on. I take this as a good omen and thank mom and dad for their presence.
Leaving town the rain settles down to a sprinkle allowing me to stop and take pictures of a monument in honor of the police and fireman who lost their lives in the 9-11 tragedy. (Picture). I follow Route 66 out of town and come to a point where the skies in front of me are dark, and yet the sun’s light is filtering trough as if to inform me all will be well. I enter onto I-40 with front light and rear light in flashing mode, good spirits and ready for the unknown. Once again the clouds have given a ceiling to the sky with sporadic haze indicating heavy rain, yet in some areas the silhouette of the land and flat mesa tops are given an extraordinary definition of beauty. I am riding in an area geographically set up for heat, and expected just that. But I won’t complain because I consider this weather a gift. It has allowed me to see a desert alive in vivid colors of green, red and various shades of brown again with backdrops of the dark gray to the shades of white and the blue skies. It seemed that as quickly as I traveled 10 miles so did the change in weather. The rain had ceased and for that duration the sun and sky were exposed above me and five more miles into my ride again light raindrops to a drastic change of hail. Light at first and then a burst of wheel bearing-sized hail! Once again I have to say I appreciated the experience because unlike the snowflakes that burst into pieces, the hail hit the ground bouncing erratically like a crazy ball giving me a dance performance in multitudes. This experience of moving at somewhat the same rate of pace with nature’s changes heightens my understanding and appreciation that life is in everything Mother Nature has to offer. Both Einstein and Darwin, each with different but distinctive approaches, through proven theories and individual methods understood the process by which we live is not science, but a rebirth of each passing day. Their humility was demonstrated by their love of doing the simplest things in life away from academic responsibilities and knowledge of the scientific world. Neither one of them were religious, but believed in a higher spirit and understood that earth as a separate entity with its ever changing processes gives man not a right to exist but a way to exist with her resources. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, I’m getting deep. But I must tell you that this ride and what I’ve experienced to this point gives me a deep appreciation for the unpredictable ways in which the earth presents herself. Enough, enough.
I have to stop and take a picture of the black road covered with white beads.(picture) The onslaught stops when I arrive into Jackrabbit. (Picture) Jackrabbit was built by James Taylor 1949 as trading post. For two decades Taylor operated the post until he leased it to Glen Blansett in 1961. Blansett purchased the business in 1967 and passed it on to his son and daughter-in-law who eventually sold it to their daughter and son-in-law, Cynthia and Antonio Jaquez, who run the trading post today as a tourist attraction. The huge jackrabbit remains. Unfortunately it was closed when I arrived. Bankers hours 12pm-5pm. I left hoping Joseph City 6 miles down the road would be open. As I’m riding Route 66 on my way to Joseph City, I hear sounds like that of a flute. They vary in pitch and are loud at one point, and then slowly fade. I think my mind is resurfacing a past tune, but as I continue to ride these sounds come and fade. I slow my pace to establish the source. I realize that the sound gets louder when I approach an electric line post. I pass a couple before I realize there are holes drilled a foot or two apart at the tops of these metal poles. I stop at the next one and listen. The poles play their tune by the flautist, the wind. The harder the wind blows the higher the pitch and vice versa. And so my musical mind picks up the tune and I harmonize within as I ride down this long lonely stretch. The time passed quickly before passing a small herd of mustang horses. There were two colts, one feeding as I came to a stop. I have no idea if they are color blind. I’m wearing yellow. They raise their heads in unison. One breaks from the herd and darts and dashes in my direction as if to confront an intruder. He gazes for a while and retreats, and in a circle he brings his pack together and with his quick movements directs them to distance themselves from my presence. The colts were kept by their mother’s side by other horses. (Picture). Life is so good.
Joseph City sits at 5000 feet elevation and was founded in 1876 by a Mormon community which was originally a railroad settlement called Allen’s Camp. Their significance lies in the tenacious ability to sustain nature’s wrath in interrupting their settlement and crop production by the Little Colorado River. They withstood 14 river washouts before successfully building a dam in 1939. While passing through this town there are some old buildings that appear of past time. (picture) For the most part there isn’t much in the way of community business. One store fenced in was closed, the walls decorated with Route 66 placard. At the end of town riding east is a Love’s convenience for travelers and truckers. I stop and while having a cup of coffee and cold sandwich I am approached by a gentleman with a French accent asking in what direction I am traveling. I inform him east towards Gallup. He looks at me with weary eyes and shakes his head and says, “Not good.” Me and my partner are traveling west leaving Gallup this morning with 2” of snow. I look at him with weary eyes and say, “Not good.” We both smile, and he proceeds to inform me he is here on vacation to ride a Harley from Chicago to Los Angeles. He says he is from the south end of France where the Tour de France takes place. Montive. He also says the only mode of transportation there is bicycle, and that he gets his daily share of riding. He speaks of the beauty of the hills, wine vineyards and small, quaint communities and suggests that I should come and do some bike riding there. It is time to leave, but before we part he says, “I must have a picture with my new friend.” I find that statement odd, because in America when we meet somebody we never leave with such a profound statement – a friend. So, a picture is taken and we part. He and his friend on two wheels with a motor and I with two strong legs and wheels that roll. I think to myself how ironic that his name is Geronimo, and as I get back on to the freeway an advertising sign with the words next exit Geronimo. Another adventure to be done in another country. On my bucket list.
I pass a sign Holbrook, 8 miles - and 8 miles not too soon. The wind is getting cold and I’m feeling it through my rain gear. I stop and take pictures of the rock formation along I-40. (Picture). Holbrook was founded in 1882 and sits 80 feet above Joseph City. This is a test. Named, 1880, after H.R. Holbrook, first chief engineer of Atlantic and Pacific Railroad. He was the builder of the Rocky Ford Colorado. The 1898 courthouse also served as the jail in its time. It is the centerpiece of town as the Visitors Center and is now on the National Register of Historic Places. (Picture).
Tomorrow, Holbrook to Chambers. It may be a long day due to lack of facilities in Chambers and weather conditions. May have to attempt 94 mile ride into Gallup. But what difference does a mile make when you’re having fun.
Take care, love ya all
Old Man listening to the flautist (line post chimes.)
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