The plan was to take our scooters from border to border. Terry Cash and I had planned to hit the San Diego/Tijuana border in the South and travel all the way up the coast to Port Angeles, Washington/Victoria, Canada. We left Tucson, Arizona at 5:40 a.m. on July 1, 2010. Terry was 40 minutes late but we were on vacation-so no harm, no foul. We made Gila Bend, Arizona with no problems. Our first meal was breakfast at the Space Age Restaurant with the flying saucer top.

            After the brief respite, we turned out wheels back towards the southern interstate. We stopped at Dateland, Arizona for a bathroom break. Since we hardly ever stop there, I got one of their famous date milkshakes. It is very rich, sweet and chunky. Between the two of us, we could not finish it. Just too much good stuff I guess. Then we were off again. The weather reports indicated that the temperature in Yuma was going to be 114. Yeah! So into the inferno we rode. We stopped in Yuma just long enough to fill our gas tanks and stock up on water for the desert crossing. I wet my shirt in a spigot and enjoyed the ride out of Yuma and into the sand dunes outside of town. Terry chose not to involve himself with the wetting of his clothes.

On the way out of Yuma, we crossed the trestle bridge that Billy the Kid and Captain America crossed in the opening credits of “Easy Rider.” All I could think of was, “Yeah, that’s right, we bad.” Anyways, after leaving Yuma, we entered into our second State of the trip, California. Thereafter, we stopped at the international border crossing at Los Algodones, Mexico in order to get a close up picture of the border in case we could not get one at the Tijuana crossing. Every 15 feet was a sign that prohibited parking, but we were on a mission. So we stopped the bikes, jumped off, and hastily snapped a couple of photos before we were could be reprimanded. As an aside, a couple of weeks after we got back from this trip, I was reading a news article and discovered that it is illegal to take pictures of border crossing stations. Whoopsies.

The rest of the way through the desert was like Buster Poindexter’s one hit song, “Hot, Hot, Hot!” Our next stop after the border was Ocotillo Wells, California. We needed to use the bathroom bad. However, just like my trip through here last April, the bathroom was broken. So we found a parked truck and marked our spots. While waiting in the shade, I decided to soak my shirt again. This time Terry didn’t think it was such a bad idea and he followed suit. I’m sure we looked and smelt like a couple of dirty, wet dogs, but it sure made the ride out of the Wells a bit more tolerable.   

            We arrived in San Diego after about eight hours on the road. We found our hotel in La Jolla and checked in. Despite our appearance, the manager of the Holiday Inn Express was as nice as she could be. She even upgraded us to a suite. However, after finding out the suite only had one king size bed for Terry and I to share, we got busted back down to a regular room. The fact that it had two separate beds made it so that no one was complaining. We had a quick lunch and took a nap to energize us for dinner.

            Dinner was going to be at Phil’s Barbecue. One of the best places I have found for beef ribs. We got there about 7:00 p.m. and quickly found out that the line went around two sides of the building. So needless to say we were hungry by the time we got our food. It was great as usual. We called it an early night after that.

            The next morning we drove up the coast until we could find the Pacific Coast Highway (PCH) at Dana Point. Soon we were in stop and go traffic in Laguna Beach. Up and down both sides of the street were gorgeous, tanned, real life Barbie dolls jogging, biking and rollerblading. Picture in the middle of all that activity, two old, fat bikers stuck in traffic, leather boots on the asphalt, but grinning from ear to ear as their necks strain in each direction to follow the moving scenery. I got to say Laguna Beach was one of my favorite parts of the trip.

            We stopped for lunch at a Don the Beach Comber. Tiki atmosphere is always a good thing. Before too long, the PCH took us through Long Beach. Only Long Beach isn’t beachy. It’s not even all that pretty. I had no idea what happened to the coast but we were no longer on it. Eventually we ended up in Santa Monica at about 4:00 p.m. on the Friday before the July 4^th holiday weekend. Not good. We were again stuck in bumper to bumper traffic and going nowhere. I desperately wanted to try lane splitting which is legal in California. Lane splitting allows a motorcycle to travel in between two lanes of traffic. Unfortunately, having never done this before, I was too chicken to try it now. So stuck we remained. After at least an hour in this traffic jam, it started to thin. Eventually we decided to hit highway 101, where we were able to haul ass. We got to Grover Beach and our hotel as the sun went down and the temperature cooled considerably.

We were near San Luis Obispo and the area where they filmed “Sideways”, one of my favorite movies. We dined that night at an A.J. Spurs in Grover Beach. In the movie, A.J. Spurs is the western themed restaurant where Jack picks up the overweight waitress he later has sex with. We had a male server. The next morning we left in cold weather.

We hit Morro Bay early in the morning and the huge rock in the harbor was covered with fog. Another favorite part of the trip for me was our next destination, Big Sur. We turned away from the coast and climbed up into misty mountains cover with fog and low flying clouds. As we ascended, to our left we can see the green foam of the ocean and the white caps of the waves. Eventually we elevate so high that the clouds obscure our view of the sea. Sporadically, the cloud cover would part and we could see the ocean beaches some 300 feet below. From this height the water was purple and churning with gusto. We stopped too briefly in Carmel by the Sea because we were trying to reach the Harley Davidson dealership in Monterrey before they closed. We found the Harley shop in Cannery Row, Monterrey. We grabbed a couple of shirts and headed back out on the highway until we reached Pacifica. That night we dined on seafood at Nick’s Restaurant. We finished the night off with Mexican Coffee (coffee and tequila).

The next morning, it was a quick ride to the Golden Gate Bridge. It was truly awesome to ride the motorcycle over that iconic piece of Americana. We stopped at the Golden Gate Bridge Park and took a few pictures. Unfortunately the fog obscured our view of Alcatraz. Then we were off through the Golden Gate National Recreation Area. Another highly recommended ride. We headed up rolling hill of amber colored grass. Once over the hills, the ever present ocean was there to greet us again. Beautiful. In all the little sea side towns, I saw several signs for “BBQ oyster.” I wanted to try them but we never had a chance. It was slow moving as the sea town brought in loads of people for the July 4^th holiday.

We made McKinleyville, California on the evening of July 4, 2010. We saw no fireworks but could hear a few in the distance. Dinner was at Roundtable Pizza. I had never tried this place. Despite the paper plates, this was one of the best meals I had on the whole trip. All meats pizza and salad were delicious. I must have been hungry if I thought the salad was good. The next section of our trip took us through Humboldt County, California. Redwood trees, hippies and the smell of marijuana. We stopped for gas at Legget and the young gas attendant and his friends did not even bother to put out their joint. Back on the freeway before the Sheriff showed up, we stopped in Oregon for a picture of the State line sign. Traveling up the Oregon Coast was beautiful. This time it was large rocks jutting out of the waves- grey and dark but lovely nonetheless. We stopped briefly at the Coos Bay Harley dealership. I expected a lot better looking t-shirts from this store, but was disappointed. However, I did get a laugh in the restroom when I read the sign that said “Those with short bats please stand closer to home plate.”

We finally made Newport and our next hotel around 7:30 p.m. We were told all the restaurants close at 9:00 p.m., so we quickly followed the hotel clerk’s advice and found a local brew pub. The name of the place was called Rouge Brewery. I had heard about Rouge and had even had some of its beer in Tucson. It was a trek through the brewery and upstairs before we reached the bar and dining room. We choose the bar and as soon as we sat down, the bartender, Jennifer, poor us both a sample of their summer ale. It was good but I wanted something darker and stronger, so I settled for a couple of pints of Shakespeare Stout. It was delicious. We had barely finished our food when Jennifer yelled “Last call for alcohol.” I looked out the window and it was still light outside. I asked her what time last call was and she said 9:00 p.m. Sure enough, it was 9 o’clock at night but still a lot of day light left. I had seen my share of last calls in my life but never one where it was still daylight out. Unfortunately (or fortunately) that put an end to my imbibing.

The next morning we stopped at the Oregon State Aquarium in Newport before heading out of town. They had an underwater tunnel that took you through the shark tanks. Too cool. A short hop up the coast and we hit Tillamook, Oregon- Home of the Orange Cheese. I love food so our arrival seemed like a trip into a dairy farm heaven. I had some of the best ice cream ever. Then I bought some beef sticks and fudge to take with us. I loved that all the cashiers looked like they were raised on a dairy farm. They were all very pretty and big boned. We made Seaside, Oregon by noon and checked into the house where we were to meet Terry’s wife, my fiancée and a few of our friends. The plan was to stay with them for a day and a half before heading back on the road to Canada. It took the girls less than thirty minutes to convince us to stay at the house for the rest of the time they were going to be in town. So the plan to ride into Canada was derailed and I was okay with that. It turned out to be a really great trip for Rosa and I. We got reconnected in a way I had not felt in years. In addition, we were surrounded by corn dog vendors, berry cobbler and Tillamook ice cream.    

            After a couple days in Seaside, we took the bikes to Astoria, Oregon and then across the four mile bridge into Washington State. The bay was covered with fog and the bridge looked as if it went half way out into the cove and then disappeared. I thought for sure it would just drop us and our bikes off into the sea. It was so foggy we could not see more than about 20 yards out. The only thing that gave me hope that I wasn’t going for a drop into the ocean was that I keep seeing cars coming towards us from the other side of the road. As it turned out, the bridge did make it to the other side of the peninsula and Washington. We rode into Chinook and Ilwaco before turning around and heading back to Astoria, Oregon. On the way back to Seaside, we stopped at the shipwreck remains of the Peter Iredale at the Fort Stevens State Park.

            Early the next morning we left Seaside for our return home. The weather was cool and there was a continuous mist that showered down on us until we hit Portland. Our plan was to travel about 400 miles each day. That would put us back in Tucson on Tuesday, July 13. However, our first day on an interstate road was something we missed and wanted to take advantage of. So we travelled 638 miles that first day. We finally stopped in Twin Falls, Idaho. We awoke early the next morning after my best night sleep so far. We ended our second day in Flagstaff, Arizona after putting another 742 miles on the bikes. On the morning of July 12, we arrived in Tucson a full day and a half early. Looking down at my odometer, we had travelled 3,534 miles. We also visited six states-Arizona, California, Oregon, Washington, Idaho, and Utah. Overall, I would have to say this was an excellent way to spend a summer vacation.

Thank you Terry Cash for being willing to put in all those miles, in front of me, behind me, and next to me on your bike. I don’t know a lot of people who would be willing to do something like that. I couldn’t wish for a better biker buddy than you. Thank you also to Carlene Cash for giving up your husband for some of your vacation so that we can put a few more black marks on the maps in our garages. Last but not least, thank you Rosa for giving me the freedom to do what I love. 

            Met up with Terry Cash at 6:00 a.m. and then met Bill Shannon at the Quick Mart soon afterwards. From there we took Gates Pass to the Ajo Highway and Bopp Road. As we were crossing the highway, we could smell Craig ‘Asshole’ Miller’s Black and Mild cigars from about fifty yards away. We chatted with Craig for a bit then started out bikes to head out to 49^th Annual Yuma Prison Run. Well everyone started their bikes except Terry. See, Terry had had his bike dismantled for at least four months prior doing some much needed maintenance and restoration. He just recently got it back together and has not been able to take it out much prior to the Yuma Run. So instead of “VROOM, VROOM” all we hear is “click, click, click, click.” So Terry grabs some tools and I immediately grab my camera – another embarrassing moment captured for prosperity.

            It does not take Terry long to find the problem and after tightening down the battery cable, we are off. We take the long way to Yuma passing through Three Points, Sells and Ajo so that we can see and smell the freshly blooming wild flowers on the way. Beautiful ride and needless to say, we kill off a lot of bugs using our windshield and faces along the way. No bug is safe when the Old Geezers Patrol is making the rounds. I really enjoy riding with these old guys, cause they got bladders just as small as mine and are never too in a hurry to take a bathroom break.

            Once we reach Gila Bend, we meet up with Mike Leonard. Mike, Billy and Terry make up the country band called “Whiskey Bill and the Can’t Hardly Play Boys.” Unfortunately for Mike, he just had an operation on his foot and can’t drive his Indian Motorcycle. Fortunately for the band, he is hauling all their equipment in his toy hauler. Mike also can’t walk on his bum leg, so he bought a beer cooler/electric wheelchair that he putts around on. So he is never too far from a cold one.

            Once on the way to Yuma again, Craig and I get a little antsy riding in formation. I accelerate past Terry and Billy and the jail break is on. Craig hits the accelerator also and now the two of us are cruising about 80 to 85 down the interstate. Suddenly my bike starts to lose acceleration. This has occurred before and I chalk it up to a clogged air filter. I keep trying to push the bike for a few miles when I heard a loud rattling and then a huge bang. I look in my rear view mirror to see if I lost any parts and all I see is Craig coming out of a huge cloud of black smoke that apparently came from my pipes. I immediately pull over and Craig yells “You should have seen the six foot flame that just shot out from your exhaust. It was awesome.” I really wished I could have seen that. After we finish talking about the huge flame, I notice that my bike is leaking a massive amount of oil. As Craig and I are trying to figure out what happen, Billy, Terry and Mike cruise by. They stop and now we got everyone looking at my bleeding bike. Billy eventually figures out that I probably put too much oil in the engine. At the high rate of speed I was going, the oil did not have enough time to suck back into the engine from the piston chamber. The oil began shooting out into the air filter and when enough of it built up in the engine, it apparently ignited thus creating the firework show Craig was so impressed by.

            So we let the oil settle and we gingerly proceeded to Yuma. On the backside of the last mountain range before our destination, Interstate 8 was closed. We could see trucks and cars snaking up the hill for about four miles. So we got off our bikes and started a bullshit session right there in the middle of the interstate. After several minutes, the road opened back up and we were back on our bikes and heading toward the home stretch. They guys went straight to the fair grounds to get their hallowed spot under the trees. I on the other hand went straight to the Yuma Harley in order to fix my oil problem before I took the bike on the next leg of the trip to San Diego.

            An hour and a half and about $100 later, I was back with the fellows at the campground. As is typical, the drinking started early. I had some of Mike’s famous “Apple Pie Moonshine.” Very Delicious. I then lit a cigar and set off to find my friends at the “Y-Knots” campground. There I hooked up with Big Carlos, Lori, Linda, Scotty, Vicki, and Fa-King Lenny. Carlos had again found another bottle of his favorite “green label” Jack Daniels. So we passed that bottle around. I also brought a bottle of “Fire Ball” cinnamon whiskey and a flask of Mike’s Apple Pie. Good times were had by all and it sure was good to see everyone again. It’s unfortunate that I run across most of these people only at this event once a year.

            The next day was filled with more cigars and booze. Later in the evening, Whiskey Bill and the Boys plugged in their equipment and began their concert. They got a pretty good turn out and we met some brand new fellow riders. The next day, I got up early and drove by the fair grounds to say good bye to everyone. Apparently, I did not get up early enough as all my buddies were gone. So I turned the bike around and headed towards my next destination, beautiful San Diego, California. From here on out, it would be a solo ride.

            As I headed southeasterly, I began to miss my friends. As I mentioned, I see only some of these guys once a year and that goes by just too quick for me to get my fill of them. In anticipation of hitting the coast, I put my “Pirate Playlist” on my I-pod and my mood changed for the better. Something about Adam Ant’s ‘Hoist up the Jolly Roger” allows the adventuresome spirit to build up until it pushed away your blues. That said, it was easy cruising from there. After the mountains crested, I began to notice the smell of wet soil, buganvillas and gardenias. Eventually that was replaced with the smell of sea air. I followed Interstate 8 until it played out into Mission Bay. From there my hotel, The Dana, was right around the corner. I took a short drive around just to get my bearings and within a few yards, I ran into Phil’s Barbeque.

            I had heard Phil’s had the best “Que” in town so of course I pulled in. They had just opened about a half hour earlier and the line was out the door. I got in line and it move quickly. I ordered the beef ribs and onion rings. Both were probably the best I have ever had. For sure the beef ribs were the best ever. I filled up and then headed to The Dana on the Bay to check in. The Dana is gorgeous. It sits right on Mission Bay and is surrounded by parks, boardwalks and boats. I donned my swim trunks and took a dip in “The Tiki Pool.” The choices were “The Bay Pool” overlooking the docks or the tiki. Since I have a tiki tattoo, I figured the latter was the place for me to be. Once in the water, I was joined by a mallard duck that had flown in from out of town too. After the pool I took a long nap, then had dinner in the resort. It was an excellent filet mignon covered in butter. Butter is one of those things that makes everything taste better. After a few cocktails, I called it an early night.

The next morning as I was a waiting for Phil’s to open for the day, I got a call from my friend Dr. Joe Rosenthal. He was flown in that morning from Tucson with his aunt from Germany. She had wanted to see Sea World and The Dana was around the corner. So as luck would have it, we were in San Diego at the same hotel, on the same weekend. After lunch, the three of us hopped the bus to Old Town San Diego. We did the tourist thing for a few hours and then it was time for a beer. One beer turned into ten drinks, a long night of drinking and a really bad buzz when I woke up the next morning. My plans to ride the cycle into Mexico and have lunch in Ensenada were scraped when I stumbled walking to the bathroom the next morning. So I hunkered back into bed and continued to sleep until the dizziness went away. I meet Joe and his aunt for dinner back in Old Town. They told me about their day spent at the zoo. I was glad I slept through that all day marching fest. That night Joe and I found a bar with a beautiful bartender. We drank at The Coaster Bar until everyone left. I nursed beers all night as I was still recovering. We eventually closed the place down and a little before 2:00 a.m. we found a cab to drive us back to the hotel. That night I said goodbye to Joe. Next morning more solo riding off to the Laughlin River Run.

The morning started off cold, wet and windy. While crossing a bridge, the wind was so bad, it blew my sunglasses right off my head and into the bay. I started toward Nevada trying to avoid the mountain pass on Interstate 8 since the map showed its elevation at over 4,100 feet. So I took a back road that I assumed had less elevation since its elevation was not mentioned on the map. Before I reached the first town, there was snow lingering on the ground. I just assumed that it was left over from the winter season. I walked into the café in Alpine and noticed everyone crowed around the television. Turns out they were watching themselves on the news show. Seems the San Diego news crew was down in Alpine that morning interview the café patrons about the first snow fall of the season. “Great” I thought to myself. I had packed for a desert ride and now I’m facing snow.

After breakfast, I had to backtrack since the road I was on was closed up ahead unless you had snow tires or chains. My bike had neither. As I continued, all that kept running through my head was “Half a league, half a league, half a league onward,  . . . ‘Forward, the Light Brigade!’” And that is how the morning went. It was a gradual push forward until the next small village, then the next.  I had no idea how long it would last or how far till I was out of the mountains. So I felt I had little choice but to press on. Just outside of Julian, CA, it began to hail so hard that whenever I stuck my head up from behind my windshield, it felt like I was being shot in the face with several BB guns.

Soon the road was white and covered in a thick layer of ice, snow and hail. I couldn’t tap my rear brake or down shift without my bike fishtailing So, I was literally sliding down the mountain in first gear. There was one car behind me that, even though I was only going about 10-15 M.P.H, wouldn’t come close to me. I knew that they could tell I was in deep trouble and about to go down any minute. I was shivering uncontrollably and in such an exaggerated manner that I looked like the scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz. I don’t ever remember praying on the bike before but I couldn’t think of a better time to start. About five minutes after I asked God to get me out of this mess safely, I could see ahead lay blue skies and sunshine. It is really possible to actually see sunshine after being in dark clouds and thick fog for so long. As soon as the roads began to dry, I cranked the throttle and took off for the valley and the desert that lay ahead. I had never been happier to get out of the forest and into the desert in my life. I rode like a bat out of hell as fast I could until a border patrol agent flashed me with his yellow caution lights and I took that as a sign to slow down.

From the snow covered mountains to the sand dunes of Glamis. It was like riding over an ocean of sand. I could definitely see how the movie writers would imagine large, man-eating sandworms swimming underneath you just below the surface, their mouths agape and about to swallow you whole. That was a neat trip. From there it was an uneventful ride into Laughlin, Nevada and the 28^th annual Laughlin River Run. I arrived on the Arizona side of the Colorado River just at sunset. The casinos across the river were all lit up in a variety of colors and it painted a pretty cool postcard. I checked into my room and walked out into the parking lot for some beers, food and the live bands. The next few nights were the same thing. Left a day early and hit the London Bridge in Havasu City, Arizona. Then it was a quick jet home to a chilly reception from my old lady. Seems she did not forgive me for taking this trip during her birthday. Anyway we made up and the trip was worth the brief chill. 

            I received a text last month from one of my riding buddies. It says “Let’s go to Kino Bay. My treat.” My friend knows someone with a house in Kino we can crash at. I have never been to Kino Bay and the trip involves the scooters, so I am excited to go. We pick a date and meet late morning in Tucson for the ride down there. Once we get to Nogales, Arizona, my friend tells me that the house in Kino Bay fell through. So now I am thinking we are heading into Mexico with limited day light left and we have no idea where we are going or where we will be staying. So I make a call to a friend who has a home in San Carlos and try to arrange a night at his place. He makes a call to the caretaker and leaves a message that I will be calling. So now we are hauling ass to San Carlos to try to make there before nightfall. We failed. In addition, we can never get a hold of the caretaker so we are still without a place to stay.

We check into the Motel Creston. Our door won’t lock, there are large cockroaches crawling on the floor, bugs in the air vents that shower down on me when I try to turn on the air and no hot water. But we tough it out for the night. We wake up next morning and after our cold showers leave feeling excited for the new day. My friend says he wants to go to Alamos. I had heard of that place and we would have to go through Cuidad Obregon. I had heard that the most beautiful women in Mexico can be found in Obregon, so off we went. The road from Guyamas to Impalme was gorgeous. We drove through mountain curves down into the bay of Impalme. Green hills on the left and then flat, blue sea on the right.

We decide to stop at a restaurant on the bay. However, the place was at the bottom of a steep and rocky decline. As I was trying to maneuver down the hill, my bike slipped in a hole and tipped over. I went the same direction as the bike and fell flat on my ass. But I wasn’t done yet. The momentum pulled my feet over my head and I rolled over onto my stomach. Very embarrassing but very funny. When I stopped rolling, I was laughing so hard I could barely get up. I managed to haul my butt off the ground and then was able to lift the bike back upright. I always wondered if I could lift my own bike by myself and now I know. Good information to have. The view from the bay was peaceful and calming. We eat seafood and beer for breakfast and then it was back out on the road.

As I was riding out of Empalme, I hit an unmarked speed bump that tossed me in the air about foot of my seat. So needless to say, I slowed it down after that and kept a sharp eye out for these hidden bumps. We traveled through Obregon. Unfortunately, we did not stay long enough to find any beautiful women. From Obregon, we continued to travel South to Navajoa. We had heard rumors of a bike rally in Navajoa but had not seen any other bikes along our journey. When we arrived in Navajoa, there were rally posters about the “collection of motorcycletas” but again we saw no bikes. While getting gas, someone told us all the bikes were up in Alamos. That is where we heading anyways, so off we went.

As we traveled up the Sierra Madres Mountains into Alamos, the scenery changed from arid desert to cool jungle like terrain. I had to use the restroom but was a little leery about just pulling off road. It looked like those trees and plants were the home of clinging snakes. Not just the desert rattlers that I am used to, but big bush snakes. Snakes like Kahn from the Jungle Book. Snakes that would hypnotize me into a trance before taking a bite out of me. With that thought on my mind, we keep riding to the next gas station where I was able to use the restroom in safety.

Once in Alamos, we were all pleasantly surprised. The town is high in the mountains and has a small stream that runs through it. The buildings look like they were all built in the 17^th century. The streets were all stone and narrow. We finally found the bike rally. They had parked in the main plaza by the old church. There were hundreds of bikes from all over the world. Next to the church, there was a row of speakers standing 20 feet high and blasting out classic American rock and roll. We parked our bikes and took a walk around the plaza. It was weird seeing all theses Mexican bikers, rocking out to Foghat’s Slow Ride with the music so loud that it literally shook the walls of the antique church.

We decided to stay the night at La Hacienda de los Santos. It is a gorgeous resort that was once six separate mansions that have now been connected by a flowing garden. It was too late for me to get a message so we hit the pool to cool off. After a quick shower, we headed back to the plaza and drank rum, smoked cigars and watched the town folk stroll around the church. Later that night, we ate filet mignon at the resort while guitar players played for our enjoyment. It seemed like we were the only guests at the resort so we had everyone’s full attention. The next morning, I was able to get my message and then we were back on the road to Hermosillo.

I noticed that the highways have a six inch drop off once you leave the road. Not very safe. There wasn’t much of a shoulder to pull over on anyway, so this was mostly a none issue. Just be aware of this if you are traveling the Mexico highways at night. We spent the night in Hermosillo and awoke the next morning to clean bikes. One of the hotel employees had taken it upon himself to wash our bikes that morning. He did a great job so we left town with our bikes giving us a newfound energy.

After making it home, I have been searching for a website on the Navajoa Bike Rally so I can attend again next year. However, I have not been able to find the details yet. In any event, it is worth a trip down there even without the rally. I have already decided that I will be heading back to see the town called Huatabampo. I decided I just have to check out a place named Huatabampo. Sounds fun.

Although most of the fellas left at the crack of dawn, my best riding buddy, Terry Cash, had to work through lunch so I decided to wait for him. The early group left to reclaim their shaded spots under the trees. The “Tree People” left Tucson down State Highway 86 through Ajo, Arizona and then up to Gila Bend. They got to the Yuma County Fair Grounds around 1:00 p.m.. True to their “Tree People” name, they took their time and enjoyed the wild flowers blooming on the side of the road. Terry and I pulled onto Interstate 10 at 3:01 p.m.. Terry really gassed it up the on ramp and I understood this to mean keep the afterburners on if you intend to keep up! So we humped it down the interstate at about 85 to 90 miles per hour. We stopped at Gila Bend for gas and a drink of water. I noticed that due to the high cross winds and the speed we were doing that my gas tank was nearly bone dry at about 120 miles.

After a fill up we were off again and we kept it at a very quick pace. We pulled up to the fair grounds in record time and had plenty of daylight left. After getting set up, went straight to the “Sausage Guy.” He had Cajun sausage, brats, polish sausage, and beef hot dogs. After that, went back to camp to check in with everyone. We all made it safe and sound. Thereafter, I found the bottle of “apple pie” moonshine a friend (who probably wants to remain anonymous) brought. That stuff was the hit of the rally. As word got out about the sweet nectar the Tree People had, we had visitors stopping by all weekend to get a taste. It was smooth as tea and sweet as honey. But just like Winney the Pooh Bear, there was some over indulgence in the honey bucket. No one got stuck in their tree, but at least one planted a face first kiss on the tree roots.

The next day was spent right there on site. As usual, the drinking started early and the bikes stayed on their kick stands. The Victor McLaglen Motor Corps put on quite a show as they do every year. The things they can do while riding a two-wheeler are shocking. It left me wondering, “How does a person figure out that they can do that on a cycle?” They must have busted their butts a bunch of times before they got it right. If you have never seen this group or the tricks they do, check they out at http://www.thevmmc.com/home.htm

Another group of guys I love hanging out with while down there is the Y-Knots Motorcycle Organization. Big Mike, Pam, Little Carlos, Lori, Linda, Vicki Shannon, Melissa, Cecil Rawlings, Scotty Shannon, Tommy, Fa-King Lenny, and the rest of the guys and gals are the nicest people you’ll ever want to meet. I have never walked into their camp without them putting a bottle of something in my hand. Just all around great people.

The Tree People, on the other hand, are a little more surly group. Just as great, but the ribbing does not slow down until the last guy is out for the night. In this group we had Craig “Asshole” Miller, Paul Markle, Jeff Markle, Terry Cash, Mike, Ryan, Billy Shannon. Again just the best group of guys to ride with. Mike and Billy brought their guitars and played a few of their original songs for the group.

The ride back home on Sunday was a lot more enjoyable. We slowed it down a little and this time I had time to enjoy the wild flowers. The Yuma Prison Run is always a great time. As the Tree People say, “It just don’t get no better than this.”

Norwalk Motorcycle Club Yuma Prison Run

I meet the American Legion Riders from Post 59 at Cindy Lou’s Café east of Three Points. After the regular bullshit session and lots of laughs, we were off to Kitt Peak. The ride up was gorgeous as always. Within just a few minutes you go from flat grassland, up the sides of shear cliffs to the top of a jutting mountain. Too cool. The drop offs are exciting and the rock formations breath taking. Once at the top, we took in the surroundings and again got together to tell funny stories. We even had two teenage girls all the way from Thailand who wanted pictures of all of next to our bikes. We were only too happy to oblige. The ride down the peak was a bit warmer but not much. The rest of the gang ended up at American Legion Post 10254 at 10111 South Sasabee Road but I had to get back to town for a funeral. The crew from Post 59 (Cocio-Estrada) are a great group of people and it was such fun starting my weekend off with them. They kept a smile on my face all weekend. If you are interested in joining their group, please contact Warren Allison at Warren.Allison@tusd1.org

Thanks again guys for a great ride and a great weekend.