Day 3: A flag planted under the Georgia O’Keefe skies

I went to bed last night with the power still out in the camping site.  Do not ask how, cause I do not know the answer, but somehow I got the AC window unit to work, even if it was at a low level.  No dreams of chasing kids around my tent, and howling coyotes.  It was a pleasant night.  I slept well until my alarm rang at 6:30.  It was still dark outside and I knew the sun would not come up for another 30 minutes.  No sense in attempting to get ready, so back to sleep for another 30 minutes.

I finally got my self out the door, and headed out.  I stopped at a gas station for coffee, banana and breakfast bar.  This time, they all were how they should be, but there was no Larry McMurtry mistique either.  However, bikes are always conversation startes, and I met a guy from Michigan who was taking his down to Phoenix, where he would spend the next 16 months learning how to be a motorcycle mechanic.  Cool career choice, hot place to follow it, but overall great combo.

The to Palo Duro canyon was an almost straight shot south from the gas station.  I got there within an hour, with side winds hitting hard and strong.  This time though, I did not have to play the old arcade game of Asteroids trying to avoid tumbleweeds being blown across the road, as it happened last year in Arizona.  Only a few small dry and pale branches came shooting across the tarmac.  I entered the park, paying close attention to the park ranger, who warned about the six water crossings in the park, since silt and slime make them tricky to cross, even for cars.  Since I was headed to the Light House trail, Palo Duro’s best known feature, I would have to cross two of these.  The descent into the canyon was sharp and curvy, but the BeMWu handled it with aplomb and soon I came to Water Crossing #1.  Small detail, there was no water.  It still merited a slow drive through, as indeed, silt and sand were all over it.  Less than a mile later, Water Crossing #2.  This one, had water but it was an easy slow cross still.  Just after it, the trail head to the Light House formation.  Leaving motorcycle boots, armor, helmet and jacket behind, I set off on the 6 mile, round trip, hike.  The thermometer read about 95, and it was only 9 in the morning.  The trail was fairly easy, and I made quick progress.  Along the way I saw numerous large black scarabs, which had fallen victims to bands of roving ants.  Birds and crickets offered their melodies, and people  walked or rode bicyles on the trail.  A particular group of bicyclers caught my attention and I engaged one of them in conversation.  What caught my eye was the fact that they were not riding mountain bikes.  Instead, their bikes seemed like fancy street models.  This guy explained that they were members of a ‘single sproket’ bike club and Amarillo, and had decided to bring their bikes up to the Light House for a photo shoot.  This guy in particular liked his bike so much that he was carrying it, riding it, all the way to the top.  After about 2.5 miles, the trail turned into quite a steep climb, but eventually I made it.

What a wonderful sight.  Up on a red rock platform, a wide column that accounts for the passage of time through its layers of rock and mineral deposits stands majestic for all to see.  I sat there for a while, and reflected on God’s creation and love for his children.  After a while, I climbed up a rock fin and found a dry bush, where I planted the second of the 27 flags for 27 million.  How appropriate, I thought, to plant one of the flags here, since one of the things we, as abolitionists, aim for, it the creation of safe heavens and lights of hope for those who have fallen into the clutches of slavery.  As I was getting ready to start my descend, the bicycle kids finally arrived, and oe of them allowed me to photo his wheels, since they had orange spokes.  What a great idea.

The walk back to the trail head, even though it was mostly down hill was exhausting, and I often had to rest in whatever shady spot I could find.  At the begining I took the time to follow some dry creek beds, playing with clay flakes, and crushing leaves of wild sage, experiencing the delicious smell.  but as the day got hotter, the beauty of the morning hike evaporated, and all I could think about was making it back to the parking lot.  This made me reflect on what the life of the victims of human trafficking is like.  Indeed, when the situation get opressing, one of the first things that vanishes is the beauty around us.  The prophet Isaiah does indeed tell us in chapter 63 that God will turn ashes into crowns of beauty, and so it is our call, as the hands and feet of Jesus, to bring beauty back to the lives of those who are held captive.

One the way back, I started feeling that the seat of the bike was getting really hot.  This is rather unusual as I have no heated seat.  I finally had to stop, and pulled the seat up, since the battery and wiring harness are under it.  I thought something is going amiss here and if I do not fix it things will go terribly wrong.  To my surprise the wiring and battery were all very cool.  The seat itself was also cool.  So what the heck was going on?  I soon found the culprit.  Just before leaving, I had bought a gel cushion, which I wedged between the seat and a sheepskin cover.  To my surprise, while the rest of the components disperse the heat very well, the gel is quite an effective heat trap, and it was quite efficiently warming up, making my behind warm up too. Once the gel was removed, we were back in business.  Further up the road, riding North into Amarillo, I had to make one last photographic stop for the day.  The Texas plains stretched as far as the eye can see, and as the clouds hung in discrete patterns across the blue, I knew I was seeing a live Georgia O’Keefe painting.

I made it back to camp and rested for a while. I made a quick trip to the Big Texan again, for buffalo burger and a tater.  As I made it back to camp, I met these two other bikers who were just riding in.  Both ride Suzuki Bandits.  They are brothers, and they work on making really fast bikes.  They are on their way to Wendover, where they will help a 68 year old guy sull fill his life’s dream, to become the Worlds Fastest Hayabusa.