Tonight I am writing this entry from the Cotton Wood Stake house in Bluff, Utah. I remember this place from a time Adelina and I visited here many years ago, having stayed at a bed and breakfast, which had been built on the remains of an old court house. Small detail, if someone would have asked me today, this all had happened in Blanding, a few miles up the road.
When I walk up in my tent this morning there was no more rain. I checked my shoes and boots, which I had left by the door of the tent, under the ‘porch’ and both were nice and dry. Another camping morning, and another espresso on the magic stove, except this time, it was some old cheddar crackers for breakfast. No sooner had I finished making the coffee than it started to rain again. Back to the tent it was, where I drank my coffee and ate the crackers. It looked like it might take a while to get going, not because I do not ride in the rain, but because packing everything would be a challenge. So, with nothing better to do than to be patient, I pulled out ye’ ol’ phone to check on the weather. The trusty Weather Channel said partly cloudy, but upen requesting the hourly forecast it showed 30% chance of isolated thunderstorms every hour. Hmm, looks like the daily forecast does not check in with the hourly forecast. What to do? Check with the Weather Underground. Those huys said that the stronger rain would last until nine am. So, sure enough, shortly before nine it was time to pack and get going. This took some creative packing, since stuff that got rained on, like the rainfly and the sheepskin seat cover, should not be in bags. A couple of bungies and a cargo net later, along with some creative rellocation of stuff and I was on my way.
The route put me on US 64 again. While I decided to wear the rain pants, because theu are the hardest to put on, I had decided to pack the rain jacket. I stopped for gas a few miles later, and feeling cold, I decided to put the rain jacket on to keep me warm. No sooner did I leave the gas station than it started to rain. The beauty and glory of US 64 from the day before turned into an 80 mile drudgery. The rain came on steadily, and the clouds and mist seemed to cover the mountains in every direction. Through some areas I started to hear the clanking of hail bouncing of my windshield and my goggles. ‘This will go on all day’ I was telling myself.
Sometimes Mr. GPS is a good travel companion. Today, he took me to a place I had forgotten I was going to, the Navajo Dam. The approach road to the dam was quite steep, narrow and curvy. Thankfully at that point, the rain had let on quite a bit. At some point the road was covered by a creek carrying red silt. While crossing water on motorbikes can be quite fun, it is not to be taken lightly, and gunning it through is the last thing you want to do, since you do not know how the surface of the road is under the water, and how slippery things are. So, taking it slowly I crossed, with just a very small amount of fish tailing. The BeMWu was proving itself again.
The dam itslef is fantastic, wnad the view, while not quite like lake Powell, was still breath taking, even under the dark grey clouds. After taking some time to enjoy the place, and calling Sandra to check in, assuring her that all by bones were still where they belong, it was time to move forward. Well, sorta. To get back to the main road I had to go back the same way I had gone in. More arguing ensued with Mr. GPS, until I finally silenced him. When I got back to the creek crossing, there was a small problem. More rain, time passed, higher water level, more red silt. What to do? Not gun it for sure, but plow ahead just the same. I got across with a big splash of ale all over the bike.
Slowly the sun began to show in the sky, and the road began to dry. Around noon I made it into Bloomfield, NM, where I stopped to have a Navajo taco with green sauce for lunch. Happy to have the seemingly never ending rain behind me, I packed the rain suit and rolled on. A bit later I crossed Farmington, and shortly there after, the Ship Rock formation appeard in the West. I happily saluted the faithful reminder of many a journey through this area. North and up the dessert hills the sun was bright and the landscape was shining. The joy would not last that long. As I came up another hill, a huge storm stood in front of me. I could see I would ride right into it. Out came the rain suit, a big edited Our Father, and I rode forward, bracing myself.
When a cold wind slaps you in the face in the middle of a September desert, you know it is going to be bad. It hit me from the right, frigid as an ice cube. A few seconds later, the sheets of rain came down. Cars stopped on the side of the road. For me, there was nowhere else to go but forward. Seconds later, hail. The rain across my gogles was more like someone was running besides me, I was going that slow, with a garden hose aimed at my face. In the middle of it all I could still see waht lay ahead of me, and a constant inspection of the rear view mirror revealed nobody behind my, ready to plow me down. I took about 10 miles of this, but it felt like 20. Yet, I felt a strength and confidence that I had not know before. When I got to the Chimney Rock intersection and turned West. The big storm was behind me. I had made it though, and thankfully it had only grazed its Western skirt. The feeling in my heart was one of exhilaration. It felt like having slain a giant, the solid pewter oxide wall of the storm was in my rear view mirror. ‘What a day’, I thought, ‘it will be, when we slay the giant of human trafficking and slavery, seeing it in the rear view mirror of our lives’.
The road ahead was one of amazing contrast. To my left the stormy skies, to my right, open plains and rock formations in the horizon, bathed in sunlight. The rain was not done still, and more came down, creating more flooded roads. I finally rolled into Bluff, where I checked myself into a little cabin by the side of the road.
My night cap, a local micro-brew called Wasatch Polygamy Porter, Why have just one?
Wasatch Polygamy Porter, Why have just one?
finally the blow by blow….sounds fantastic. Did you not stop in the hail and hunker down til it past? That’s what I imagined. Almost there, love! O kept thinking of the navajo detective guy Jim Chee? in those detective novels by Tony Hillerman.