Day 6: Do Not play with the animals

After a pleasant night sleep in Bluff, where various pieces of equipment were hanging from the rafters in my room to dry off the rain from the previous days of storms, I was off again.  By the end of the day I had covered 1,849 miles.  This day was the other side of the coin from day 5.  It was wonderfully pleasant.  It is really hard to recount all that happens on days like this, since they are travel days that take me across relatively long distances.  I essentially went from the South East side of Utah, to the South West side of Utah, via northern Arizona.  Always the long way round.  My first destination was Monument Valley, but first I had to survive Mexican Hat.  I rolled through this nice and scenic town, and decided to stop for a moment and get a picture of the river.  While I was doing that, a dog crossed the raod, and started sniffing the BeMWu.  I approached the bike, and he decided to timidly approach me and then retreat.  However, while the dog was trying to decide whether I was OK or not, his buddy from across the street came over charging, barking and baring his teeth.  With safety in numbers, both decided it was time to hazzle the Jade Rider.  I tried to shoosh them at first, but when one of them tried to get the sampling of my leg, it was my turn.  I growled and raised my arms, charging back at them.  I do not know where this came from, but it worked and they rapidly crossed the road back to the safety of their home.

Monument Vally appearted in the horizon.  What a glorious view.  I took the opportunity ot stop at one of the many stands that peddle Indian jewelry and crafts to the area visitors.  It was empty at this hour in the morning.  Only another motorcycle was in the parking lot, a nice, red, Honda Interceptor.  The riders, a man, and a woman, were sharing a moment while contemplating the valley.  I discretely walked to another point, and let His creation fill my world.  From there it was off to Kayenta, and eventually to Page.  While approaching Page, I thought I had heard a funny sound come from the bike, and performed an inspection.  While I do not think it was the source of the sound, I discovered that the cotter pin that keeps the bolt holding the left footpeg in place was gone.  I grabbed my tool kit, and with some wire improvised a new pin.  This was a blessed discovery.  Loosing the left foot rest would make driving very cumbersome and difficult, since it the shifter is actuated by the left foot while resting on the peg.  Without the peg, the center of support is lost.

I rode south of Page, on a road that many years ago inspired me to write that from there one could see a valley where God had once buried a lighting bold, and then with a swift move, had ripped it off the ground, leaving a gigantic gash that now forms a canyon.  When reached the bottom of the mountain road, Mr. GPS said go right, onto 89A.  Well A always stands for awesome when it come to US roads, and this was no exception.  It took me through the valley of buried lightning itself, on an amazingly ondulating road.  89A leads to the wonderful bridge at the old Lee’s Ferry crossing.  From there it was West, to the Vermillion Cliffs.  What an amazingly appropriate name.

This US highway tracks the northern rim of the Grand Canyon, making it through the northern park entrance at Jackob Lake.  I kept going, wishing for time to visit, as it happens with so many other palces in my journeys.  I stopped at a scenic view site, and decided that it would be a great place to plant a flag.  I kneeled and prayed for the slaves, and tied the orange fabric, with its biblical scripture, to one of the trees.  There I also met a British man, who, along with his father, had rented a couple of Harleys for three weeks and were travelling through out the region.  I also met a Swiss man, who had praises for old BMWs, and who was on his way to Vegas on a rented RV.

Towards the late afternoon, I rode through Hurricane, UT.  This place was certainly not named by a Texan.  From there it was to St. George, which appeared to me to be no more than a very commercial, and upscale, place.  I continued North, through vast, and expensive developments, with cookie-cutter homes, as Sandra would say.

And then, I rode into Snow Canyon.  What an amazing park and camping spot.  So close to St. George, and yet, a world appart.  Wonderfully red rock that has been pushed up from the ground, as witnessed by the diagonal sediment lines, polished by wind and erupting with sharp, black, and porous lava flows.

I met a couple there, who act as camp hosts in exchange for free RV parking.  They filled my water container with ice, and we chatted for a while.  The man is an avid humming bird watcher, but once he also misidentified a golden eagle, calling it a turkey volture.

I spent the late afternoon, after pitching my tent and cooking my meal, tightening loose bolts on the BeMWu.  I was accompanied by bats that flew overhead, a curious lizard that made huge amounts of noise while crawling through a Datura full of white blossoms, and the wonderful rattle snake-like sound of a mimosa tree.