TODAY’S
ROUTE: THE
DETAILS: 427. Four Hundred and Twenty-seven. That’s how many switchbacks there are over the 89 miles of the Coronado Byway between Clifton and Alpine. I know because I counted them. Halfway along the Mogollon Rim, extraordinary views reveal to the south and west, culminating at the 9,346 foot Blue Vista. The peaks and canyons blend into a tangle of soft blue haze. Past Hannagan Meadow the curves get longer and faster and the road turns silky smooth along the eastern edge of the White Mountains. Thick aspen groves are showing me their fire fall colors. Then the drive descends and levels off into flatlands at Eagar. I head west and then north across the plains of Arizona, up towards the Petrified Forest National Park. One of the world’s largest and most colorful concentrations of petrified wood, the park also contains the multicolored badlands of the Painted Desert. The southern entrance station is a few miles from the Rainbow Forest Museum and the Giant Logs Trail, where the park’s largest log, "Old Faithful", lies strewn across the path. 225 million years ago, this high dry tableland was a vast floodplain, crossed by many streams and forested by tall, stately pine-like trees along the headwaters. The tall trees – Araucariosylon, Woodwrthia, and Schideria – fell into the floodplain and were covered by silt, mud, and volcanic ash. The blanket of deposits slowed the decay, and gradually silica deposits replaced the original wood tissues. The crystallized silica turned into quartz and the logs became petrified. Over time, erosion has worn away the sediments and revealed the ancient trees, and the land has uplifted far above the sea, creating stresses that cracked the giant logs. A 28-mile road winds north through the park, and I take off my helmet for the drive. It’s legal in Arizona and it feels good to have the wind in my hair and against my face in this dry desert. Even at the slow park speeds, I know it is a stupid thing to do. But when has stupidity ever stopped anyone. I pull over at the Crystal Forest and then at the Blue Mesa for the mile long loop trail down into the badlands. The logs here look as though they’ve been placed about by park employees, fossilized remains of a long past life. I reach my evening’s stop around 5:00 PM with the sun still about an hour from turning down. Chambers isn’t much more than an exit off the interstate; there’s only one motel and not much else. So I decide I’ll cut off some of tomorrow’s route by heading up to Ganado, back on the Navajo Indian Reservation. With any luck the Hubbell Trading Post National Historic Site will still be open. I’ll get the stamp and keep going. But when I get there they’ve been closed for over an hour. They’ve on Mountain Time on the Reservation. And there are no motels in Ganado. No Bed and Breakfast, no Hotel, not even a campground. It’s dark now and I’m screwed. I should have just stayed in Chambers. There is no place to stay here for the night and there’s no way I can get the stamp now. I take a photo of the motorcycle in front of the Hubble sign, as the Iron Butt Association will accept that as proof. But I’ve decided not to submit any of the photos. If I don’t get the stamp, I’m not going to count it. So the NPS stamp total listed below is now only for actual stamps I’ve collected, not sites I’ve visited. Including the Hubble Trading Post, there are a total of five sites I didn’t get for one reason or another, although I did visit them. I decide to head to Window Rock, about 30 miles east, and maybe I’ll come back here in the morning. But when I get to Window Rock, it’s giving me a bad vibe. There are only two motels, but they both look pretty lame, and I bet they’re a fortune because they’re on the Reservation. When I stayed in Chinle, 50 miles north of Ganado, on day 36, it cost me 100 bucks to stay at the Best Western. Gallup, New Mexico, is only 25 miles further. There’s no turning back now, and I’m there within a half-hour. The old neon signs stand out on Route 66 like calling cards across a generation. New motels flank the town along the interstate exits, but buried along the main street lies the old section of town, straight out of the 50’s. There are more than a dozen old motels, each one offering a better deal than the next. I settle on the Blue Spruce, conveniently located across the road from the Avalon Restaurant. Dinner and a dream, right next door. Happy Birthday today to Jenny Sampson, my friend from San Francisco who now lives in Seattle. Jenny, I hope you had a great day. THE
DAILY TAKE: SEEN
ON THE ROAD: RANDOM
PASSINGS: I’m about 20 minutes out of Safford, heading across 191 towards Guthrie. The traffic is pretty light; mainly construction trucks heading to work. And then I smell something out of place. What is that smell? I’m passing the few cars and trucks in front of me, and the scent is getting stronger. It’s smells like…gasoline. There it is, finally, up ahead. A pickup truck is towing a trailer, and on the trailer is a Bobcat, one of those small front-end loaders. AND THE BOBCAT IS SPEWING FUEL ALL OVER THE ROAD! AND IT’S GETTING ALL OVER ME! If it smells like gas, and it looks like gas, and it tastes like gas….then IT IS GAS. I cross into the other lane, even though there’s a double yellow line. I’ve got to get past this mess. I yank the throttle and pull up along the truck. I’m waving at the driver, trying to invent the sign language for "You’ve got GASOLINE spilling out of your Bobcat and YOU’RE AN ASSHOLE!" I think he got the idea.
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