We went our separate ways!

Having packed and left the hotel with mixed thoughts of a superb day at the Grand Canyon but tempered by another poor nights sleep in a dirty, noisy hotel room, it was time for a ‘transit day’. Nothing particularly planned, just a day to get from A to B - albeit we did not know where ‘B’ was. As Jack had advised we must take Route 89A, south of Flagstaff, we knew that wherever ‘B’ would be, would be beyond.

Turning south out of the hotel, we took an immediate left off the main road and travelled a smaller, tarmac road that cut across the flat expanse of the desert plain, with the promise of mountains in the far distance. The tarmac surface had seen better days and we were glad it was not wet. The tar ‘snakes’ made up more than 75% of the surface and even the ‘snakes’ were starting to crack open. The road was in need of repair but the blue skies kept our spirits high.

Passing into the hills and mountains, the terrain changed to evergreen spruce, interspersed with patches of autumnal birch trees resplendent in their cloaks of orange over silver. The temperature dropped a few degrees as we climbed higher on long sweeping bends. Looking for a change, we took a road promising to reach the ski-resort above. A great few miles of hairpins and avoiding potholes and we reached a closed gate - seems they can’t even offer a coffee without snow, so a few pics and we returned back to the cover of spruce.

From the Snowbowl ski resort - without snow.

Anyone who has followed the blogs, will know we have two sat-nags. The Tom Tom and Calimoto (phone App). Calimoto is great for finding twisty roads that avoid built-up areas, but Tom Tom comes into its own in towns and cities, providing lane guidance and just generally doing a better job. Flagstaff was to be a classic example and on one particular junction, with Isi in the lead, Calimoto had us in the wrong lane and by the time I realised, I changed lane late but Isi could not. We went our separate ways, both on one-way roads heading away from each other.

Oh crap!

The comms lost contact very quickly and the last thing I thought Isi had heard me say was “pull over and I’ll find you” (she hadn’t) and so I chased around the one way system to take the same lane Isi had taken. At the same time, the last thing Isi had thought I had heard was “head for the 89A, I’ll see you there”. We both proposed sensible options without the other hearing or acknowledging. My chase around the one-way had not proven successful as Isi was nowhere in sight.

I pulled over for what seemed an age, on the off-chance that Isi would complete a circle and come up behind me. No such luck…. This was starting to get scary as I knew Isi had no means to make any communication. She had no SIM and short of finding a free wifi spot, we were unable to establish where the other was.

After what felt an age, I started to continue on the road, knowing Isi had the Tom Tom and knew where we wanted to go. A couple of miles later and having asked a cyclist if a bike like mine had passed (to which he said no), I had to assume Isi had NOT come down this piece of road. So, I returned back to the place we had parted our ways and waited…. And waited…. Since Isi had not appeared, I had to assume she was trying to catch me up much further down the road. With this in mind, I turned up the gas and chased the shadow. After about 5 miles and just on the other side of a major roundabout, there was Isi, sat on the hard-shoulder, at the start of the 89A.

I confess, there were tears. Tears of relief, despair and anger all thrown in to one. How did Isi get so far down the road?! Finally we realised how Tom Tom and Calimoto are so different. Isi had not stopped but headed for the 89A, expecting me to do likewise. Following TomTom, Isi was guided on to the highway and taken 1 junction down before coming off to the 89A at the new roundabout. Calimoto had taken me on the old road that ran parallel and I hadn’t gone as far as the roundabout, thinking it was too far and that the cyclist had (correctly) said Isi had not passed.

It is difficult to have a de-brief without tempers flaring but we eventually agreed we had both made errors right from the time I made a late lane change and Isi did not follow. What we did finally agree is that IF this should happen again, the first option is for the following person to follow, even if it is wrong. The second option is for Isi to find a safe place to pull over as close as possible to the point we split, and wait. I would find my way back to Isi, no matter how long it would take. So far, option 1 has proved the only option we need.

With neither of us feeling our best, we were disappointed with the start of 89A, wondering what all the fuss was about. Until, the road plunged down into a ravine via a number of sharp hairpins. In the bottom the road narrowed, twisting its way through old deciduous trees, following a fast flowing small river as we continued to drop between steep walls of rock with trees and vegetation clinging to every ledge and precipice. The problem with such beauty in such a tight space, is the lack of parking. All the ‘flat’ bits were either full or taped off with big PRIVATE signs displayed. I understand how the locals must get really, really fed up with inconsiderate people who abandon their cars for hours on end in the most inappropriate place, but it did make the place feel unfriendly.

While looking for somewhere to pull over we found a coffee shop that had just opened. Drinks in hand, we found some benches in the shade of a big old tree, and started talking to the couple already sat there. They were local newly weds, who suggested some places we really must visit.

In search of a phone signal and a place to stay, we parked up in the middle of the tourist area of Sedona and, realising prices were just too high for us, we continued our journey south and west toward a Days Inn in Prescott. It proved to be a quiet suburb of Prescott, with very welcoming staff, clean rooms and plenty of space to park our bikes. For reasons of security and consideration, we always manage to fit both our bikes into one parking space, though I had to smile at two BMW GS riders that obviously have different ideas and either just don’t consider it or just have a sense of entitlement that one bike needs one space and the other needs its very own. Imagine my internal mirth when they left (for a Starbucks?), both in spotless clean ADV gear and helmets and stood on the pegs as that’s what ADV riders do, right? It must be noted that all the GS riders we know do not conform to this stereotype and they too would have found much mirth in these riders actions. #snigger

As becomes the norm when we are in a nice place, we tend to find reasons to stay longer than one night and this was no exception. A simple buffet style breakfast with a wonderfully attentive and friendly hostess was more than able to compensate for one of the other guests who had loud and fragrant bowel issues - I’ll say no more…

With a pleasant day off the bikes to catch up with blogs and videos (we kid ourselves that ONE day we WILL actually catch up), we headed out the next day for a campsite in the desert, overlooking Cottonwood. Continuing with the 89A via Jerome, we avoided a speed trap (thank you for the heads-up, Sir) and climbed the twisties that this road had to offer. As we entered the tiny, steep and busy streets of Jerome, we saw a sign to a mine off to our left. When the tar turned to dirt and we couldn’t find a flat spot to park the bikes on the rough surface, we left without stopping. As we slowly dropped out of Jerome with a queue of cars behind us, we saw a bike making good overtakes and eventually falling in behind us.

As we reached the dual carriageway and traffic lights on the outskirts of Cottonwood, the bike pulled up beside me and the rider shouted something. I said to Isi that I couldn’t make out what he said but I swore it was a Scottish accent! Isi didn’t believe me until we agreed to pull over and we met Colin from Glasgow, fulfilling his dream to ride a Harley in the USA. He was keen to learn our story and how UK plates could be found in Arizona. When we told him, he felt somewhat deflated as he felt his dream was nothing compared to ours. We find it upsetting that others should consider their adventure any less than ours, as Colin was packing so much in to his few weeks that our journeys were very different but no less deserving of the title “trip of a lifetime”. It was hard to leave Colin but he had places to be and we had a tent to pitch. The road brought us together but then left us travelling in different directions.

The campsite was advertised as a pre-book only but, having failed to navigate the system the night before (turns out they only accept bookings from 2 days in advance to allow the staff time to set the reserve signs), we just turned up to chance our luck. Seems the website is incorrect and vacant plots can be booked out by the rangers. Lucky for us, those few pitches that were still available where on the edge of the campsite and someway from the toilet block - perfect for us! We were in the desert brush, with plenty of cover and space between us and our nearest neighbours. From isolated raised areas, we could see the lights of Cottonwood below us and the lights of Jerome perched on the hillside across the valley. The stars above were bright and the night air cool. It was a very nice pitch indeed.

The following morning and with reduced luggage, it was time to find the places that had been suggested a few days before. Time to find some history that pre-dated the European invasion and the establishment that many Americans believe to be the start of their history. It was time to explore the lost lives of the Sinagua tribe that had inhabited the Montezuma Castle National Monument from around 1100AD to 1425, building their lodgings into the cliff that bordered the Beaver Creek. A combination of caves and stone/mud walls, they used ladders to access the numerous levels and provided homes for around 50 people at its height of occupation. It was a real privilege to listen in on a tour provided by a descendant of the people that used to inhabit the place and equally a privilege to stand with an elderly couple that were also descendants of these people. History has dealt the indigenous people with a tough hand but their descendants stand proud and respectful of their roots.

A photo of a model showing the inside of the Montezuma Castle

The valley floor was resplendent with Arizona Sycamores in full autumn colours, adding to the beauty and serenity of the Beaver Creek area.

Just a few miles up the road was the Montezuma well, a natural limestone sinkhole where spring water had carved a cavern in the limestone, with the roof caving in to create a huge well. As with the castle, there were dwellings in the cliff faces, used by the same tribes. Even during periods of severe drought, the well would remain constant and the natural outflow through the cliff face was used by the tribes to irrigate crops. The water of the well has a high level of arsenic: not strong enough to cause a quick death but strong enough to contribute to a shorter lifespan and make the well home to 5 species of animal not to be found anywhere else. To us, the well felt special, almost spiritual, in spite of the graffiti of early explorers that felt the need to ‘tag’ the walls.

So, why did they leave both the sites after living there for a few hundred years? Something changed that caused the crops to fail and the people took this as a sign from their ancestral spirits that it was time to move on. At harmony with nature, they didn’t try to fight nature’s wishes, just moved on to find a new settlement.

With the technology we now have we don’t have to be beholden to nature’s demands as we can manipulate nature to suit us. Having seen how the ancestral tribes had lived with nature I, again, wonder if our abilities are a blessing or a curse.

We went our separate ways!

Desert Life!

The BIG Canyon!