Day Four: Albuquerque, New Mexico, to Grand Canyon, Arizona

The trip begins

Perhaps because of the heat (it was 100 F/ 38 C yesterday), perhaps because of the excitement of the trip ahead, I did  not sleep well, waking up constantly, tossing and turning. Despite the lack of sleep I got up easily, loaded the bags on the bike, had some coffee and was ready to leave by 7:15. The day before I had given Blue a thorough cleaning, removing 1,000 miles worth of bugs from the windshield and the headlights. I  had also fixed the annoying vibration on the left mirror, caused by either a lost or worn out washer. A bit of electric tape shoved into the space between the mirror stem and the mirror fixed the problem.

After some light traffic leaving Albuquerque westbound, I was out again in the desert. One of the reasons I left early is because I was concerned about the heat. I did not want to repeat my experience on the Amarillo-Albuquerque leg. The day before I had gone to a motorcycle shop and purchased a cooking vest, the sort that you soak in water and let the evaporation do the cooling. I knew from just wetting my t shirt that this worked. so this would do the same but provide a much longer cooling period.

But at 7 in the morning the desert air was cool, cold even. Shivers made me look at the temperature gauge, which read 57 F (14 C). I smiled as I closed some of the vents on the jacket, but I knew this would not last.

Some 50 miles out of Albuquerque, with the desert stretching out to the low level Mesas that jutted up from the ground here and there, I missed a great photo opportunity, as a long train was making its way towards the freeway, with some red bluffs for a backdrop, and a field where horses roamed. It was a classic shot, but with the road and the gear and the camera in the bag there was no way I could stop. Still, I saw it and it was a beautiful site.

Here and there some features arose out of the plain landscape, red outcroppings, rock formations, just enough to break up the monotony. With the cool air I felt alive and realized it i for moments like this that you ride, for the freedom, the communion with the world around you.

Indians

Postcard from the 1950s. Not much different today.

About an hour and a half into the trip I got to Gallup, New Mexico, and got off the freeway looking for a place to have breakfast. Heading up one way on the main street, I saw the usual fast food joints, gas stations and stores that line up towns and cities along major highways. One place caught my eye, a restaurant claiming to be in business " since 1947". It looked like an old dinner, but the fact that the parking lot was full on a week day was enough to convince me. I pulled into the parking lot, by the entrance, and saw the

Earl's Restaurant, Gallup, NM

Indian vendors there, three or four people with stalls set up by the entrance, shaded from the morning sun by the building's overhang. Men and women, they sold Indian jewelry, bracelets, rings, that sort of thing. I decided to look at that later, as I was hungry and needed some coffee.

As I went in I found the place, which was not small, packed with people. The decoration had a decidedly Southwestern flavor, a hodge-podge of Indian decorations, posters, banners, announcements of local events, patriotic signs saying ' God Bless America". But what really got my attention was the fact that the patrons were all

Indian vendors (not my photo, see here for credit)

Indians. In fact, for the 45 minutes I stayed there, myself and one other couple, a rough looking young woman and her tattooed friend, were the only white people there. There was also the owner, who was also white, and would on occasion go about greeting some of the regulars. This was apparently his family's restaurant. Old Indian men and women, some short and stocky,  others thin and weathered by a long life in the desert sun, young couples with children, parents, grand parents, couples. Most people, men and women, wore Indian jeweler y, men with turquoise rings, belt buckles and bolo ties, women with necklaces and earrings, the beauty of their culture in their everyday life. There was a certain quiet dignity in the way the older ones moved, as if inhabiting a universe that moved not according to the passing fancies of our time, but to a much more ancient rhythm of things. Cell phones non withstanding, that is.

A woman sat silently by the cashier, with a sample of more things to sell, braided things with bright colors. Now and then she would get up and silently walk among the patrons, who would look at her wares and nod no, or say thanks. Then, as a smiling Indian waitress brought me some coffee, I notice more vendors coming in with small display trays. At first I though this odd, since, with the exceptions I noted above, there were no tourists anywhere to be seen. But then I noticed that they were trying to sell to the other patrons, some who would look at this or that piece, ask the price, before the vendor would move on. But you got the distinct impression that they were part of the target customers, or, in this case, the bulk of it.

While I was putting down a plate of huevos rancheros, a young woman came by with a tray of necklaces. they were pretty, made with bits and pieces of turquoise and silver, or something that looked like it. Something caught my eye and I asked her how much. " $20", she said, in a quiet voice. I bought one, with a silver butterfly hanging from a string of turquoise. I asked her if she made them herself, she said she did. I had no reason to doubt it, the price was fair, she took the money and handed me the little cardboard case holding the necklace and two earrings.

Next to me a large and short gentleman ate his steak and eggs. He asked if I as passing through. I pointed to my gear, told him about my trip. He wished me a safe ride. I paid my bill, looked over the stalls outside with more jewelry, started my bike and returned to the freeway heading West, as the mercury began to rise.

The ground rises

I saw the mountains near Flagstaff rise in the distance, as the desert brush began to give way to pine trees first  few here and there, then, as I climbed higher, the forrest of the high desert came to greet me, dry air, pine scented.

The camera is falling as the shutter goes click... too late

After deciding not to follow the GPS but to go through Flagstaff so I could take the 180 through the mountains, I promptly got myself caught in the downtown traffic. I finally found my way out of there, but regretting not having the time to visit what looked like a very charming city. I caught the 180, not before eating a frozen burrito at a cafe that advertised sandwiches but sold none. The coffee  though was excellent. Not longer low on blood sugar, I headed northeast on 180, which took me through alpine meadows and glimpses of snow still trapped on the highest peaks. It reminded me of Tahoe.

Mountains in the rear view mirror, off Flagstaff

I saw very few cars on that road, other than the old 1970's era VW Bug painted turquoise green parked at a trail head parking lot where I stopped for some photos. Both the hood and the trunk were open, a sign that the bug was not doing well, while a man who seemed to have time traveled from the same year the car was made, pocked his head in the engine, and his companion looked on into the distance. As I was getting to leave, this one fellow come over, completely stone, or drink, or both. After making some derogatory remarks about my license plate being from Mississippi, he proceeded to tell me in a slurred voice that his traveling companion, the car's owner, was an ass and he was stuck there. I asked if the car had broken down, to which he said, " well, with the hood and the trunk up what do you think, we are on a picnic?" I got his point, wished him luck, and left, while he walked slowly back to 1972 in a not so straight line.

The Canyon

I got to the motel, checked in, unpacked the bike, then decided to go see the Canyon. I bought my park ticket and rode the 5 miles to the Mather Vista Point. For some reason I thought this would be something i could see, a sort of  a canyon intro, before I could go to the " real" park next day. I did not realize this was it. now there I am, walking from the parking lot, there is forest around, the ground is flat, there is no indication of what is ahead, and so your brain is not ready for what is coming. And what is coming is that awe inspiring gap, that magnificent chasm 15 miles across and 1.5 miles deep. And the space is so awesome, and the scale so vast, that I was speechless, mouth opened, marveling in what your eyes are seeing but your brain is slow to comprehend.

With the sun setting, the canyon began to change, the rock a vermilion hue, shadows carving new shapes, as the darkness fell. But I, I stood there for a moment, unconvinced Night itself would be enough to fill the canyon  with the silence of the stars.