I slept in Sunday morning. The sun had already risen when I finally unzipped the tent flap and poked my head tentatively out. The campground was stirring to life. The air was crisp and the irresitable smell of bacon frying remined me how hungry I was. Early risers were already out and about walking dogs and packing up. I scrambled out of my little tent and began my tear down routine.
It’s amazing how fast things can become routine. This would be my 6th campground morning, and already I had settled into a pattern for breaking camp. The pattern for breaking camp actually starts the day or night before when I would place in my day pack my change of clothes, shaving kit, and towel for the next morning’s shower. Then I would remove my hiking boots and place them in a water proof bag which I would leave outside the tent. Next to my bagged hiking boots I would place my Crocs water proof shoes. Inside the tent I would have with me my day pack (which I would use as an additional pillow), my cell phone plugged into a charger (I always got tent sites with electric and water – really roughed it),my rain gear, my laptop (for blogging -- when it was laptop before it became a paper weight), water proof bag for the laptop, my camera (for downloading pictures onto the laptop so they could be lost forever), the battery charger for the camera, miners lamp (so I could see in the tent), knife (for the attacking critters), and of course, my sleeping bag and camping pillow.
My morning routine was simple. I would exit the tent and put on my crocs. Then I would take everything out of the tent (assuming it wasn’t raining) and stow it where it was supposed to go (ie: sleeping bag rolled and ready to lash to back pack, laptop and camera placed in waterproof bags and locked in hardbag, etc…
After I cleaned up (showered, shaved…) I would put on the clothes in my day pack and return to my camp site where I’d select clean clothes from my full pack (big red hiking pack strapped to back of bike) for the next day and place them in my day pack. Dirty clothes would accumulate in another water proof bag, and I would wash them as needed or the opportunity presented.
The two pack method worked very well. I would stow the day back prepped for the next day in my big black bag where it was easy to retrieve. This came in handy when I made stops at rest stops and needed items from my shaving kit or a new shirt (I always kept a spare in the day back). I would just pop open the big black bag, pull my day pack out, and take it to the rest room.
Finally, I’d drop and pack the tent. Then I’d repack the bike. Before I left I had developed and practiced a system for strapping everything to the bike. Now I simply followed that system every time. It worked well. Nothing strapped down ever blew of the bike; that can’t be said for other items that were sucked out of their bags.
The whole process took about 30 minutes. With a little more planning and preparation it could be done in fifteen minutes. This morning I took my time. I had to beat Gustav to Oklahoma, but that didn’t mean fleeing the campground at dawn without breakfast. I went to find the source of the bacon smell.
There was a neat little camp kitchen setup where they had breakfast (eggs, bacon, sausage, pancakes…) and coffee for sale. I hadn’t the time to take advantage of it the day before, but this morning I sat down with my (then working) laptop, blogged, ate breakfast, and drank coffee until around 10:30am.
I got on the bike and began the long run home. My route began on route 40 there in Flagstaff. I followed it east. About fifty miles from the campground I stopped for gas near the site of the Meteor Impact Crater. It had begun to rain and the sky was looking ominous. I put on my rain gear and decided to take the six mile ride to the site. They had a small museum and a gift shop where I could hide from the rain, and I’d get to see the crater.
The ride to the crater took me through a flat range where cattle were grazing. I noticed boulders everywhere that seemed oddly out of place. I wonder if those rocks had been hurled out into the plain during the event. I never did ask anyone.
The crater is pretty much what you’d expect. It’s a crater. The Grand Canyon is not just a big hole in the ground, but the crater kind of is. It’s neat to look at, but when you get right down to it, there’s not a lot to see.
I loitered around the crater until the rain stopped, and then I headed back to the highway. I had been on the road for about an hour when I cam across signs for the Petrified Forest and Painted Desert national park. I could not resist. I took the exit and made the 18 mile trek to the park. Alas, I have no pictures of these two great areas. They were lost too.
I’d heard of the Petrified Forest, of course, but I’d never seen it nor had I ever seen petrified wood for that matter. I wasn’t even sure what petrified wood was or how it became petrified. It’s pretty amazing. The wood in the trees had been replaced by silica and turned to crystal and rock. The whole process started 250 million years ago when that part of Arizona was actually part of Panama (it’s a long story). What is high desert now was then a low flood plain where tress from that had been ripped from their roots during great rains were washed down a prehistoric river and deposited in mud that was rich with silica and other minerals capable of turning wood to stone.
The Petrified Forest is surrounded by the Painted Desert. As you can imagine, the desert gets its name from the layers of vibrant colors visible in the rock formations and buttes.
I was stalked by a thunderstorm in the park and had to keep moving. Out west in the high plains and deserts the sky is different. As cliché as it sounds, it’s bigger. It’s possible to see for great distances and watch weather as it develops.
The road through the Painted Desert is 26 miles long, but it parallels route 40 so it’s kind of like a real scenic detour. Nevertheless, I emerged from the park way behind schedule. I was still 220 miles west of Albuquerque and it was already close to 5:00pm. I pointed the Rocket East and rolled power on.
I saw almost no police during my rides through Kansas, Colorado, and Utah. In fact, I saw no police in Kansas and Utah. Arizona, however, was crawling with them. I traveled with the traffic flow and maintained speeds 80 to 85mph for the next 3-4 hours.
It was dark when I reached Albuquerque. I crested a hill and the lights from the sprawling city spread out before me. What Albuquerque lacks in population (about 500K) it makes up in size. I passed a highway sign that indicated the next 17 exits were for Albuquerque. There was fireworks show going on over the city. I pulled over and watched it for few minutes; another benefit of a big sky.
I stayed in a Motel 6 that night. It was cheap clean, and right next to the expressway. It’s ironic, the laptop worked fine there and I meant to make another backup, but I was so tired I could not keep my eyes open.
I watched TV for the first time in 5 days. The weather channel said Gustav was starting to pound New Orleans and its path would take it through Eastern Texas, Arkansas, and Oklahoma. I got out my ride atlas and plotted my course home. Ironically, it was close to the one I set out originally. I would take 40 east across the small nub of Texas through Amarillo (160 miles small) to Oklahoma City, but instead of risking a rendezvous with Gustav in Arkansas, I would leave route 40 (which would have taken me through Arkansas and Tennessee) in favor of a more northern arc. I would take 44 east through Tulsa to route 60 which I would take across Missouri to Paducah Kentucky. There I would pick up 24 east to Chattanooga where I would follow 75 south for my final run home through Georgia. The northern arch through Tulsa would cost me at least 200 miles, but it would keep Gustav south of me.
No comments:
Post a Comment