Day 4

Grand Canyon to Globe, AZ – 432 miles (including 110 in a helicopter)

 As I trudged our gear down from the hotel room, Abi was once again loaded and ready to go. What the hell is it with him? While I loaded up, we made small talk. “Dude, that guy in the coffee shop the other day was really weird. He told me this dumb joke and I just didn’t get it.”

“Was it, ‘I’m so tired, when I hit the road I squeal?’ He told me that one too.”

“Yeah. What the hell does that mean?”

“You don’t get it? Tired – tires; like car tires squealing when they hit the road? Get it now?”

“Yeah. Now I get it. How stupid.” Just goes to prove that if you have to explain a joke, it isn’t funny.

The morning was windy; we had trouble keeping the bikes straight on the ride to the airport. The receptionist said that pilots were reporting the longer tour was very bumpy from the wind, and if we wanted to take the shorter ride, it would be less bumpy. She tried hard to convince us, but we’d paid for the hour tour, and that was what we were going to do, as long as the pilot would do it. The British couple we met in the lobby that were accompanying us on our flight also wanted to do the long trip.

While sitting in the waiting area, we watched a silly safety video, then donned our silly floatation belts and boarded the helicopter. As we strapped in, Kent, our pilot said with a gleam in his eye, “Oh this one’s gonna be a hell of a ride all right, but we’ll be OK. You don’t have to worry unless I stop smiling. The most important thing to know about this flight is the location of the little sacks in front of you in case you feel a little airsickness coming on. We call that a ‘Code Yankee.’ Don’t be afraid to use ’em if you need ’em. OK everybody strapped in tight? Let’s do this thing!”

With the cheesy song Highway To The Danger Zone playing in our headsets, the helicopter lurched, and suddenly, we were airborne. Kent flew us over the same pinion pines (or junipers, or whatever) we’d toured with Larry the day before, the helicopter already twitching and bouncing around. Our pilot turned around to make sure everyone in back was OK so far, saying, “Oh, don’t worry about those bumps you’re feeling, that’s just because I’m not really paying attention. It’s gonna get much worse, believe me.”

Kent nosed our helicopter down into a steep dive, and when it seemed we were going to crash into the trees, we crossed the lip of the canyon and the earth fell away. With a shudder and a bump, we were in the Grand Canyon. Goosebumps rose on my arms at the majestic sight. Like a river of chocolate milk, the Colorado River snaked through the canyon five thousand feet below us. As we crossed deeper into the canyon, the helicopter jostled some more. I noticed after one particularly violent bounce that Kent stopped smiling for a few seconds, but as soon as the helicopter was back under control, his grin returned.

Suddenly, the girl in the front seat had a Code Yankee, and it was a dandy. “Look at that, you get to take home your very own souvenir now!” said a still smiling Kent, pointing at her now full airsickness bag. Fiona looked a little green, and Abi looked a little less brown, as the smell of returned breakfast filling the cabin was almost enough to make us all sing Yankee Doodle.

The view was stunning, simply amazing, but the bumps were bad. Several times the chopper dropped alarmingly from the gusts. Kent knew even worse turbulence was coming, and warned us that as we left the canyon, we’d probably get hit pretty hard.

We did. The chopper bucked like a rodeo bull as we crossed the rim again. Then it was suddenly calm. Until we landed.

“Chopper 43 requesting permission to cross runway airspace and land,” Kent radioed the tower. The tower responded, “Chopper 43, you are cleared to land, due to high winds you are grounded for the rest of the day. Land, refuel, then shut her down.” “See how lucky you guys are? This was the last flight of the day!” Kent said, then he added, “I hate to say it, but with the friggin’ crosswind, this landing ain’t gonna be pretty at all. Hang on!” He stopped smiling as he fought with the helicopter, finally SLAMMING the chopper down on the concrete pad. Once on the ground, Kent’s grin instantly returned. “Whew! Cheated Death again! Thanks for flying Papillon, folks!”

While looking at the souvenir photo taken before the flight, Kent came over to talk to us. Abi asked, “If you weren’t working today, weren’t flying a tour, would you still have flown?” A devilish grin crossed his face, different from his professional pilot smile during the flight. “Shit yeah! Of course I would!”

“So how bad was the wind today?”

“There are four types of wind; calm, moderate, hard and extreme. Most of the wind today was moderate to hard. We only had three extreme blasts of turbulence, two of them I pretty much knew were coming.”Smiling he went on. “You see, the wind gets all curly when it drops from the rim into the canyon, so when we dropped in and came out, with these high winds, I knew it was gonna be bad. But, I didn’t want to upset the girl next to me any more than she already was, so I didn’t really say too much. I just kept smiling. Remember the one time the chopper suddenly dropped in the middle of the canyon?” He paused for a second, “I didn’t expect it. That was… fun. When that happens I have to keep an eye on the ground speed and air speed indicators to figure out which direction the wind is coming from, and how fast it’s going. It gets a little busy then, but it keeps it interesting. This helicopter can fly in winds up to forty miles an hour.” His grin grew. “A few of those gusts that hit us were over forty miles an hour. Yeah, flying here definitely keeps it interesting!”

“I’ve been flying things all my life really.” He continued, “I live on a ranch in Montana with my own runway, and I commute here every week. I work seven days then go home for seven days. You really can’t beat working fourteen days a month and flying a helicopter in the Grand Canyon. That’s my job and I love it!” He definitely has one of the best jobs of anyone I have ever met.

During the trip, I ‘accidentally’ left my GPS on in my jacket pocket, and it ‘accidentally’ recorded the whole helicopter route, an almost flower shaped pattern. Our top speed was 185 miles an hour!

The wind on the way to Phoenix continued to be moderate to hard, with a few extreme blasts that almost pushed the bikes off the road. Passing one truck I was sure my helmet was going to be ripped off my head, it was so bad. But with a flight to catch, stopping wasn’t an option, so we toughed it out.

We made it to Phoenix in time for Fiona to catch her flight. Unfortunately for her, she had to work the next three days, but would be rejoining us in New Orleans in five days. We said goodbye, then headed east on Route 60, marked as a scenic road on my map.

The sun set, and in the twilight the scenery was wasted on us. We rode in developing darkness on curvy mountain roads through tiny towns like Superior, Top-Of-The-World and Miami looking for a room. Finally in the town of Globe we found an Indian owned Travelodge, and another expensive, Indian owned room.

Though Abi is far from a good looking girl, he at least had something more in common with the hotel owners than I did, and hopefully would swindle a good deal. As Abi was checking in with his people, an older guy and a younger girl pulled up on fully decked out Harley Davidsons. The woman, her hair braided and covered with a long leather sheath went in to book a room, and the man, an older guy with a beard like Santa Claus and no bottom teeth stayed outside. As bikers do, we start sniffing around again, knowing that there is probably an interesting story or two to be had.

“What a great day! We came all the way from Bisbee and rode up onto this Indian reservation, some of the best roads around.” Pointing to a naked Barbie doll strapped on the back of his bike he continued, “I saw her lying on the ground, and she looked like she needed a ride, so I put her on straddling my headlight. Almost right away an Indian policeman pulled me over, I think when he saw this doll up front. He gave us a ticket for not buying a reservation pass, but I really think he was disturbed by Barbie over here. Doesn’t matter, the ridin’ was worth the sixty bucks for the ticket. After that I had to put this little lady on the back to keep her out of trouble.”

Santa asked where we were going. “Orlando, by next Friday.”

“Orlando? Sheee-it! Now that’s a ride! You wanna take Barbie with ya? I think she’d like to go to Florida.”

“Thanks, but I could never take another biker’s old lady.”

Like Quartzsite, the dinner options in Globe were limited. Gordon Scott’s BBQ and Bar across the street was closest, so they got our business. Their slogan could have read, “Gordon Scott’s – For the Finest in Average Dining.” One thing I’ve learned about eating in a small town dining, most times, if you’re fussy, you’re hungry. Five minutes after sitting at the bar we were introduced to Don and Denise, a happy couple from nearby Florence.

“You probably saw signs back when you passed Florence not to pick up hitchhikers.” I had. “Florence has seven thousand residents and eighteen thousand inmates. We’ve got nine prisons from minimum security all the way up to federal prisons.” Don continued, “I’m a caseworker, my job is to try to rehabilitate prisoners and get them integrated with society again.”

“How does that work out for you?”

“Honestly? Not very well. I see the same guys over and over again.” Then Don perked up a bit. “Pretty soon I’ll have one very interesting inmate though. Last week in Scottsdale, Mike Tyson pleaded guilty to drunk driving and cocaine possession, and guess who gets to be his caseworker? Oh, that should be interesting!”

I asked them what they were doing in Globe. “Ah, we wanted to go to the casino, but the casino food sucks ass, so we figured we’d eat here. The food here isn’t as good as we remember it used to be, but the company is much better than the old ladies at the casino!”

After a forgettable meal and a few perfect Coronas in good company, we turned in for the night.

On to Day Five

Author: frenchy