day 2

Quartzsite to Sedona, AZ – 211 Miles

Warm air and sunny skies greeted us on the first full day of our trip. Abi was just attaching the last strap of his giant yellow duffel bag to his bike as we carried our bags out to my waiting Yamaha. Clearly he’d gotten up earlier than Fiona and I did.

Before heading away from Quartzsite, we made a quick stop at the Love’s convenience store for some gas, and saw the most incredible raffle. For $5 a ticket, you could buy a chance to win a fantastic 1976 Dodge van complete with working engine, working AC but in need of ‘a little TLC.’ With my luck I’d probably win the thing, so I chose to pass on buying a ticket.

This day shaped up to be excellent. By making it to Quartzsite the night before, we would have very little highway for the next two days, taking back roads the rest of the way into Sedona. My uncanny ability to pass exits came into play again, as I sailed right past the exit for Route 60. The fourteen mile detour proved worth it, because we stumbled on to the nearly deserted but excellent Kofa Café.

Places like this fascinate me. Out in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but farmland for miles in every direction is an empty café with seating for seventy five. How does a place like this manage to keep running if the only customers present that morning were three semi-lost bikers? Certainly their excellent food isn’t enough. As she served our enormous breakfast, I asked Lucy, our distinguished grandmotherly waitress how the Kofa Café remained in business.

“Well, it’s because of the snowbirds.”

“Snowbirds?”

“Yes. You know, retired folk. The snowbirds will start coming in around Thanksgiving, and they’ll stay all winter. Some of them come from as far away as Canada or the East Coast, and they fill up all the nearby RV parks. This place will be packed with snowbirds from Thanksgiving to about Memorial Day. That’s our busiest time. Believe me, we like to see ’em come, but it’s better to see ’em go!”

Finishing our enormous breakfast we said goodbye to Lucy and the Kofe Café. I never heard it pull up, but parked outside was one of my dream bikes. Not a Ducati 1098, this machine is probably the finest creation to ever come out of Orange County Choppers.

The bike owner appeared, and after pulling the starter cord a few hundred times, roared off into the distance.

Finally on the right road, with a belly full to bursting, I felt very happy to be alive. Route 60 proved a straight, flat and mostly featureless two lane road with a speed limit of 65. In the desolate stretches between towns like Desert Wells, Salome and Hope, we would crank it up to about 80. Coming into these small towns the speed limit dropped to around 45, and so did we. Not only does slowing down save riders from local revenue gathering speed traps, but it also gave us a glimpse of these sad little towns. Passing through we saw boarded up hotels, houses made of plywood, and in one fenced off yard, a yard sale that looked as if it had been set up for years, just waiting for a carload of buyers to pull up.

Leaving the town of Hope a sign read, “You are now beyond Hope.” A hundred miles down the Road Beyond Hope our route improved somewhat. Route 89 from the town of Congress on to Sedona was without a doubt one of the best roads I have ever had the pleasure of riding on.

We stopped for a little break and some pictures at a scenic rest stop. While trying unsuccessfully to get a shot with all three of us in it, a car pulled up. Three men got out, and the one in the Harley T Shirt immediately came over. Fiona asked him to take our picture. As he stepped back to snap the shot, I noticed he wore an empty holster on his belt. I dubbed him Pistol Pete. After taking the shot, he said to Abi, “Well, if ya can’t ride an American bike, at least you’re riding a German one.” Not really sure what he meant by that, but before I could ask, he launched into a long and rambling one-sided story that included the best place in southern California to get a classic car repaired, straight edge hardcore music, his church and old time mining techniques. Heading back to his car, Pistol Pete ended his soliloquy with, “This is Arizona guys, anything can happen here.”

Pistol Pete’s Best Shot

The road snaked through the mountain town of Jerome, AZ; also known as America’s Most Vertical City. Almost four hundred people call the one square mile town of Jerome their home. Located between Prescott and Flagstaff at the top of Cleopatra Hill, this little town looked like what I would expect a town in the Alps to look. Of course, I’ll have to wait until next spring to find out for sure what those towns look like.

Just outside Sedona, we stopped to get my first National Parks Passport stamp of this trip. How could we not stop at a place with a great name like Tuzigoot National Monument? The best thing going for the place was definitely its great name, because the monument wasn’t authentic ruins, just a recreation. We decided that it was pretty shitty to call a replica an actual National Historic Site, and from then on we substituted the word Tuzigoot for anything that was shitty.

We checked into the Sedona Super 8 about 4 PM. The guy at the desk warmly welcomed us smelly bug-crusted bikers, even allowing us to park in a ‘No Parking’ spot right by the office, so he could personally keep an eye on the bikes all night. We asked him if there were any worthwhile sunset tours in Sedona. He recommended Pink Jeep tours, and while Abi and I felt this might be a bit feminine for our manly tastes, Fiona got right on the phone to them. They said if we could get there in half an hour, we could take their last tour of the day, ominously named Broken Arrow, an aggressive 4×4 sunset tour.

Can’t Get Much Gayer Than This!

 We walked into RavenHeart coffee, next door to the Pink Jeep office. The kid behind the counter looked remarkably like Butt-head. If they ever make a live action version of Bevis and Buthead, I know where to find one lead character. On a bulletin board behind the counter he had written, “Beauty is in the Behind of the Beholder.” As soon as I walked in, this cartoon character clone told me a weird sort-of joke, “You know, I’m so tired that when I hit the road I squeal.” He then laughed, “Huh-huh hu-huh-huh,” similar to his cartoon counterpart. I didn’t get the joke, and got out of the store before he told any more.

The driver of our real life Barbie Jeep gathered us up and started off with a typical introduction speech. “Hi I’m Chip, and I just want everyone to know that this is my first official tour. But that’s OK, because by law I’m only required to bring back 80% of you. I’m a little nervous, but I think most of you will be just fine.” I’m sure that all tour drivers are required to make such mandatory jokes, and everyone had a laugh.

When I shook Chip’s hand, I realized he was missing the tips of the fingers on his right hand. I briefly wondered if maybe he hadn’t been joking a minute ago. Instead of inquiring about his missing digits, I asked him how he got this job. “About a year ago, I realized I was turning yellow under the fluorescent lights in my cubicle. It finally got to be too disgusting for me. So, I left the thrilling world of accounting, moved to Sedona and got this job.” Smiling he went on, “Now, I drive four wheel tours for a living, and in my time off I ride my new dirtbike, a KTM 640 Adventure.” I’m not too sure how you could lose your fingers in an accounting accident, but the missing digits didn’t slow Chip down at all.

Chip pointed out various desert plant life on the tour as we bumped over and around rocks. The only thing girly about this bright pink Jeep is the color; Chip did his best to destroy the vehicle on the rugged paths, bouncing us all over the back seats in the process.

We parked at one point to watch as another Pink Jeep climbed up a particularly large boulder, then bounced and skidded down the other side. Chip said, “Sorry, but I’m not yet certified to do that one.” Our disappointment didn’t even have time to register before Chip mashed the accelerator. “But I’ve always wanted to try it, so let’s go!”

A guy in his personal 4×4 pickup truck followed us down a particularly steep and tricky descent. We parked to watch him possibly roll his truck down the hill. The driver showed considerable skill, as he managed to get past the hardest parts without getting stuck or pirouetting his way to the bottom, much to the surprise of Chip and the rest of us. “Wow. We usually end up pulling the wreckage out of the ravine when locals try that hill.”

Even in a bright pink Jeep, the entire tour was incredible, culminating at an expansive and breathtaking landscape called ‘The Two Nuns.’ While most of the trip had been a little grey and cloudy, the sun burst through the clouds as we were at the most scenic of vistas, making our pictures that much better.

I asked Abi and Fiona for one word to describe the tour:

Fiona: Exhilarating
Frenchy: Incredible
Abi: Rocks

The temperature dropped considerably when the sun set, and the ride back to the hotel, sans helmet or jacket, was cold and miserable. It didn’t matter. I was so tired, when I hit the road, I squealed, whatever that is supposed to mean.

On to Day Three

Author: frenchy