Frenchy's Rant

Ka’ahele, the god of travel and arena booking smiled twice on The Hardest Working Crew in Television™. His first benevolent act; the show the day after Wrestlemania – Monday Night RAW, also affectionately known as ‘Go Fuck Yourself Monday’ is booked in downtown Phoenix, a scant twenty-seven miles from Wrestlemania’s University of Phoenix arena. This is good for two reasons. First, it means The Crew™ will be able to attend the Wrestlemania after-party instead of jumping on a bus and riding through the night to Monday’s show. Second and more importantly, the Phoenix arena is conveniently close to the Phoenix airport, meaning I’ll be able to stash Rain Cloud Follows at the airport again for a Wednesday pickup.

The second benevolent act of Ka’ahele is arguably even better. Smackdown on Tuesday, affectionately known as ‘And The Horse You Rode In On Tuesday’ is booked in none other than Las Vegas! I can think of no better place to end a week of insanity than in an insane city. Rather than trying to ride three hundred miles in the dark from Phoenix to Sin City on Monday night, I opt for the safety, comfort, and conveniently stashed bottle of Macallan on the bus.

After the show on ATHYRIO Tuesday, I sneak away to the Hard Rock Casino, for some well deserved slot machine therapy. This time I don’t mess with the paltry nickel slots, I go straight to the dollar machines. Sometimes you just have to go for it.

Pretty soon I am up. Way up.

Pretty soon I’m out. Sometimes you just have to take the money and run.

Wednesday is also affectionately known as ‘The Best Day Ever’ because it is the day that The Crew™ gets to go home, to finally separate from the constant drone of close quarters Crew contact, to go and do anything but another day of television production. On Wednesday, I fly back to Phoenix, meet Fiona, grab Rain Cloud Follows and start the Long Ride Home.

While I’ve been working to make sure all the fantastic sounds of wrestling are appreciated by the masses, Fiona’s been busy saving lives. After her third night of preserving people, she flew directly to Phoenix to ride with me, just because she’s tough like that. She’s also tired, but still game to ride. My original plan was to head up to Show Low to visit my friends Dean and Mz. Pam, introduce them to Sleeping Beauty, and, in the interest of full disclosure, make my riding gear a little tighter with big helpings of Mz. Pam’s incredible pie.

Mother Nature has other plans. The weather forecast for Show Low is a high of 44 with the possibility of up to two inches of snow. Fiona’s reaction to this little news flash immediately tells me it’s time for Plan B.

I Love This Girl!

Plan B… Plan B… B… Hmmm… B…. What about… Bisbee?!? I liked Bisbee, it’s forecast is better than Show Low, and, while I’m not a huge fan of going back to places I’ve already been, I have to admit the beer in Bisbee is good. Right in the Terminal Four parking garage of Sky Harbor International airport, our plan officially changes from Oh No, Snow in Show Low to Plan Bisbee. Just before we leave, I phone ahead and book a special “room” at the Shady Dell, paid for with my Hard Rock windfall.

Mother Nature’s foul mood extends into Phoenix. The wind is brutal, bitch slapping us from one direction, then sucker punching from the other. I struggle to keep us on the black and out of the brown. Passing trucks is like entering the Vortex of Doom, as the sudden vacuum threatens to suck us under. I notice with some trepidation that there are hardly any motorcycles coming up from the Bisbee area.

What an adventure.

After enduring this blow job for far too long, we arrive at the Shady Dell. The Shady Dell is a trailer park with a twist. The “rooms” for rent are all 1950’s mobile homes that, according to their website, are “perfectly restored to combine mid-century Americana kitsch with the comforts of home in a way that only the 1950s were capable of.”

Our kitschy home for the evening is the lavishly, if not entirely accurately titled Royal Mansion.

And with that, Sleeping Beauty and I officially are trailer trash.

I try to find a taxi to take us to my new favoritest place on Earth, the Old Bisbee Brewery. Unfortunately, it seems there are none to be found, so we gear back up and ride Rain Cloud Follows into town. This sucks, because it means I’ll only be able to enjoy one of OBB’s fine IPAs, but that’s the price you have to pay for being the designated front-seat jockey. We learn from the bartender Vic that Mindy, his daughter and my favoritest brewmaster isn’t in. It’s probably just as well because I’m sure Fiona could take her in a fight. Vic fills us in on the history of the brewery, telling us that he and his business partner had a brainstorm to open a brewery in Brewery Gulch, the only problem was they needed a brewmaster. Vic called his daughter one fateful night with a tempting offer to go to England to attend Brewmaster School. She readily accepted. Vic then asked when she thought she’d be able to go. Her answer, “Well, I guess I’ll need about an hour to pack…” The rest is history. Turns out the brewpub has only been open two weeks. Also turns out I was there on the first Friday, a fact which gets me a hearty “Thank You!” but no free beer.

I ask Vic if there is a taxi in town. “Yeah, we have one… sometimes… when he’s sober enough to drive… ” I’m guessing tonight isn’t one of those nights. Draining my pint, we leave for a forgettable dinner, then head back to our trailer in the still raging wind.

The gale shakes the trailer all night long. At one point Fiona and I both jump up thinking our Spartan Royal Mansion is about to flip over. I’d thought about heading to San Felipe in Baja the next day, but with hurricane force winds still threatening to blow us all away to OZ, that plan is quickly scrapped as well. We decide that one more day in Bisbee won’t kill us, while attempting to ride in this violent windstorm just might. I book a room in the haunted Copper Queen for that night, as sadly, the trailer park is full.

I walk around the next morning and snap a few pics of this interesting place.

The diner isn’t open, so we prepare to leave the Shady Dell. As I am setting up the tripod for the mandatory Shady Dell shot, a man runs up and says, “Oh, let me take that picture for you! I do this all the time!” Now, I hate trusting pictures to other people, because if there’s one thing I’ve learned in all my travels, it is that most people pretty much suck at taking pictures.

Case in point. Here is the picture that Dead Eye took for us:

Awesome. I thanked him anyway, then, when he left, I took the picture that you’d think anyone that doesn’t walk around tapping a white stick would take at a location like this.

Right.

Our entire days ride takes all of three minutes. Exhausted from the road, we check into the haunted hotel, fully ready for a day off, and fully prepared for whatever that day may have in store for us in the lovely town of Bisbee.

More? Click Here!

San Jose blurs by. Compressing what normally is a two-day, four show taping into one super long day has a strange way of making time (and eyes, brains, ect) blur. For the second time in less than two days, I take to the unfriendly skies, where US Air (Motto: We hate to fly and it shows) delivers my half-asleep carcass back to Phoenix. And now, it’s time. The Road to Wrestlemania has come to an end. The flying over for a while, I quickly rescue Rain Cloud Follows from the confines of the parking garage, and the ever trustworthy, ever predictable Garmin Everlost takes me on a tour of the smallest streets of Phoenix on the way to the hotel that will be my home for the next week.

And that home is not bad at all if I do say so myself. Usually, it seems our hotels are conveniently located in a desolate warehouse district, presumably in an effort to keep the crew safe and sober. This time, for a welcome change, our hotel is located directly next door to one of those fun bar/restaurant/fun complexes. Uh oh…

On Thursday night, this fun bar/restaurant/fun complex hosts Bike Night, with enough raw, blatant motorcycle porn on display to  cause that gland in my tiny brain to dump happy juice into my system at a pleasantly alarming rate.

Warning: Motorcycle Porn to Follow

The biggest tribute to motorcycling excess I’ve ever seen, the Boss Hoss makes me chuckle.

Standing next to this behemoth, I laugh as I picture this monster firing up, and the wash from the exhaust cannons knocking surrounding bikes and bystanders down like dominoes.

Then, there is this tribute to the other extreme; the three wheeled, 1 HP Road Hog trike:

I love the look of this motorcycle.

Then, I see it. Tucked away in a corner, hidden from view of all but the most determined moto-porn connoisseurs is the bike I lusted after, the bike I decorated the inside of my high school locker with centerfolds of, the motorcycle that for years I couldn’t get out of my head (and now it thankfully back in my head once again) the one and only Yamaha FZR.

MMMmmmmm-MMMmmmm good.

As much as I hate to do it, I tear myself away from this dangerous but delicious bike, as grand theft moto is still probably a felony in Arizona.

A few days of setup in the University of Phoenix stadium, a building that sort of looks like a futuristic toaster oven from the 1950’s, begins. For about a week prior to the TV crew’s arrival, other crews armed with fun toys like cranes and lifts have been setting up jillions of tons of steel, stages, screens, lights and everything else it takes to put on this massive show.

On Friday, Dark Meat Snack and I leave the chaos of the futuristic toaster building for the relative calm of the Dodge Theater, to set up for Saturday evening’s Hall of Fame ceremony. This year, for a welcome change, set up is smooth, and the show, featuring the induction of Ted Dibiase, the Million Dollar Man, comes off without a hitch.

Then, the big day arrives. 72,219 of our closest friends file into the arena, and at the appropriate time, the announcement is made, the crowd erupts in a wild cheer, America the Beautiful booms through the building, and the show goes on, as all shows must.

Now it’s just 364 days until the Road to Wrestlemania XXVII takes me and Rain Cloud Follows to Atlanta.

Up next, Sleeping Beauty arrives to accompany me on the Road Home.

More? Click Here!

Five days and well over a thousand miles after leaving California, through deserts, forests, reservations, dry counties, curvy roads, a hot Bisbee microbrewmaster, and all the rest, D-Day has finally arrived. I ponder the map, wondering just how lost I can get and still make my appointment with the airline to have them whisk me to San Jose for the final marathon session of WWE shows before the insanity that is Wrestlemania begins.

Biosphere 2 lies somewhat between me and my date with Delta, but so does the Titan Missile museum. I know that if I go to the missile, I will figure out how to launch it and lob a nuke at Tombstone in revenge for stealing my flag. This is why I will probably never be president.

Cooler heads prevail, and I opt for Biosphere 2.

I end up at the tail end of a huge Harley train on the way to Biosphere 2. At the entrance to the ‘Place Where Science Lives’ , the Hog train roars on, leaving my by myself to explore this strange place.

The campus of Biosphere 2 is impressive, and the price of admission is a steep $20. I try to decide if the hour long tour is worth it, decide it isn’t, turn around, get all the way to the parking lot, then decide oh what the hell, it IS worth it and turn back around. Though I am on a somewhat strict schedule, as long as the tour is over by 1 PM, I think I’ll be OK.

If you’re wondering where Biosphere I is, the wackos that built this ultra-expensive debacle consider Biosphere I the Earth, and Biosphere 2 was designed as an enclosed environment and possible way to colonize other planets.

I kind of remember reading about Biosphere 2, and thinking even back then it was a sham. Now that I’m inside the giant glass terrarium, I can see firsthand what a huge sham it is. For example, in the movie that precedes the tour, an eager looking scientist in overalls and a checkered shirt exclaims, “Biosphere 2 is a great way for us to learn about the environment. For example, to study the effects of drought on living organisms, we stopped watering these trees three weeks ago, and now all the trees are dead.”

Dude, if you want to learn about the effect of not watering trees, you don’t need to spend $150,000,000, you are welcome, in the name of science, to visit my front yard anytime for free.

Another Biosphere 2 ‘Experiment’

Comedy in the name of science continues, as our tour guide confides the ‘Biospherians’ – the eight lunatics that volunteered to seal themselves in Biosphere 2 for a few years to see what would happen didn’t have such an easy go of it. Within two months, the group of eight splintered into two groups of four, and the two groups stopped speaking to each other. For nearly two years. Yeah, I bet that was comfortable!

As the experiment wore on, critics disclaimed Biosphere 2, saying the two-year experiment in self-sufficiency is starting to look less like science and more like a $150 million stunt.

Some Biosphere 2 literature defends their experiments, saying, “In the case of Biosphere 2, the experimenters learned that small, closed ecosystems are complex and vulnerable to unplanned events.”

Kind of like life, no?

The tour led us through the ‘Desert,’ the ‘Ocean,’ and the ‘Rainforest,’ before taking us backstage, to the underground machine rooms that make the Biosphere, um… Sphere.

At this point, I’d seen enough. The tour went on, and on, and on. I briefly considered using the emergency axe to make an escape, but simply told the tour guide I had to leave. He nodded, we shared a ‘I know this place is loony’ stare, and I left.

They never did show us where the Biospherians grew their weed, I guess that is on the VIP tour.

One more brief stop for one more Ghost Rider Tribute, and it was time to make a beeline to Sky Harbor International airport, where I made my flight with plenty of time to spare. Before boarding my flight, before imprisoning myself in a tube to breathe recycled farts for two hours, I snapped one, final Ghost Rider tribute, from the parking lot of the airport.

In two days I’ll be back to Phoenix for the week long terror fest known as Wrestlemania.

More? Click Here!

Leaving Bisbee was hard, as leaving any truly great place is. But sometimes in life, you have to make hard decisions, and with my flight booked out of Phoenix to the final WWE show before Wrestlemania eminent, it’s time to make the hard decision and head north.

A stop in Tombstone made that decision a little easier, for a few minutes.

I hitch Rain Cloud Follows to the sidewalk, and mosey down Main Street.

Tombstone is a tourist trap, but it is a cool one, because at least they have gunfights on the hour. Any tourist trap can be made infinitely better with the simple addition of a gunfight. Instead of watching the battle, which I have already seen, I stop into my favorite Tombstone watering hole for a quick beverage.

The beverage goes right through me, and I see this sign in the Cowboy’s room.

I Wonder If They Knew I Was Coming?

To my horror, when I return to Rain Cloud Follows, I can tell something is wrong. After a quick check, I realize some slimy little shit, some random scumbag stole my favorite possession, the Kingdom of Rhode Island flag that I’ve proudly flown on every ride I have taken on Rain Cloud Follows.

Missing – Reward for Capture of Flag Thief

Tombstone is still a pretty lawless place. Where is Wyatt Earp when you need him?

Shit.

After fantasizing about hangings, drawing and quarterings, waterboardings and other messy methods of punishing the Flag Thief, I resolve to get over my loss and somehow find the strength to carry on. The fact that I am heading to the Kitt Peak Observatory for an evening of stargazing makes this resolution easier.

But first, my Ghost Rider Tribute, which I changed up so the missing flag wouldn’t be noticed.

Kitt Peak Observatory, located about forty five miles outside Tucson, hosts twenty-six telescopes. A Nightly Observer program offers, for a small fee, the opportunity for visitors to use one of their sixteen inch telescopes to peer out at the universe. When I found out about the program a few weeks ago, I immediately signed up.

The ride up to the top of Kitt Peak is exhilarating, I’m easily the first to arrive. The group, almost forty strong, is excited to learn about the stars and see some up close and personal. But first, we gather outside to watch the sunset.

With the distracting sun safely out of the way, we are taken on a tour of the universe, first with binoculars, then, what everyone is waiting for, through the telescope.

I have to admit that the views were somewhat disappointing. While I was expecting this view of the Cigar Galaxy:

Through the sixteen inch eye of the Schmidt-Cassegrain telescope, it looked more like this:

Then, our guide explained that the light from the Cigar Galaxy that we were seeing left that galaxy about twelve MILLION years ago, and is just now reaching the Earth. For all we know – and there is no easy way to tell with any amount of certainty –  the Cigar Galaxy might not even be there anymore.

Because of the enormous distance involved, what we are seeing at that moment is what the Cigar Galaxy looked like twelve million years in the past. This is such a huge mind fuck it still makes me dizzy just thinking about it. Telescopes have a way of putting everything in perspective, and making me feel incredibly small and insignificant.

The fun wasn’t over when the program ended, not by a long shot. At the end of the viewing, our guide announced, “Folks, as there is active astronomical research going on all night, we need a favor from you. Light from headlights can mess up sensitive telescopes, so we ask as you leave that you please refrain from turning on your headlights until you are one mile down the access road.”

Ummm…. Say what?

After asking if they were out of their minds, I tell them I can’t just switch off my headlights. The guide assures me he is serious, then offers a low tech solution – taping manila folders over my headlights. Oh yeah baby, I’ll just use the force to get down that first winding, windy mile of mountainous road.

This is what the first mile looked like:

And not just because I had my eyes shut for most of it.

The remaining miles back to Tucson were much less exciting as that first mile was. For anyone interested, I can highly, enthusiastically, one hundred percent recommend against taping folders over your headlights and descending a mountain road at midnight. My toast that night is to the Best Day Ever to Still-Be-Alive-After-Blatantly-Cheating-Death-on-the-Side-of-a-Mountain.

More? Click Here!

Standin’ on the corner in Winslow, Arizona, and nothing happens. No girl, my Lord, in a flatbed Ford, or anything else for that matter slows down to take a look at me. Ah well, back to runnin’ down the road to Bisbee.

The temperature stays in the low 50’s, and at these high elevations, snow still lines both sides of the road.

Then, finally, thankfully, the elevation starts to drop. Suddenly, where there were pine trees and snow there is now cacti and sand. That’s more like it!

My Garmin Everlost routes me off the highway, and for a change, I am happy for the detour. Usually the little wonder of technology will have me exit the highway only to perform a U-Turn or two and get right back on. This time the Garmin has excellent scenery and roads on the mind (or memory chips as it were) and I’m along in the Tonto National Forest for the ride.

The remaining miles between me and Bisbee decrease, speed and time conquering distance as always. The sun sets and the last fifty miles to my home for the night are completed in darkness.

Copper Queen Hotel – The Next Morning

I check in at the Copper Queen Hotel, and am told the room next to mine is supposedly haunted. I thumb through the Ghost Journal on the counter; some of the stories are quite well written. I don’t really believe in ghosts, but you never know…

I have dinner at a local restaurant, and the hostess, a kind older lady offers up the line of the night. A strange couple sits next to me at the bar, a couple that can’t seem to keep their hands off each other. When the hostess asks for their order, the lady spells out a complicated list of changes she wants to her dish, including adding shrimp. The hostess informs the woman that adding shrimp will result in a $3 additional charge, to which the woman starts loudly complaining. The hostess leans in close and whispers, “Listen lady, I’m pushing 70. Do you really think I need this shit? So, tell me. Do you want the shrimp or not?”

Stunned, the woman at the bar says, “Ummm, yes. OK.” My new favorite hostess then responded in a loud voice, “Well, the customer is always right!”

There is plenty of entertainment to be had in Bisbee, ghosts or not. The newly opened Old Bisbee Brewing Company is a great place for an India Pale Ale or three, and a story. After ordering my second, the bartendress, a cute girl around twenty-five asks if I’m enjoying the brew. Being a bit of a beer connoisseur, with the beer connoisseur belly to prove it, I reply, “Yes, very much. It’s just right.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear that. I’m the brewmaster, and that’s my recipe.”

Woah. Interesting. A girl brewmaster that makes excellent beer. If it wasn’t for Fiona………..

Turns out the Old Bisbee Brewing Company has only been open about a week, and on the night I am there, the place is packed. Mindy, the brewmaster, attended Brewmaster school in England. I sample every beer in the place, and have to say that there wasn’t a bad one in the bunch. Beer school paid off for Mindy.

I walk around Bisbee, and am almost in a constant state of amazement. Everyone in the town, from local residents to tourists says hello, which seems to have become a lost art in most parts of the US. Usually a single traveler in a bar will be roundly ignored, in Bisbee that doesn’t happen, because you aren’t a single traveler for long, you are almost instantly absorbed into a group. In an alleyway I’m convinced for a second that I see a ghost, then I wonder if it’s just the after effects of Mindy’s brewmastery.

Further down Brewery Avenue, I do another double take.

A house sits on the corner that is so interesting I have to go back in the morning for pictures, and to make sure I’m not losing my mind.

Yes, Bisbee is a very interesting place. I vow to come back someday, but as the Road to Wrestlemania is winding to it’s inevitable end, I know I have to leave. With one night left, and one more fun stop planned before work interrupts my ride once again, I sadly point Rain Cloud Follows away from my new favorite town towards the drier pastures of Tucson, then Phoenix, and the reason for this whole ride – Wrestlemania XXVI.

More? Click Here!