The U.F.O.

This bizarre vessel is situated along North Carolina Highway 12 - on the barrier island of Hatteras; which is really just a large sandbar. Supposedly, this saucer like structure had found residence in the Outer Banks, ever since a Finnish architect breathed life into it, around 1968-69. It is actually called a Futuro. It was intended as a minimalist home. This particular unit had initially been used as a vacation home by the original owners.



A few years ago I'd passed by it on a previous foray into the Outer Banks. It wasn't open and I planned on stopping back before heading north. Somehow it was forgotten.

This time after zooming past it, I wheeled back around, making sure not to overlook the unidentified flying object once again. The door was open this time. Along with the presence of the owner - Leroy.



This cat Leroy ... now he is a character. He hangs out at the ship in the afternoons selling shirts and talking to visitors. Sometimes he even dons the space suit and mask sitting in front of the space ship and messes with people.

Somehow we arrived at a conversation of our wild days in the military. We were in similar eras. He went on about how crazy things always happened in the service, especially those of us who abused substances. He was incredibly humorous, how he went on about situations while half laughing and talking simultaneously with a hippyish demeanor.

The best story he told me was about his days in the South American jungles blowing up cocaine factories. He emphatically described to me how they screwed up the first time; they were down-wind of the factory when it blew up! Leroy exclaimed, " Dude, we were freebasing! When we finally, once again, became coherent - no one remembered anything from the previous four hours."

UTAH - Ancient Lands

It was still Easter Sunday when I departed the Four Corners Monument and rolled into the impressive state of Utah - by way of the "Trail Of The Ancients".

The plan was to work my way towards Mexican Hat, where I was planning on spending the night. The day was still young enough that the "Valley Of The Gods" was also on my radar. Really wanted to squeeze it in before nightfall.



Stumbled upon Bluff, Utah. Are you kidding me ? Established 650 A.D. I'd never imagined! The oldest towns I've ever come across are 17th or 18th century. Now this mind-blower.

Shiprock, New Mexico

"STREET ART FROM THE HEART"

NEW MEXICO

Shiprock and the "Four Corners"

The terrain really starts changing as you get deeper into New Mexico. Even back in the 80's as a teenager - New Mexico and Utah spoke to me.

It really felt incredible to be traversing this land once again. But this time as an adult. Independent and doing it my way.

Since the Four Corners region was my desired destination, near Albuquerque, I'd briefly jump on I-25 North until it delivered me to route 550 or 44. Whichever one it is. One of my maps calls it 550, the other 44. Either way, this is where the riding really became serene.



Some beautiful country. Minimal cars on the road, along with gorgeous scenery. Wasn't sure on fuel availability in these parts or where I was heading, so I stopped off in Cuba, NM to top off my fuel tank.

While there, a Native who had just pulled in for gas in his truck, stopped to pick my brain on motorcycles. He was considering a purchase and was interested in my thoughts.

That is one of the benefits of solo travel. People want to talk to you. Individuals, families, all kinds. Their interested in where you're from and what it's like to travel long distances. They're even curious about your mindset and background. When you are riding in a group, perhaps you appear to be always busy or engaged with the other riders, and the locals feel as if they would be imposing. Not sure exactly, but there is much less contact when not solo.



Rolling through this area, the snow-encrusted Rockies were looming way off to the north. Even at this distance - their presence was awe-inspiring !



As I entered Bloomfield at the junction of 64, it was time to turn west. It was Easter and time for lunch. Not a lot of options on the road, so it was decided to have a whopper, black coffee, and an ice water at Burger King for the holiday.

While sitting there munching on the whopper and looking over a map to make sure I was on track, a lady came in and asked me, "Are you riding a motorcycle?" Quizzically, I answered, "Yes". That is when she informed me that a lot of fluid was leaking onto the ground under my bike.

After glancing out the window and indeed verifying this, I swiftly moved for the door. The fluid was pretty dark, but I still thought it was fuel.

Then it popped in my head: THE FUEL CELL! - that I just filled in Cuba.

Sure enough, forgot to shut off the auxiliary valve before refueling.

So, the fuel in the cell was forcing itself into the main tank which was also full. Therefore, the excess fuel was simply removing itself via the main (upper) tanks vent line, which dumps onto the ground directly under the bike.

After shutting the valve, the pool forming on the ground quit spreading. It was so dark because the old rubber vent line had not seen fuel in so long, it was being flushed out. And smelled like varnish. Like an old unused fuel tank on a barn find. Probably should replace that old vent line someday. Smelled that old varnish for the next couple hundred miles. It's been said there are only two ways a man retains anything: repetition or shock. 

Obviously repetition has failed me, maybe the shock factor will stick.

Oh well. Nothing too major. Not a show stopper. Scared me for a minute as the thought of the mighty ST chucking it's innerds flashed through my brain.

After finishing up my lunch, I'd called the Canyonlands Motel in Mexican Hat and let the owner know that I'd be there sometime around nightfall - and to ensure there would be a room.

Then, it was onward to Shiprock - with the powerful smell of varnish filling my nostrils.

A stop in Shiprock wasn't planned, but when I caught sight of the phenomenal murals adorning the whole side of a building from the road - an abrupt turn into the lot was immediately executed.



Native American and Latino inspired murals are appealing to me. As is written on one of the walls, it really is "Street Art From The Heart".

Shiprock is Navajo reservation land. It is named after a monadnock rising nearly 1,583 feet above the high-desert plain of the Navajo Nation.

While photographing the murals, an old Native came hobbling up on a cane and plopped down on the step in front of the building. He was obviously a drunk and possibly homeless.

He was beat down and looking rough, with his right eye sunk deeper into his head than the left, possibly not even functional. His skin looked as old as the earth.



He never initiated any conversation with me. Finally, I asked him if it was alright for me to take a direct picture of him. He chuckled while responding, "No, it would ruin the picture." After reassuring him it wouldn't, I left it alone.

Before leaving, I handed him a five, which he gladly accepted.

As I rolled out across the high-desert plain towards Teec Nos Pos, Arizona - this mysteriously imposing hunk of rock (Shiprock) jutting up into the sky from the desert floor stood out and was piquing my interest.



Especially when I came upon a dirt road leading towards it, along with a couple of signs associated with it. The signs obviously showed spiritual or sacred worship and meetings corresponding with this location. 



Later I would learn that the Shiprock landform was the remnant of an explosive volcanic eruption that occured around 30-million years ago!

It is also the involved in some seriously heavy Navajo legends. Something to the effect of it being the remnants of a giant bird that transported the Navajo to New Mexico from the north.

You may have noticed the silhouette of Shiprock in one of the murals.

With only a few miles to the Four Corners Monument, I'd arrived at Teec Nos Pos, Arizona. Right at the turn, there was a gas station and store, so a quick stop was made to use the facilities and look around. There were a couple of riders on KLR's from Durango, Colorado there. After a brief discussion and a few photos it was onto the Four Corners Monument.






The area is wonderful. The monument itself is no big deal. Not much there. The monument surrounded by a bunch of booths with Natives selling jewelry.

Paid the $5.00 and took a picture sitting in all four states simultaneously: Arizona; Utah; New Mexico; and Colorado. Guess it was worth it. Been wanting to do that for many years. Once is enough though.

More of Tucumcari, New Mexico

The next morning after coffee, I packed the bike and prepared to hit the road. It was Easter Sunday. Wouldn't ride as many miles today, maybe only 550, but I'd be getting into the good stuff. Was heading for the Four Corners Region and Utah.

Once again, breakfast could wait. Would get some miles under my belt first and earn it. Before departing Tucumcari, I'd ride around and snap some pictures and stop into the Blue Swallow Motel.















The owner of the Blue Swallow happened to be from Brighton, Michigan. Not too far from my neighborhood. They have a nice gift shop, and after purchasing a couple of souvenirs, I asked permission to walk around the motel grounds. Permission was granted.







As I walked around back, I noticed that there were multiple small garages with gravel floors situated in-between some of the rooms - and that they had various murals on the walls.



Had to go and get a closer look at some of the murals.

Here's a few of the more appealing ones.











The fireball was breaking the horizon. It was time to fuel up the ST and jump back on I-40 west towards Albuquerque.



On the way out, another building, splashed with murals. One more stop. You can't imagine how many times I crawl on and off my bikes for photographs! Radio Ranch. Must be the local radio station.

Tucumcari, New Mexico - (April 2017)

Route 66 - "The Mother Road"

I'd already scrolled through "Favorites" on the Zumo and hit - Go To - the Historic Route 66 Motel in Tucumcari, while I was en route. The Blue Swallow would have been my premier choice for the Route 66 experience, but all things considered - especially price - and the Historic Route 66 made the most sense.



In the end it worked out better than I could have imagined, since I was enamored with my room. The full glass window wall and retroactive furniture gave the room an amazing ambience. It fit me perfectly. Just my style. Clean and spacious and was an absolute throwback. Just the way I remembered in all of my vagabondish travels with my father. We used to live in these type of places, often for extended periods of time - mostly around the Los Angeles area. But we also stayed in many similar places, to and from, the west coast. And only $42.00 seemed unbelievable. Traveling east of the Mississippi, clean rooms can't be had this cheaply. Not to mention - they are characterless. Unless they are a fortune.



After settling in, I walked over to Del's and splurged on a steak dinner. The special - so it was still reasonable.

On the way there I'd pass some interesting places.






The motel owner was into old planes. Besides the one out front with the motel sign, there were a few shells scattered around on the premises. One was even part of the espresso shop motif. Never did get to try their coffee. Rolled into town after they closed, and would depart before they opened; the compromises of a long-distance rider.






Made sure not to leave too early the next morning. Wanted to at least roll through town looking for some murals and photo opportunities. Needed to stop into the Blue Swallow Motel also - and at least photograph their interesting grounds.

NEEDLES, CALIFORNIA - April 2017

 Upon entering the town of Needles, the first thing I did was establish a place to crash for the night, by way of a cheap motel. It was still early in the day so I had time to look around town. Being late afternoon, it was really getting hot in this subtropical desert climate. The thermometer on the wall outside of my room was approaching 100 degrees and it was only April. This town regularly sees the highest recorded daily temperatures in the U.S. during the summer, occasionally even setting world daily temperature records. The town was named after a group of pinnacles, or mountain peaks, in the Mohave Mountains on the Arizona side of the river.

Needles also lies on Route 66 and was a major stop during it's heyday. Much of the main strip seemed abandoned and desolate but there were still a few colorful murals to be found scattered about the fairly spacious small town. I say spacious because it is 6 times larger in area than my own small suburb of Detroit, but Needles has a population about 6 times smaller. The amount of the population living below the poverty level in Needles is also about 6 times higher, at 30%, than Garden City, Michigan. Needles and Detroit city proper are almost identical with their average incomes and poverty level percent. Demographics have always interested me. The town seemed fairly clean though.



The next morning I was planning on getting up early and riding hard towards home. Really hard. The plan was to attempt a Bun Burner Gold, so I extracted the associated paperwork from the waterproof, clear plastic paper holder that is velcroed to the inside lid of my side case for just such an occasion. Now to find some witnesses. The Bun Burner Gold is an extreme ride, so instead of the typical individual witness requirement, you need two, or a police officer.

Before wandering the roads of Needles, I asked the upbeat Indian (from India) motel owner to witness my papers after explaining the ride to him. No way. He was having nothing to do with signing anything. This wasn't the last time I would experience this with an Indian motel owner. Just them. Never has anyone else ever denied this simple request. Makes me wonder if they are just suspicious of getting caught up in a scam, or if they have something to hide.

Down at the far end of town (pretty sure it was the east end) I found a massive old borax wagon. This is borax wagon No. 277. It was made by the Studebaker Wagon company. A wagon factory was being established in Mohave, California about 1880, and was used by Borax companies operating east of Mohave Railhead.



Three of the wagon wheels are Conestoga wheels and one is a Mohave wheel.

The wagon was used in the filming of "20 Mule Team" starring Wallace Beery in the early 1940's.

It was brought to Needles in 1947 where it stood in front of the El Rancho Motel until 1962. The wagon was given to the City of Needles by Mr. Alexander in May of 1962.



Stopped into the Needles police department and asked the officer on duty to sign my witness paper. After I explained to him what I was doing and that I would most likely ride more than 1,500-miles the next day on my motorcycle on the way back home towards Detroit, he looked at me, while his brain processed the information, as if he was trying to decide whether to lock me up or give me a drug test. Then he shrugged it off and promptly filled in my form with his name, position, and badge number.



After getting back to my room, I'd noticed that he forgot to sign the form. Ran back up to the police station but they were now closed. The signature was probably not really that important since he even included his badge number. Just to be certain, I obtained two more witnesses: one at McDonalds and another at the local Dollar General. Then it was time to get some sleep. I'd need it.

Wandering the Desert - April 2017

 After finishing up the remainder of the Back-Country Byway in western Arizona - the ST and I crossed the Colorado River at the western Arizona border and slipped into California.

It felt really good to have finally made it all the way out to California on one of my two-wheeled mounts. For so many years I've been relentlessly pounding the pavement in the east. New scenery and new states were desperately needed.



Shortly after entering California and heading north for Nevada, I'd become turned around with the multiple signs for 95. While in a gas station, inquiring about directions, a UPS driver who was taking a break and cooling off inside filled me in. He mentioned there were multiple roads designated 95 that came through here and that it was indeed confusing if you were not familiar with the road system in this area.

- Caught this shot on the fly.



It was getting hot out there in the Mojave too. Real hot for this Northerner in April. It was in the 90's and the sun was smokin'. Guzzled down some waters. Stuffed a few in my saddlebags. Then proceeded to purchase a stick of sunscreen to apply to my face. If I was going to wander around the desert for the day, I'd better be prepared.



Entered Nevada and snapped off a picture with the state sign. Crossing state lines and snagging pictures with state signs is something that really appeals to me. It is one of many little things that inspire me; miniature milestones to gather up along the way. 



Some people like to say, "It's the journey and not the destination." I don't totally agree with this. Why would I be so naive as to think I can only focus on, or only enjoy, one or the other? For me, It's about both! The journey is wonderful. But I also feel an overwhelming sense of satisfaction from riding accomplishments and reaching destinations; on some days the emphasis is on the journey and others its more about the destination. Ideally, a nice blend of both is best.

Passed by Laughlin. No need to stop there. I'd rather just ride around the desert. "I've no desire to loose money that I can't afford, in pursuit of money that I don't deserve."



Then I jumped on 163 west across some more barren desert and mountains. Followed that to one of the other 95's. Took that south back into California. It was hot out there, but peacefull. And not many cars or people. I like that. You can just ride and relax.



Followed 95 down to another old alignment of Route 66 that runs you parallel to a train track - and through the nearly empty town of Goffs.



This dumped me back out onto Interstate 40, which I promptly continued heading west on. Figured I would continue on to either Ludlow or Barstow. I'd heard of some cool Route 66 diners and motels that resided there. But, I didn't get far before construction slowed me down to a crawl. After many miles of the construction and no end in sight, I wheeled around and headed back east for Needles. My trip was coming to an end anyway. The next morning I'd split for back home at a blistering pace. So, I'd roll back into Needles to stage myself for a big push back east and find a cozy (cheap) motel for the night. Eat. Rehydrate. Look around town - and get a little sleep.