My Arizona Weekend

There won't be a lot of narrative on this.  Basically, I rose early Saturday morning and headed north taking a detour through Sedona, Flagstaff and to the south rim of the Grand Canyon.

Sunday, I drove up through Page, Arizona across Lake Powell into Utah.

So, here's the pictures.  Click on them to enlarge.

Mountains near Sedona

Mountain near Flagstaff

Overlook at Grand Canyon visitor's center

Deep and wide

Rugged

Colorado River runs through it

My camera could not capture the grandeur

Dangerously close to the edge

Lake Powell / Glen Canyon

South of Page, Arizona

Back to Phoenix

Take me out to the ball game ...

Last weekend, while working in Richmond, Virginia, a couple of other employees/friends and I rode up to Baltimore to see the Orioles lose to the Minneapolis Twins 3 to 4.

This is the second professional game I have ever been to.  The first being in Saint Louis to see them and the Diamondbacks play.  There, we were up high in one of the boxes and felt somewhat detached from the game.  In Baltimore, it was an entirely different perspective, being down low near the third base.  I am told that the Baltimore stadium is the first stadium built in the retro fashion, instead  of a stadium that can be used for a variety of events.

I bought the peanuts but forgot the Crackerjacks.

 Swing and a miss!

Double play!

Base hit!

Daytona Bike Week

Who knows what motivates people do things?   Logically, it was foolish, given the fact that early morning temperatures had been hitting in the 30° range.  Too, a decision was rendered from a conversation happening four days earlier that caused Gary (brother-in-law) and I to plan a last minute motorcycle trip  to Bike Week in Daytona, Florida.  Neither of us are big crowd people but the idea of a long ride was certainly intriguing.

Figuring hotels would be non-existent at that late date, we reserved some "Kabins" at a couple of KOA Kampgrounds.

So, with bikes packed up, we fired up on at sunrise Thursday morning, cut through the swamps and by the time we arrived at the Hammond, Louisiana exit, our hands were burning with cold.   After warming up with a cup of coffee, we continued on east into Mississippi where we stopped often for thawing and a nicotine break for Gary.  Each time we stopped, we would meet other riders headed to the same event.  At one stop, we met a guy whose enthusiasm for a week in Daytona was really overflowing.  We chatted with him a while and as we left, he handed us a business card with his name on it (bikers seem to be getting into business cards these days) and told if we wanted to party and hook up, to look for him.  He'd be wearing a furry white helmet with horns on it......oh yeah, I'll be looking (out) for him for sure.

The first day was somewhat uneventful and we arrived at our reserved KOA Kampground near Chattahoochee, Florida.  Certainly, not the Hilton but it beats having to throw up a tent then take it down and pack it back up if it's wet the next morning.

The next morning, we hit the road early again with temperatures still hardly any better in the early hours.  At a rest stop east of Tallahassee, we stopped for a break where Gary leaned up against his bike and it fell over.  Picking it up, we discovered he had broken a bolt on the right rear shock. It was absolutely nothing to do with maintenance error but just one of those times when road stress took it's toll.  His bike is much younger than mine with less road miles on it.

  We thought about riding on to a repair shop but the tire was rubbing the fender, so now he was immobile.  We had packed open end wrenches, socket sets, screwdrivers, Allen wrenches and even 8 point star sockets.  We had enough tools to overhaul a bike but we needed one thing......we needed a drill to remove the broken stub of the bolt.

Not knowing where any parts or hardware store was located, I began roaming the countryside until I located one in Monticello.  There, I bought a rechargeable drill and bargained with the store to charge it up for me while I went back to find Gary and determine what size bolt we would need.  I took the broken part out and headed back to the Ace Hardware where I retrieved the charged up drill and a couple of grade 8 bolts and some reverse drill bits.

Anyway, after getting back to Gary at the rest stop, where he drilled out the broken stud, we were on the road within 45 minutes and arrived in St. Augustine before dark.

Saturday morning we made the short ride down to Daytona.  As we expected, the road was full of bikes headed that way.  Arriving in Daytona, Main Street was already lined with bikes with no place to park unless we wanted to shell out $7 for the privilege.  We rode around a  couple of times before heading out to the interstate to Bruce Rossmeyer's Harley dealership, arguably the largest in the world.  It along with satellite stores selling anything from leather to Triumph Motorcycles covered acres. 

Back behind that, J & P Cycles has one of their only two brick and mortar stores.  To some, J & P is the holy of holies when it comes to motorcycle parts stores.  You could literally build your own bike from parts out of that store.  All this represented a bigger attraction than the downtown event. 

While Daytona Bike Week is not as wild and crazy as Sturgis, it does have it's sights and curiosities.  One major difference between the two is the type of biker they attract.  While Harley riders are the dominant group, Daytona pulls in the metric rider crowd, with Hondas, Yamahas and Kawasakis. 

It only took a day of these maddening crowds to make us consider

getting back home.  Originally, we had planned on taking two days but checking the weather conditions, we saw a line of thunderstorms and a cold front with it that made us think that a 13 hour ride was a doable thing.

With that in mind, we rode and rode and rode, arriving back home about 9:00 p.m. that night, tired and saddle sore from the experience.  I'm thinking around 680 miles that day.

We even forgot to buy a T-shirt.

I'm in Vidalia (Natchez)

No, not that Vidalia, the onion place, that's in Georgia.  I'm in Vidalia, Louisiana across the river from Natchez, Missippy (that's how they pronounce it).  There isn't a whole lot going on for this Vidalia except a couple of pawn shops, gas stations and fast food outlets. The hottest thing going on for Vidalia is the bridge taking you over the Mississippi River to Natchez where you can find a river boat casino and tons of beautiful antebellum homes, some of which date back the 1830s.

As for food, it's a gosh awful mix of overly fried foods, poor presentation and so-so country style cooking.  One exception I enjoy is Fat Mama's Tamales.  I don't know why, I just do.  I've been going there since it was in the old log house on Canal Street they moved from a couple of years ago.  Fat Mama's is the kind of joint that's not what I would consider a traditional Mexican or even a TexMex place.  Maybe it's MissTex or MissLaTex.  Whatever it is, you'll find the signature dish is tamales, served up in styrofoam plates and eaten on plastic tablecloths. Everything centers around the tamale whether it's a taco salad, gringo pie or chili, it's all the same meat. The only thing else on the menu that isn't linked to the tamale meat is the poboys and boudin but since I've never tried those entrees, they very well could be made from the same stuff.  Any way you look at it, it's popular with locals and travelers alike

The architecture is well preserved which makes this city just gush with quaintness.  Each year there are a couple of pilgrimages that bring people in from all parts of the country where they pay to tour the old historic homes and ride through the streets in horse drawn carriages.

It is a mix of old, new and whimsical, often bordering on political incorrectness for which I definitely approve.

Over the years, I've been through here several times but rarely had the time to just drive around and soak it all in.  Aside from the horrid food fare, it really is a special place reeking of history.

Just a couple hours north of Baton Rouge, it's a great drive up a 4 lane highway.  Years ago, before the widening and 4 lanes, it was a treacherous trip that we all dreaded but when we saw Mammy's Cupboard, we knew most of the ordeal was over.  That's one part of the "good old days" I'm glad is over.

A push barge travels upstream under the bridge

 

Night shot of the bridge from the Vidalia side

An odd display at the end of Canal Street, Natchez

The Petrie House

Abandoned Natchez Shotgun Rowhouses

Inside Fat Mama's Tamales

Home again

Doing a fast exit from Waverly, Tennessee, I am home without and temporarily out of an assignment for which grateful.

This gives me a little time to catch up on a few things, so with the help from Gary, my brother-in-law, we put the boat port/garage in good order, hung a couple of shelves and sorted things out so we could at least walk through it without stumbling over a box or crate of motorcycle parts left over from the move back in August.

The best part was installing a pair of external oil coolers on Boudreaux.  Hopefully, this will keep it from completely melting down in the event of a really warm ride this summer.

Those things accomplished, I had a little time to do some much needed chrome polishing. 

It probably won't be long before I'll be exchanging the Harley for a Boeing so I'll probably be on it as much as possible for the next few days.

The Honda Guy

Since I've been in Waverly, Tennessee, most days have been rather disagreeable. My feet feel like they haven't thawed since I was home a couple weeks ago.  It's either been raining and cold or snowing and cold, except for the 2 or 3 days this past weekend that was in the 60s and rained in biblical proportions.

Today, as I broke for lunch at McDonalds, they had spread salt on the sidewalk to prevent slipping.  In the parking spot next to the door was a Honda motorcycle which I had seen in that same spot countless number of times.  Thinking to myself, this guy is tough if he's riding in 20 degree weather with ice, snow and rain.  You have to admire him.

Going inside, I made my order at the counter to the young lady and put up with the usual questions.

"Welcome to McDonalds, Sir! How can I help you?"

"I'd like a Grilled Chicken Caesar salad and a medium iced tea."

"And what kind of dressing would you like on that, sir?"

"Uh......................Caesar?"

Paying her the $7.01 for the salad and drink, I looked around.  There he was.  The lone Honda rider sitting at a table hammering away on his laptop with his helmet on one chair and a thick jacket draped over another.

Retrieving my salad and drink from the counter, I maneuvered myself to another table in sight of Mr. Honda Man.

I noticed 3 or 4 other patrons who had walked in, some wearing Harley-Davidson caps and shirts, none of which were on motorcycles but proudly displayed their affection for  Harley-Davidsons while unapologetically riding in their warm pick-up trucks with Harley stickers on the back glass.

Now, we have the one lone Honda guy, riding to Mickey D's in the cold and wet with Harley guys riding in trucks and cars.  What do you think that tells you about Harley riders?

It tells me they are not dumb enough to be riding in 28° weather on slick roads and smart enough to stay warm when possible. That's what it tells me.

Wasting away in Middle Tennessee

Having a break from the 20 and 30° temperatures and now in the mid sixties, brought lots of rain along the I-40 corridor in middle Tennessee.  Being literally 40 miles from a town of any proportions that would have any restaurant of acclaim, I stopped in at the Hot Spot Barbeque for dinner.

If you get past the idea that you're stuck out in the middle of nothing, you begin to look around at the curiosities and odd little things that the locals do.  Here at the Hot Spot, you're confronted with a collection of corny gun and Harley Davidson signs (although there is no evidence this is a biker place), handwritten menus on the walls, plastic table cloths and..........9 pound turnips.

At first I thought it was fake but the owner soon confirmed it was the real deal  The 11 pound sweet potato behind was an added benefit.  I was amused and almost brought to tears at times as the locals bantered with the owner and kidded the two 70ish something waitresses about wearing sexier clothing.  Can you imagine Granny Clampett wearing skinny jeans?  Me neither.

Saturday, I had to get out of the hotel so I took a ride through Bucksnort, heading south through small back roads that sometimes became dirt roads where deer, turkey and rabbits abound.   I think I saw 6 deer in various places, 5 of which did not have a tire track across their bodies.

Looking down at my instrument gauge, I saw that I had a very low tire so I began to seek out a service station with an air pump.  Stopping at a small convenience store near Ethridge, I was amazed to see an Amish looking buggy pulling up.  Sure enough, two young men dressed in traditional Amish attire got out and went into the store.  Later, after checking the internet,  I found out there is a small enclave of Amish in middle Tennessee.  As one website says, it's in no danger of out populating Lancaster, Pennsylvania or Holmes County, Ohio but there is a presence as well as a few in Alabama and maybe even in Oklahoma.





Amish with a southern accent.  Who knew?

My Secret Is Out....

...I'm not 21 anymore. 

It looks like my tenure in New Mexico may be coming to an end and this could be my last weekend here for a while.  No promises but there are elements out there that are pointing in that direction.

So, to take in the a few more sights, I drove up toward Ruidoso Saturday just to see anything that might spark my interests.

About half way up, passing through the Indian Village of Mescalero, I happened up on a local parade celebrating something of what I know not.  I stopped for a while to look but unfortunately, wasn't able to get close enough before the parade was over.

Sunday afternoon found me out scouting for sights again when I remembered someone telling me about some waterfalls in the canyon going up to Cloudcroft.

With a backpack full of extra water, some emergency supplies and my camera, I gingerly made my way down the edge of the canyon.  The canyon was about 250 feet deep and 300 feet wide with sharp cliffs  along the way.  On the side next to the road, there was more of an opportunity to crawl down and many people had done so.

I emailed (GPS enabled) a cell phone photo of the back of my rental car to my brother, telling him to send the calvary if I didn't call or text him back in 2 or 3 hours, then started descending.  I won't say this was mountain climbing but the grade was loose small rocks that slipped from under my feet, making me grab larger boulders and small trees on the way down and use my tripod as a walking staff.

Getting to the bottom a small stream flowed over the rocks causing several little waterfalls.  It was cool there and gave quite a relief from the 100° temperatures down in the basin.  I snapped a few photos and talked to a few young people who came down as well.

Within 30 minutes, I felt a few drops of rain and noticed the clouds darkening and thought being in a narrow canyon might not be the best place to be. 

The trip up was entirely different than coming down.   Now, the backpack seemed twice as heavy and the rock that I had slid on coming down, now required crawling up on all fours.  It had taken me 20 minutes to get down but now, I was stopping every 5 minutes to catch a breath in the 6,000 ft altitude.

Others had started coming up too and teenage boys scrambled past me trying to get to their cars before the rain and lightening became worse.

Somewhere along the way, I stopped to let my pounding heart catch up, catch a breath and ponder what in the world made me think going down there was a good idea.  At one point, I sat and pondered what I would do if I could not continue and no one else came along.  The cell phone showed no signal available and the ground was not flat enough to sleep on.

Finally, I mustered up enough energy to get to the top where I sat in the car for a good 10 minutes with the air conditioner blowing hard while I recovered.

I confess, the reason it was hard on me was,

•  I'm not in shape, 
• the altitude was 6,000+ and........
•  I'm just not 21 years old anymore.

Grace, the Flight Attendant

"Good morning, my name is Grace and I will be your flight attendant today!", she said as the door slammed on the Delta flight to Memphis. The curious thing about this was Grace had to be 75 years of if she was a day and reminded me of the sweet little old lady that was the owner of the cartoon character, Tweety Bird that was in constant peril of Sylvester the Cat. In my eight years as a flying road warrior, I've seen some older ones but she was the oldest. In my opinion, it's quite fitting that we would have Grace as our attendant in as much as how the equipment seemed to show a lot of age and wear.

Watching and mulling over the significance of the elderly lady as a flight attendant, I noticed something lying in the seat next to me. It was a part of the overhead reading lamp fixture that had fallen off the console above my head. I decided to reinstall it myself rather than reporting it to Grace. Given their record of maintenance problems, I didn't want to risk delaying the flight.

In advance of serving refreshments, Grace announced with much detail that we would be limited on beverages because of some malfunction involving the ice machine and that somehow this had caused  an hour delay the evening before because the mechanics were trying to fix it but failed and they  were  having to order parts and on and on and on.....Whew!  She not only apologized for that but nearly fell on the sword explaining that there was a shortage of beverages as well. "I have a few Cokes, four Diet Cokes and three Sprites." What was next? Would she take the blame for the Haitian earthquake too?

Now, I'm beginning to think that if Delta is flying granny around the USA on planes that have parts falling off, refrigerators that don't work and potties that are not available, just how bad is the general condition of this plane? In the past five weeks, Delta has either delayed or completely canceled flights for me on at least five occasions for equipment maintenance problems. How old and how worn are thousands of planes flying the friendly skies? Honestly, this alarms me very much.