Texas revisited

I head back west after leaving New Orleans. Back into Texas after crossing the northern stretch a week earlier. The road is flat and passes the swamplands of Louisiana, the dirty Gulf of Mexico, traffic through Houston and finally into Austin in time for a Saturday night on 6^th street. Austin calls itself the ‘live music capital of the world’ so the main drag is quite alive the night I arrive. I listen to a great local band for a few hours, the kind where the guitarist plays with his teeth and have a strong local following. I meet some guys who get me into a sweaty nightclub, the kind I haven’t been to in a while but G would be proud of.

I stayed with Sharon and her daughters whilst in Austin, an interesting woman who has been hosting international students and travelers for years in a great house in the hills surrounded by trees, modern mansions and manicured lawns above the city. It was a relaxing time to recharge while Sixto got his 6,000 mile service. I spent a few days chilling in the backyard with their border collie, eating fresh eggs from the chicken coop, spotting the roaming deer, visiting the bat colony, walking along the lake, cruising the city streets and an afternoon at a history museum. The city left a great impression on me, great size and climate, an energetic atmosphere and a beautiful dammed river the runs through the centre.

 

 

I’m lucky enough to briefly meet Wade, from southern NSW when dropping my bike off for a service who had just completed a ride with his mate from Alaska to Antarctica and he passes me the details of Hank who he recommends I get in touch with because of his knowledge of riding throughout Mexico. After a quick email I find myself riding down to a small oil mining town in southern Texas where Hank runs his BMW motorbike workshop. It turned out to be a wise decision.

 

 

 

Salt Lick BBQ: I stop off here on the way down for an all you can eat buffet. We claim to be BBQ kings back home but these Texans do it well in this setting with tables and tables of people throwing endless brisket, pork sausage and pork ribs covered in barbecue sauce in their mouth. Enough to make  me lay down in the sun before getting back on the bike.  

 

Along with being a very friendly and helpful guy, Hank has a real passion for BMW motorcycling and is an adventure riding guru with a wealth of experience and recommendations on riding through Latin America. He offers me his couch for the night and we sit around maps and photos and put together a 'must see' itinerary of Mexico and beyond. I planned to cross the border the following day but the daunting radar weather forecast puts it off for a day so instead I hang out at the workshop and meet a few guys getting their bike serviced and feel a little underprepared and casual about my bike, gear and accessories for the remainder of my journey. Hank, what a bloke, offers me an old GPS he has at the shop along with a mesh riding jacket as he warned my leather jacket will be unusable with the tropical climate ahead.

 

 

                                         Hank & I outside his workshop:
 

I take off for Mexico eventually, but after 6,200 smooth and uninterrupted miles in the U.S. I’m pulled over by the police 16 miles from the border. Officer Lopez lets me off with a warning for lingering too long in the left highway lane without passing, though he seems more interested in trying to catch me out with an Australian license, Italian passport and a U.S. registered vehicle with a vague story of where I'm heading and is a real pain in the ass when we do a full bag search. More so, he tries to convince me that going into Mexico is a bad decision. I’ve grown exhausted from this kind of reaction in the last few weeks when I tell people I’m heading to Mexico. Everyone seems to have a feared opinion on traveling through Mexico, as if drug cartel violence targets foreigners and makes an entire country unsafe to be in. The U.S. state department website also incites this fear to travel. I prefer to settle on the experiences of those I’ve meet who have travelled through by bike who all speak highly and safely of it, with the warning that the only ‘banditos’ I'll be confronted with are the police.

Mississippi Delta

 

 

I pass through Woody Guthrie’s hometown in Oklahoma, not much to see but a few murals and pass miles of flat lands and battle more strong winds through Arkansas then finally cross one of the steel truss bridges over the wide and dirty Mississippi river into Tennessee.

 

 

 

Graceland: I stop in Memphis for a couple nights and find the main entertainment street a fun place with many bars playing live blues music and a relaxed and friendly crowd. This is the home of blues as well as Elvis & Johnny Cash's early career. After much recommendation I drop into Graceland and learn the lifestyle, achievements and demise of Elvis’ life which was worth a visit.

 

 

Mississippi: my next state and of little interest, poor and not much going on by American standards. The land is flat with cornfields and grasslands as far as the eye can see. When I got off the main highway I was looked at suspiciously and met with dead end towns. I did manage to meet an interesting guy outside a motel one night who I shared a few beers with, Brandon, recently out of the army with a strong converted political opinion and knew a thing or two about motorcycle mechanics.

NOLA: I headed this far east to make it to New Orleans, the home of jazz, cajun cuisine and Hurricane Katrina. I stayed a few days at a rowdy hostel and wandered around the town which has beautiful districts, most notably the french quarter as well as an interesting history. It was founded by the French, surrended to the Spanish in the 18th century, returned to the French then sold to the U.S. The port was important during the slave trade and civil war periods and has flourished and struggled over time due to its environmental vulnerability. The city is alive, unique, smelly, beautiful, dirty, colonial and diverse all at once. The nightlife here is surprisingly big and gets pretty loose. The young backpackers get a little exhausting but I meet some New Yorkers turned locals including a motorcycle journalist and knock back margaritas during a sunny afternoon. Everyone seems to be eating out, drinking and discussing the upcoming festivals all the time here.        

 

Get ur kicks

 

 

Route 66: I plan to spend the next few days quickly heading east with the aim to make it to New Orleans sometime next week. The simplest way is to take the Interstate 40. I quickly realize this highway runs adjacent to much of the historic Route 66 through several states. Some parts of the original highway have kept the same location and are littered with motels, obsolete motels, signage, murals and paraphernalia. Route 66 was the first American highway, it spanned from Chicago to L.A., transporting migrants since the agricultural struggles of the 1930's in search of prosperity in the promised lands. The sense of nostalgia and historical importance makes for an interesting journey. I pick it up in the high desert and ride for miles and miles thorough Texas and Oklahoma then continue on through the green pastures of Arkansas and finally the flat meadows and cornfields of the deep south.  

 

Land of Enchantment

Land of Enchantment: New Mexico is the next state I pass through. Famous for the art town of Santa Fe, the ‘UFO incident’ of 1947, chilies, the birth of the nuclear fission bomb and the setting of Breaking Bad of course. Like much of the southern U.S., New Mexico was part of Mexico until the American-Mexican war of the 1840’s. The Spanish conquistadors arrived here 400 years ago and the majority of the population has Spanish or Mexican descent. I ride through Albuquerque searching for Saul Goodman’s office and the car wash but have no luck. I chill out for a few days in Santa Fe, checking out the history museum and wander through the town and a few of the art galleries. I stayed at a traditional hostel housed in some beautiful old buildings and courtyard and meet some interesting tenants and volunteers.  

I take a ride to check out the Science museum at Los Alamos which was transformed into a clandestine town during the WWII to house the ‘Manhattan Project’. Scientists from all over the world were sent here and together they devised the first nuclear fission bomb which was eventually dropped on Hiroshima & Nagasaki. A pretty eerie atmosphere and sterile town with many active laboratories used today.  

 

Bandelier National Park: I hike to a nearby cave set high into the mountain that was part of an Indian Pueblo community.

American canyons

 

 

Grand Canyon, AZ: a night of camping and riding along the southern rim

I follow the Colorado river and travel through more canyons until arriving at Bryce Canyon National Park in Utah. As I drop into the visitor centre there’s a few bikes parked and head over to chat to the guy and girl near a Bonneville, the first I have seen in the states since leaving the dealership. It turns out Robin has an issue with his chain so we throw around some ideas until a Triumph mechanic fortunately happens to turn up so we settle on his advice. Pam and I cruise along the canyon rim until dusk, a really beautiful spot.  
 

 

Bryce Canyon, UT: more diverse than the Grand Canyon
 

Bryce Canyon, UT: I stay the night in the canyon - a few beers, bike talk and camping with Robin and his T100. I leave with Robin’s map taking recommendations from his previous few days.

 

 

 

Glen Valley, UT: See the video below, this was my favourite day of riding so far, I covered 400 miles riding above and at the bottom of several canyons, clear sky, winding roads across rivers amongst an alien landscape. 

 

 

 

Moki Dugway, UT: I reach here late in the day delighted with the views. My tires aren't suited for these types of dusty, gravel roads so I descend the canyon switchbacks cautiously. Exciting stuff. 
 

Colorado: From the deserts and canyons I soon cover parts of the Rocky Mountains once I cross into Colorado. There’s some great riding through the old gold and silver mining towns of Silverton and Ouray amongst the snowcapped mountains. I stop by a motorcycle shop on the way up to try and get some help with a suspension tool I was searching for, only it’s closed but I notice someone unpacking a touring back in the bike, I greet and chat with David for a while, a real gentleman who passed on some great advice as he just returned from a five month ride through Mexico.  

California heading south

 

Yosemite NP, CA: On returning to Roseville, I bought some camping gear and headed to Yosemite National Park the following day. The highway 120 bending up the mountain was a lot of fun. I was soon welcomed by the Yosemite bugs which left stains and guts all over my headlights and jacket. Camping after a 300mile day was not so comfortable but the stopping for a couple of days in the valley was peaceful. 

Yosemite NP, CA: the high mountain pass road was closed due to snow but managed to climb high up the valley.   

The travels have been a lot of fun so far, every day just follows on from the last, at times hectic and mentally tiring, other times relaxing and peaceful. I’m enjoying socializing with the American, they love to strike up conversation and are interested in where I’m heading to and offer proud and frank recommendations of what their area has to offer. I’m meeting a variety of people in cafes, diners, gas stations, national park trails, campsites, motel car parks and bars. Their enthusiasm, warmth and well wishes make me feel good about being here. I don’t have a GPS or detailed maps so other than sketching a rough route each morning on some paper I get advice from drivers while waiting at a red light or from gas station attendants, waitresses, or even shop owners printing out maps for me. I ride most days except when stopping in a bigger town or city, usually from late morning after I carry out some daily maintenance (tire pressure, oil levels, clean and lube chain and check tension) until dusk with stops for coffee, gas, taco’s, lunch or to take in the views and silence amongst the rivers, lakes, mountains or the vastness of the canyons and desert. Motorcycling really leaves me exposed to the elements, I can be sweating through my leather jacket and thermals one moment and not long later I’m battling a fierce crosswind which blows me across my highway lane or feeling the rain drops or hail piercing my face and cursing at the sky. An open face helmet was probably not the brightest of ideas nor lack of a windshield, but I look cooler this way. I’ve learned to listen to the forecasts and read the clouds a little better and also to keep my mouth shut to avoid the bugs and flies entering. My head is filled with numbers – how many miles I have left in the tank, the distance to the evening stop, the highway number, which highway to take next. My gear has taken a bit of time to adjust and organize but I have the series of bags, panniers, straps and hooks well setup now. Am traveling smooth and easy until that first puncture occurs.    

 

 

Big Sur: great riding along the Pacific Coast Highway.

After a couple of nights at Yosemite, I headed back west to reach the much recommended Pacific Coast Highway, Highway 1. I tackled the Big Sur stretch, reminding me much of the Great Ocean Road in windy conditions. With stops in Monterrey and Santa Barbara the coastal highway brings me in to L.A. where I stop off at Neptune’s Net in Malibu, Santa Monica and Venice Beach for an afternoon and pass through Beverly Hills and along Sunset Boulevard. Two days was enough before heading for the desert.

 

Death Valley National Park: I spent two days riding through Death Valley and a night camping. The landscape here is pretty amazing, a real joy as the sun was setting with changing shades of brown, red and yellow through the valleys. It has some of the highest recorded temperatures on earth, hence the name, summer reaches into the 50’s.  
 

Death Valley salt flats: 280 feet below sea level, uncomfortably hot.

I drop in to Las Vegas from there, to see what all the fuss is about. A few days of burgers, gambling, lazing by the pool, riding the strip and drinking was a fun break. Being with a bunch of mates would have made it all the more eventful. I got chatting with many holidaymakers in search of sin and sun from all over the place between roulette spins and casino bars and caught a Beatles themed cirque de soliel. I sat at Mike’s bar one night, an avid rider who sketches out a great route for my next portion through Utah and Colorado which I take on board. I arrived with $300 in my pocket and manage to leave with similar, a big win I guess after returning to a couple of lucky casinos.

First days

I finally make it to Roseville, a small town outside of Sacramento in northern California which is where my motorcycle journey begins. A town I had no intention of venturing to but where I happened to buy my bike.

Why here? Well, Dave was most helpful and assuring when I began looking into purchasing a bike somewhere in the southern part of the United States. It turned out to be a suitable place to start, easy enough to get to and slow enough after spending the previous week between Paris, London and New York City. I had been In Paris as Jenn was running the marathon the weekend before and to see Julie & Alex. I briefly returned to London to cap off seven great weeks with Jenn and old friends then New York as a pit stop in crossing the Atlantic. New York was endless walking and adjusting to the American way whilst meeting the amicable Ben through airbnb and crashing on his couch for a couple of days. A delayed flight and bus then brought me to Roseville, an uninviting highway town at first impression but a fresh start to good times ahead. When I arrived at the motorcycle dealership, I was directed to the Triumph section and before me happily sat my bike, behind a sign – ‘Do not sit on – this Bonneville now belongs to Joe.’ After many emails and phone calls I finally met Dave and within a couple of hours the discussions and handover were complete and I cruised out of there. I adjusted to the right lane driving and learnt the bikers salute and now can’t pass a bike without a low wave. Here we are ….

 

 

Me & Sixto:

 

As the first service was due after 500 miles and I was reluctant to do it myself, I planned a week long circuit to build up the mileage and return to Roseville where the service was carried out in-house at the dealership. This gave me enough time to cruise through a section of northern California, the wine country, the northern part of the pacific coast highway, San Francisco and the bay area to pick up my permanent registration and title papers. In order to purchase the bike I needed a local address. I managed to get in contact with Adam a while back, an old friend I had met in backpacking in Vietnam years ago who was happy to help out and let me have documents sent to his apartment.

Napa & Sonoma Valleys, CA: the famous wine regions of California. My self-imposed ‘no drinking while riding’ prevented me from entering the cellar doors but the isolated, winding roads in the sun were a lot of fun.

Golden Gate Bridge, San Francisco, CA:

  

 

Sixto: My bike is a Triumph Bonneville, English designed & engineered that has been around since the early sixties and making a resurgence in recent years. 865cc, twin cylinders, fuel injected. His name is Sixto. He gets a lot of attention on the street, ‘where you headin’ to man?’, ‘hey, sweet ride man’, ‘whoa man, they still making them?’. I’m enjoying meeting older guys who have a story to tell about when they owned a Bonneville back in the heyday, the 68’ or 73’ models, the 650cc, back when they vibrated like hell so I’m told. It’s great to see the smile of their faces whilst they reminisce. I’ve had so many encounters of this type, some at gas stations, others in car parks that go on for a while or until the wife pulls them away. Just today I stopped to chat to a beggar who told me of the Bonneville’s he and his mates had while stationed at Pearl Harbour in the 70’s and at the end of each tour they would sell them to newcomers at $1/engine cc, another told me how his caught on fire while riding to school. Always an easy way to get some conversation started.