A Ride Around the Grand Canyon

The mythical JWayne, SKroge, bikes with trailer in background at Uncle Val's. Photo by Val

On Monday May 12, (I know, I know, I'm slow but I'm posting!) the Mythical JWayne and I put our bikes in his new, enclosed, two-place, bike trailer and headed for Mesquite, NV. It has been a dream of JWayne's to have such a trailer and drive close to the stretch you actually want to ride the bikes and then take off on them more fresh and relaxed having covered most of the nerve wracking freeway travel in a comfortable vehicle, not that there is anything wrong with riding the bikes all the way. Some may accuse us of not being "hard core" but to them let me say join the Marines then! It had been snowing in Utah valley a day before we took off but the weather was fine in NV save for the strong winds. Ever ride a bike in strong winds? Heaven when it's at your back, hell when you head into it or it blows across you. Sometimes a full lane change occurs without your having done anything! After a wonderful breakfast in the Virgin River Casino, where we stayed, we bashed out down I-15 in the direction of Las Vegas. We got off the freeway at Logandale and took the old US route 91 along the gorge around the lake to the Hoover Dam. It was a bright, glorious, traffic free ride.

Lake Mead in the upper right of the photo. I am riding the red bike.

At the dam spillway overlook

In the upper right of the photo you can see the columns for the new flyover bridge that Homeland Security is building to keep the traffic off the dam and us safe from all the marauding terrorists schlepping megatons of explosives with them to blow up the dam. Once again, Big Brother is taking care of us. I understand this is now true of all major dams in the U.S. Traffic may not longer travel on them. Heavy security, very similar to flying, to tour the dams now.

One of my favorite dams, done, very nicely, in the Art Deco style.

From the dam we headed east towards Kingman and Williams AZ. Once we had wound our way up out of the Colorado gorge it was a pretty straight, flat shot into Kingman. After a wonderful dinner lunch in Kingman we pushed on towards Williams where we planned to spend the night. This highway is the remnant of the famous, old US Route 66 (Now supplanted by I-10 for the most part). The are several salty old towns along this route, all of them heavily tauting their Route 66 heritage. Williams is a beautiful little railroad town located in the same mountains as Flagstaff. As we climbed closer we saw windrows of snow that had been pushed to the side of the highway! It had snowed there the night before! The same storm that had just left Utah. We got a funky old hotel in the old part of town and had a gourmet meal at a local restaurant. Williams still has a train that runs straight north to the South Rim of the Grand Canyon. It is a fairly well known attraction.

The next morning we headed due north on the same route as the old railway. It was a brisk and refreshing 31 degrees Fahrenheit as we struck out for the South Rim. Hm, lets see, 31 degrees minus 65 mph wind chill is... minus---, oh well you can imagine. It was a wee bit nippy. What a beautiful ride though, out across that high plateau to the Canyon.
At the Canyon for the umpteenth time one is still awestruck and breathless at the scope and grandeur of this hole! It is simply unfathomable and indescribable. We ran into many travelers from other lands. Here I am chatting up a couple from Germany. I heard them speaking German and asked them in German where they were from in Germany. They said "Muenchen" and then made my head big as they asked which part of Germany I was from? After seven more words were out of my mouth however, there was no illusion more that I was indeed an Ami.

From the Canyon we dropped down to the east to Cameron Junction and US 89. It may be getting older and more critical but it seems like these once great sources for some serious Native American Art (Cameron Trading Post) are virtually all going 100% to Chinese made items. They still have the Gallery where one can find some choice items, but the prices make them unobtainable. JWayne was interested in the Navajo lady they have there weaving a rug. From Cameron we rolled up 89 past the Tuba City, Hopi Mesas junction, along the Gap (no we did not get a ticket from the Rez police this time), and climbed up on the Bluff to Page. The hogans are all gone as are most of the old government provided cottages (euphemism for shacks). It is all trailers on the Rez now. Page too has changed greatly. It is hard to believe this was ever a small town of a few trailers and government prefabs in the '60s. It is a sprawling Vegas style city ala St. George. There we had lunch and fueled. We spent a moment at the dam but even though the gorge may be deeper, the architecture of the dam is not nearly so compelling as Hoover. The drive into Kanab has always been beautiful. Again however, thirty miles from Kanab we began to run into the sprawl of second homes and tacky resorts that plagues these beautiful little places. We humans will sell anything or anyone for a buck!

The ride from Mt. Carmel Junction to Zion was lovely. All government land and undeveloped.

Zion in the late afternoon-evening is lovely. The light is almost magic. Here we are parked in the obligatory Zion Stau just before the long tunnel. Big buses and motor homes need both sides of the tunnel to make it through.


This is near Steve Jr's favorite jumping off place for canyoneering in Zion. We made it on into St. George for that evening and stayed in one of my favorite motels on St. George Blvd. the Econo something. There is a great little restaurant just next door. It is right across the street from Nelson's Custard shop.

The next morning at O' dark thirty we headed for Santa Clara and the old US 91 route out of town. We passed the only redeeming things left in Washington county, the Kayenta development and the Shivewits Rez to "Utah Hill." This is the long pull out of Beaver Dam AZ up into Utah. I remember as a small lad in the '50s seeing car after car pulled off along this stretch with steaming radiators pouring water from their canvas water bags into the radiators. In the "olden times" we had these large, canvas bags we would fill with water and hang from the front bumper, which in those days always had the vertical guards. As the water wet the canvas of the bag the wind would evaporate the moisture which would cool the water inside like a swamp cooler. Pretty effective for low tech. One simply could not travel too far before refilling the bag or this evaporation would significantly deplete the volume in the bag. I remember more recent times, still before the freeway, when folks did not heed the "turn off your air conditioner" signs, also with steaming engines along the side of the highway. It was about an hour back to Mesquite and breakfast with uncle Val at the Virgin River. At his home we packed the bikes back in the trailer and in five hours we were home again. An almost perfect ride, time, distance, weather and scenery wise.

We Love the New Addition

The house is working out so nicely for family gatherings and our everyday cooking, entertaining and living. Our family "Sunday Dinners" and holiday gatherings are wonderful. It is so nice to have room for us all. The little 9'x12' kitchen was a bit cramped. The large windows give a feeling of being outdoors in the trees and garden.

Looking east

Looking west

We love the space we now have for all of us to sit and visit while others may be at the sink or counter.

Annika, Steve, Camille and Tiffany

Tiffany, Annika, Ann & Opa

Alexandra

Ann and Holden

Holden and Poppa Colton

Holden and Momma Millie

Tynan "The Dark One"

SOMEONE thought it would be a good idea to get another dog to keep Fergus company and give him someone else to jump on and chew besides us. Well, after much debate and cajoling, enter Tynan. Same kennel and same breed. Not brothers but kennel-mates. He is smaller than Fergus and calmer. Fergus wears him out as much as he wore us out. Like having another baby, it is much more than twice as much work. For all his energy, Fergus is a quick study with house training and basic commands. Tynan, bless his heart, is sslloooooww on the pickup. After six months he seems to have the basics down. Nothing fancy mind you, just the basics. Fergus has been a patient mentor but seems to be holding back less these days. It gets rough sometimes. Long story short, they are a lot of fun and companionship for us as well as each other. The imagined goals have been, for the most part, met in reality.

Fergus (ne Riddock and sometimes Roger)

I know, I know, I know, I was never to have another wife nor another dog! But you see, it has worked out so well with the wife thing that I thought, well, I can handle a dog too! She could even help.

In Kensington Garden, on Primrose Hill, all over England the dogs were so lovely, so well behaved and so accepted and tolerated by all, that Ann and I started talking about dogs. We saw one of my favorites, the Norfolk Terrier whilst on Portobello Road but Ann said it was too short in the leg and too fuzzy. She saw the Border Terrier and liked it better. A bit longer leg and less fuzzy. I told her that was because of the grooming. They can be fuzzy too unless kept groomed which can be a lot of work. We returned home and one day searching for dogs on the internet I was looking for Norfolks, none available, (rather rare and hard to find) Borders, did not like the look of the dogs available nor did I get a good feeling about the breeders or kennels. So for chuckles I looked at my old friends the Jack Russel Terriers and their were hundreds of beautiful dogs for much less money than the rarer breeds. I could not however, shake the memory of all that white hair that Oscar, a Jack I had many years ago, shed. Then clear at the end of one of the last search pages I saw this Hunt Terrier as they are called in the U.S. There were not many of these dogs available either and most that I saw were just flukes in breeding Jacks. The Hunt Terrier or more correctly (I love to research these things) the Old English Black and Tan Terrier was in the ancestry of the Jack Russell Terrier so there are some pups, colored somewhat like the old ancestor that pop up in the breed. Again, I did not like the examples available nor the back-breeding techniques used to redevelop them. My curiosity was piqued that the breed still existed, having, I thought, died out many years ago. After more searching, I ran across this kennel in up-state New York, whose owners had traveled back to Ireland and collected several pups of the original, existing, old bloodlines. The dogs are beautiful, they look right and the breeder is this wonderful Granola who loves her dogs and takes great pains to offer only great dogs. I showed these pictures to Ann and she replied, "hm, I guess I could live one of those." This was a Saturday night. Well, you know me, by Sunday contact was made, questions asked, promises made and gifts exchanged! In discussing, well, telling Ann she said, " You what?!"

Originally, after Ann got used to the idea, we were going to get on the list for one of the pups that would be ready in a month or so. In going back to the site numerable times I saw the picture you see above. His kennel name was Riddock, from the smooth meadow in Irish. I called her and asked if Riddock were available to which she said, "oh, you are ready right now. My brother-in-law is headed to Syracuse on Wednesday and I could get a two stop flight to SLC on Delta. So I tell her that would be great. That is my conjugal visit night in SLC anyway so it was perfect really. Ann was somewhat less dismayed at the news this time. This was still Sunday you see. We were both very excited until Wednesday finally arrived. There was a tense moment when we arrived at thee Delta cargo depot as the flight from Syracuse was late and had cut the passing time in Atlanta to only twenty minutes. There was no record of his having been unloaded, let alone cross-loaded in Atlanta. The chap at the counter said this may be good news, that they had rushed him plane to plane without logging him through. There was also no record he had been hung up in Atlanta. The plane landed in SLC a bit late and there were back and forth from the counter to the baggage handlers but no dog. After about another half an hour the radio crackled and the kid said he had a dog and was on his way over. When we finally saw him, he met every expectation. We have chosen the name Fergus, a virile man, at least a few more months anyway. He is settling in to life with us, or are we settling in with him, very well. He is brilliant as well as handsome and could write, I am sure, if he could hold a pencil, without chewing it to bits, long enough.

I empathize with you new mothers out there, these new babies are a full time job! I have had to put this blog together during naps.




Winnie gave him a rather disdainful sniff and later a warning growl, probably because of his exuberant jumpiness. He immediately respected that and stayed a very calm and a somewhat respectful distance off for the rest of the walk, whilst she ignored him. I told you he was a quick learner. The girlies are traumatized of course. Way too much jumping and licking. Young Holdie Woverhampton however, is absolutely thrilled at Fergus' enthusiasm. Probably life with old Ray Ray has helped. Let's hope the old Verboten are not validated this time around.

From Berlin to Prague and back to London

Before we left Berlin, we were able to visit with friends of Stephen whom he met during his mission many, many years ago. Gisela Woite made delicious Bienenstich Kuechen and Apricose Torte to take to the Grauerts, Raimund and Traudl, who aren't able to get out of their home much. Traudl was recovering from a bad fall and a broken nose. Gisela took us to Prinzlauerberg Platz where we walked around an old East Berlin neighborhood and had a delicious dinner. We had probably the best Italian gelato EVER! On Potsdammer Platz, of all places. (You kids will remember)

GISELA, RAIMUND, ANN and TRAUDL - KAFFEE KLATSCH

On Sunday morning (10/7) we picked up a car and headed to Prague. Dresden is on the way so we stopped off to take a look at the amazing rebuilding of the center of the city which was virtually leveled by the American fire bombing during World War II. Since the fall of communism in 1989, the German government has begun restoring old Dresden. A number of buildings have been rebuilt, being put back together like a puzzle. The most recent completion is the Frauen Kirche. The new stones only noticeable by the brightness of the stone, compared to the smoke blackened old stones. They've made wonderful progress.

On to Prague where we met up with Ed Barner and had a dinner of Czech goulash or pork on potato pancakes and sourkraut. We had a lovely view of the Charles Bridge and the Prague Castle, all lit up with bright lights. Unlike Dresden, Prague was virtually untouched by the destruction of the war. Unfortunately, much of the city is marked by the more modern stain of graffiti. It seemed to be everywhere, with no regard for the beauty and grandeur of the building or monument. You see the base of the former, obligatory, Stalin statue high above the river. Prague was one of the last cities to tear down their statue when the Stalin cult fell out of vogue in the 50's. There is now a large metronom atop the spot. No one seems to know why or what the significance is.

THE FORMER STALIN STATUE, NEW ART

We went on a wonderful tour of the old castle, set up on the hill. Stephen's special favorite is St. George's Basilica, which is so simple in comparison to the ever present baroque cathedral, somewhat reminiscent of St. John's Chapel in the White Tower in London.

ST.GEORGE

The next day we escaped the swarming tourists (so many of them in October!) and took a walk along the heights, through Letensky Park high above the Vltava. We had a panoramic view of all the bridges, there must be nearly a dozen, including the famous Charles Bridge which was covered with tourists as thick as runners at the start of a marathon. We didn't mind since we were so far away.

ANN ON THE CHARLES BRIDGE

Early the next day (10/10) we started our trip back to Berlin. It was a rural route back, through the Ertzgebirge (mountains) where they make the wonderful wooden Christmas ornaments and smokers. In Germany they drive on the right side of the road (e.g. the correct side of the road) so this wasn't nearly the harrowing experience as the drive through the English countryside. Then back on the autobahn, into Berlin for one last currywurst and a set of discs for the philosopher, back out the Holiday Inn which was conveniently located right next to the Schoenefeld airport for our early flight the next day.

BACK IN KENNSINGTON GARDEN

Back in the Liverpool Road station. We both know the language and the tube stations and it almost feels like coming home. We checked into the Westland right around the corner from the BYU center, had a little rest, then headed out for walk in Kensington Gardens. It was a glorious day that couldn't even be spoiled by the inexplicable exhibit at the Serpentine Gallery (whaling boats and whale fat, technical climbing, and plastic). We had a look at the Queen's Gate which was manufactured by the Coalbrookdale iron factories (where we saw the Iron Bridge). Ann was hankering for a burger and fortunately, because McDonald's is simply NOT an option, London has a chain called the Gourmet Burger Kitchen (GBK) that fit the bill and was delicious. Then a reunion with family at the center.

We have a few more days to get our fill of London, and then we are looking forward to returning to our own cozy little cottage.

From Shropshire to Berlin

We're so glad we were able be together in London with Hank and Colette for a few days. We enjoyed Kew Gardens, “Michael Clayton,” walks and meals with you both. We left London Monday morning (10/2) and arrived at the Oxford station during a steady rain. Not far from the train station was a Thai restaurant that provided delicious lunch and temporary escape from the downpour. We decided to stay in Oxford overnight in a charming hotel whose pub was featured in Inspector Morse mysteries. The rain finally stopped and we enjoyed walking around the town and the Oxford colleges. The trip from Oxford to Shropshire and the Iron Gorge was harrowing, with Stephen expertly adjusting to the wrong side of the road, with only a few narrow misses on the narrow country roads. We arrived in Ironbridge several hours later, side mirrors in tact but Stephen had difficulty peeling his fingers from around the steering wheel. Stephen was so drained from the trip, and so enamored of the Iron Bridge, that we decided to stay two nights in the charming town at the base of the bridge. We found a wonderful little B&B called the Swan that seemed to echo with centuries of travelers and beer swillers. The bridge was maybe not so imposing as we expected, but we met an engineer from the National Heritage Sites who was recording the movement of the bridge, who gave us some interesting information about the bridge and the challenges that organization faces with over 360,000 sites and only 12 engineers.Leaving Shropshire Thursday (10/4) was less stressful since we had decided to take the M54 to the M6 to the M5 to the M42 to the M40 to Oxford. At least it was three lanes wide, more room for error. Then a trip by train from Oxford to Paddington, the tube from Paddington to Liverpool, the express to Stansted (which I might add is the most frustrating airport we've ever experienced) and a plane to Berlin. Planes, trains and automobiles all in one day. That was a first for Ann.Schoenefeld is a small airport by Standsted, Gatwick or even SLC standards so was easy to get through. The train took us straight into town, to a station close enough to walk to our hotel, passing a Currywurst stand for a late-night snack (it was 11pm by then). Hunger is the best chef and that was the best wurst ever.Friday (10/5) we went on a death march, even by David's standards, through Berlin Mitte. We calculated a total of around 12 or so km from our hotel through Tiergarten, around the Grosse Stern, past the Reichstag, through the Brandenburg Tor, down Unter den Linden, past Humboldt Universtaet, to Museum Island where serendipity delivered a huge (both in size and numbers) exhibit of Botero sculptures on the green in front of the Berlin Cathedral. Then around the museums and a walk to the Haeckesher Markt Station and a train back to our part of town, more walking to the hotel. Short rest then more walking to meet up with Stephen's friend, Giesela, where she fed us a lovely dinner and then hosted a sightseeing trip to Potsdamer Platz where we walked more and saw where Sony and Daimler-Chrysler and Deutsche Bahn have all built immense and modern buildings surrounding many shops. Sleep came quickly once we finally put head to pillow that night.Today (10/6) we are moving more slowly with plans to meet more friends of Stephen. Tomorrow we leave for Prague where we'll visit with Stephen's friend, Ed Barner, and then it will be back to London for a few more days before we return to the motherland.

Sore Wrists and Tired Glutes

For those who occasionally check this blog, my apologies if this post is a strenuous shock. I suppose I do not spend the time I should at the keyboard, but there seem to be lots of tasks in the yard and around the house fine tuning the recent addition, not to mention luncheon dates, 4Wheeler rides and other motorcycle trips to contend with.

A week ago JWayne and his four step-sons invited me to ride motorcycles with them to Vancouver Island and back. I had recently sold my two older machines (a story for another blog perhaps) and had a new Road King so I was not completely familiar with the bike and had never endeavored such a long ride. Ann and I rode to Jackson WY last summer but that was only 300 miles in a day whereas this trip would be over 2500 miles (2555 to be precise) total. In six days that averages out to a bit over 425 miles a day and some days would be longer and some shorter because of the ferry rides. I had just recovered, mostly, from a back problem and had just injured my ankle (I hate getting older) so I had that as an excuse also.

Well, you know me, too damned much Hansen and Taylor to say no, so off we head at o'dark-thirty on Monday morning. I hate to drive I-15 in an auto during rush hour, so from Provo to Brigham was 70-80 mph, dodging in and out of traffic and being tossed about by the wind turbulence that is created by all those machine, especially the big trucks, tearing through the air at those speeds was really not too pleasant. Tremonten was the first stop for fuel and I was glad. The stress and tension of the freeway was showing in my wrists and arms as I held on for dear life. From there to Mt. Home was beautiful pastoral scenery but then the flats outside of Boise were very windy. In Boise we caught Highway 55 north towards McCall. From then on the ride was a perfect motorcycle trip. We rode along the Salmon and the Payette rivers winding up lovely canyons right up into the mountains around McCall. It is a beautiful little town. We felt we had enough daylight to make a few more miles so after supper we headed for LeGrange. We arrived as it was turning dusk, thirteen hours of riding at this point. I had cramps in muscles I didn't even know I had. The town sits on a high prairie surrounded by rolling wheat fields as far as you can see. As we traveled we had noticed several large smoke plumes from the various forest fires plaguing Idaho just now and they came to plague us as well. Every hotel and motel in this and the surrounding towns was booked full of fire fighters being rotated in and out of action. Our closest hope was another two hours away in Lewiston, so we headed out in the dark for the Washington boarder. There was nothing there either but we finally found rooms across the river in Clarkston. We had come 735 miles in 15 hours of riding and this was only the first day!

I must say things got better the next day as we headed up 95 to Couer d'Alene. We then headed west along the international boundary on 20 to the boarder crossing at Osoyoos. Again a delightful, sweeping road through the mountains. Osoyoos, I love to say that, lies in the very beautiful and fruitful Okanagan valley. Which is really sort of a continuation of the farming country around the Tri-Cities in Washington. The farms were magnificent. Neat, well cared for and lush. A large number of them now owned by Iranians. The town is set on the lovely and long Lake Okanagan in the Canadian wine country. Perfect for grapes along with the other fruits.


From Osoyoos we rode west on Highway 3 towards Vancouver, again along a lush valley filled with these beautiful farms. The thing that struck me most about these little farm towns in Canada is that they build their new homes up on the foothills above the farm ground thus preserving the farms. Here in "God's land of the free" the nice flat farm ground is the first that gets covered with subdivisions thus ever reducing the ground available for growing food. It pains me that we are so short sighted. We talk about the Middle East holding us hostage over energy, but what will we do in ten years when Mexico, Chile, Argentina and Australia blockade our food? Crossing the Rockies and dropping down into Vancouver was breathtaking. After lunch we rode through the city to the west side and caught the ferry for Nanaimo. There was quite a crowd waiting for the ferry but they loaded motorcycles first so we went straight to the head of the line. Riding on the ferry was a breath of joy as it afforded a couple of hours out of the saddle. The crossing was smooth and restful. We offloaded in Nanaimo and proceeded down the island to Victoria for a nice night's rest.

We arose at 04:00 to catch the 06:00 ferry to Port Angeles. The weather threatened storm as we rode down the ramp onto the Olympic Peninsula, but we fueled up and headed off down the Coast Highway 101. It was once again a spectacular ride with dense forest on our left and the Pacific Ocean on our right as we wound down the road. After about an hour we got into the rain and that continued for about 100 miles. The rain suits were remarkably effective. Once we got on the south end of the storm the new washed country and brilliant blue skies with rags of clouds scudding across it made one's chest hurt with the intense beauty. To pull up across the river from Astoria Oregon with the sun glistening on it was a more beautiful sight than the Taj Mahal. I definitely want to return to Astoria to look around. It was full of art galleries, antique shops and interesting restaurants. On this trip we only stopped for fuel, food and sleep. We now headed east on Highway 30 towards Portland, staying in Vancouver WA across the Columbia from Portland.


On Friday we rode off down the highway on the north side of the Columbia River Gorge. Wow, in Utah we have no idea what a river is! It looks like one of the Great Lakes. This highway was a lovely winding ride along the river. When we reached the end of the fun, winding highway, we crossed over the river to catch I-84. As we fueled there, JWayne and I told the boys to cut us loose and head on home. A couple of them had family obligations on Saturday and since they are younger, more fit and better riders we sent them off. They did arrive back in Utah Valley early Saturday morning around 30 minutes after midnight. Jwayne and I took our time and stopped back in Boise that night and rode on home on Saturday.

Two weeks later I can look back with fondness on the trip. It is an accomplishment for me in my motorcycling life thus far.