In Honor of the Granite Mountain Hotshots.
This was to be a big trip out to Texas with stops in Arizona and New
Mexico. North Texas is
more accurate. I have never been to
Texas before and I want to see a State Park in North Texas called Palo
Duro. Some say it is like a little
Grand Canyon.
The weather has
frequently pointed me in another direction and this trip is no different. Palo Duro is near Amarillo and the day
before a tornado hit the town. The
winds are wild so I leave that trip for another day. Hopefully, my brother Gilbert can join me. Riding with a partner is always safer, but I am comfortable riding solo.
Nature has once again made a change in my direction of travel, but fate will make this a memorable ride to honor the men of the Granite Mountain Hotshots.
My iron horse - 2007 Yamaha Road Star. |
My first day is a long one, but I make Ash Fork, Arizona
before dark. My stop in Barstow was
spent with my brother Leo where we eat some Mexican food at Plata's. Leo is a regular and is frequently given
"extras", so we eat well. I
order the big dinner plate -- enchiladas, beans, and rice.
Ash Fork is a small town with one restaurant
where I usually have a hardy breakfast the day after my first camp. My beef stew dinner tonight is cooked over an open
fire. Upper Satellite, my usual
camping spot on the Kaibab Forest, is closed for restoration, so I push on a
few more miles until I see a USFS road.
This is a prime spot that I have not seen before and I call this Cow Pie
Camp.
The Native American Indians
burned "cow pies" to wart off the flies and mosquitoes but I did not
know how well they burned, so I experimented. One large "cow pie" lasted all night long. Imagine a candle burning slowly and you have
an idea of how slow they burn. The
smell was like a cigar being smoked, nothing really bad. Sleep comes easily as my bike has taken me
540 miles on this first day.
It feels
good to be in the higher elevations of Arizona and the Window Rock radio station
playing country music and Navajo chants puts me to sleep. Being a late sleeper has always come
naturally to me and the warm sunshine wakes me up.
El Morro National Monument in Northwest New Mexico. |
Today New Mexico greets me near Gallup where my bike turns
sharply south on some isolated country roads towards El Morro National
Monument. Leo said that it is well
worth the detour so I drive on, seeing such beautiful New Mexico country with
an abundance of high plateaus and piñon pines.
The sweeping vistas are beautiful and I see only a handful of cars along
the way. The National Park Service has
done a great job protecting this historical landmark and telling its story over
time.
On page 10 of Los Griego de La
Joya is some history of our early Griego family led by the Spanish explorer
Juan Oñate. His name is carved in the
sandstone and that's what really brings me here.
At marker number 12, his name and his Spanish words carved into
the sandstone appear -- The translation is "Passed
by here the Governor Don Juan De Oñate, from the discovery of the Sea of the
South on the 16th of April, 1605." The small campground is one of the best I've ever seen so I make
a mental note to camp here another day.
"Passed by here the Governor Don Juan De Oñate, from the discovery of the Sea of the South on the 16th of April, 1605." |
El Morro NM is in my rearview mirror as my odometer changes from 79,999
to 80,000 miles, so I stop and take a picture of this moment. The back roads pointing south, towards Fence
Lake and Quemado, are new to me yet, peaceful; I do not see anyone until I
reach Quemado. I dream about the
coconut cream pie that awaits me in Pie Town.
Keith and I had pies a few years ago and it was the best ever. If you blink, you'll pass Pie Town. The little store at Pie Town is closed, so I
slow down a bit to remember earlier trips and push on towards Datil, New Mexico, and the small general store that sells meat.
T-bone cooked to perfection at a camp called, Angle Iron. |
The young man asks, "How thick do you want your
steak." I nod, as he cuts off a good size piece.
My T-bone steak cooks slowly over my open
fire at Whispering Pines. It is dark,
quiet, and a slight breeze is blowing.
My bed is set up and I look up at the stars, first finding the Big
Dipper, then the North Star, and what Gilbert and I fondly call, the
"Circle of Eight."
My camp is
exactly as I left it last year, and the year before that, and forever it
seems. The rocks surround my fire and
the dirt dug is piled on the side should it be needed to smoother the
fire. My stirring stick is there in the
same spot from before and waiting to be used.
There is no cell reception here but the little transistor radio is soon
playing country-western songs from an Albuquerque station.
My steak is ready and it melts in my mouth
-- such good flavor. The bone goes into
the fire and the rest of my food is hung on a high tree branch away from the
little critters that wander during the night.
The fire keeps me company well into the night; I hear no sounds tonight
and the stillness of this place lets me sleep well. The sunshine in the morning nudges me towards La Joya. I stop for a short rest in Socorro where I
buy a cowboy belt at the Mercantile and ride onto La Joya.
Robert Griego and Art Romero - 1st cousins. |
Actually, I take a short detour to Belen where my cousin Tudie
and his wife Erlinda live. Tudie is my
first cousin and we have a good visit.
He looks good and walks every day since his injury last year.
La Joya is a magnet that constantly pulls me back to my
roots. This little village on the Rio
Grande takes me back in time, a journey I willingly take. My first stop is always at the cemetery
where I walk slowly remembering the families who are buried there. The stop at our grandfather, Pablo Griego's
gravesite is deliberate. I want to be
sure that the petrified tree and metal plaque that Gilbert, Ruben, and myself
cemented in the ground is still there.
I am relieved.
The sun and water
and time have weathered the stone and metal perfectly. It is as we left it a year ago during the
Fiestas. My random walk through the cemetery
fills my head with memories of long-lost relatives. I hope they sense that I'm here but I'm not sure. I say goodbye to them nonetheless and head
for Jewels Camp.
Our grandfather, Pablo Griego. |
The fire is strong and the water hose is nearby should the
winds blow dangerously wild. This can
be a very windy area. My cooking pot is
gone, so I must improvise. The
chicharrones and beef jerky from Leo's in Socorro complement my meal for
tonight. Before too long, Stanley
Esquibel arrives and a smile is on my face.
He tells me about the work he has done on my mom and dad's house, all to
stabilize it. He proudly shows me what
he has done and I marvel at his work.
He is a gifted carpenter but his company is even better. Soon his brother, Vincent joins us and we
talk well into the night. Vincent
brings three chairs and a very large piece of wood for our fire; all the
comforts of home.
We eat the chicharrones
and drink beer from Veguita's Trading Post. The owner, Carolyn Rogers remembers me from earlier trips and has a warm
friendly greeting. She always attends
the La Joya Fiestas and enjoys dancing and music. The morning sun wakes me again and today I'm off for Abo to see
my sister Elva and Robert Esquibel.
I
pack quickly and stop to say hello to Marcello Abeyta who lives on the farm
next to ours. He lives alone and the
walls are filled with family pictures.
There is one of me on my bike sent to him years ago. Some of his pictures fill gaps in my
genealogy records, so with his permission, I take a few pictures.
He then tells a story about my grandfather,
Silvestre Moya...."One day when I was at Magdalena running for county
commissioner, a friend asked if I knew a man by the name of Moya from La
Joya. When I said yes, he showed me a
'mochila' or blue denim duffle bag that had been in his basement for
years. The man said that Silvestre was
passing through Magdalena one day and asked if he could leave it there for a bit
but never returned for his mochila."
Perhaps my grandfather forgot about it or it was too far to travel back
to Magdalena by horse.
Marcello offers
to make a pot of coffee but I accept a cool glass of orange juice instead. He says that the drought in New Mexico is
one of the worst he's seen; there is not a cloud in sight as I say goodbye, and
head for Abo.
Abo Ruins, New Mexico. |
Elva and Robert's home has comforts far from what I am used to on this trip. The shower feels very
good and soon I am eating huevos rancheros topped with red and green chili --
so good.
That evening, the winds pick up dramatically and dust is blowing everywhere.
It is so dry that the ground can not compete with the fierce winds
without water. Soon the clouds get
darker and we smell rain. It seems to
be raining towards Albuquerque but not here.
The winds shift again, and in the blink of an eye, we see lightning and
hear thunder. I mean the kind of
thunder that makes you feel alive. The
storm is directly above us. Without
much warning, the raindrops begin. At
first, there is hail, hitting the ground violently. The lighting and thunder continue and rain, rain, rain falls at
last on some very dry earth. Elva and
Robert are so happy. For me, I had
sense enough to move my bike inside their garage where I'll sleep comfortably
tonight. "What if my camp was in
La Joya tonight I think"; the roof
over my head will keep me dry.
This is
the first good rainstorm in several months and the dry ground agrees.
This historical sign is 6 miles from La Joya, New Mexico. |
My bike is packed quickly, and right after breakfast, I'm
gone. My ultimate destination is not
clear but a decision needs to be made by the time I reach Socorro. The wind is blowing hard against me, from
South to North. My goal is to ride
towards west Texas but the wind convinces me to save that trip for another day
so I point my bike west.
I love this
ride from Socorro towards Magdalena, Pie Town, Quemado, Springerville, Show
Low, Heber, Payson, Pine, and Strawberry along Highway 260. I hope to ride as far as Happy Jack Camp,
some 50 miles south of Flagstaff, along
Mary's Lake Road.
Happy Jack Camp is on USFS land and there is a small store
and restaurant nearby. Arizona
officials have closed down all forests to campfires, so I cook my meal
with a Sterno can. My normal routine is
to lay out my sleeping gear first before dark sets but I have an unpleasant
surprise; I do not have my therm-a-rest.
This mat keeps me off the ground and assures me restful, dry sleep. My choices are limited so I begin to collect
pine needles for my bed. My rain gear
is placed on top of the pine needles and this will have to do for tonight. Thinking back, I must have left my
Therm-a-rest in La Joya. The wind was
up, so I wedged my Therm-a-rest inside the gate to prevent it from blowing
away. It is red, so with my color
blindness, I did not see it. Sleeping on
hard ground is not easy but the pine needles help considerably. It is a restless sleep, a little on the cold
side too.
Morning is slow to arrive and I move even more slowly. I break camp without haste, and head for the
cafe. Eggs over easy, hash browns, corn
beef hash, sourdough bread, coffee, and water are my order. It arrives very slowly as there are maybe 50
firefighters in this small cafe. These
are young men and they are busy eating their breakfast so I wonder if there
will be any food left over for me. They
are from Prescott, Arizona, and heading for fires in New Mexico.
I share with them the lighting and rain near
Abo, just two nights ago. In a flash,
the firefighters are gone. There must
have been lots of eggs in that small kitchen as my order arrives and I eat,
drink coffee, and think about my ride toward Flagstaff, Arizona. Mary's Lake Road is very scenic with pine
trees, meadows, and lakes. There are bicycle lanes along the highway so
this is a popular route for bicyclists from Flagstaff.
Flagstaff is one of those spots on Earth where snow can fall any time of the year, so I push on quickly toward Williams. Near Ash Fork, I scout out some future
camping spots in the Cibola National Forest; there is a good one off of Monte
Carlo Road.
Needles, California is my
next stop where my high school friends Bobby and Sandy Martinez live. It is good to see them again. It is about 98 degrees and Bobby gives me a
frozen water bottle for the road. It
thaws near Ludlow and the water I drink now is cold.
My sister Paula and Veronica and David's son, Joshua, join me for
lunch at Plata's restaurant. Paula
insists on buying me lunch which is a repeat of my other trip, enchiladas,
beans, and rice. They both look over
the pictures from my trip and we take a few more. This one is of Paula and me.
Though I still have another 5 hours ahead of me before I get
home this has been a great trip. I did
not get to Texas but I did see El Morro National Monument.
But perhaps the best part of this trip was
seeing Joshua who is now in the 11th grade.
It has been a while since I've seen him and now look up to him; he is a
good foot and a half taller than me.
I
remember first seeing him when he was born at the Barstow Community
Hospital. I also remember seeing Veronica
with her long hair and she did not look like she just had a baby.
My sister, Paula is the greatest fan of my stories and travels. Ten days and 2,253 miles. |
_________________________________________________________________________________
This is an Open Letter to the families of the
elite Granite Mountain Hot Shot Crew.....all twenty members.
I am a biker and on June 3, 2013, I was camping on some USFS
land near Happy Jack, Arizona. I had
forgotten my Therm-a-rest in La Joya, New Mexico so my camp was especially
hard. The pine needles I gathered
helped to soften the ground, but only by the smallest margin. I did not mind too much as I love camping
under the stars. However, I did move
slowly the next morning. There is a
small cafe nearby and I'm looking forward to a hardy breakfast, the next day. I think it is called the Long Valley Cafe,
but I've always called it Happy Jack.
The fire trucks parked out front do not register in my
mind -- I am only thinking of coffee and hot food. As I walk into the small cafe, I quickly see a whole bunch of
firefighters. "This is a big
mistake I whisper to myself."
I see one waitress moving quickly and I can only imagine how long it will
take for my breakfast. The waitress is
very fast and coffee and water are on my table.
Time is on my side so I relax. I
begin to look at the young men next to me. They appear to be very well fit, happy, and so enjoying their breakfast
with such enthusiasm. Secretly, I hope
there are a few eggs left over for me.
They all look like they could be movie actors in this period of time. They remind me of my son.
When the waitress hears my order -- eggs over easy, hash
browns, with corn beef hash, she writes down my order quickly and pours more
coffee. The young firefighter next to
me says, "that's what I ordered; it was very good." I see this as an opportunity to make small
talk, so I ask...."What fires are you coming from?" Many quickly begin to talk at once....what,
where, and how they left the last fire. I am impressed. "Where
are you going now?" "We are
going to fires in New Mexico," they say almost at the same time. I tell them that I just came from New Mexico
and that two days ago there was severe lighting and rain. I tell them that I like their shirts, and
the words Granite Mountain Prescott Fire sticks in my mind. I wished them well and say lastly, "Be
safe."
Quickly the fighter fighters move towards their trucks and
are gone, or so I thought. A young man
comes back into the cafe and simply says, "Thank you, sir." At the time, I thought he must be a bit
homesick but I appreciate his comment immensely.
On July 1, 2013, the headlines immediately caught my
attention. Nineteen firefighters die in
Yarnell, Arizona. They are the elite
hotshot crew from Prescott, Arizona. I
read slowly knowing that the guys I met earlier were part of the Granite
Mountain crew. Maybe this tragedy
involved another crew. The words became
harder to read but I continued and at the end "....the elite
firefighters are known as the Granite Mountain Hot Shot Crew..."
They are the same guys I had breakfast with
at the cafe; tears fill my eyes.......my wife comforts me but does not really
know why I am upset. I begin to explain
the news and my connection to these young men.
Even now, days later, I can not stop seeing those young
firefighters in my mind having breakfast at that small cafe. To their family, my tears do not stop and I
send you my most heartfelt condolences.
To the survivor of the twenty-man Granite Mountain Hot Shot
Crew, "Thank you, I am so proud of you and your service."
/s/ Robert Griego
Robert Griego
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