~ Cloride Ghost Camp video ~

"See how nature-trees, flowers, grass-grows in silence-see the stars, the moon, the sun, how they move in silence" ~  Mother Teresa

Robert and my sister Paula

"What is it like out there when you travel and camp in the wild," my sister Paula asked.

I explain to describe for her what it is like, however, her eyes show me that she just doesn't quite get it.

Unless you've done the same, it is different.

On a rugged ride out to Chloride Ghost Town, I made this video of my camp for her.

It is typical of most of my campsites.  It is a real bonus to have a stream, and although this was a very isolated area at the base of the Continental Divide in New Mexico, it was one of my best rides.

The entire story is on the Chloride Ghost Camp 9/15 - 21, 2010 post, but this video is for you, Paula.

 

Paula 'Griego' Mata 
 ~ nació September 8, 1945 y murió June 8, 2018 ~

~ Who are Pablo and Alejandra Griego ~

"If the very old will remember, the very young will listen" ~ Chief Dan George

This will be my first big trip out to La Joya, New Mexico with my brother Gilbert.  This trip is about family ties to our heritage, and specifically to honor our grandparents, Pablo and Alejandra Griego.  We plan to lay a brass plaque on the petrified tree brought to the La Joya Cemetery by our dad long ago.  Gilbert designed the plaque which reads:

"Pablo Griego Nacio Jan. 25, 1841 Murio - 1915"

"Alejandra Griego Nacio Apr. 26, 1866 Murio - 1948"

Day 1. Up at 5am with a cup of coffee and two zucanni muffins that Denise made from her garden.  My bike is packed and ready to go.  I'm anxious and before I know it, I'm knocking at Gilbert's front door.  Sally, Melissa, and baby Darin are there and we talk over eggs, green chili, bacon, tortillas, and coffee.  I did not see the brass plaque because I knew it was already packed and I wanted to see it for the first time in La Joya.  We leave on our bikes about 10:30am and after 560 miles arrive at Ash Fork, our 1st camp.  Gilbert sees his first satellite and so our camp has a name.  Coyotes howl nearby.  Satellite Camp is a few miles south of Ash Fork on USFS land.  We build a nice fire and boil some chicken and noodles.

My camera is dead so no pictures can be taken.  Luckily, Gilbert has a disposal camera which we now use.  I am very worried as I need my camera to document our celebration in La Joya.  From the road, I call Elva to see if I can use her camera but not sure if her chip is the same as mine.  She offers her.

Day 2.  Breakfast at McDonald's.  Our morning ride is cool and refreshing.  At Camp Verde, we drop our jackets and helmets. We are now heading East on highway 260 to higher elevations and scenic riding, all at a slower pace.  We are alert for deer and elk.  Heavy rain near Show Low and for the 1st time put on our rain gear.  Several bikers stop to seek shelter and we leave first.  I feel the storm will only grow stronger and sometimes its better to act, so we push on and it turns out to be a good decision -- clear weather ahead.  In my mirror, the dark rain clouds loom.

We stop in McNary, Arizona.  There is a sign for fried bread but we do not find it.  We go to where our uncle Bennie lived years ago near the lumber mill.  Gilbert takes a piece of wood as a family reminder of his house we once visited as kids.  We stop by the McNary Post Office for a picture.  We see heavy rain clouds towards Alpine so we take the higher route via Springerville and Quemado.  The scenery is spectacular.

Major rain is now here just after entering New Mexico.  We try to seek shelter under a pinion pine tree when Gilbert spots a blue tourist sign for a picnic area.  He has excellent eyesight which will help us along the trail.  We immediately seek shelter under the roof of a picnic spot.  We wait but decide to get into our rain gear again and keep moving forward; the clouds are dark towards Quemado.

We buy groceries and get water for our camp at the small General Store in Datil, New Mexico.  We buy two huge T-bone steaks for dinner.  We go back 3 miles for our next camp (USFS 66).  I camped here last year and it is special.  We built a fire and find the same angle iron that I used a year ago and it becomes our hot plate.  We cook our T-bones over the open fire on a small grill.  No one else around. Gilbert listens to my story about the "voices" I heard the last time I camped here alone.  I named this spot, "Whispering Pines Camp."

We restart the fire, pack our gear, and have coffee.  We have a huge breakfast at Datil general store.  On another trip here, I met a trucker who looked and sounded like John Wayne.  He was from Texas, "rode a bike years ago" he said and a real talker. 

We gas up and head south on State Highway 1 to San Antonio and then on to Fort Craig.  It is hot.  San Antonio is where our uncle Valentin Moya was stationed in the CCC"s.  Later, there will be a complete chapter written about Valentin as part of our family history.

Fort Craig is 30 miles south of Socorro, the last 7 miles are on a wash-board dirt road. On a bike, this is no fun.  It is hot but that soon disappears as we explore the remnants of Fort Craig.  Gilbert hears about how our great, grandfather Valentin Moya and our grandfather Pablo Griego fought as Army Volunteers in the Civil War.  They were on the Union side and New Mexico was a Territory then.  They served about 3-6 months between 1861-1862.  They were tough, proud New Mexicans - both rode horses I hear.

We explore the visitor center and a nice cowboy from Missouri talks with us; he is the caretaker and tells us that his daughter lives in Bakersfield.  We explain that our family from La Joya served as Army volunteers here; he nods in appreciation.  Back 7 miles back on the bumpy dirt road.  We now jump on Interstate 25 and head for Abo.

We stop on the freeway long enough for Gilbert to see La Joya.  This is his first view of La Joya on this trip.  We reach Abo and go to Robert and Elva's place which they fondly call The Ranch.  Kiko, their guard dog, is very aggressive towards Gilbert, and later me.  Robert has to tie him up.

We take a walk down by the arroyo and go to visit Ernie and Elessao Cisneros and talk.  Ernie Cisneros, brother to George Benavidez, grew up in Barstow.  She talks about the "Victory" homes and the "Cracker Box" houses.  She said that we lived in the Crackerbox houses.  Elva and Robert have prepared a feast for us -- beans, rice, red chile, sopapillas, huevos rancheros, and of course ice cold Corona's.

It begins to rain lightly and then a big downpour with lightning and thunder.  Did we bring the rain?  We talk until 1a.m., everything from A-Z.  Earlier I show them several of the genealogy charts, one on the Moya side and one on the Griego side.  They ask many questions and we are all beginning to understand our ancestors.  Robert Esquibel adds clarity to family relationships.  He is from La Joya too.

Gilbert and I sleep on a big blow-up mattress.  The skies are clear and bright and perhaps the brightest that I have ever seen.  I reach up and touch the big dipper.

Since Elva is leaving for Barstow on Sunday, she requests a morning gathering versus the evening one and BBQ that we were planning.  We agree and the Pablo and Alejandra Griego celebration is changed to the morning.  It will be cooler as well.  Elva loans me her camera and I use my memory chip from my camera that is not working.  This saves me - what a relief!  She shows me how to use her camera.

We go to Belen and see Tudie Romero at Tabot Lumberyard where he works. Tudie and Gilbert have not seen each other since dad's funeral in 1995. I listened to their good stories:  the gay bar, working on cars that didn’t work, Winchell's drive-through, and on and on.  They were happy. Tudie was given Geraldine and Valentin's plaques by the church in La Joya.  They had found them and wanted to give them to a family member.

I share with him what we now know about Valentin and I give him a copy of the Valentin video that I made in honor of mom.  We explain why we are going to La Joya and invite him to our ceremony on Saturday morning.  He works until 1pm but says that he will join us later.  Later never comes. We buy groceries for our camping and our morning celebration (danish rolls, glazed donuts, cantaloupe, and coffee).

We drive by Bosque to see where Tio Carlos and Tita lived.  Just beyond their house, I see two road runners side by side; a first for me seeing two at one time.  Our mom loved the roadrunner and got so excited when we saw one driving out in New Mexico.

I share with Gilbert mom's story about traveling with her father, Silvestre Moya by horse and wagon from La Joya to Jarales carrying their wheat for trade.  She once told me "I loved it and it was an adventure because we took several days to make the journey." We note that their journey was about 24 miles one way. We take our time, reflecting on earlier days in Tio Carlos backyard as kids, loved it!

Veguita Trading Post on Highway 304 is just ahead on the right and our last chance for food and gas before La Joya.  We buy two big blocks of ice that we serve as our refrigerator in La Joya.  Gilbert's Godfather, Silvestre Cisneros lives behind the store.  Gilbert wants to meet him and we pass on the word that we are in the area and will come back later. We find Griego road and take pictures.  How far is this from Rio Puerco that one sees on Hwy 25 approaching Bernardo?  Were earlier Griegos' living here we wonder? We stop for pictures at this historic Boys Ranch Sign.  To me, this means that I am so close to La Joya that I can hardly stand to wait for the last 6 miles of our journey.  La Joya is like a magnet; it is always pulling me there.

Although Gilbert has been to this spot before, I welcome him to Jewels Camp and he gets acquainted.  We clean up camp a bit and gather firewood.  We set up our refrigerator inside the house where it is cooler.  "Gilbert, this is the spot where mom said I was born," I say pointing to a bed built into the adobe walls. The semi-frozen chicken that we bought in Belen is slow cooking over an open fire.  Buck, Marcello's horse, sees us and says hello.

That evening, Gilbert asks me what Jewels Camp means to me.  My eyebrows go up, it means so much.  I respond that Jewels Camp to me is "camping in mom and dad's back yard with my family.  I feel at home, at ease, it's fun, and it brings me back to my roots."  Gilbert then gives me a gift, wrapped carefully to not damage it over our 1,200 trip.  It is a beautiful wooden sign made from Philippine Mahogany.  It is about an inch thick, about 5"x14" with Jewel's Camp inscribed.  This kind gesture was overwhelming to me.  Gilbert said I could do what I wanted with it or take it home.  My decision was made in the blink of an eye and I told him that this belonged to us all and it would stay in La Joya.

We then had the task of selecting a spot.  The tree with the saddle had already been taken and the tree next to the fire place served to hang our cups and other eating utensils.  Then I saw the tree where Tudie had sat under on an earlier trip and its spot was set.  We then placed four screws into the tree at the fork of two trunks to hang the sign and it looked as if it had been there a hundred years.  Gilbert then said that the "sign also represented how our family is being held together by knowing our past; that your genealogy work is pulling our family together.  That our journey to La Joya to honor mom and dad by placing a simple marker for Pablo and Alejandra Griego had come to mean so much" -- I was taken back to his sincerity and insight to what I felt in my heart and soul. 

I had not yet seen the brass plaque, although Gilbert asked me along the way if I wanted to and I did not, but now we were at Jewel Camp and I could not wait to see it.  The plaque was simply beautiful -- my eyes seemed to be blinded by it as it reflected everything around it.  I could see the trees above me as well as my own reflection.  It was indeed special and its simplicity reflected our culture; I knew then that Pablo and Alejandra would be pleased.  I had already felt mom's pride on this journey.

Step One.  We ride our bikes, or as Gilbert calls them scooters, to the cemetery.  As my own reminder of this short trip to the cemetery, I ride on the center yellow line of the road, much like the funeral procession of cars with their lights on, except we ride motorcycles.

Step Two.  Gilbert bends the brass plate to match the curve of the petrified tree.  He continually bends the plate in various places until it fits well against the petrified tree.  I watch him; he is quiet, thoughtful, and deliberate in his work.

Step Three.  Gilbert was perfectly prepared for the 5 minutes of time that we had before the special epoxy set.  He had his rags to clean excess glue and ropes to tie the brass plate to the petrified tree.  We did a test run and we were ready.

Step Five.  Within our five minute of time, we placed the brass plate at the exact spot we chose and secured it with our ropes.  We stood back and in silence just looked at it….no words to describe what we felt at that moment.  We took a branch from a nearby bush, and as the Indians do, we removed our footprints.  We were ready for tomorrow morning's celebration.

Step Six.  Gilbert goes to the cemetery at 6am to remove the rope and to assure that the brass plate is secure while I prepare Jewel Camp for our visitors from Abo.  Elva and Robert were our guests for breakfast.  After eating, we all drive to the cemetery.  We see family graves and reminisce -- "look there is Esperidion Griego, Silvestre Moya, Geraldine, Mia, Tio Wille Romero, as well as many, many others.

Step Seven.  We all stand directly in front of the petrified tree that now has the brass plate upon it.  The brass plate is about 4"x7".  This was a very powerful moment to honor our grandparents.  These are my words spoken that day: 

"God created this tree thousands and thousands of years ago, and volcanic forces baked it into stone, and yet it seems alive today.  Pablo and Alejandra Griego have been dead now for many, many years but today, we honor them with this beautiful, simple plaque.  Without them, we would not be standing here today."

 
Our ceremony lasted about 30 minutes, yet we spent two hours at the La Joya Cemetery ....... seven steps for seven brothers and sisters.  Here are the family pictures of that important day.

We quickly break camp and leave.  The smell of rain is heavy in the air. The rain comes down in buckets and the roads are flooded, rocks and bushes flow through each dip in the road.  We are going directly into the storm but we want to see if Gilbert's godfather, Silvestre Cisneros is home.  At the heaviest moment of the rain, we take shelter under the roof of the gas station, thunder and lighting is all around us.  We did not have our rain gear on so we are wet, yet I have never felt so alive. The people at the store can not believe we arrived with the flash flooding.  Where did you come from they asked?  "La Joya," we say proudly.

Gilbert asks to see Silvestre Cisneros but he is not home and has gone to church and likely somewhere to eat and visit.  Gilbert writes him a note and leaves it with the store clerk.  It turns out that the store clerk knows Enereo Griego and we talk.  Then, the people in line hear us and say that they are, or are married to Griegos'.  We meet Manuel Chavez whose mother was a Griego.  He quickly offers to let us stay at his home in Las Nutrias to get out of the rain.  Then Celeste and her husband Aubrey Tucker say that she is Silvestre's granddaughter and is a Cisneros (maiden name).  They both ride bikes and offer a place to come if we ever have bike problems.  People seem to know mom and dad and quickly offer their help and are very friendly.  Then Mr. Abeyta from La Joya stops for gas and says hello.  He tells Gilbert that they share the same first name.  He also tell me more about Edwina and her Griego family background -- excellent! The rain stops and we leave quickly for Socorro, Magdalena, Datil, Apache Creek, Alpine, McNary, and then Heber where we plan to camp.

Gilbert spots a junkyard as we enter the small village of Aragon and wants to stop because he sees an old Chevy truck, 1936 he thinks.  A man, who calls himself Ernest Aragon comes out and says that it is a 1937 Chevy and he parked it there years ago but his daughter does not want to sell it.  It has a tree that has grown through the bed.  The town Aragon was named after his grandfather.   He does not know Sammy Aragon but says that he has a 1st cousin who lives in Los Lunas; I'll check with Sammy another time.  His granddaughter Blanka takes in every word we speak; she is about eight.  It looks to me that he wants to join us on our trip, despite his wife calling him to come and eat.

We stop for gas and we are wet from the rain.  It rains hard from Socorro to Magdalena.  At the gas station, a man pumping gas into his truck says that he passed us at Lemitar and saw that we were wet.  We make small talk and we tell him about our trip, staying in La Joya and so on.  "My name is Nicolas Baca and I live in Quemado" he says "And if you need help, stop and see me."  I offer to trade my bike for his truck and he laughs.  A very nice man, dressed in western attire, and straight-up New Mexican. 

We stop for a break and coffee to wake us up at Apache Creek, but they have none at the small store.  We make small talk with a young guy who is cooking in the backyard and soon several others come out to talk.  They offer drinks and suggest we camp there, but thank them and explain that we still have a ways to go.  Just before Apache Creek, I saw my third road runner I tell them.  The older Apache comes closer and asks about the three roadrunners.  He intently listens then holding three fingers to his temple speaks, "Seeing three roadrunners in one day is a sign of good luck."

Cool, high elevation (8,500') riding.  Ideal place for elk, deer, and bear.  We see hundreds of horses in the meadow; all running freely.  I have never seen that many horses at one time.

We stop for gas and I asked a man how far is it to Heber as we are already getting tired and must reach camp soon.  This guy is a talker and wants to tell us all about the area which is very helpful but we need to get going.  I tell him that I need to go buy some groceries.  We get a couple of hot dogs and some beer.  When we return, he spots our supplies and says gruffly, "Do you know what we call that....a six-course dinner with a side of jackrabbit".  He was a rough-looking character and made us laugh.  He explains that he is on his way to Illinois in the morning.

It is getting late and we do not make Heber.  I tell Gilbert that Keith and I found a camp spot this side of Heber on forest service land and that we should try to find it.  He tells me that he saw hundreds of elk grazing and a deer buck and doe too. I tell him that I didn't as I was looking for a campsite.  It is getting dark when I see the road and we quickly went to the spot where Keith and I camped last year.  We build a nice fire and have beef burritos with our tortillas.  It looked like it would rain, so we made small lean-twos with our ground cover.  Later it cleared up, so we slept on the ground as normal.  We gave this spot its name, hence "Keith's Camp".

We have a nice big breakfast in Heber; no rain last night.  We are off for Payson, Camp Verde, Flagstaff, and then Laughlin.  We are getting 50-60 mpg -- excellent!  In the café, a guy tells us that he rides a Harley.  He recently had an accident on it when he hit two elk.  He broke many bones but the worst thing was the elk tried to gore him with their horns while he was still on the ground hurt. Ouch!

We stop for gas and I pay with my credit card.  The store clerk recognizes the last name and asked if I know Marty Griego or his son Josh.  She says that they are from Phoenix.  I tell her about Tio Ben Griego and a possible connection; I leave my name and phone number just in case.

It is 116 degrees in Laughlin.  We see the Colorado River and camp at Davis Camp Park directly in front of the river.  We have a fire pit, picnic table, and overhead shelter.  We see another biker arrive, looking hot and searching for a campsite.  We invite him to our camp and he quickly sets up his tent.  His name is Guy Gottle from Santa Rosa and he is a school teacher.  He keeps a journal too and leaves his email address.  Gilbert goes swimming to cool off and I go to the casinos for some fun.  I join him later for an evening swim and the water is on the cool side but so refreshing.  We have a nice fire and have spam, beans, tortillas, chips, donuts, and most everything else leftover.  Several campsites down, we hear some good Mexican music but they are keeping it down to not disturb us.  We walk over and let them know that like their music and could they please turn it up a bit so that we can hear, and they do.

We are up at 5am for a quick get-away while the sun is low and cool.  We give our donuts to the caretaker on our way out.

We split-up at Dagget; Gilbert continue to Barstow on I-40 and I take the Dagget cut-off to I-15 and then Hwy 58 to Bakersfield.  My trip with Keith last year was special but this was the best bike ride to New Mexico for me.  Gilbert was a great companion and a good camper.  I give Gilbert a hug and I'm off.

I stop by the cemetery to visit mom and dad and to tell them about our journey and our celebration for Pablo and Alejandra.  Gilbert had given me the rest of his water in Dagget to drink on my trip home; I have a good drink and sprinkled the rest on their graves.  I sit on the bench next to their graves and lean up against the tree, tired from a long ride with miles to go.  I feel so relaxed, and for a moment I thought that I was sitting next to our tree in Jewels Camp.  Long miles will do that to you.

The trip from Laughlin was long, some 12 hours and 576 miles to Three Rivers, arriving at 5pm, after one week of traveling.  Our bikes ran well and our average 50 mpg was great!  Two brothers, two wheels - La Joya bound.

The odometer records 2,322 miles . . . . .

~ The Badlands of New Mexico ~

"On the path that leads to Nowhere I have sometimes found my Soul" ~ Corinne Roosevelt Robinson (Younger sister of President Theodore Roosevelt) 

A lonely road near Madalena, New Mexico ~ "my road to nowhere"

 Lori, Teo, Evan, and Malia have just left.  

Teo was here at our Three Rivers home to install a new 6' sliding glass door, the kind with the binds between the glass and a 4'x4' window.  He does the installations with precision and ease.  My job was to remove the outside wood panels, cut and install new panels, and put up the sheet rock.  This job wore me out and I must admit, I missed the open roads.  

So this trip out to Arizona, Utah, nearly Colorado, and New Mexico was long overdue.

I love the badlands of New Mexico!

My bike is packed, clean, and ready to go.  I sense that it too is eager to feel the wind at our face.  Denise takes a picture and with a kiss goodbye, I'm off for Ash Fork, Arizona.  

Day 1.  I stop in Barstow and my brother Leo, as usual wants to take me out for lunch, and the Mexican chili rellenos at Jennies are the best I've ever had!  Leo sees some of his friends and begins some introductions.  They listen to some details of my planned trip.  One simply says, "I've always wanted to get on a motorcycle and just go."  I reply positively to him and perhaps he will.  The weather is warm and riding in a t-shirt is perfect. My goal is to camp on USFS lands just outside of Ash Fork.  I know it will be a long day but stopping anywhere else in the hot desert just doesn't make sense.  I've learned this from other rides.

About 50 miles from Needles, California I pull into a rest stop that is closed.  Navigating between the orange cones is not hard, knowing that a few trees there will provide much relief from the hot desert sun.  To my surprise, I see another biker at the vacant parking area but his front wheel is missing and there are tools all around.  Serious repairs.  Actually, it is a lady and she explains that her husband had a problem with his front tire and rode her bike to Bullhead City, some 75 miles to get it repaired.  I ask if she needs water or anything else and she thanks me, and replies "I'm fine." 

We hear a loud roar that is the unmistakable sounds of many bikers.  Five, ten, twenty I count quickly.  They are riding very tight and fast.  After a short rest, I leave heading East and about 50 miles down the road, I see a lone biker coming West with a tire strapped behind him and feel more at easy knowing that they will soon be on the road, reunited.  I'm on the bridge crossing over the Colorado River leaving California behind and looking ahead, Arizona is welcoming me.  Once I reach Kingman, Arizona the temperature cools down.  Up ahead, I see flashing red and blue lights from an Arizona patrol car.  No make that three patrol cars, two behind the bikers, and one in front.  I do not know what is happening but the 20 bikers I saw earlier at the rest stop are all lined up.  They all wear the same motorcycle jackets but I can't make out their names.  I never saw them again for the rest of the trip and can only speculate as to what happened.

I pour some water on my bandanna to cool my neck as I continue on to Ash Fork and a new campsite called Middle Satellite.  Many of us have camped at Upper Satellite and Lower Satellite in years past.  My priorities are always the same -- get out head lamp, gather fire wood, start fire, inflate therma-rest, lay out sleeping bag, cool down some cold ones, and have dinner.  This is a no frills camp site on USFS land and no other campers are seen for miles.  It is very quite with exception of a howl from a single coyote in the distance.  This spot is my favorite of the three Satellites.  My little transistor radio tunes into some good country western stations and I'm happy after a good meal.  The stars are bright and sleep comes easily after leaving Three Rivers, some 555 miles earlier this morning.  My plan is to ride through Monument Valley in Utah and then move North into Colorado and visit with my friend Dave Essex who lives in Estes Park, but that will change.

Day 2.  I have a hearty breakfast at the local Ranch House Cafe in Ash Fork.  "Eggs over easy, hash browns, corn beef hash, biscuits and coffee please," and the waitress quickly writes down my order.  The older I get, I favor a good breakfast to keep me going.  I do not see or hear "gabby Hayes" a regular at this cafe.  I rarely stop for lunch.  The weather in Flagstaff is always unpredictable but today it is clear, mild, and I ride in my T-shirt towards Cameron, Tuba City, Kayenta, and Monument Valley.  It is hot and a brief stop at the touristy Cameron is needed and I try to stay hydrated.  Monument Valley is immense and magical.  So many western movies were filmed here and this scenic land seems to stretch for miles.  I see a few other bikes but not many.  One biker stops while I'm taking a picture, and yells out "need help?"  I give him the thumbs up and he's off in the blink of an eye.  

 I plan to camp near Bluff, Utah.  Years ago on a trip with my brother Gilbert, I saw a BLM campground situated along side of the San Juan River.  This will be home tonight.  It has been 300 miles since Ash Fork and my plan was to ride to Grand Lake, Colorado and camp, and the next day onto Estes Park, but that will not happen.  Just to far and I'm tired.  "Why push yourself, I tell myself."  Estes Park will have to wait for another time.  The Sand Island Campground is perfect.  There are about 40 sites and all are vacant.  I choose number 16 because it has a few trees where I plan to hang my hammock.  The mosquitoes are intense.  Denise gave me a 'bug net' that I thought I'd never use but it sure makes sleeping bearable.  I drift off to sleep under the watchful eye of the Big Dipper.

Day 3.  Instead of heading North, I'm now heading South for Shiprock, New Mexico.  The weather is warm.  I see a bit of shade near, what seems to be a small market, and stop to apply suntan lotion and drink water. This little place is called Teec Nos Pos.  There is an African American setting in a chair under the shade of his market.  After a few minutes, he comes over to talk.  He proceeds to tell me his story and I must confess, it was interesting. 

When I told him I was from Three Rivers, California, he said simply "I know the place."  "I left California years ago, the place was too crazy.  I was a bartender in San Francisco and too many cars, people, no place to stretch.  I moved here, married a Native American, and we own land out there," as he points from North to South.  "We have a nice house and I love this place.  Love to fish too," he adds.  I squeeze in a few words and say that "I love this land too.  So beautiful.  If I was born 100 years ago, and lived here, I'd be riding a horse."  He laughs. "I'm off for Taos, what's up ahead,"  I ask hoping to hear only a few quick words but that will not happen.  "Well, let's see, you'll hit Shiprock, Farmington, then Blanco, Dulce, Chama, South to Brazos, Tierra Amarilla, cut East to Tres Piedres, and then Taos.  I've been all over these parts, know it all."  I believe him. My bike fires up ......"Go safely America" he finally says as I leave Teec Nos Pos. 

On the back of my bike, an American Flag waves freely.  I hope to have it fly the entire trip, something I have never done.  I'm ok too with the name he pins on me. 

The route on my map was spoken for me to follow and the small towns appear just as he said.   The temperature on this trip so far has been between 85 - 95 degrees.  But in Chama, the temperature drops to 60 degrees.  On a bike that is cold and the temperature will drop some more.  I stop at a local market and ask for a good camping spot.  "Since you're traveling to Taos, take highway 64 East.  High in the mountains there is a BLM campground called Hope Well Lake.  Nice spot," the man explains.  People love to help when they sense it is important.  My jacket is on for the first time in 1,200 miles.  This jacket will withstand any wind or rain.  I love it, and Lori's biker patch is on the back.  The aspen trees tell me that I'm now into the high country and the temperatures continue to drop.  The campsite he spoke of is perfect.  One of the best BLM campground that I've seen.   Plenty of firewood, fresh water, and a beautiful sunset.

Day 4.  The ride from Hope Well Lake to Taos is incredibly beautiful.  It is cold but scenic.  Cows and horses graze in the meadows with a stream between them.  It's about an hour and half ride to Taos.  There in the distance is an odd sight.  A blue school bus on the lone prairie with smoke coming from a made-shift flue.  It doesn't look like the school bus can move, even if it wanted to.  Must be a brave soul to live way out there in the middle of nowhere.  Then again nowhere is a place I usually find myself too.

My plan is have breakfast at Ricky's in Taos.  This is one of the best places for breakfast in New Mexico.  I can taste the huevos rancheros now.  "Do you want red or green chili," she asks as she pours coffee.  She sees that I can not decide.  "Why not have both" and with her suggestion my food arrives with a side of sopapillas and red and green chili on my eggs.  I order more red chili and sopapillas; the sweat is rolling down my forehead but this is perhaps the best I've ever had. I hope to find Lindsey at a country shop called Horse Feathers.  I met him years ago and a cowboy, for sure, right out of the old west.  Back then, he sold me a road runner buckle and a pair of stars that are on my bike.  I'd hope to show him but he is no longer there.  Sold the business I hear.  The store is closed but I peer through the glass full of cowboy memorabilia.  So long Lindsey, as I stare into the past.  This is going to be a full day of riding.  Off for Glorieta, New Mexico to see my grand niece, Alyssa.

My niece, Olivia, and husband Tommy's daughter, is working at a youth camp in Glorieta.  It would be special to see her, though I don't know how much she remembers about me.  But family is family and at the security gate, I ask:  "I'm from California and hope to see my grand nice.  Her name is Alyssa and she works here."  Several calls are made, their security is tight, but they escort her to the main office.  She tells me about her work and the vast area "at this Baptist Youth Camp ...lakes, hiking trails, camping, cabins.....at times there are 3,200 kids living here."  She is happy to see me and with a farewell hug I'm back on the road towards my home village, La Joya the place where I was born.  Actually, before La Joya, I stop to see my first cousin Tudie Romero and his wife Erlinda.  These are difficult times for him as he recently lost his left leg to diabetes.  His spirits are high and we laugh and have a good time.  "La Joya is like a magnet, it is always pulling me back," I tell him.  His heads nods in agreement.  Farewells with him are always hard but I move onto La Joya.  "I love you," he says and the same words go back to him as I close the door behind me.

I quickly set up camp behind my mom and dad's adobe house in La Joya.  It is called Jewels Camp.  The skies are dark, rain is likely but none falls as I barbecue a steak that I bought at the Veguita Trading Post.  Stanley Esquibel comes by to say hello and we eat snacks and drink beer by the fire.  I like Stanley.  He works hard and proudly says that "my hay is growing fast and needs cutting; the chili plants are this high," as he points to his hip.  "Robert, are you coming to the Fiesta's next month?  "I hope so, especially if you have some green chili," I reply.   He laughs.  "I'll have some good, really good green chili for you."

Day 5.  Another fine breakfast, this one at Sofia's Kitchen in Socorro.  You guessed it, huevos rancheros.  This is the second best breakfast spot in New Mexico.   As I ride up, there is bike parked out front.  The license plate tell me that he is from Texas.  I pick a table and quickly see that he is seating nearby.  Bikers do not waste time and we quickly exchange our hellos and where are you going/where have you been.  Seems he went out to Twenty-nine Palms in California to attend a wedding and that he is from a place near Houston, Texas.  He likes to ride the lonely, quite roads and avoids the interstate at all costs.  I like him and we talk.  He just returned from the route I plan taking home.  "Lot's of rain and elk in Arizona," he explains and I listen.  After breakfast, we ride to San Antonio -- not Texas -- but New Mexico.  My uncle, Valentin Moya, was stationed there during the CCC's and one could call this a "one horse town."  Sunset magazine put it on the map recently when they rated the Buckhorn Tavern in San Antonio, New Mexico as the best hamburger (with green chili) in America.  We are so full from Sofia's Kitchen that we must save this meal for another trip.  They describe the hamburgers as big as a "big rig's hub cap."

A few hours later, I push on to Magdalena and Pie Town.  I hope to have a big piece of coconut cream pie and a cup of coffee as I'm a bit sleepy.  There it is just ahead, Pie Town, but the sign on the door says that they are open Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.  And yep, today is Wednesday, no pie today.

Remember what my Texan friend said, "lot's of rain and elk in Arizona."  I do not see any elk but the rains fall all across Arizona.  The lighting bolts are fierce and intimating.  In all directions you can see the huge bands of rain that bend with the wind.  I have all my rain gear on and with each mile I can feel the rain dripping inside my boots.  It is hitting my face and it feels like blowing sand during a desert wind storm.  It is a very heavy downpour but I am so thankful for all the beauty around me.  I thank God for everything, including the rain as I push forward.  I plan to camp near Heber, Arizona.  The rain is heavy and even if I found a place to camp, it would be very soaking wet.  I know that Payson, Arizona is a big place and call ahead for a room at Motel 6.  Sleep is easy, dry, and comfortable.  I did not see any elk but it was mentally draining looking for them in the rain.  It rains very hard all night.  I sleep soundly.

Day 6.  My goal today is to camp in Laughlin, Nevada.  There is a nice campground called Davis Camp, along side the Colorado River.  I'm now on Mary's Lake Road that points towards Flagstaff.  In years past, I have seen hundreds of elk in the meadows but not this time.  I pass Happy Jacks and remember the Granite Mountain Hotshots and offer a small prayer for them.  The forecast is for 50% rain in Ash Fork and it looks like more of the same.  At a rest stop, some 20 miles from Laughlin, I get a "severe weather alert" on my cell phone.  The message is clear -- "seek shelter, expect heavy rain and wind."  It is dark in the direction I plan to go.  The wind picks up and you can see, smell, and then feel the rain.  Lighting bolts flash continuously. I wait under the roof of an abandoned gas station for the storm to pass.  Time passes slowly.  I finally push onto Laughlin.  Inside the Riverside Casino it is dry and plan to have a bit of fun playing Wheel of Fortune and the roulette table.  To make a long story short, it rained all the way to Needles where I took shelter once again at a Motel 6.  Two nights in a row at motels is not normal.

Day 7.  The rains are gone and replaced by the desert heat.  Barstow is my next stop.  My sister Elva is home and she makes me lunch and the cold ice water is so refreshing.  My sister Paul and her husband Louie are home too and she makes me lunch, even though I told her that I just ate.  "Never mind, eat again" she says.  And so, I leave Barstow for Three Rivers with a very full stomach.  Alyssa is Paula and Louie's grand daughter and they enjoyed seeing the pictures of us in Glorieta, New Mexico.  After Bakersfield, it is cool as I pass the orange groves and see the biggest sun dropping right before my eyes in the West.  I want to take a picture, but instead just look at the wonderful sight as I ride.  The wheat fields glow in its shadow and it gets a bit cooler.  I pull into Three Rivers and home about 9:00pm. 

The American Flag traveled the entire trip waving behind my dependable bike.  Riding with the American Flag is something I'm likely to do again.  And as for Monument Valley, it was awesome...a must bike ride.

The odometer records 2,497 miles . . . . .

 

Monument Valley is a must bike ride

Campsite #16, Sand Island Campground

Campsite, Hope Well Lake

Campsite, Hope Well Lake

Rio Grande Gorge Bridge, near Taos, New Mexico

Horse Feather, Taos, New Mexico

Lindsey of Horse Feathers - Taos, New Mexico

Horse Feathers

Taos, New Mexico

Off for Glorita, New Mexico

Jewels Camp - La Joya, New Mexico

My mom and dad's adobe house - La Joya, New Mexico

Buckhorn Tavern - San Antonio, New Mexico

Open highway 60 - near Pie Town, New Mexico