~ Africa 2 - Into the Bush ~

“Wildness is a necessity” ~ John Muir

Denise, Keith, and Robert Griego ~ Kalahari Desert ~ Botswana, Africa. 1976.

Our first trip into the wild bush of Botswana was a mere 20 miles from home in Gaborone, Botswana, Africa.  There are three of us on my Yamaha 125cc motorcycle as we leave the paved road of Gaborone.  

Keith is tightly squeezed between me and Denise and he can barely move.  The dirt road is full of washboards that make the going slow.  There is a mountain that could be a lot higher but we plan to climb to the top for a picnic and a view of the surrounding area.

A fierce army attacked us without warning.

The mountain top will be a perfect spot for lunch.  As I park the motorcycle, they come down the hill like a mad army catching us off guard. Ten, twenty, maybe more, some followers but others fierce leaders.  

"Denise, carry Keith, and start moving back towards the motorcycle," I say calmly.  "Do not run, and walk slowly." I pick up a stick that is now above my head.  My stick will be no match for them, but I hope to deter them some if they attack.  Their large teeth are visible.  Their powerful barking is only getting louder as they come towards us, some jumping in the air, clearly agitated.  This army is a group of wild baboons that own this mountain.  Baboons can easily tear an animal apart with those big teeth.  Our retreat convinces them that we do not want a confrontation and they begin to settle down.  Nevertheless, we get on the motorcycle and speed away towards the Gaborone Dam where peaceful birds abound.

I'm settling into my job and assuming the duties of a Game Warden, Administration with more confidence.  There is about fifteen administrative staff who support the Department in accounting, procurement, personnel, mails and files, and warehouse operations.  Lucas Seguco is responsible for the warehouse operations and I immediately liked him.  "Hi Bobby, we need to deliver supplies to the Game Scouts living in the bush.  They depend upon us."  No one, except my mom, ever called me Bobby.  Lucas is a hard-working employee and will be invaluable as we wander some lonely tracks into the wild bush of Botswana. 

Game Scouts, Director Matenge, Senior Game Warden Anthony Ziegler, and auctioneer.

Before we go into the bush, the Department will conduct an auction of confiscated animal furs and horns.  These wildlife items will bring revenue into the Department's budget.  Senior Game Warden, Anthony Ziegler is in charge.

We will take one of the Departments 4-wheel drive Land Rovers, a tent, and a 30.06 rifle.  I owned this same rifle in Montana, went deer hunting with my Crow friends, and know how to use it.

Once we leave the established dirt roads, we begin to follow faint tracks into the bush.  Lucas is continually asking people that we meet for directions. I’m nervous but he is calm. We are heading towards a place neither of us has been before —  Nxai Pan National Park.  

There we would meet Tuppence, a Department of Wildlife and National Parks Game Scout.  

He is responsible for patrolling this National Park, some 2,500 square kilometers.  He tells us that within the mopane woodland, there are lions, giraffes, kudu, impala, ostrich, springbok, jackal, and bat-eared foxes.  Once the rains have started, gemsbok, elephant, and zebra migrate to the area. 

Game Scout Tuppence ~ Nxai Pan National Park.

He is living alone and graciously welcomes us to his camp.  He is wearing his uniform smartly and looks every bit like a Game Scout in the bush.  "How do you patrol such a large area," I ask.  He answers simply, "Well, I once had a donkey but the lions ate it.  Then, they gave me a bicycle and it was very good until the thorns punctured the tires.  Now when anyone comes by, I ride with them and patrol the Park."  

Assess - Adapt - Overcome.

One Game Scout and one National Park ~ amazing.   We leave him some much-needed supplies and he is very appreciative of them, though I sense he loved the company even more.

Lucas is Setswana and has such an easy-going personality that I wish I could bottle-him-up and take back to America with me.  "Bobby, the bridge looks unsafe.  I'll walk across it first, then you come if the boards hold up for the Land Rover."  I nod that I understand and put the gear in neutral.  Lucas is bouncing up and down on the boards and then, with arm-waving, motions me forward.  

The boards creak and we slowly cross the old beat-up bridge.  Relieved, we proceed following a faint track in the direction we hope will lead us to Chobe National Park.  We camp in the bush, and in the night we hear the unmistakable sound of a leopard.  

In the morning, lion tracks are all around us.  The lions had walked directly next to us and must have eaten well earlier, as they did not bother us.  We never saw the leopard.

We stop abruptly to repair another flat tire.  I once heard that two Peace Corps volunteers had twenty-seven flats on a similar trip.  After the spare tire is used, then they had to patch the tubes over, and over, and over again.  Our flat tire is fixed and we point our Land Rover down the faint track.

Our 1st flat tire. Keith looks concerned. 

That's when all hell breaks loose.  "Roll up the windows, tight," Lucas shouts.  It is hot but the Tsetse fly is persistent.  Soon, they are coming up from the floorboards and we are frantically trying to kill them.  It is very hot inside and Keith is now crying.  The Tsetse fly carries the sleeping sickness and this is a serious moment, so the windows remain up.  We kill twenty or so of the flies that managed to find their way into the Land Rover.  

I see Lucas shiver as the danger has passed.  "Ok, Bobby, you can roll down the windows, they are gone."  I love Lucas, he is astute and pulled us through this difficult time.  Chobe National Park is within two days of driving and we will camp tonight at Savuti Channel.

The hippo in the water is a good distance in front of me.  He seems at ease as I walk forward with my camera in hand.  Then without warning, he charges.  He lunges out of the water towards me, and I am taken back by his speed.  

I run back as fast as I can and narrowly escape his charge.  Hippos kill more people in Africa than any other animal.  I knew this, yet, this hippo reinforced this fact.  This is the real deal, wild Africa.

The charge begins.

I barely escape his charge.

Lucas, says that there are some prehistoric paintings nearby, up in the rocks.  We search and find them.  This piece of earth is perhaps the most wild I've ever seen and we have not seen another person in days.

Our first sight of the Chobe River ~ wild and amazing.

Pictographs ~ Savuti Channel.

Soon, we are at the outskirts of Chobe National Park after three days of hard driving through the bush from Maun.  Lucas has never been here and neither have we.   The Chobe River stops us cold - breathtaking.  There are crocodiles and hippos in the water and we are deep into the wild Botswana bush.  

We hope to find Jerry Neville soon; we will spend several days with him.  He lives in a large house with 4 or 5 bedrooms.  He lives here by himself and welcomes all of us to his home.  Jerry is another United Nations Volunteer from Australia and also works for the Department of Wildlife and National Parks [see Wild Africa, part I].  He reports to Senior Game Warden, Mike Slogrove.  Mike and his family live here and recently experienced a devastating accident.  Mike's wife was killed in an accident when her gas stove exploded and killed her.  At the time, she had one child that I remember. 

Her name is Sue.  As fate would have it, we would meet her again thirty-five years later on our second trip back to Botswana. [Wild Botswana].

Keith Griego and Thomas ~ Jerry Neville's Honda 250cc.

I love Chobe National Park.  It is wild with free-roaming elephants, lions, hyenas, zebras, and warthogs everywhere. 

"Jerry, how far is it to Victoria Falls," I ask.  "It is about 60 miles on a dirt road, but I've never been there," he adds in his thick Australian accent.  Jerry offers his Honda 250cc if we want to make the trip.  "If you could watch Keith, we could be back before dark," I reply.  Jerry adds, "Of course" and with that, we begin to inspect his motorcycle for the trip in the morning.

Jerry makes sure it is full of petrol and he reviews with me how it works and where his tools are stashed.  Jerry's cat, Thomas, sits on top while Keith plays with him.  Without too much fanfare, Denise and I are off for Victoria Falls in Zambia.  The ride there was uneventful and our first view of Victoria Falls is spectacular.

Victoria Falls.

We approach the edge of the falls, take pictures, and then hear unexpected gunshots.  Our first instinct is to duck.  The shots are being fired from across the river.  Then shots are being fired from our side of the river and with only a few pictures, it was time to get out of Dodge. 

The trip back to Chobe National Park is easygoing until we stop for a short rest on the side of the road.  Then off to our right, unknown to us, stands a big bull elephant.  

He quickly shows aggression, his trunk trumpeting, and his legs fiercely paw the ground.  Once his head goes down, he is on a dead run directly for us.  

"Kick start the bike fast and don't stall it," I scream to myself.  The Honda 250cc accelerates quickly.  In the rearview mirror, I see the bull elephant losing ground behind us.  It was third gear before I outdistanced the charging bull elephant.  

On the way back to Chobe National Park, I try not to think what could have happened if that bull elephant had caught us.  I could have stalled the bike and it would have been history.  

Nature is unforgiving.

We narrowly escape his charge.

When we get back to Jerry's house, we grab Keith and didn't let go for a long, long time.  While Chobe National Park was our first real trip into the bush, it would not be our last. 

Mike and Karen Davis, Peace Corps Volunteers, would come with us into the Botswana bush.  Jonathon Mowepsa has replaced Lucas at work and he too would accompany us.  This time, we traveled with a large 5 ton Bedford truck, capable of carrying large amounts of essential supplies to the outline posts.  We all bring whatever food we have for the journey.  

When we pick up Jonathon in his village, he is tightly holding a rooster.  That first night in the bush, we stop and make camp.  "You can kill my rooster for dinner tonight," Jonathon says.  Mike and I agree and grab the rooster.  We plan is to take our ax and cut off its head quickly.  It's dead, but not as quickly as we hoped.  We pluck the feathers and cook it slowly over our campfire.  

As we pass around the meat, Jonathon says that he can not eat it.  "Why not, it is cooked perfectly," we say.  "It was my pet rooster, and I can not eat it," he says.  No one utters a word. The quiet was deafening.  He had brought everything he had for our trip and it was his pet rooster.  Even though we did not want to continue eating his rooster, it would be an insult to him not to eat it.  In time, we ate his rooster and thanked him graciously for his contribution.

That night, Mike, Karen, Denise, Keith, and I sleep under the 5 ton Bedford truck.  Jonathon prefers to sleep inside the cab.  Late into the night, Denise hollers "There are hyenas out there, and they tried to grab me."  Mike and I frantically jump up in our underwear with the 30.06 in hand and see nothing.  Our flashlights do not reveal any shining eyes.  We conclude that Denise was having a dream that any one of us could have had, after a long day in Botswana’s wild bush.  Mike and I fall back asleep slowly, yet I keep one eye open.

The engine is making a terrible sound and we stop.  We are in the middle of the Kalahari Desert.  With the hood up, we look over the massive engine.  The oil dipstick does not show any oil, a bad sign for sure.  "We can't drive it much further without oil," Mike says.  "How stupid of me not to bring extra oil," I tell myself.  Jonathan has an idea.  "Perhaps, we can find a cattle post that might have oil for a well pump."

 

Horseman, Mike Davis, and Jonathon Mowepsa ~ Kalahari Desert in search of oil for our truck.

This cattle post did not have oil ~ water was pulled up by hand.

We begin walking, not sure of how far we would have to go before, and if, we find a cattle post.  We leave Denise, Karen, and Keith behind with the truck.  "Lay under the bed of the truck for shade and honk the horn if there is a problem," we say as we head off into the wild bush.  

After several miles, we meet a man on horseback. Jonathon asks the man in Setswana "Do you know where there might be oil used for a water pump."  He is unsure but points in the direction that we should travel.  We follow his directions but find nothing.  We are tired and decide to head back to the truck where we will spend the night.  After several miles in the desert sun, we are tired, thirsty, and hungry.  

Denise and Karen have a surprise for us.  They have made dinner ~ bean burritos, chili, with freshly made tortillas.  We can hardly believe what they did.  Making tortillas from scratch at home is hard enough.  We eat, relax, and sleep.  We will decide what to do in the morning.

The engine is making painful noises.  It wants oil but we continue never the less along these desert trails.  As we reach Gaborone, the noise is deafening.  The head mechanic looks over the truck and shakes his head.  Trying to tell him about looking for oil is pointless, so we hand over the keys and   quietly leave.

Our two years in Botswana go very fast and while we made more trips into the bush we also traveled to neighboring Lesotho, Swaziland, and South Africa.  These trips were not on my motorcycle but a used Volkswagen Beetle that we bought from a priest in Gaborone for $700. 

Keith Griego ~ Our broken down VW Bug.

On our first trip into South Africa, the front right tire starts to make bad sounds.  I pull off the tire and discover the bearings on the hub are frozen preventing the wheel from turning.  The bearings are melted and now useless.  There we are stranded on a lonely dirt road, miles from the nearest village. 

I remember seeing a small garage about 30 miles back and maybe they could order the part.  Just then, a truck stops and the driver looks down at the busted wheel.  He and his family are going in the direction I need to go and invite me to jump on the back of their truck. 

"Do you have any parts that look like this one?" I ask the man at this small garage.  "Let me see," and he begins rummaging through a box of spare parts.  I can't believe it but the used part he just found is a perfect match.  Imagine that, in the middle of nowhere, and I find the exact part that is needed.  

I hitch a ride again and return where Denise and Keith are trying to stay cool in the hot sun.  The bearing goes on easily.  I pack it with grease, mount the tire, and the repair worked!  In Africa, being resourceful goes a long way.  We continue onto Johannesburg, Cape Town, Durban, and Pretoria.

President Sir Seretse Khama, 1976 ~ Botswana's 10th anniversary.

Botswana, perhaps the most democratic country in Africa, is celebrating ten years of independence.  The president is Sir Seretse Khama.  A very strong, well-liked president.  In retrospect, we were so fortunate to be there at this important national event.

The Peace Corps Director thanks us for our service and explains that we could either get a prepaid airline ticket home or we could receive the cash equivalent.  We chose the cash and take 3 1/2 months traveling home with our backpacks and camping gear.  This journey would take us to Zimbabwe, Zambia, Malawi, Tanzania, Kenya, India, Nepal, Thailand, Singapore, Indonesia, Australia, and Tahiti. 

In Tanzania, we meet other Peace Corps volunteers from Botswana who are traveling home as well.  We all combine our money, rent a Volkswagen bus with a driver, and travel to Ngorongoro Crater for several days.  There are lions, elephants, zebra, giraffes, hyenas, gazelle, buffalo, all living in perfect harmony.  A perfect ecosystem.  We camp in the crater.

Before leaving Botswana, I decided to take along a book to read that I brought from Montana.  I would read it but never finish it.  The book immediately attracts my attention, but in reality, I would still be reading it unfinished, thirty-eight years later.  It was written by Robert M. Pirsig.  His story is called, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.

In Australia, Jerry Neville meets us at the Sydney Airport.  Earlier, we sent him a letter letting him know our plans and hopes to see him.  He is living with his parents and they graciously welcome us into their home on Rickard Street in Merrylands.  We go camping in the outback, see wombats and kangaroo, and climb the tallest mountain in Australia, Mount Kosciuszko -- all 7,310 feet.  

Jerry takes us for a boat tour around Sydney and we see the famous Sydney Opera House.  We continue home, arriving back at the Ontario Airport in California full of stories.  It was impossible to tell them all these stories without sounding like a pair of crazy travelers who had been lost in the desert for years. This 3 1/2 month journey home was amazing and memorable. 

Robert Griego and Sue Slogrove, 2006 ~ Mapula Lodge, Okavango Delta.

Thirty-five years later, Denise and I would return to Botswana to once again touch the edge of wildness.   We would go there with the tour group, Road Scholar.  We were all looking forward to staying at the Mupula Lodge deep in the Okavango Delta.  We loved it and more can be found in Wild Africa.

The young lady who operates the lodge warmly greets us.  As we introduced ourselves, I said "Denise and I were here in Botswana 35 years ago.  I worked for the Department of Wildlife and National Parks."  She immediately asked if I knew a Mike Slogrove?  This was Mike's daughter who I remember as a 3 year-old.  She remembers sitting on Jerry Neville's motorcycle.   She also tells us that she operates the Chobe Crocodile Farm in Kasane.  A small world and I was very proud of her.

And, oh yes, I am still reading Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.  I am determined to finish the book this time.  At twenty-something, I did not understand what Mr. Pirsig was trying to tell me.  At sixty-something, I am still trying to understand what he is saying to me, but I listen closely this time.  His message is becoming more clear with each word, yet, deep down inside, I do not want it to end.

I have also found something that had been forgotten years ago.  It is my detailed journal recording our plans, sights, and emotions as we left Botswana for America on that journey.  The journal records daily events that would be etched in our minds forever.  Some good, some not so good.  It would record the people we met, where we slept, the food we ate, and the wonders we saw.  All these images paint our adventure, after all, we had just traveled around the world. 

Our world is huge, wild, and we touched it.

The Chobe River ~ perhaps the most wild place in Africa.

Tracks we must follow ~ there are no signs.

Towards Chobe National Park.

We must carry our petro ~ Lucas on top as we head towards Chobe National Park.

Game Scouts and Keith Griego ~ Francistown.

Game Scouts with confiscated ivory ~ Lucas, Denise and Keith Griego.

Camping with Joe and Lynn Passineau ~ Kalahari Desert.

Dr. Livingstone was here.

Denise, Keith Griego and Lucas ~ Baobab Tree.

Lucas inspects an old bridge that we will cross.

Camp site ~ lions were nearby.

These two lioness were 200 yards from our Savuti Channel camp.

Savuti Channel.

Keith and Denise Griego ~ Nxai Pan National Park camp.

Denise and Keith Griego and Karen Davis.

Joe Passineau ~ Kalahari Desert where we got stuck.

Bushman Ladies and Robert Griego ~ Kalahari Desert.

~ Hágoónee’ ~

"I have been to the end of the earth, I have been to the end of the waters, I have been to the end of the mountains, I have found none that are not my friends"  Navajo Proverb

"Before my eyes, a sacred land, Monument Valley" ~ Robert Griego

Gilbert and I agree, Monument Valley would be a great ride and without much discussion, we decide to do this trip.  It is hot and that will be a factor in our ride but ride we do, never-the-less.  He has been to Monument Valley before but I have not.  That will soon change.  We decide to meet in Barstow and have lunch at Plata's Mexican Restaurant with our brother Leo.  He joins us and we tell him about our plans.  I see that Leo would love to join us and maybe he will someday.  He use to ride a Triumph 650cc in his younger days and has rode my bike a few times in La Joya.

Day 1, Upper Satellite Camp (near Ash Fork, AZ).  I won't lie, but 540 miles across the desert on a bike will drain you, especially when the thermometer across the desert reads 110 degrees.  We drink what seems like gallons of water along the Interstate 40 rest stops.  The sun and wind quickly take back most of the moister but we feel refreshed.  We press on hoping to arrive at our first camp before dark.  It is very hard starting a fire when the wood is hidden in the darkness, so it is very important to arrive before dark.  This is always our first priority.  We arrive an hour before sunset.  Gilbert spots a dead tree and ten minutes later we are cooking our gourmet dinner over an open campfire:  hot dogs, green chile, tortillas, downed with ice cold beers, American and a few Fosters.

Gooseneck State Park ~ aka Sky Rim Camp

Day 2, Goosenecks State Park (aka Sky Rim Camp).  This primitive camp is high on a Mesa, looking down on the San Juan River.  Bluff, Utah is about twenty miles away.  The stars are so bright our fingers almost touch them.  I stretch my fingers upward that just fall short of those bright stars.  We have a small fire and we thank God for such a beautiful spot.  We collect hundreds of small pieces of wood for our fire to heat our cans of stew and tortillas.  We go through our ritual of finding the Big Dipper, the North Star, and what we fondly call the Circle of Eight.  The smoke from our small fire seems to sense that we are here.  Goosenecks Camp just doesn't sound fitting for this beautiful spot.  We ask the Sky and Earth that we be able to rename this spot to a more fitting name.  Gilbert focuses on the Sky and I the Rim. 

Together, with the smoke from our campfire , we respectfully ask that we be able to name this spot Sky Rim Camp.  The puffs of smoke agree.

A ride back in time ~ sacred Monument Valley

The ride into Monument Valley was awesome.  We barely drive a few miles and we stop for pictures.  At one rest stop a young Navajo man is selling jewelry.   "Can we take some pictures of our bikes, just over there?" we ask.  "OK," he says.  "Where are you guys from" he wants to know.  "California" and he shakes his head, "long ride."  "Thanks, we'll see you later" we say.  He replies, "Do you want to know how we Navajo's say, see you later?"

So there we are with him taking our first Navajo language lesson.  "Gilbert, you try to remember the first part, and I'll try to remember the last part."  We continue our ride, taking even more pictures.  We practice the phrase the young man taught a few times.  In Kayenta, we stop at a local market where many Navajo ladies are selling jewelry, used items, and food.  What a better time to try out our Navajo.  We leave the first group of ladies, and say "see you later in Navajo."  They all begin to giggle, like high school girls.  Feeling good, we eat some Indian tacos and again say "see you later in Navajo."  Again we get giggles.  So we ask, "why do you laugh?"  One of the older ladies tells us that we keep saying "stinky feet."  Now we just stick to English, leaving a bit embarrassed.

A few years later, I would meet two Navajo ladies at the Yamaha shop in Flagstaff where I needed a new tire.  They were there to repair their 4 wheel quad used to tend their sheep on the reservation.  We both were there before the shop opened to be first in line for service.  "Good morning" I say.  The young Navajo says "good morning" but the older lady just looks at me.  "She only speaks Navajo" the younger lady says.  After my new tire was mounted, I saw them leaving as well.  To make a long story short, I had stopped earlier by Canyon de Chelly National Monument and asked the Navajo Park Ranger to please write down the Navajo words "see you later" for me.  He did and I practiced with him.  He shook his head in approval.

Before I fire up my bike, I walk up to the older Navajo lady as they are getting ready to leave and say "hágoónee’ ."  She smiles and repeats the phase, "hágoónee’ extending out her hand."  The younger Navajo lady simply said, "I didn't know you spoke Navajo -- your pronunciation is very good." 

Gilbert and Robert Griego ~ North Rim of Grand Canyon National Park

Day 3, Dancing Aspens Camp.  An earlier fire has scorched miles and miles of trees, as we head towards the North Rim of the Grand Canyon.  The wind is ferocious   Our bikes shake violently with the powerful wind gusts which come from nowhere.  We pull over to a safe spot and we look at each other in disbelief.  This wind was intense but even loaded 1,000 pound bikes can be blown away. 

As we ride along the highway, we smell food and turn around.  There is a Navajo family selling Indian tacos; we each have one.  Further down the road, we see a Navajo lady with beautiful jewelry that she is selling.  We tell her about the wind and she tells us about two visitors that were recently blown off the rim of the Grand Canyon to their death.  We feel lucky. 

We plan to camp on USFS land and while there are many suitable spots, the wind is relentless, so we push on further.   Finally, the wind is behind us and we take the first dirt road on USFS land we see and we set-up camp.  We take a short walk which leads us to a historical corral which has fallen down with time.  There are aspen trees all around.  It reminds us of an earlier time when these hills had roaming horses and mules used by guides or hunters.  The North Rim is still 20 miles away.  We sleep soundly after nearly 1,000 miles.

Day 4, Mesa Road Camp (aka Wind Rock).  The North Rim of the Grand Canyon is priceless; our words can not match its beauty.  We pull off our levis and boots in the parking lot and put on our shorts and tennis shoes/sandals and walk along the rim in awe.  We frantically take pictures as does everyone else and walk about five miles.  Little did we know that a five mile walk would really wear us out.  We stop at Jacob Lake and lay down beneath some pine trees exhausted after riding only 42 miles.  We resist sleeping which comes easily and force ourselves to move on towards Fredonia, Arizona.

Our camp site on the cliff ~  Mesa Road Camp

Our goal is Zion National Park but the scenery slows us down considerably.  Gilbert spots a herd of Takonka and again we stop.  We are reminded of the song, "old Griego in Search of POP25" who roamed the Badlands of New Mexico in search of buffalo. 

Our camp is high on a mesa among the pinon pines near Virgin, Utah where sweeping views of Zion can be seen below us.  Our serenity and confidence, however, will be shaken by high winds.  We quickly place heavy rocks on our tarps and sleeping bags to prevent them from blowing away over the cliff by the winds.  The wind blows fiercely and ice cold all night, and in the morning, we are covered with sand.  The heavy rocks did their job and our gears did not blow away.

Our iron ponies braved the cold wind as well, but they are eager to move on to lower lands, so we head for Hurricane, Utah. 

"The wind nearly blew us off the cliff" ~ Mesa Road Camp

Day 5, Walker Pass Camp.  I am riding alone now, Gilbert is home in Barstow, California.  Walker Pass Camp sits about 5,500 feet near Lake Isabella, California.  This is a BLM primitive camp site used primarily by the hikers on the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT).  There are about 20 young boys and girls who are playing music and laughing.  I do not know how many miles they have been hiking, but I guess many, as they quickly go to sleep as the first wave of darkness arrives.

I remember an earlier camp out here with no one else around.  Then, without, warning, a voice behinds says "are you having supper."  I called him wandering "Jack."  He had been on the PCT for weeks and saw my fire.  He was lonely and just wanted to talk.  He thought he had made lots of noise as he walked towards my camp, but I just didn't hear him.  He was a good guy after all, only asking for some water which I gave him gladly.  

My transistor radio picks up the Window Rock radio station and the Navajo chants comfort me well into the night.  'Wandering Jack' finds his spot a few hundred yards from me and is gone before I wake.  Must be a serious hiker.

Day 6, Tres Rios Camp (aka Home).  This has been one of our best rides and our ponies are now free to rest, traveling through Monument Valley, the North Rim of the Grand Canyon, Zion National Park, and hundreds of miles of open space through Arizona, Utah, Nevada, and California in our pursuit of wildness.  Our faces and arms have considerable sun on them.  Gilbert is resting at home, but I feel as if I'm still moving and it takes a day to return to 'normal.'  

The odometer records 1,939 miles . . . . .

"I feel like the end of the world is just there" ~ Robert Griego

Gilbert Griego, Monument Valley ~ hágoónee’

~ Bikers Patch ~

 "All good things are wild and free" ~  Henry David Thoreau

Our daughter Lori designed this for me ~ full of meaning and love.

My jacket weighs a good ten pounds and protects me from the wind, rain, sleet, and snow.  It's comfortable, looks good, and is practical. It's made by River Road.  

It is the one item that goes with me on every ride.  I learned my lesson traveling to Pinnacles National Park on a 300-mile day ride.  

It's 95 degrees in Three Rivers, and I'm off for the Pinnacles in a T-shirt.  The ride there is comfortable along Highway 198, offering both scenic and easygoing views.  After passing Coalinga, you begin to see rolling hills with oak trees.  Once you arrive at Highway 25 going north, it is farmland with grazing cattle and horses, and a few sharp curves to wake you up.  Today, I also see a small herd of Tule elk.

But as I approach the Pinnacles, an ice-cold marine layer hits the valley.  In my T-shirt, it was freezing cold, and my ride home in the dark was miserable.  

Now, my jacket accompanies me on my rides, regardless of the temperature.

But this story is about my new motorcycle patch on the back of my jacket.

One day, I asked our daughter, Lori, "Could you design a patch for me to go on the back of my jacket?"  "Of course," she said, and before I had a chance to finish my thoughts, she said, "I have some ideas."

The Adobe House where I was born ~ La Joya, New Mexico.

I wanted to see the Zia symbol on the jacket, so important to our family, and something to tie it to the village of La Joya in New Mexico, where I was born.  

We had just finished publishing our family book, Los Griegos de La Joya, so she began to design it quickly.  The font I picked was way too conservative for her, and she said, "Dad you need a 'bikers' font," and that's what I now have.  

There have been many people on the road who ask about it.  On the way to Sturgis, my brother, Gilbert, and I stopped in Yellowstone National Park when a young photographer asked if he could take my picture sitting on my bike.  "Sure I said, but I was surprised when he went behind me and took a picture of the back of my jacket.  I love it, and it paints a picture of me.

In the middle of the patch is the Zia symbol.  The yellow field and red symbol colors are the colors of Spain.  First brought to New Mexico by Spanish explorers in 1540.  It is also the New Mexico state flag.  There are four groups of rays, with four rays in each group.  This is an ancient sun symbol of a Native American people called the Zia.

The Zia believed that the giver of all good gave them gifts in groups of four:

          ~~ The four directions - north, east, south, and west.

          ~~ The four seasons - spring, summer, fall, and winter.

          ~~ The day - sunrise, noon, evening, and night.

          ~~ Life itself - childhood, youth, middle years and old age. 

All of these are bound by a circle of life and love, without a beginning or end.

The words, La Joya de Sevilleta, come from my village.  As you enter the village along the Rio Grande, you will see an Official Scenic Historic Marker made of faded wood.  The historians wrote this about it:

Entering the Village of La Joya, New Mexico

"Present Day La Joya is located near the site of an ancient Piro Indian Pueblo that the Spanish named Nueva Sevilla, or Sevilleta.  During the eighteenth century, this was the southermost settlement along the Camino Real before travelers entered the despoblado, or uninhabited area, between here and El Paso Del Northe.  Every fall, caravans assembled here in preparation for this portion of the journey."

And the roadrunner is in the center of the picture.  Well, the roadrunner was a favorite of my mother, and she would get so excited when we saw one.  To this day, when I see a roadrunner, I see her, all in the blink of an eye.  My brother, Gilbert, would later call me Road Runner Robert and carved a wooden Road Runner for me.  On one bike trip out to New Mexico, I saw three roadrunners in one day.  

An Apache, whom we met later, simply said, "To see three roadrunners in one day is a sign of good luck." His comment put a smile on my face.

The name at the top of the patch reads Los Griegos, and that's my family.  We are descendants of Juan and Pascuala Griego.  In June 2011, my wife, Denise, and I traveled to the village of Griegos, high in the mountains of Spain.  We believe that our ancestors came from here and I published the story below in a book and gave one to each of my brothers and sisters. 

The patch on the back of my jacket tells a story.  I am very proud of it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Our Griego Ancestors from Greece and Spain

Spain has been occupied by many people, starting with the Phoenicians, then the Greeks and Carthaginians from the 11th century BC.  It is unclear when the village of Griegos began, but it was long ago.

Griegos is 5,262 feet high in the mountains in the province of Aragon and has about 145 residents who live in stone houses.  The village of Griegos could easily be found in Arizona or New Mexico with mountain streams and wheat fields.  We traveled nearly 600 miles to find this quiet and peaceful village that bears our family name.  It is 71 miles from the village of Moya [my mother's maiden name].  Coincidence?

Robert Griego finally finds Griegos, Spain

Griego literally means "the Greek people."  Perhaps our early Greek ancestors came to Spain and settled in this village, later to be called Griegos.  In our family book Los Griegos de La Joya, we know that our first ancestor was Lázaro Griego, who was born in Greece in about 1540.  His son, Juan Griego was born in 1566 in the City of Candia (Crete) or Negroponte, Greece.  Juan traveled a great distance to eventually arrive in Mexico City, Mexico, where he married Pascuala Bernal in 1590.

Juan Griego answered the Oñate muster roll at Casco in 1597, declaring that he was accompanied by his wife, Pascuala Bernal, and that he was a native of the City of Candia in Greece, the son of Lázaro Griego.  He was a member of Juan Oñate's 1598 expedition that began in Zacatecas, Mexico and ended over 1,000 miles later in Santa Fe, New Mexico.  They were some of our first Spanish pioneers in America. The village of Bernalillo in New Mexico was named after Pascuala Bernal.

In 1598, Oñate's expedition crossed Fort Craig, Socorro, and La Joya in New Mexico.  We believe that Juan Griego, after such a long and difficult journey across the oceans and deserts, saw that the lands of New Mexico looked so much like those of Griegos in Spain that he saw no reason to go further.  Juan and Pascuala Griego began the family that we have today.  We are thankful for their courageous efforts to reach our Land of Enchantment. 

They were the first Griegos in America.

Our destiny, Griegos in Spain.

Denise Griego points the way.

Griegos, Spain.

Denise Griego walking in old Griegos.

Robert Griego, with a picture of brothers and sisters in Griegos, Spain.

La Joya, Spain.

Wheatfields near La Joya, Spain.

~ 100,000 Miles ~

“He who walks alone, waits for no-one” ~ Henry David Thoreau

It rained all the way to Flagstaff, Arizona

This is what I call a milestone ride out to the Fiestas held annually in La Joya, New Mexico.   

At some point, and most likely on my way home, I will hit 100,000 miles on my bike. 

My nephew Ruben and I ride out together, and my brother Gilbert and his friend James make the trip from Barstow. 

While in La Joya, my 1st cousins Bud Moya and his wife Mary stop by Jewels Camp.  What a treat, I have not seen them since my mom passed away. 

On one of my earlier trips, I posted some pictures of Elfego Baca historical landmark in Reserve, New Mexico.  I tell Ruben that he was in a gunfight with 30 cowboys or so, surviving over 4,000 shots into his house.  The battle lasted over 30 hours and the incident became known as the Frisco Shootout.  "Robert, can we see the Elfego Baca marker?"  This will be easy as I was already planning to camp at Apache Creek, some thirty miles away.  The camp site at Apache Creek is primitive but there is plenty of fire wood and this makes it one of the best camp spots.  There is a small general store nearby, but the hours that it is open can vary widely, so we plan accordingly.  I explain to Ruben that we'll be in Reserve in the morning.

Ruben Griego and Elfego Baca. Reserve, NM

On the way home, our trip changes.  Ruben gets a call from home that his daughter, Larissa, has been taken to hospital for an appendicitis.  He wastes little time and points his pony home, traveling the most direct route.  I hope she is OK as she is only 12 years old I think.  This is something that you hope never happens but Ruben makes the right decision to abandon our trip and head home quickly.  I'm glad we had some leisurely rides on some slow back roads out to Arizona and New Mexico before his plans abruptly changed.

I decide to buy her a stuffed animal to brighten her spirits but in reality, I don't know how she did from her emergency surgery.  I put the package in the mail and hope for the best.  Later, Ruben tells me that she is sore but doing well. 

Get well  Larissa

As I approach Tehachapi, I look down at my odometer -- 99,997 miles.  At the top of the pass, I pull into the Loves gas station and park.  My bike rests, exactly at 100,000 miles. 

We have joined the "100,000 club!" 

The odometer records 2,284 miles . . . . .

Robert Griego and 1st cousin Bud and Mary Moya, Jewel Camp

Ruben & Robert Griego, Tudie Romero, Gilbert Griego

My 1st cousin, Tudie Romero, Belen, New Mexico

Abandoned dance hall, La Joya, New Mexico

Our Lady of Sorrow Church in  La Joya, New Mexico

Stanley Esquibel & Ruben Griego, Jewels Camp La Joya, NM

Stanley Esquibel and 1st cut of hay, La Joya, New Mexico

Roy Esquibel, La Joya grown

Robert Griego, Montezuma Castle National Monument

~ Then and Now ~

 "The mountains are calling and I must go" ~ John Muir.

The year is 1967 and I just bought the bike of my dreams, a new Yamaha 305cc.  After all, Gene Christiansen, John Lopez, and Joe Enriquez each had one and these were my good friends.  We each owned the same bike and fondly called ourselves, the "Yamaha Gang."

From left to right, "The Yamaha Gang - 1967, Barstow, California" ~ ~ Robert Griego, Gene Christiansen, John Lopez.

We rode our motorcycles everywhere, camping in such places as Big Bear, Lake Arrowhead, Crestline, and Deep Creek.  We loved being in the outdoors, especially in the mountains.  These would be my early years in pursuit of wildness.

At eighteen, John Lopez and I rode our motorcycles out to La Joya, New Mexico.

We did not realize how far New Mexico was, and looking back in time, we were not very well prepared.  I remember running out of gas just 100 miles after leaving Barstow.  John, with his left hand, held my right hand and towed me 20 miles to Needles.  We made it to New Mexico, visited with family in Albuquerque and La Joya.  I gave my little cousin, Benjie Moya his first bike ride, all the way to the top of the Sandia Mountains.  He still remembers that to this day.

When we got back to Barstow, we were the "talk" about town.  We didn't tell them, however, about running out of gas.  There were very few bikers back then and this trip was a big thing.

In 1969, my older brother Leo got a job in Missoula, Montana as a smokejumper.  Before that he was jumping out of planes in a place called Vietnam.

Gilbert delivered Leo's Triumph ~ somewhere out in Montana.

He owned a Triumph 650cc that was sitting at home in Barstow.  He asked our brother Gilbert if he would ride his bike up to Montana for him to use.  Gilbert would make the trip and took a very long bus ride back to Barstow.  

Both of their rides, to and from Montana, made our ride out to New Mexico look tame by comparison.

My Yamaha 305cc was my transportation for work, high school, and everything else.  It was a classic.  The official name was the "Cross Country Sport 305, model YM-1."  

Robert Griego on his new Yamaha 305cc, Barstow, California.

When I graduated in 1967 from John F. Kennedy High School in Barstow, I was lucky enough to get a summer job as a laborer in Sequoia National Park.  I lived and worked at Lodgepole and loved it.  The job was the most entry-level position in the Park.  My first summer was spent on the back of Earl's garbage truck.

Old Earl would make the rounds to the campgrounds, and said simply on my first day, "You ride on the back of the garbage truck.  When it stops, you pick up the empty trash can into the truck and try not to fall off."  I felt lucky.  I was getting paid for working in the outdoors which I loved and getting good exercise at the same time.  I think old Earl sensed that in me.  "What could be better."  Well actually, there was one more perk.  It seems that old Earl had a good reputation and when we stopped to pick up trash at the Giant Forest restaurant, we would be invited into the kitchen for breakfast.  I remember old Earl saying, "eat whatever you want Bob, it's on me."  Of course, he never paid a dime but that became my first meal of each working day with Earl.

Eventually, I would work two summers at Lodgepole in Sequoia National Park.  This job helped pay the bills while attending San Jose State where I earned a Bachelor of Science in Business Administration/Management.  My second job was as a "hasher" or dishwasher where I got great, hardy, and nutritious meals in exchange for my work.  I met Denise Saldivar at a girl's rooming house, yep still washing dishes, where she studied marine biology at San Jose State.  We dated my junior and senior years and after my graduation, we got married in 1971 in San Jose.

I landed my first permanent job at Pinnacles National Monument only days later.  Our son, Keith was born in 1974 in Hollister, 35 miles away.  Our daughter Lori was born in 1978 in Puyallup, Washington while stationed at Mount Rainier National Park.  Our life with the National Park Service became intertwined.  Years later, we lived in Botswana, Africa where I worked for the Department of National Parks and Wildlife.

My Yamaha 305cc was my transportation for those summer jobs at Sequoia National Park, San Jose State, and would eventually follow us to Pinnacles National Monument.  In those days, everything I owned was tied to the back of my bike.

Little did I know that twenty years later, Superintendent Jack Davis would hire me as the Chief of Administration for Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Parks.  Many of the old timers in the maintenance division remembered in the old days that I picked up trash at Lodgepole with such passion and they were very proud of me.

Here are a few pictures of "Then and Now'" at Sequoia National Park.

Yamaha 305cc - 1969, Sequoia National Park.

Yamaha Road Star - 2015, Sequoia National Park.

Yamaha 305cc - 1969, Lake Kaweah Three Rivers, CA.

Yamaha Road Star, 2015 Lake Kaweah Three Rivers, CA.