My Motorcycle Tales

Last night my wife took me out to dinner and a movie. Not just any movie. I didn’t think I could see it; yet I knew I had to see. It is called ‘Only the Brave.’

It is an honest, vivid, and compassionate story about elite Granite Mountain Hotshots.

On June 3, 2013, I had breakfast at a little café in Arizona with the crew. At the time, I thought I was at the right place at the wrong time. Today, I know I was at the right place and the right time.

On June 30, 2013, they fought the raging the Yarnell Hill Fire, some 30 miles from Prescott, Arizona. 19 of the 20 firefighters died in that fire.

On July 1, 2013, I wrote this 'Open Letter' to the families of the Granite Mountain Hotshots. You should see the movie, remember these brave men, and take time to honor them. This film certainly did.

....................

July 1, 2013

This is an Open Letter to the families of the elite Granite Mountain Hotshot 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 therma-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 fire fighters. "This is a big mistake I whisper to myself." I see one waitress moving quickly and I can only image how long it will take for my breakfast. The waitress is very fast and coffee and water is 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 at 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

“I do not intend to tiptoe through life to arrive safely at death” M.M. Gavillet.

9 miles south of Ash Fork, Arizona.

They say that the title of a book is worth seriously thinking about, even before you write your first word. This story is no different, and the title will unfold naturally.

My alarm as instructed rings precisely at 5:01 a.m. It is going to be a long first day and I reluctantly roll out of bed. My bike was packed last night, and as always, it is eager to hit the road. Together we make a good team.

Three Rivers, California is where I live and this ride is to La Joya, New Mexico for the annual fiestas. La Joya is like a magnet, always pulling me home. I was born in the adobe house built by my dad in this little village along the Rio Grande. The fiestas are lively with music, dancing, New Mexico green chili, sopapillas, and beans – I love it.

I plan to camp 9 miles south of Ash Fork, Arizona on the Kaibab National Forest. I call this camp, Middle Satellite. I hope to arrive an hour before dark; it's a long 540 miles from Three Rivers.

My normal ride is east on Interstate 40 until Ash Fork where I head south on Highway 89 to Middle Satellite. Today is not normal. I have a promise to keep.

On January 19, 2017, I received an anonymous comment on my story called -- Exploring the Badlands of New Mexico, Johnny Cash style.

The comment read:

“Hello Robert, I recently discovered your site and the sharing of your many adventures, great stuff. A close longtime family friend and much more, was also an ‘iron cowboy’ and a member of the LAFD Fire Hogs and very much a ‘Lone Ranger’ on many solo rides. His name is Danny Cypert. Someday when your travels take you on Route 66, about 20 something miles east of Kingman, take time to stop around mile marker 88; Danny’s memorial is located there. Can be challenging to locate but well worth the effort. The memorial was erected by the LAFD, Kingman FD, as well as Highway Patrol and others. After reading your many adventures, I thought of Danny and how much you two were very much alike…”

This anonymous comment touched me, and I replied: “I will see this memorial for your friend one day. I don’t know when, but it will happen. I promise.”

The internet quickly displayed more about Danny Cypert. It was not hard to find and on pages 6 and 7 of The Los Angeles Firefighter March/April 2008 edition was the tribute to him.

Interstate 40 at Kingman is behind me as I head east on Historic Route 66 to find the memorial. Mile Marker 88 is more like 33 miles from Kingman and I pull over but do not see anything that resembles a memorial. I ride up to Mile Marker 89, then 90, but no luck. It has to be here, I tell myself. I turn around and drive slowly but nothing. I search for a good hour and feel sad and frustrated that I could not find it and recall the anonymous comment “…It can be challenging to locate…”

The memorial had to be there but I did not find it. I continue on the Historic Route 66 towards Peach Springs knowing that I’ll soon intersect Interstate 40 by Seligman.

From nowhere, dark clouds gather as the sun begins to set. I know that I’m within 10 miles of Middle Satellite when the first raindrops hit my windshield. A few at first, then the heavy downpour. I know the US Forest Service (USFS) dirt road is near and is hard to see with the rain blurring my eyes. Finally, I turn onto the dirt road just as the rain stops, I quickly gather firewood and set up a lean-to with my rainfly to keep me dry. I do not have a tent on this trip. The volcanic rocks scattered nearby will be a perfect ring for my warm campfire. Just as I’m having my gourmet can of stew, the rain returns. My gear is under the lean-to and dry.

Sleep comes easily after 585 miles.

Upper Satellite camp ~ south of Ash Fork, Arizona.

Breakfast at the Ranch House Cafe in Ash Fork is a good time to think about the next leg of my trip. My order of eggs over easy with hash browns, corn beef hash, biscuits, and coffee are tasty. I did not have cell service last night so I quickly let Denise know that I’m fine and heading for Pie Town, New Mexico where I’ll camp on US Forest Service land (USFS).

The wind is fierce across the Buffalo Range east of Flagstaff, Arizona. The wild wind attempts to rip off my helmet as it repeatedly chokes me. I don’t mind the rain, but a hard wind is tough, especially when it is blowing from the north or south and my bike is rolling east. I really don’t care for the Interstate and I’m looking forward to Holbrook to turn south on Highway 77 towards Show Low along some lonely roads, then east on Highway 60 east towards Springerville, Quemado, Pie Town, Datil, Magdalena, Socorro, and finally La Joya.

Highway 60, heading east to a place called 'nowhere.'

My camp on the USFS land near Pie Town is good. I’m beginning to like this spot as there is plenty of firewood. I set up my lean-to but it does not rain and I get a good sleep. There is no cell reception and I’ve always told Denise: "That if you don’t hear from me in two days, don’t worry unless I have not called you in three days.” In the morning, I boil water for some oatmeal and coffee – a light breakfast because the cafe in Pie Town is closed. The ride from Pie Town to Socorro is breathtaking. I love the sweeping views with few cars or pickup trucks along this lonely highway. In a few hours, I’ll be in Socorro where cell reception is excellent.

As my bike hums along, I think about the Cypert Memorial. I made a promise. To find it, I need help.

My camp is near Pie Town, New Mexico.

In Socorro with internet service, I google his name again looking for clues. There it is right in front of me - the Los Angeles Fire Department. The Google search begins to bring up phone numbers and the Public Information Office might be able to help me.

“Hello, my name is Robert Griego and I need help finding a memorial for a firefighter named Danny Cypert.” I was talking with Margaret who, without hesitation began to type his name into her computer. I described where it was located but she could not find anything right then. “I made a promise to find his memorial," I told her. "I may have to call you back and I promise to help you,” she replies. Ten minutes later my phone rings and it's Margaret. “I just spoke with the president of the LA Fire Hogs and he described in detail where the memorial is located. There is a white isolated house with a flagpole and the memorial is located on their property, just off the highway.” I told Margaret that I remember seeing the white house with the flag pole and I was within 50 yards of the site.

“Thank you, Margaret, I’ll find it on my way back to California,” I promise.

I stop by Belen to see my first cousin Tudi and his wife Erlinda before heading off to La Joya and Jewels Camp behind my mom and dad’s adobe house. I was born in this house.

My 1st cousin, Tudie Romero proudly showing me his magazine.

Fiestas in La Joya ~ Sept 16-17.

The sound of my crackling campfire is drowned out by an oncoming motorcycle. It is my brother, Gilbert from Apple Valley, California. He traveled some 785 miles in one day! We soon are joined by our friend Stanley Esquibel and we have a good time taking well into the night. Tomorrow, we all will drive to Abo to see our sister, Elva, and her husband Robert. They prepare a huge New Mexico meal for us and then send us off with tamales, chile Rellenos, red chile, and sopapillas for Saturday’s breakfast. We are treated like Kings.

Gilbert and I get cleaned up and walk over to the church where the fiestas are beginning. The music is beginning and we order some mouthwatering New Mexico food. Our 1^st cousin Ernie Griego, who is 90 years young, is dancing with his daughter Sylvia. For a man that age, he moves like he is sixty! We meet other friends and the lively music puts a smile on my face. Traditionally, the fiestas were a time to give thanks to God for the crops, family, friends, and life in the village called La Joya de Sevilleta.

Gilbert needs to be back home in California soon, so we say our good-byes near Belen.

Robert and sister, Elva ~ Abo, New Mexico. The apples are from La Joya.

Gilbert Griego, Stanley Esquebel, and Robert Griego ~ Abo - Salinas Pueblo Missions, New Mexico.

Robert, Ronnie, Stanley, and Gilbert ~ 'The La Joya Boys.'

Gilbert, Ernie, and Robert Griego (Ernie is 90 years young) ~ La Joya Fiestas.

Gilbert with cousin Sylvia ~ La Joya Fiestas.

Robert with cousin Sylvia ~ La Joya Fiestas.

My sister, Elva with her husband, Robert on their way to church ~ Jewels Camp.

At a rest stop on my way home, I meet a group of young Japanese who are impressed with my bike. When they see my odometer, they ask for a picture. They are coming from Grand Canyon National Park and had smiles a mile wide. I like them.

133,290 miles. I would eventually retire my Yamaha Road Star at 158,511 miles.

Returning from Grand Canyon National Park on their way to Los Angeles.

I focus back on my mission.

I am on Interstate 40 about 50 miles east of Kingman, Arizona when a digital road sign, flashes this message:

“Route 66 westbound to Kingman is closed due to an accident. Only locals will be permitted to proceed.” I exit Interstate 40 and the road to Highway 66 is blocked. The officer tells me that there is a big accident ahead and unless I’m a local, I cannot pass.

“I’m going to the white house at mile marker 88,” I tell the officer, which is true. “Where is the accident,” I ask. “Mile marker 90 at the top of the hill,” he says allowing me to proceed. There must have been 20 cars or locals at the crash scene waiting to go further. I arrive and within 5 minutes we are all allowed to continue as the badly mangled truck and trailer were loaded onto separate tow trucks. I don’t know what happened but it looked serious.

I went to the white house and knocked at the door. The lady kindly pointed me to the memorial and I paid my respects to a biker I had never met at Mile Marker 88.

I kept my promise.