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Quizzie, been following your rides on your blog and one AdvRider. You have an artist's sensibility about life, your pictures, both drawn and taken, are evidence that you have a poetic soul, and your spirit shows a great desire to learn and experience. I can only hope that you never stop riding, writing, drawing or photographing. I just don't know what I'd do with my spare time if I couldn't live vicariously through you. Thanks.
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Pete at Vespa SF gave me your Blogspot card when I was there in June for a library conference. I love your art and adventures, and this post was just flat-out delectable. Thanks for the glorious pics!
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DailyRider28465 wrote: Hey! I'm glad you finally found your way to MV, Ms. S. Will we see you at Indian Summer in Richmond in November? Or are you gonna rest up for the 2016 World Tour? The question is whether November is too cold to ride down the coast of NC/SC, which is what I would like to do. It will be either October or November, with destination: Atlanta for December. Open to suggestions! |
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Quezzie wrote: DailyRider28465 wrote: Hey! I'm glad you finally found your way to MV, Ms. S. Will we see you at Indian Summer in Richmond in November? Or are you gonna rest up for the 2016 World Tour? The question is whether November is too cold to ride down the coast of NC/SC, which is what I would like to do. It will be either October or November, with destination: Atlanta for December. Open to suggestions! |
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Mia Dolce II 2017 GTV 300, Ragazzo Vespa 946, Il Pazzo BV 350, & Mia Dolce GTV 250 -sold-
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Molto Verboso
Mia Dolce II 2017 GTV 300, Ragazzo Vespa 946, Il Pazzo BV 350, & Mia Dolce GTV 250 -sold-
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The coast will be warm enough in daytime in NC/SC in November and December. If you do this you must stay at our home in Oak Island, NC, very near the SC border.
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2015 GTS 300 (White) Triumph Bonneville (Dark edition)Honda PCX 125 (Sold)
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2016 Vespa GTS 300 i.e. ABS sold, 2010 Vespa GTS 300 ie Super (sold) & 2003 Honda Shadow VT750 ACE (sold) & 2006 Vespa LX150 (sold)
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I was privileged to spend a few days with Stephanie in the Adirondacks.
She is truly an inspiration. The story of those two days is in the following blog posts: http://www.life2wheels.com/2015/07/2014-blogger-to-blogger-tour-ms-quezzie.html http://www.life2wheels.com/2015/07/2015-blogger-to-blogger-tour-departure.html http://www.life2wheels.com/2015/08/2015-blogger-to-blogger-tour-adirondack.html http://www.life2wheels.com/2015/08/2015-blogger-to-blogger-tour-steve-tom.html http://www.life2wheels.com/2015/08/rider-profile-stephanie-yue.html |
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The eagle-eyed among you will see that I brought items from other MVers to my meeting with Stephanie.
See if you can spot them. There is also a contribution that can't be seen in the photos. As part of our blogger to blogger gift exchange, I gave Stephanie my MV limited edition pirate patch that once belonged to Tom Jasz. I trust he will be pleased that it now belongs to Quezzie. |
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Our favorite cross-country trekker takes a break for a roadside snack...
(See the grapevine-covered stone wall behind the bikes? Yum.) Wild and delicious Rhode Island grapes.
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Baja 1159, Part 2 - Now with baby whales! March 10 - 16, 201
Where were we? Ah, right, safely and happily ensconced at Mauro's Posada in beautiful Bahia de Los Angeles. Which of course means I couldn't sit still. At some point in the previous evenings conversation, someones mentioned, "Are you here to pet baby whales?" "Wait - what? I am now!" In a fantastic coincidence, I arrived just in time for the tail end (hee hee) of whale breeding season (April-March). Eco-tours in the towns adjacent to Scammon's Lagoon offered boat trips to see them up close, even pet the babies! Their natural predators, killer whales, wouldn't follow into the shallow waters, so grey whales raise their young there before venturing north along the coast. The first grey whales I saw were in Alaska, much further along their migration. Now I had a chance to interact with them as calves?! I discussed with my hosts the possibility of riding to San Ignacio (because it's a cool old town), but the town of Guerrero Negro was closer and Mauro had a friend with Malarrimo Tours. He and Alessandro were taking the camper into town for errands and building supplies anyhow, so they offered me a ride in the camper! The sunrise over a most treacherous driveway. But I'm in the camper today! Alessandro reads philosophy, naps, and makes conversation in the back. When he first arrived in BLA, he met Mauro when locals asked, "You must know the other Italian in town?" Morning fog crawls through an otherwise dry landscape. We were up early to try to make it for an 11am tour time, but I was getting the impression Baja time is much like scooter time, which sat fine with me. Based on the hour I was contenting myself to just poke around town with Alessandro and Mauro. However, we forgot there was a timezone change when we crossed into Baja California Sur. I totally arrived half an hour early, and because I was solo they had no trouble squeezing me onto a trip. Buses pull up to an unassuming dock. Much of the main drag of Guerrero Negro was devoted to whale tours. Most of my boat mates were of the older, vacationing type, for whom this was their second or third or fifth return trip. I paid my $40 and felt a bit foreign waiting for the bus in the clean resort environment, though I availed myself of their WC. The tour promised whales up close, but I didn't want to get my hopes up. When we motored out to the lagoon though, they were everywhere! Whale! Two whales! I am totally petting a whale! Thar she blows! Rainbow is very appropriate for petting a baby whale. A mother and her baby would come up to the boat, and then when they leave you look up to see spouts and flippers all around. The boat motors on until the next curious mother and baby, who swims right up. Repeat, lunch break, and then repeat for the next several hours! They're everywhere! It's hard to capture the scale. Oh hai! It's hard to be anything but utterly delighted when a mother whale nudges her baby up to the boat so that you can pet her/him. As soon as they draw near everybody reaches towards the whales, and smiles are the same in every language. They're curious, playful, and enormous. And they feel really unexpected...rubbery on the outside, but with a very obvious give and heave that can only come from life and feeling. Mother and calf give you the side eye. They're quite accustomed to humans, perhaps as tiny, easy-to-please playthings. Many times, as whales approach the boats, they'll turn sideways and just look you over a bit. As if to say, "Yeah... yeah this lot seem alright, I'll let you near me." Good call, since an adult is easily five times the size of the boat... Not a whale. Back at shore. Also, salt. You pass these tall, pure white dunes on the way to the lagoon. Salt mining is the big industry here. Mitsubishi owns about half the town for salt drying and distribution, after buying it from a local in the 70s. Hay there. Errands accomplished, time to head back. Snack before heading back. I don't think I will ever hit the fish taco wall. Slightly thicker breading here? So delicious. The owner, upon hearing where I came from, gave me a sticker for their truck. It's on the side of my topcase now. Ambling back to BLA. Coffee stop at one of Mauro's favorites. Toyota and camper and Mauro. The camper ride itself was magical. It was heavy and boxy, with a top speed of about 55mph. "It's a Ferrari," Mauro said, referring to its fuel thirstiness. He rolls the 'r' with his accent. "But I like going this speed. You don't need to go faster to enjoy." In his past, Mauro raced off road bikes.The trip each way took about 4 hours when 'regular' cars would take just under 3, but it could have lasted forever. The sun turned the desert pink, purple, lavender... a million shades without names. Even the new poles delivering electricity that people complained ruined the natural beauty, they were lit up in a brilliant shade of coral. Shadows stretched out in violet. Shrubbery, hills, cactuses were all softly consumed - nothing was left untouched by the majesty of the sunset. We chugged along through it in quiet reverence, windows down, 45mph, on this whimsical behemoth stuck to a Toyota. There were only a few other cars, and one military checkpoint. They cut the engine to talk and the camper had trouble starting up again, but everyone seemed content to wait. Mauro chatted away in Italian-accented Spanish. I didn't bother to take photos, it would be impossible to capture. I could get used to this pace. Pizza and faces with hostel guests for dinner tonight! The view of the bay in the morning. Patty gives me a tour of their garden. Time to explore town! Off in the distance is a lighthouse. Alessandro mentioned you could walk up to it, but perhaps didn't understand the mechanics of sand and small tires... Whoops. Up till this point, daytime had been temperate and nights positively cool. Today, the day that I had to dig my scooter out of sand, temperatures suddenly soared. I sweated under the sun as I removed my gear, trying to shed some weight and free my bike. Until next time, Bahia de los Angeles. So beautiful, so sandy. It's weird, looking back at these photos I'm amazed at such natural beauty. At the time though, immersed in the landscape, my eyes were saturated. I knew that I'd found myself in a place of indescribable beauty, yet existing there was as natural as breathing. Of course the mountains in the bay looked that way, of course the air smells like blooming desert flowers. Every moment was a feast for the senses, to the point that it almost becomes plain. How do you explain water to a fish? Does it spoil you for the rest of the world? Rest stop. I really must study Spanish again. I think it's beef. Here we gooooo. As I traveled through the peninsula, people warned me of a rough section I intended to cross. They're paving more of it every day (and in some people's opinions, harkening the beginning of the end of old Baja), but as of 2015 the turn off from Mex-1 to Mex-5 would be entirely sand and dirt for anywhere from 15-30 miles, depending on the account. I was not deterred, but I planned on spending longer in that section. Besides, I wanted to meet this Coco everyone was talking about! They also said the scenery was the best. Bumping along, I met another ADVer, Rick and his cool dog! He stopped because he thought I was crazy. When I stopped to chat with Rick in his camper, he asked, "Isn't that why you're here? To see remote Baja?" Actually the only mental picture I had of Baja before arriving was cartoon cactuses. I suppose I'm here to see the remote part, or the less remote parts, or just to see what's here. At 5-8mph on washboard dirt and gravel, apparently. Bumpitty bumpitty bumpitty... It's pretty rough, but come to think of it I never fell off. Woa. Sometimes, a narrower sandy path with small hills ran parallel to the larger road, for off road bikes I imagine. I tried it with scoot, but went back to running along a wheel well from the trucking road. Arrived at Coco's Corner! Lots of beer can, bottle, and hubcap deco. Much cooler in the shade. Hi, Coco! Guestbook signed. Chats chatted. The infamous collection of underwear nailed to the ceiling. Coco's reach is long. Farewell! Crazy desert plants. The road actually gets rougher after Coco's... My sad, shallow treads in the sand. I took many breaks for water, photos, or chatting. My street tires slid in the sand crazily - I merely guided it roughly in the right direction. But still, the constant bumping around was wearing on me, and there was a point, sometime on the immeasurable desert clock, that I started to crack. I knew this machine wasn't meant for this, and I began to worry for my bike. Large rocks especially would compromise the suspension, sending shocks up the bike and into my bones. Sometimes the road was made entirely of them. It felt more and more like a plastic toy, bouncing along something far too big for it. I crawled along at a snail pace, unable to relax for a second, wincing for my bike, with no end in sight and no one around. Time distended, and in my worried state I found myself telling my bike, "Don't crap out on me now, we're going to Maine. You and I aren't done, we have more miles to go. We're going to make it to Maine, just you and me..." I knew in my heart the reassurance was more for myself, but it didn't stop me from getting a bit choked up. In the end, it took me 4 hours to cross 25 miles of dirt, sand, gravel, rocks, and everything in between. I'm sure it would be a blast on another bike, but this was the one I had and it was the roughest road I have ever ridden with her. I cheered in my helmet when I found pavement again! Pavement, woohoo! Beautiful pause to use spare gas. The Pemex was closed and I didn't want to wait for morning. It's hard to capture the reflection of the island in the still water. I CAN GO SO FAST!! One military checkpoint and a spare gas stop later, I was at my destination: Puertecitos. Pitched a tent up high because I could. Gooooood evening. I don't recall who first mentioned this town over any of the other small towns I passed by, but Puertecitos' main draw is its natural sulfuric hot springs. The springs are right on the coast, so at high tide seawater mixes with the hot spring water to make for a fantastic soaking experience. Rocks have been arranged to form pools and small waterfalls. As the tide goes out, the higher pools become too hot so you migrate to lower pools, until you are at sea level. After the grueling dirt ride, as soon as the tent was set up I bolted for the springs. The coyotes howled, but couldn't keep me from sleep. Good morning. How do I count myself so lucky. When I pulled into Peurtocitos it was nearly dusk. The next day, I'd eaten through my onboard supplies and the baked goods selection at the convenience store. I decided to ride to one of the restaurants I'd passed up the street, about 15 miles. The road is so new and perfect and empty, I must have been doing 70mph when I passed a familiar group of motorcyclists at a scenic pull off... It's the ADVers from El Rosario! I pulled an illegal U-ey and caught up with them. They sent me this photo. Is that what I look like?! Rock-shaped island in daytime. No reflection in the water. This section of the coast, in addition to having beautiful new tarmac, is the most stunning coastline I've ever seen. That's right, PCH, you're not the only pretty coastline. Lunchtime. Studio with a view. The best tacos I have ever had. I have dreams of these tacos. The owner practiced English with me, and says he fries up whatever he catches that day. At lunch, another motorcyclist pulled in and joined me. He lived on a sailboat, but had picked up his bike from San Diego for a ride into Baja. Normally, he would do Mex-1 as far as he felt like and loop back, but he noticed that there was a loop from Mex-5. I looked at his bike, a Sportster with street tires, and told him I'd just come up that way. He didn't realize it wasn't paved. I didn't want to discourage him, but I told him I took 4 hours to cross it, and suggested to drive to the intersection and look at it. There's a beautiful seaside campground near the military checkpoint if he decided not to ride it that day. Woohoo, I actually have information to give for once! Back at base. Trail splits to rock pools and springs. Hot springs time. Playing with underwater camera. Making friends. Mike invited me to dinner. Hiya! They're in the camper by the playas in my photos. In the timelessness of the beach, I visited the springs at every opportunity. I most liked it at night. Without the blinding sun, you could lay in the water looking up at the night sky. I counted shooting stars, and played with cold seawater with one hand while paddling hot spring water with the other. Often you could stir up bright green and gold phosphorescents. I could chat with other spring goers from around the world. Sometimes I'd catch a whiff of the sulfuric air, but it didn't bother me - I enjoyed it as part of the springs. What time is it? Oh right, paradise-o-clock. Many of the homes here began as trailers, hauled out here in the 50s. Extensions are then added. The local convenience store. I did walk along the beach. The town. From afar, it looks like any other town along the coast. View from Mike and Kristin and Don and Mary's place. She offered a spare kayak! Let's go look at boobies! There's a roost of blue-footed boobies around the cliffside. Tamales and spaghetti with good company for dinner. Strong black coffee and stories about local characters. Perhaps they will go to Prim's for a card game today. Ain't happening, buddy. Mike has a daughter roughly my age, and I think he might have missed her because he spoiled me with this fantastic breakfast. So simple, but after the desert the taste of butter was decadent. They bring all of their supplies, including drinking water, so I'm very grateful they shared some with me. The pros have a tide guide. Like many things that are repurposed here, their porch is made of old telephone booth windows. Also, friends showing up on four wheelers! Propane refrigerators, because power gets shut off at 10pm. Burping notes. Touring homes! Seriously. We must tell everyone it's awful here, don't visit. Keep it empty. One Mexican lady owns the entire town, inherited from her father. Americans lease the land and build on it, usually expanding on the trailer that was hauled here decades ago. I was told about 40-50 couples live part time in this little town, though may of the homes are shared between many people. They say hi and plan community events by CB radio. Sneaking a peek at other homes. Check out that spinal column. By the sounds of it, many of the homes began when someone just plopped down and started building. Local post office and library. Interesting collection. More repurposed. The pace was the epitome of taking it as it comes. Friendship came easily in that kind of setting. Without phones or regular electricity, modern concerns melted away - even to the point of regular bathing (whatever, I went to the springs and hosed off with the rainwater basin). Is the Pemex gas station closed after 4? Just go tomorrow. I could see losing myself in the beach, the sea, the springs, and only realize a week or more had gone by when I looked up to count the days. It wouldn't be a bad way to lose a week or three. But was that what I was here to do? Difficult as it was to admit it, I wanted to keep going. I'm just an interloper, adopted for a few days by this quirky, cozy community. Plus, I did have an appointment I kind of wanted to keep in Arizona. I thanked everyone I met and left Puertocitos quietly, knowing that at the rate Baja was changing, even if I should return it would never be the same. Lunch break in San Felipe. Blue waters and green palms. San Felipe was beautiful, and covered over in race stuff. I think I was still longing for the smell of sulfur and rocky beaches - the fine sand and blue ocean was too perfect to my eyes, and the wandering salespeople pushing trinkets on me were annoying. I ordered some rolled tacos and a margarita, and paid with card. Things were changing. Woa, green again! Originally, I intended to go straight to Arizona, but Susanne had reached out so I swung back to Ensenada. It's moments like these I really value freedom of schedule. How often do I get to re-meet people on the road? Hello, Susanne! She's become much more comfortable traveling around Ensenada, and took me to some favorites she discovered. I hadn't thought that I'd been roughing it alone in the desert for a week (probably something to do with being surrounded by stunning natural beauty), but when I arrived back in the hustle, bustle, bars, cars, noise, and lights of Ensenada... I was swirly eyed. Amenities were everywhere. Not only could I order a drink, I could order some hipster concoction that could have come off a Brooklyn menu. Susanne and I met up with her Spanish classmates at Hussong's, and proceeded to hit the town. Meeting other Spanish students at Hussong's Cantina. The band's all here. Last night, I was camped alone on a beach with no running water or electricity. Tonight, we found ourselves at an underground salsa dance club, and an outdoor plaza centered around a raised DJ stand, shooting mezcal. The contrast (and the booze) made my head spin. But even with the alcohol (I thought that kills germs!) the place that culture shock really hit hard... was in the gut. The next day, I had the rumbles and was on the pot every half hour. Yeeeuupp, it's moments like these I really value freedom of schedule. So much for my plans to head to Arizona for the next couple days. It was nice having a day to chill and catch up on blogging and drawings at the hostel though. I should really carry some anti-diarrhea stuff. Susanne was kind enough to share her mysterious Swiss medicines. We've got a van to drive us around! Fancy! Some hostel guests were pooling together to get a cheaper rate for a wine tour. There was no way I was turning that down, rumbles or not. I was beginning to feel better anyway. Such luxury. We did not sit here. Nor here. But we could look at it. Winery number two. Our cheap drunks vineyard group. Cool eco-conscious winery. Vineyard number three. Sure, I'd love a taste. Stopped counting. Just sharing a bottle and conversation. So glad to meet Susanne! Zzz. I guess even in the city, you can find some of that Baja pace. Head buzzing again, it was a beautiful evening to chill in the hostel. My love affair with street food continues. No taco wall. Farewell, Ensenada Backpacker. Second weld on the muffler, after the first started to crack. $5 job this time. Fingers crossed. Foiled again. I'm not a big Tecate fan, but since I planned on passing by Tecate anyway I figured I'd get a free beer at the brewery. When I first crossed through Tecate, I had the address wrong and while looping around the little streets trying to get my bearings with new approaches to traffic, stray dogs barked and chased me. I decided I did not need beer that badly (come to find out later, you can usually give these dogs a firm NO and they'll cool it). This time around, armed with my newfound confidence in handling dogs and local city traffic, I arrived at the brewery... to discover it was closed for a national holiday. At least there was a great taco shop next door. Are you tired of taco close ups yet? Had to stop. Getting scenic. This section of Mex-2 drops you from the plateau to the desert floor. I am totally okay with paying the $1 toll for this ride. Got lost again. Roads do not match maps, but it sure is pretty. Locals are pretty happy to point me to Los Algodones. From sleepy desert towns to pharmacies and optometrists and dentists. Mexicali, where I originally intended to cross, was a strip mall. I followed suggestions to cross instead at Los Algodones, which is smaller and mostly a hotspot for Americans to get cheaper pharmaceuticals, glasses, and dental work. I bypassed about a mile of cars and the guards waved me in right after another motorcycle, no wait. At the crossing, the US border official did the run down, How long have you been in Mexico/What are you carrying with you/Did you buy anything there, glasses or drugs. Then he had a look behind me, "You traveling alone?" I did my usual Yeeeup. He laughed, "You must like adventure. Welcome home." And that was that. Smooth pavement, proper signage, and American English awaited. Leaving the desert also means bugs again! In retrospect, the time spent on the Baja peninsula was a short venture, only 12 days, and I didn't even ride down to Cabo. Somehow, every hour of those days were packed to the brim - there was no sense of lacking. I heard someone say that once you get the Baja dust on you, it never comes off. I thought this was a laundry tip, but the meaning is that you'll never fully be able to shake the desire to return. "Go native," you might say. I'd certainly met those who had. And I did have dust on me - quite literally, my bike was a mess and I could have used cleaning advice - but even if I returned I expect to find a different Baja. In many ways, Baja is still a frontier, one of the few remaining and so close-by for Americans. Riding Baja has certainly changed me, in a part of Mexico that is changing rapidly itself. Perhaps I'm part of the plague, opening it up for more tourists with wifi and coffee needs. Those electricity lines are going up in an once unspoiled desert, convenience is coming for all. On the other hand, some people are very concerned with the search for "real" Baja. Why isn't change considered real? The mountains, ocean, desert, and people were plenty real to me, reality turned up to 11. Enough to fill my heart for a long time. All I have to say is that riding Baja changed me. Also, I'm doing shorter posts from now on, this took forever to put together! Baja 1159, Part 2 - Now with baby whales! March 10 - 16, 2015
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2015 GTS 300 Super (Melody: 2015-2021, RIP), 2022 GTS SuperTech (Thelonica; bit the dust 02-22-23)
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Whew! And, wow...will need to go over this several times to take it all in. It's that amazing.
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Veni, Vidi, Posti
GTS 300ABS, Buddy 125, Buddy Kick 125
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LC353 wrote: I feel like a kid at Christmas...a present from the Quezzie-blog! YES!!! |
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Veni, Vidi, Posti
2007 LX150 2015 GTS (on the bench) 2017 BV 350
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Posts: 12250 Location: Fond du Lac, Wisconsin |
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Veni, Vidi, Posti
2007 LX150 2015 GTS (on the bench) 2017 BV 350
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Posts: 12250 Location: Fond du Lac, Wisconsin |
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Awesome!
I think you're due to rename your blog to Around North America by Vespa. Great pictures and loved your story. |
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Fantastic! You make me wonder how much I can get in before I get too old! Wonderful writing and pix, keep the luck of the angels upon you!
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Southwestern Car Interlude. March 17-21, 2015.
http://250superhero.blogspot.com/2015/10/southwestern-car-interlude-march-17-21.html
This map is a bit misleading. Part of the press to turn north again was to meet up with Tim (previously referred to as the Giraffe) for a southwestern road trip. The map above doesn't cover car territory - this is partly because I'm more concerned with scooter tracks, but it's also because we only had one charger in the car and I couldn't keep my GPS running all the time. In any case, this would be a bit like a whirlwind vacation from riding for me, a rest from the emotional intensity of Baja as well as catch up time with a dear friend. So, less talk and more photos now?! Seems like a good camp spot, free on BLM land. I evicted a brilliant pink tailed lizard for this spot though, hope s/he doesn't come back at night with all her/his buddies... In recompense, I decided to let this little camping buddy stay. In the morning, he (she?) was still there...but I noticed he was feeding on the spattered remains of his buggy brethren on my windscreen. Was probably feasting all night. I prefer my dinner: tiny avocados from the Mexican market, mash with tuna, and chase with whiskey (still in a Downtown Grand bottle from the rally, ha!). The desert doesn't know borders, but I suppose it was sort of a relief to be back on US soil - I had cell service, in spite of setting up in the middle of nowhere. Outside a market before I set up camp, a rider with a mohawk helmet that matched his yellow Honda sportbike pulled into the gas station lot next to me. "Where you headed?" I responded that I was going to camp outside Yuma about 15 miles west. "Oh, I live in town. Just got back from a 40 mile ride from the east. You come from east or west?" "Uh, south. Algodones." "You were... south? Where did you come from?" "I left from Ensenada this morning." And conversation kind of halted. "You... must really like riding," I think were his parting words. At night, the sky swam with stars. Before I left my desert campsite though, I had a ghost town to check out: Tumco. It's one of the earliest mining towns in California, and it's still be mined today. After Baja, this hard-packed dirt road was as good as riding on asphalt to me. Current mining area? The end of American Girl Road. Active strip mining. Desert blooms. Bright colors in the desert. Proceeding to explore ghost town on foot. Desert is deserty. Graveyard of cans. Uncanny. Most of the trail looks like this, with signs and barbed wire around open mine shafts. Or gates. Graveyard of...unmarked graves. Creepy. Quartz sparkles along the dirt roads. A really dumb hobby for a live-onboard scooterist: Rock collecting. I love riding alongside trains. Different kinds of giant cactus around here. Enough Ethiopian food to take down a buffalo, Waldo (trying to hide from camera), his daughter... ...and special guest from Rhode Island, Tim! Due to being sick in Ensenada, I would only be pausing in Phoenix for a night before taking off with Tim again. As per usual, the mileage and pace demanded a rental car. Waldo, whom I met at the Las Vegas High Rollers Rally, graciously housed my scoot and took us out to an Ethiopian feast. A quick map check reveals this is Pinal Airpark, a boneyard for commercial crafts. Tim wanted to visit the Pima Air & Space Museum, among other sights. Arizona's dry climate and expansive space makes it perfect for dumping old airplanes. Like a kid at Christmas, this one. Let's go see the planes! Tim was telling me about the marking on the side being records of kills. Woa. The Super Guppy, a plane for carrying oversized cargo. I like the nose art exhibit. Nose sense in arguing. Vespa? Doofus. Riding passenger in a cage again can be a bit boring, so in between the music and Nightvale episodes I took lots of photos of the changing landscape. Kind of crazy how much it changes with weather. Pew pew pew. Getting our tourist on in Tombstone, AZ. They said "Foood!" The interior was decorated by a deer friend. Costumed characters roam the streets, like Disney but with less hygiene and more guns. Although touristy, Tombstone, AZ was actually pretty cool. I got the sense the locals and actors just want to preserve the history that put the town on the map. Crossing into New Mexico, "Dust storms may exist." I want to believe. I like this photo mostly because you can see the shadow of Tim's hand, waving. The nice thing about camping with Tim is that he bothers to cook. With the persistent rain, Tim and I bailed on camping the first night and stayed in a motel in Nogales, AZ (where he repeatedly got lost and kept pointing the car towards the Mexican border, without his passport, but that's another story). Although I'm perfectly happy to split motel costs when I can, he was determined to use the camp kitchen he hauled on the plane with him so we found a nice spot in Aguirre Spring. Good morning, rental Chevy Sonic. Does that tent look familiar? That may be because I was borrowing it on the scoot as far as San Francisco, before I bought my own solo tent. I didn't think I'd be seeing it/cursing at setting it up again so soon. Nine antelope bounded across the meadow here in the morning. The chile was hot, but the establishment otherwise unremarkable except for having an enormous sign in the middle of nowhere, and playing ska, which just made me nostalgic for scooter rallies. Moisture has no home here, and clings desperately to craggy mountain peaks. Tiny nesting baskets at the White Sands Visitor Center! My miniature heart desires... There are tracks where people sled down the dunes. We don't have sleds, so cartwheels it is. World's largest pistachio nut. Really. Also had wine tasting. Red Chile was interesting. Oh shit son, glad to be in a car now. Could not resist. The lady at the gas station said they weren't too hot. I concur, and they are indeed tasty. Camping in a lava field. Valley of Fires, NM. As we approached Albuquerque, signs started to look cool. cupcake break at a thoroughly southwest themed diner. I like the details. There were too many cool signs along old Route 66, so here is just one. Indulging in fandom in a certain TV show, at Rebel Donut... Yup, fandork time is now. Friend recommended getting a burrito at Frontier Restaurant in Albuquerque.I've never had it swimming in sauce like this... It's delicious. Also, New Mexico exploded in here. More fandumb. Just in case you didn't get it, Tim is a huge Breaking Bad fan. I think it changed his life. Tim is looking for gifts for family and friends. Shopping feels odd, I so rarely acquire anymore. But I can oggle some crazy boots. We only had time for a drive-by of Albuquerque, which was enough to determine the city is trapped in the 70s...in an awesome way. I loved the old neon, and the general aesthetic, against the backdrop of desert scrub. Also, please put green chiles on everything, I am definitely okay with this. The continental divide is a good place to sell crap. Well, no fun at this rest stop. It's like they knew I was coming! In three short days, we blasted through places Bisbee, Tombstone, Nogales, Douglas, Duluth, Asheville, Holbrook, Payton... I don't even remember in which order, I only remember the names in my notes. Tim was on a timeframe, and I was along for the ride. On the last day, he drove 635 miles back to Phoenix to catch his red eye back to Providence, RI - an unthinkable distance for me. I settled back into Phoenix to rest at Waldo's. It was good to be reunited with my scooter again, and chill with Waldo. I felt ready to explore the southwest on my two wheels. I agree, Waldo, the livingroom is perfect for scooters. No stay with a scooterist would be complete without a garage tour! We watched videos of Waldo taking this scoot on trails. He would have handled Baja in a way that put me to shame.
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Love your notes and fotos!
Just your friendly, neighborhood pedantic fool here but, the B52 you said "kills" it was a drop plane for the X15. Number of drops on the fuselage. Sorry, had to to say it or I would have exploded. Keep on scooting! |
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Veni, Vidi, Posti
2007 LX150 2015 GTS (on the bench) 2017 BV 350
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Veni, Vidi, Posti
2007 LX150 2015 GTS (on the bench) 2017 BV 350
Joined: UTC
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2015 GTS 300 Super (Melody: 2015-2021, RIP), 2022 GTS SuperTech (Thelonica; bit the dust 02-22-23)
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Excellent read
Great job. Thanks for sharing with us. As a rider of adventure bikes, I really get a chuckle out of the fact that there your are among those supposedly totally kitted out bikes and here you are successfully following your dreams on a Vespa. Just love. It shows that it isn't the bike, it is the rider and his/hers adventure.
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2009 Vespa GTS 250, 2005 Vespa PX 200
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rkcoker wrote: Love your notes and fotos! Just your friendly, neighborhood pedantic fool here but, the B52 you said "kills" it was a drop plane for the X15. Number of drops on the fuselage. Sorry, had to to say it or I would have exploded. :nerd: :scoot: Keep on scooting!
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Hooked
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Tamales and Mudheads. Arizona and New Mexico. Mar 22-29, 201
http://250superhero.blogspot.com/2015/11/tamales-and-mudheads-arizona-and-new.html
In the serendipitous way that is life sometimes, news came that Sash and Steve were staying in Tucson. Plus, a certain celebrity cooking show host, who's show sold out in RI while I was there, was touring in Tucson... I guess I'm making tracks to Tucson! The familiar ST and... what's that there on the right? A 2015 Indian Scout, you say? Hello, fellow motorcycle gypsies, Sash and Steve! Hello, tacos and margaritas! It's a bit like Baja, but 3x the price... Just in case you were wondering which celebrity cooking host it was, it's Alton Brown. And the Edible Inevitable show was as fantastic as I hoped. Every so often, you just have to blow your budget and buy tickets to a live show. I only wished there was a signing, I would have asked him to sign my helmet. Alton Brown's show, Feasting on Asphalt, was some of the programming playing on loop in the background while I plotted and planned my own travels. Not only did I learn to cook with Good Eats, he also explores road food in America by motorcycle? My hero. Okay, the other AB, Anthony Bourdain, too. Crave Coffee Bar. Most of the daytime looked much like the above. Sash, Steve, and I would camp out at a coffee shop, working on our respective works until someone's battery ran out, or someone got antsy for a ride. It's not all glitter and gold, but it's not at all a bad rhythm. Even better when I find others who share it. Caught up with Steve for a joyride up Gates Pass. A different quality of desert here, it's scrubby. Hiked up to a little hut. Met the good folks at Scoot Over for a replacement bungee net! Right next door to the coffee shop, too. Sash and Steve were staying at an extended stay hotel, which was a new one for me (I crashed on the pull out in their suite). Apparently, in addition to breakfast each morning, the hotel includes a rotating schedule of dinners for their guests to mingle and socialize during feeding. I followed them to baked potato night one evening with low expectations, but since Steve and Sash have apparently been doing this a while they fancied up our booth with craft beer and their personal supply of hot salsa. Well then. Mount Lemmon solo excursion. Fun roads. This...rocks. Company of cactuses. Tamales with Sash's very cool Enfield riding friends, Chris and Mike. Sash let me try the Scout! Thanks - it's fun, but you may certainly have your bike back. Loaded up and ready to roll. Sash and Steve were headed to their next destination, but I'd be sharing the road with them most of the way back towards Phoenix. This is the third time we've crossed paths, but come to think of it we'd never actually ridden together until now. Ha! Well don't they look cute posing by the Tom Mix memorial. Back at Waldo's, I spent the day poking around Phoenix. It's a city of expanse and straight lines, but I found a small artsy block I liked (around JoBot Coffee), and a coworking space, Co+Hoots, that was kind enough to give me a day pass. In the evening, Waldo and I had the most fiery Thai food I've ever eaten. I was off again for lands unknown in the morning. Thanks for being my home base for a while, Waldo! Scoot was here. Yaaas. It reminds me a bit of the Badlands. Durr. Petrified bridge and shadows. Unassuming chunks of petrified wood everywhere. The golden hour in the Petrified Forest. Long shadows as the sun sets. I set up camp just in time. Thanks, SF monthly riders, for the toasty toes. It gets chilly in the desert at night. I struck up a conversation with Josh, who was playing guitar. He camped inside one of the teepees. There's a whole tent inside, and he says the acoustics are great. Packed up camp at the gift shop (free camping!), and ready to roll. More exploring the alien landscape, now at sunrise. Hiked around some old villages, but photos don't come out well. Swinging by the Painted Desert. The landscape stretches out under your wheels. As you may gather from the number of photos shot from the middle of the road, there isn't much traffic. Hello, bullet holes. On a map somewhere, I saw a road called the Trail of Ancients. It was roughly headed in the direction of Santa Fe, so obviously I took the interesting sounding road instead of I-40. I had no clue what was along it, but it worked out better that way. Not much open in this town... But I found a jewelry maker next to the welcome center. Raw materials wholesale. I haven't heard of these fetishes before. Tiny pots made of woven horse hair. Such miniature. I turned around for a tamale, and it would be the best decision I made all day. First of all, it's delicious. I was ready to head out of town when I remembered a tamale sign I saw with an arrow. Turning around to follow the arrow ended up being the best decision I made that day. It led to a personal residence, where I sat in her kitchen eating this delicious tamale. As I packed up outside, a woman struck up a conversation over my bike. Sheryl, she introduced herself, had just bought tamales to bring home... and invited me to stay over. "There's a night dance tonight, I promise it'll be something you've never seen." This made sense, judging from the signs all over town not allowing video or photography. So I followed Sheryl home. Sheryl and Strallie. I was a little nervous taking Sheryl up on her offer at first, but then she introduced me to her youngest son, JC. "Hi," he said, and then turned to Strallie, "Mom brought back another one." Whew, there's a precedent for picking up random travelers. Sheryl invited me to use their shower (much appreciated!), and then we settled at the kitchen table. She took out a loaf of traditional style bread for a snack, and I listened to her tell me about her family (her other son in Korea) and community life. The bread was freshly baked, in one of the many round, traditional style ovens that dotted everyone's yard. It's also why the town smelled so good - everything was closed because the entire town was baking or making food, including the tamales that drew my interest, for the night dances. Some of Sheryl and Strallie's handmade jewelry. Traditional stylings. Sheryl walked me through the process of creating a bracelet. Tour of their studio. She tells me she doesn't produce nearly as much now though. Listening to stories about kachinas, the images which adorn their home. Also lots of intricate handmade turquoise pieces. It's hard not to notice this structure. There's a story involving a flood here, but I couldn't remember the details. Went for a hike while waiting for night dances. Sheryl and Strallie are in super hiking shape. The ground is soft underfoot in places. Mysterious spring waters. Tree growing out of an old house foundation. Okay then. Sheryl took me into the old part of town for a quick tour, as well as a peek into the village center for a daytime dance. I believe she said they were mostly corn-related kachinas, but the experience is difficult to describe. I was glad for the advice they gave me - leave the phone in the car, if you have questions please save them for when we're back at home. The environment was reverent, the sounds of chanting, drumbeat, and dancing all you can hear approaching the square. The players that stood out to me were the mudheads, who also walked among the assembled masses between dances. A mudhead stopped to give a kid one of his many red gourds, and a bow and arrow as tall as the kid, along with a dramatic speech and miming firing an arrow. Sheryl translated for me afterwards, it was hunting advice. All the kachina dolls! The dancers are like life sized versions of these. I like the mudheads, they're also the jokesters. Many fetishes. Sheryl took me to her friend's shop. Cutest tiny beaver. Drove to Gallup for dinner at their favorite diner. Green chiles on hamburger for me, yum! Sheryl invited me along for a dinner and groceries run in Gallup. In the inexplicable way that memory works, I remember JC playing me a Green Day song he liked in their SUV. At the grocery, he enlightened me on the different kachinas, taught me a few words (my brain was already too full to remember any of them), and talked about his dad's involvement in their religious community. He even mimed some of the dances in the aisles. As a family and at schools they speak Zuni, but Sheryl later expressed frustration at the slow erosion of their language. With epic amounts of groceries picked up, we went back to deliver them to the home of a relative in town. The groceries would be for the cookout later, to feed the family members who were building a new oven on the property. At around 8pm, the household took a nap. At 11pm, everyone woke again and returned to the village center. And I mean everyone. The entire town awake and present. Old, young, and everyone in between milled around, bundled up against the desert cold. They chatted and caught up with each other, and then slipped away to quietly peer into windows of the kivas where their brothers, uncles, fathers, and sons were dancing - only men danced. The sounds of dancing came from the six (I think?) kivas in town. I say 'sounds' because you could hear their movements, small bells or percussive pieces held and woven into the elaborate outfits would shake in time with steps, even before the low chanting reaches your ears. In the quiet of the desert, following firelight along ancient dirt roads, it makes for a most supernatural feeling. During the day dance, I remember a moment I spotted the two other white women across the village square. Each held a red gourd, looking painfully out of place, and I wondered if they felt as if they'd fallen into some other world like I did. Around 1am, or was it 2am - without my cell phone, I had no clue - JC was getting sleepy and the cold was biting. The family decided to turn in before the dancers finished all their necessary visits. The rest of the town was certainly dancing on, based on the lively business of several food trucks lit up along the main street. Strallie and JC had their favorite truck though, and we made a stop for some burgers and fries before bed. I think it's the only time I've had fried food out of a truck in the wee hours of the night while completely sober. Scoot is all packed in the morning. Thank you for being so awesome and sharing a bit of your life with me! Sniffles. I can never say thanks enough to Sheryl and her family, for extending such hospitality to a traveller. They patiently answered so many questions, only once or twice Strallie simply said, "It's a secret," but I see how some mystery would be protection. Tagging along to homes on the grocery run, I was touched by so many kind welcomes, feeling very much like I'd stumbled into another land. They had different customs, different struggles, and a huge cast of magical characters that everyone knew except me...and yet coexisted with modernity. This was a crash course in southwestern pueblos for me. It's like this was this hidden between the folds of the fabric of America. Honestly, between the sheer amount of new information and interrupted sleep patterns, the entire experience was dreamlike. Without even photos to look back on, I'm not sure it happened. I want to recall the story of the flood Sheryl shared with me as we hiked to the base of the plateau, but I can't find records of it. I guess I'd flunk oral traditions. Somehow, this is America, but completely foreign. Somehow, I was lucky enough to be spirited into that world for a day.
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Another awesome post! Thank you for sharing your experiences.
Seriously, moderators, she needs the title of "Bard" or "Minstrel" of MV. |
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what a visit you had to the land of enchantment!! Next time you are close to Santa Fe please let me know!! You are such an inspiration!
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2016 Vespa GTS 300 i.e. ABS sold, 2010 Vespa GTS 300 ie Super (sold) & 2003 Honda Shadow VT750 ACE (sold) & 2006 Vespa LX150 (sold)
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2016 Vespa GTS 300 i.e. ABS sold, 2010 Vespa GTS 300 ie Super (sold) & 2003 Honda Shadow VT750 ACE (sold) & 2006 Vespa LX150 (sold)
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dmpawley wrote: Another awesome post! Thank you for sharing your experiences. Seriously, moderators, she needs the title of "Bard" or "Minstrel" of MV. |
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davidmasse wrote: dmpawley wrote: Another awesome post! Thank you for sharing your experiences. Seriously, moderators, she needs the title of "Bard" or "Minstrel" of MV. Agreed |
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Very nice ride, i have driven to Ensenada before, and every time i keep telling my self i need to come here on my vespa.
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Hooked
2009 Vespa GTS 250, 2005 Vespa PX 200
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Travelers of Santa Fe. March 29-31, 2015.
Travelers of Santa Fe. March 29-31, 2015.
It was a bit of a shock to be back in the rest of America after such an immersive experience in Zuni. I'd been through this region with Tim in the rental car, but it couldn't have been a more different experience. Everything is different on the scooter. Maybe everything is different each time you visit. But now, the vastness of the desert stretched out before me like the ocean. I passed through Albuquerque with just a stop for a burrito with green chile sauce. My sights are set on Santa Fe. First, a stop at El Morro, because just look at it. El Morro National Monument is a big sandstone feature with an oasis at the bottom. Situated about halfway between ancient towns along an east-west trail, it's been used as a watering hole for centuries by native people, Spaniards, and other European travelers. I certainly felt like it was a natural spot for a break, this thing is hard to miss on the horizon.The ranger suggested two hikes - one to the water, where people have carved names into the wall (hundred year old graffiti!), or another up to the ruins at the top of the mesa. Nice hike up to Pueblo ruins. And a view. I'll do the low hike another time. I forgot volcanic activity was a thing around here. I mostly followed Historic Route 66, crossing under I-40 a few times between pueblos, before finally joining it to Albuquerque. Somewhere along the way (Anzac, NM?), the landscape turned to huge, heaving piles of old molten lava. It was like the earth erupted, you could see blackened rocks between the cracks. The road became narrow, and began ducking and weaving between the volcanic hills. Cool, surprise lava bed! But difficult to explore or photograph, there was nowhere to pull off. Parked by the parked Airstream at Santa Fe International Hostel. Woa leftover food to feed hordes of hungry travelers. Hostels have become some of my favorite places to stay when I want a bed, and to meet other travelers. The Santa Fe International Hostel is what I imagine the quintessential hostel experience in America to be like. There were plenty of characters, despite being very clearly off-season - I had an entire six-bunk dorm room to myself the first couple nights. Some of the people who stayed there booked rooms for longer while working, in transition, fixing up a vehicle, or otherwise working on life. Others passed through, like myself. The owner, a greyed, crazy-haired gentlemen, seemed just the sort to take in strays. He floated around the worn Santa Fe style clay and brick halls, inviting us to help eat the piles and piles of food in the kitchen that are donated each week from the local Trader Joe's and Whole Foods Market. I never went hungry; actually, I had to make a point of going out. It's also my first time staying in a hostel with a chore system for guests. My sleeping schedule was still set on Zuni time though, so I was up early and done wiping down various surfaces by 8am. Did some touristy things like take photos of this old church. When I finally tore myself away from the commercial size coffee pot and wifi, I nearly fell over pulling out of the hostel. Santa Fe is located at 7,199 ft above sea level, and even without luggage my bike wasn't accelerating out of a turn quite like at sea level. Whoops. In other fun news, I discovered a spot in the steering that would catch (by 'discover' I mean nearly fell over). I probably destroyed the freshly repacked bearings from San Francisco by taking it through Baja. Whoops again. The center of town was full of the knick-knack type shops that weren't interesting to me, but I wrote a few postcards from the square and headed to the artsy street, Canyon Road. More coffee and wifi at the end of Canyon Road. I should really just title this blog, Coffee Shops Tour of North America. In the evening, I spotted another RI plate in the hostel lot. Rhode Islanders have a tendency to always come back, I've been told it's the state with the highest retention rate in the US. Although this is unverified, it's easy to believe when you're there. So, I commented that he must be really, really lost. We ended up banding up with another group of road trippers, all roughly my age, to hit Second Street Brewery. I followed them to their local friend's house afterwards for grilling and more drinks. At some point, I looked up to realize I was in a house surrounded by people I met only hours ago, chopping green chiles and sipping apple brandy by the fire. Where did my introvert go? This party was just passing through, one stop on a longer party-party road trip. After several months fixing this van, it was finally time to say goodbye. In the morning, I witnessed a tearful goodbye between staff as the owner of this van departed, after a several month stay at the hostel doing repairs. It seems like everyone here is a wanderer, the manager bounces between work at various hostels, a hitchhiker just pulled in, and hey is that a green Versys parked in the lot now? Day trip to Taos, up the high road and returning on the low road. Amazing how the trees change as you climb, from desert scrub to practically alpine. Moo-ving along, UFO. Remember when I said this isn't a trail bike?! Went in search of the Manby Hot Springs, just north of Taos. Spotting lots of sustainable/eco-friendly looking residences. What do you think, completely off the grid yet? Found the canyon. And what a canyon. It's a 10-15 minute hike/climb along the trail to the bottom. But the river level is too high, so the hot spring is barely lukewarm. Peaceful once the kids are gone. I figured it'd be nice to have a soak in a free, clothing optional hot spring after lunching in Taos, but when I got there the river level was too high. It washed out much of the spring, and water temperatures were barely above a lukewarm bath. Also, there was a family playing loudly there. Another couple joined me in the 'quiet corner' until the family retreated up the path. As soon as they were out of earshot, the man exclaimed, "Finally!" undressed, and slid into the water naked. I was a little too cold for that, but enjoyed chatting with them and hearing RV travel stories. They loved this area and she worked in internet marketing, for freedom to travel as well. Meh, it's no Baja. Last little landing before dropping to the canyon floor. Someone set up a snack bus here. What a view. And now for the fun part. Only the steepest, most switchbacky section isn't paved, of course. Made it to the bottom, yay. It's beautiful running alongside the river, different satisfying than running alongside a train. Upon return to the hostel, I met the owner of the Versys, the hitchhiker he followed to Santa Fe, and my new roommate living out of her Volvo. Jesse heard the margaritas are the thing to get at Maria's. Danny has been hitchhiking for 3 years, Paul just started a motorcycle trip. Let's be honest though, I'm here for green chile stew. What followed was a bit of a whirlwind. For reasons that I'm going to blame on altitude-impaired judgement, our cheapskate party decided to purchase a bottle of Wild Turkey 101 on our walk back to the hostel. It was a clear night, comfortable enough to sit in the courtyard among the blooming cherry blossoms, drink, smoke, and talk travel. I still feel it's serendipitous for me to find myself in the company of fellow travelers, whether by foot or car. In explaining this, and sharing other small miracles on the road, I remembered a phrase from the book, Breaking the Limit, by Karen Larsen. I've since given the book away, because it was a hardback that Giraffe Tim picked up for $.10 at a book sale and gave to me with all my available onboard storage, so here's my attempt to paraphrase. She refers to 'road magic' as the luck you have when you need something, and a series of seemingly unrelated events lead up to that something finding its way to you, often just in the nick of time. Perhaps you break down, and the next car that drives by is a truck that hauls you to the next shop, offers you dinner, and an overnight stay, just as thunderheads gather. Danny mentioned some of his moments, being stuck out in the rain trying to hitchhike, and having something fortuitous happen or discovering something he would have otherwise missed. Actually, I'm beginning to use road magic to describe any lucky happenstance that could only have been possible if one or several unrelated events leading up to it occurred, not necessarily spurred by misfortune. Road magic is when the stars align on the road. Like stopping for tamales at just the same time as Sheryl. Anyhow, we put some hurt on that bottle of 101. That cherry-like aftertaste will probably always make me think of Santa Fe. Bye, Jesse! In the morning, Paul and Danny fixed an enormous frittata for breakfast, with many, many chiles (it was a good wakeup!). It seemed we would all be going separate ways; Danny was aiming for Albuquerque, Jesse making her way to Austin to meet friends, and I was going to Colorado. Only Paul was undecided on his plans, east or north. I told him I was aiming for the hostel in Salida, CO, if he wanted to meet me there. With a belly full of eggs and fire, I rolled out. Somehow my social circle had become like a train station. Santa Fe has been most like what I imagine traveling as a single young person would be like. |
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You're wonderful!
You've never sounded like an introvert. Another road log that sounds like an epic adventure. Well done. |
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Colorado has been the most difficult riding I've done so far. I wanted to see scooter friends in Denver, did some research, and picked Salida as a waypoint. It appeared to be the best of both worlds for this early in the year; a cute town, splitting the different between the plains and what appeared to be a canyon pass instead of a high mountain pass. Haha. Hahaha. Anyway, moving on... I thought this might be a place to take a break. It sort of was...a break in time. Creepin'. It's unsettling, the shakers are still on the table. Three Rocks Trading Post doesn't look like it does much trading anymore. Across the way was this pink structure. Whoops looks like it may be a private residence. Time to clear off. (Actually, later research reveals it might be a gallery?) Break for coffee and cupcake at an inn frequented by hunters. So pretty, so cold. Hark, a hilly thing. The first of some. Woo, another state. You can't tell but the wind is so strong it nearly blew over the scoot. Dust storm. Look at all the tumbleweed long the fence. Ah, shit, that looks cold. The 225 miles from Santa Fe to Salida was some of the most tiring, grind-you-down, cold, windy, rainy riding I've ever done. The bulk of it was leaned into a crosswind that trapped tumbleweed - the ones you didn't have to dodge - along the fences. The roads were straight, so you were acutely aware of when the crosswind shifted into a steady headwind. I hit a dust storm early on that wasn't too bad. Then it began to rain a freezing drizzle, blown sideways. And then the land began to climb. Between the headwind, slight climb, and elevation, there were times I held my bike wide open and the needle wouldn't move above 40mph. Cars honked and passed, but I'd long lost the fine motor skills required to flip them off. My temp gauge dropped to 10 C (50 F), but I was wearing mid-weather gear and GPS said I'm only 25 miles away! If I stopped to put on gear, I was afraid I wouldn't be able to get back on the bike. The land climbed more steeply and I saw a sign for... Poncha Pass, 9,010 ft?! I think I started cheering in my helmet on the downhill into Salida. By the time I pulled into Simple Lodge and Hostel, I slurred my name at check in and could barely hold the pen to sign. He showed me to my room and a hot shower, which I gratefully stood under for an eternity. Host brought his bike too, a cafe'd CB 550 Four, waiting for carbs to be tuned. In the grips of the weariness of being chilled to the core and then heated again (it's a very specific feeling I've become overly familiar with), I got a knock on the door. It was the host. "There's a guy here, says his name is Paul. He says he knows you?" Downstairs, Paul from Santa Fe, with fresh helmet hair and pink cheeks, stood at the desk. "Steph!" he exclaimed and gave me a big hug. His head cleared over my own so my face mashed into his leather jacket, which still held the cold from outside. "Holy shit, I can't believe you rode through that!" I couldn't hide that I was somewhat impressed. I didn't actually think he would follow me. He was a new rider, only a month into his license. "I can't believe you rode through that, on the scooter! You hit the dust storm? And the rain? And wind?" We laughed, reliving the absurdness of us both being there, and I released him so he could settle in and take a hot shower. Vespa and Versys. When Paul emerged (human again, I know that feeling), we joined the host and another hitchhiker, Greg (I'm sorry, that may be misremembered!), for $.50 wing night at Moonlight Pizza. A family was playing in the common area back at the hostel, but Paul and I turned in early. I don't know about him, but the weariness of cold got into my bones. The next morning, Paul seeks a warmer layer in secondhand stores, and I oggle boots. Jesse has an enviable pair of white cowboy boots in Santa Fe, but nothing jumped out at me in my size. I suggested a short ride up Spiral Drive, because it's a spiral! We snuck around a gate to ride up here. Mmm, dirt. Someone arranged rocks. Also, windy. That sign says, "Stay back! Radio-frequency energy may exceed exposure limits." Salida, CO. What a view. Glad someone else thinks it's funny to park on train tracks. His suspension is a little better for actually riding along the tracks though. Bridge back into town. Hee hee. Had to climb it too. The giant 'S' that looms over the town. And a nice cafe with wifi. Another town, another cafe. At the hostel, Paul played with the guitar in spite of not knowing how to play. We both needed rest. It was the low season, so the host comped us another night...road magic! Introducing Paul to a whiskey tasting. Wood's whiskey has an afternote of chocolate, it's like dessert! Packing in the morning, seems a bit skeptical of Paul's packing job. Paul isn't sick of me yet, so he's following me along the canyon pass until Colorado Springs. Scenic stop at Royal Gorge Bridge and Park. Didn't take the cable car, too expensive. Yup, that's pretty high up. Also, I'm glad I'm leading. His sleeping mat flapped in the wind and made me a bit nervous, haha! Farewell, Paul! Before I knew it, the Rockies were behind me. At a gas station in Colorado Springs, we exchanged farewells. Paul was going to meet an old friend, I would continue to Denver. If things were different, he said he might continue with me. I didn't know until later, but Paul said I changed the way he traveled; he rides slower now. And he's keeping the bike (as opposed to selling when finished with the trip). Guess my work here is done! A couple hours later, I rolled into the home of Ambra in Denver, CO. I knew it was the right place when I saw this scooter in front... I recognize you from Las Vegas High Rollers rally! I had just a moment to unload, then Jon came around to hit up First Friday Art Walk. Ambra was sporting some DOT approved fishnets for the chilly ride, but we quickly filled up with gallery wine for warmth. Classy folks... and me. Scooter butts. Late night at Chubbys. It was like a scooter rally of three, tearing around Denver with Jon and Ambra. We wandered in and out of galleries, vintage shops, and other art spaces before finally finding ourselves at late-night spot, Chubbys. Jon suggested I try the chicharones burrito. Fries and chili are also in this burrito. What have you done to this burrito. Obviously, I went for it. We tossed our tortilla-wrapped hot gut bombs under the seat, but when Ambra kicked her bike... Nothing. An hour and a million kicks with various combinations of fuel and choke later, Jon desperately started offering passers-by free scooter kicks. Nothing. At least the burritos were still warm enough to devour onsite. It's not an adventure until your scooter doesn't start at 2am in ~4 C (~39 F, thanks onboard temp gauge). About an hour later, Ambra's friend showed up with a truck. Jon and I had a cold, sober ride back. Turns out the kill switch was stuck partially engaged. Oh, old scooters. This is what most of my weekend looked like. I don't mind at all. Visiting the Jet 200 Performance, because Lambretta. Going to a housewarming party with these two, and feeling massively outclassed. In Salida, it seemed the average guy was a rough, ruggedly tan, flanneled character sporting varying degrees of untrimmed beard. In Denver, the trend shifted back towards clean and crisp urbanite. I refer to cities like this as having 'critical mass' - enough people with city lifestyle demands to sustain, well, all the metropolitan things one might like to find in a city. Art walks, boutique shops, diversity in restaurants, happy hours, brunches and such. Speaking of brunch, I hope Ambra doesn't mind me mentioning that she was going through some relationship strife and Sunday morning we found ourselves at a bottomless mimosas spot. I was content to listen and let the hours pass by, sipping whatever was in front of me... little did I know, the bar keeps count of your drinks and prints it on your receipt, even if the total is a flat $10. The receipt came back for 21 mimosas. Dayum. At least I know I'm topped up on vitamin C. Obviously, the next course of action was to work on scooters. I was due for an oil change (completed successfully) and Ambra wanted to change the rear tire of one of her bikes (not quite so completed, the chair lift was working out but she didn't have other tools. However, she does have a nice dress). Mimosas and engine oil. Drying out, and drying out laundry before departure. Ambra pulled out a blue glitter Christmas ornament one of her kids left in the machine. I think the glitter has finally washed out of my clothes now... Hazards of the road life! It was fun being back in a city, tagging along while Ambra shopped for housewarming gifts, and hitting up places like Sputnik (vegan options: definitely in the city). Between her series 2 Lambretta and Jon helping to break in the Series 3, I had a feeling like it was our own personal mini-rally, sequel to Las Vegas. Thanks for showing me the city, guys! |
OP
Hooked
2009 Vespa GTS 250, 2005 Vespa PX 200
Joined: UTC
Posts: 116 Location: Roaming (Boston for now) |
UTC
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rkcoker wrote: You've never sounded like an introvert.
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UTC
Molto Verboso
BV200, P200E (2),V90 and now a Big Ruckus
Joined: UTC
Posts: 1667 Location: Mims, Florida USA |
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Molto Verboso
BV200, P200E (2),V90 and now a Big Ruckus
Joined: UTC
Posts: 1667 Location: Mims, Florida USA |
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