When traveling with Bob Hodgin....

When traveling with my dad you have to keep in mind several distinct facts, one of which is, he buys things sometimes. Like...vehicles. That's what happened outside of Salt Lake City two days ago when we picked up a '94 Ford F250 Turbo-Diesel, extended cab, long bed, pick-up truck. In my dad's favor, it was a really good deal. So I rode the bikes up a dirt ramp into the back of this rumbling beast (it does have an awesome sound to it), we tied them down, and continued with out trip, (if you're a motorcycle person and this disappoints, A: I'm sorry, B: Read to the end, the motorcycle God's got us in the end).





After loading the bikes we decided to check out the city. Salt Lake City may usurp Charleston as greatest city for thrift stores because of Deseret Industries, a chain of seven non -profit stores, each about half the size of a Wal-Mart, and equally organized.

After perusing the ample shelves and hangers that made up this king of thrift shopping, we headed South to I-70. From there we made our way down to Moab and Arches national park, passing cliffs which thrust upward from a plain of 6,000+ feet to dizzying heights. We rode down grades which, upon cresting the mountain, make you're breath stick in your chest as you gaze down into the abyss which you are headed. Driving down some of these mountains, passing cliffs on one side, and severe falls on the other, I felt very small (even in a giant pick-up), almost like a canoe, riding in the wake some monstrous cruise ship.

Without pause for reflection we pushed into Arches, a small detour from our homeward route which I insisted we make. We traded time for scenery, and came out with a park I will never forget. Tans and pinks turned to oranges and reds as we skimmed over the winding roads to a small hike to see "Delicate Arch". The desert sun reflected off the pavement and sandy soil in waves of heat which forced me to don my swimming trucks (my only shorts, and better than a speedo) and I proceeded with the hike wearing nothing but bright green shorts and riding boots (having previously forgone my tennis shoes to the tree in Utah). Needless to say, I got some very hilarious looks.

The short hike makes me wish I hadn't used the words "amazing" or "breathtaking" or even "life-changing" so I could use them for the true beauty I witnessed in these fine, natural sculptures which protrude from the sandstone. Like lone hunters in a forest of rocks and thin valleys, forged from eons of occasional rainfall, erosion, and salt deposits, these towers and bridges were magnificent. Arches easily stands beside the desolate beauty we found in Alaska and Denali, and is another place I have to come back to.

Following 128, (the "river" road) back North to I-70, we passed numerous campgrounds and vineyards before heading Eastward again. The words of Simon & Garfunkel's "Homeward Bound" rang clearly in my ears as we made our way into Colorado, finding a Super 8 on the outskirts of Grand Junction.

In the night dad found it hard to sleep, and decided his time would be better spent using this computer, which in turn woke me up. This morning found us both with sleepy resolutions to stay in bed, causing a late start. We in turn only made it to Denver by 3:30, where we tracked down the giant REI that resides on Platte street therein. We browsed the annals of this camping Goliath before proceeding back to 70, where I fully expected to re-discover the definition of boring in the long, straight roads that inhabit Eastern Colorado and Kansas. I was pleasantly surprised to find, at least for a few miles, clouds the likes of which I have never witnessed. Clouds which look carved by the likes of Angels and Gods, full of battles staged and curtains drawn, with peace existing only in the horizon's serene aerial landscape. I've always wanted to see a tornado, and without knowing the cloud formations that might predate one of natures more violent occurrences, I had hoped to find one upon the edge of some bleak prairie. My hopes were dashed to splinters like a tree in such a storm. It's probably for the best anyways.

The hotel we stopped at gives notices to all temporary residents that the closest tornado shelter is the Methodist Church 1/4 mile down towards the "Business District", and what a business district it is! While that danger seems very distant, the rooms give off a distinct "Shining"-esque feel, with faux wood paneling and threadbare shag carpet, accompanied by a slightly disconcerting, very heavy, closed shower curtain (think scary lady in bathtub!). Budget indeed!

This morning we got up and drove into Hays, Kansas, where we stopped for breakfast at the "Village Inn" a restaurant we had broken down at the previous year in our Volkswagen Eurovan, coming home from the Gillette National BMW rally. As luck would have it, upon returning to the truck, it would not start. After tinkering for about 30 minutes, we decided it was time to give up and call AAA, who told us it would be at least an hour. Meanwhile we walked to Dan's, the mechanic who helped us get our van running last year. Walking back we found Tom, the tow truck operator, load the truck, unloaded the truck at Dan's, who gave a plausible explanation as a bad injector pump, which will take one to two weeks to have rebuilt and installed. We then unloaded the bikes with the help of the wrecker (by the way, sitting on, and then riding off, a moving wrecker, is one of the more disconcerting things I've done on a motorcycle), loaded up our stuff, geared up, and rode on, (don't worry, dad plans on flying back out when it's fixed and driving the truck home).

We rode through the rest of Kansas, into Missouri, and now find ourselves at a La Quinta, outside of Columbia. We may make it home on the 4th yet!

And now it's time for bed, happily awaiting another long day tomorrow!


Zack