There and back...The best vacation of my life

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Go back to San Francisco when you have time and a tour guide. It can be a crappy place for the unfamiliar, but there's some pretty cool stuff to see. Bring money!

Santa Cruz is....well......it's Santa Cruz. It's gotten really crowded over the years, but it's always been a place where everyone just sorta does their own thing. Nobody messes with anybody else.

Monterey is a cool place to spend the day, too. But again, bring money!

I drive 46 to Bakersfield all the time. Lot's of wineries, and lot's of wine tasting opportunities.
Did you see this?
image.php


You're making me jealous :lust:
All year long I've been jonze'n to do what you're doing, but so far haven't gone anywhere. Don't look like I'm gonna get to either. :whistling:
 
Sorry for not updating in a while. Work is kicking my butt! Got a flat on the Wing today just cruisin', cost me $150!
 
It’s been said that all good things must come to and end…

I spent four days with my folks in Prescott Valley just kickin’ back, visiting. While I was there, my dad helped me rebuild my starter solenoid which had started acting up. This thing was actually a lot easier to rebuild than I had previously heard. The most difficult thing was unsoldering the connections.



The thing to notice in this picture is my Dad’s giant sausage fingers…40 years of working on cars and I guess that’s what your hands look like.

He’s an old hippie who used to terrorize southern California on his ’61 Harley Sportster, and he’s been a bike nut since he was a teenager. Since the Harley is a kick start and has a problem with third gear it’s been relegated to aging gracefully in the garage. His latest steed is a ’81 Yamaha Virago 920 that he got in a trade; it didn’t work at the time. No thanks to me, he got it running reliably while I was there so we took a little ride!

Heading North out of Prescott Valley toward Mingus Mountain on Hwy 89A finds you on a DYN-O-MITE section of road that consists of tight twists and turns along with scenic views of the Verde Valley. Due to the uncertain reliability of the Virago, we elected to only go to the Mingus Mountain Recreation Area. Overall it was a good ride; I haven’t ridden road bikes with my Pops in like 6 years, so it was fun.

At the turn around:



On the way back:



Upon our return to the homestead there was an emergency! A customer was waiting in the driveway looking for a quick fix for his tractor that may or may not have bent a valve. Symptoms were: No start, no compression.

Field surgery:


Turns out it was just the ignition. No spark = no fire.

All emergencies squashed for the day, it was time to pack up and leave. Before I headed out, the ‘ol man made his own contribution to the Wing:



Seems fitting since she’s a big cushy land yacht.

The only thing left to do was hit the road…
 
Early morning sunrise brings with it trepidation for the course lying in front of me. An unknown path to a known destination…

I planned my route back carefully, so I wouldn’t have an opportunity to get lost. Having already taken the coastal route south, I decided that no more adventure could I find there. West would have to wait; I would head north to adventure!
I would take Hwy-89a north from Prescott Valley, through Camp Verde and Sedona, picking up the I-40 for a short time in Flagstaff and then on Hwy-89 all the way to Page, Az at the Utah Border, then I would cut over on Hwy-89a north of St. George to the I-15 and that would take me all the way through to Utah.

I got off to a late start, but had a welcome surprise waiting for me. My pops was up with his shiny Virago ready to accompany me for the first little bit of the trip.
So we headed off, back the way we had ventured before into a little town called Jerome. Very quaint little place located on the side of a mountain where each house was built on top of its own gold mine. There’s a lot of tourism and bars there now and; some forward thinking wine makers have started vineyards yielding excellent wines. Otherwise it is a nice hole-in-the-wall fit for a day trip.

Here are the bikes under the Jerome “J”:


From here it was north through Camp Verde to Sedona. Sedona is really famous for being an artsy community and mostly famous for its red rocks. Beautiful landscapes with great monolithic rock formations. Another good day trip.

Sedona:


Saw lots of these ‘ol cars. Asked my old man if he remembers when these were new!


Out of Sedona on Hwy-89 leads into Oak Creek which follows of all things, Oak Creek:


It then pulls up to Sycamore Canyon and gathers considerable elevation (about 8000’), but gives breathtaking views of the forested canyon. The road out of Sedona was as blocked up as an old woman after too many bran muffins. Top speed was maybe 25mph. Here’s the lookout at the top of the road looking into the canyon:



The local Indian tribes are allowed to sells their wares at these roadside stands. I didn’t buy anything…


Also, the Virago had its first major problem of the trip; the speedo cable was making some noise. A little lube in there and it’s quite as a Sunday mouse!


So, the trip goes on northbound to Flagstaff. My Papa ‘n I stopped for lunch at a fast food joint (my treat) and the ‘ol man decided it was time to take his leave of me. It was nice having a riding partner for this section of the trip, but I’m happy to be on my own again. I feel like I am free to pull off and create my own adventure when I am solo, whereas when I am riding with someone else, I feel like I need to help them with their adventure.
So my Pa and I say our good byes and I’m off north through the Navajo Indian reservation to Page, Az.

Arizona is a beautiful state with so many landscapes to explore, each on different from the last. Out of the forest of Flagstaff is a vast high desert plateau leading to the rim of the Grand Canyon. It’s a long drive and I faced high cross winds and dust the entire time. I needed many breaks as this drive was exhausting.
Here’s a rest stop:


More north and more wind and dust, I’m finally at the foot of the Grand Canyon and Lake Powell in Page, Az. Here’s the overlook from Hwy-89 looking towards the canyon that would become the Grand Canyon:

And the bike:


It’s only a few miles into Page. I could have cut West much earlier heading to St. George Utah, but Page holds a sentimental significance for me as this is where my Wife grew up and where we got married; plus I know that it’s breathtaking and I want to see it again.
Here’s the Glen Canyon Dam holding the Colorado River back from creating havoc and forming Lake Powell:


And the other side looking down Glen Canyon at the mighty Colorado River:


The power lines are everywhere, because of the hydroelectric plant which supplies power to a significant portion of Arizona.

A VERY short ride out of page takes me to Utah. It’s still very windy and dusty… Utah is where my fun stops…



Utah is a whole new chapter to this story and the one that I will likely most remember and try hardest to forget.
 
Thanks to an overwhelming demand, it’s time to get this story back on track.


Dashing across a windy plane nervously spying the weather looming ahead, resolving to forge on at any cost, I twist the throttle…I’m met with disappointment.

After crossing the border into Utah, I set my focus on making up time lost sightseeing in Northern Arizona. However, due to a hard hitting headwind which would intermittently change to a cornering headwind, progress is difficult. The dry, hot conditions also blow up a considerable amount of dust, making the drive that much more miserable.
About 20 miles into Utah, I stopped because the wind and dust were grating on my nerves. I had also noticed a decrease in performance since crossing into Utah.

Here, I pulled over to regain my wits and do a little roadside diagnosis:


It felt like it was missing on one cylinder, so I pulled the plug wires one at a time to find out which one it was and found it was the front right cylinder. I pulled the plug out and found it was fouled BADLY. A quick pull on the rest of the plugs revealed that the front right was beginning to foul, but still firing; and the rear two were running fine, if not a little lean. I had a little “pucker” at this point because my first thought was that I had a carb issue, like a stuck float or worse. I cleaned my plugs, swapped out the fouled plugs for the lean ones, and hit the road back on all four cylinders.

In my route planning I had made an error going into Page because it made for a difficult detour to the I-15. I needed to take HWY 89 in Utah, back into Arizona, so that I could hook up with HWY 389 to HWY 59 to HWY 9 in Utah. It was only a 50 mile or so detour, but with the wind blowing and dust in the air, I was less than pleased at myself for having to head south again. As soon as I was back in Arizona, I fouled the same plug again. Cleaned and swapped, I was back on the road.

Now is where my nightmare really began. From Fredonia to Colorado City I fouled 2 plugs; after the Utah border to a gas station outside of Hurricane I fouled a plug almost every mile. By the time I got to the gas station outside of Hurricane, I was running on just one cylinder at about 25mph and 3000rpm. I stopped pulling over and cleaning my plugs when the shoulder got dangerous and decided to just ride it out until I got somewhere that I could do a real fix. Lacking any real place to stop I found this gas station and the nice lady at the counter didn’t have a problem with me doing some work to the bike in the parking lot.

So, glowing red with anger, I pulled my tools from my saddlebags and ripped into the heart of the beast. Fearing a carb issue, that’s where I focused my anger.
After about 2 hours of tedious work in the wind here’s were I got:




Carbs off, I blew air thru all the passages and checked all my float levels. Everything checked out. I then set the pilot screws to stock settings and put everything back together, cleaning the spark plugs one more time.

She started right up without any problem, so I thanked the nice lady, bought an energy drink and left in a rush as it was dusk with darkness approaching very quickly. Also, there were a nice set of thunderheads building to the north that I didn’t want to spend the night sleeping under. Tonight wasn’t looking good.

I made it 20 mile into hurricane, Utah and had fouled 3 plugs again, plus I was running so rich I burned thru a tank of gas in 20 miles. I needed to find the problem, or buy a greyhound ticket.
Once again I dismounted in a rage not knowing what to do and found a friendly gas station to dismantle my steed. I had decent cell phone service, so I opted to phone a friend in hopes of winning this million dollar sweepstakes. My Dad being the genius he is assisted with an over the phone diag which consisted of him saying to pull the carbs. I cursed a lot.
After about 2 hours of over the phone diag, we had nothing. The best thing we could come up with was, “check the choke cable”. My dad called in another expert, my cousin who is going to MMI. His advice: pull the carbs and look at the floats, followed by check the choke. No good. Finally, while discussing the ride north to get where I was, postulate on the dust in the air and the effect on air filters. With little less to go after at this point, I pulled the air filter. It was gummy and dirty as any air filter I’d ever seen. Why didn’t I notice that when I pulled the carbs earlier?
With the air filter out, I took a test ride down the street about 15 miles. I was back in business, runnin’ like a bandit.

That’s about when it started to rain…

It was late, cold, and raining when I hit I-15 north. I set a goal of Cedar City for that nights camp spot and was mostly content riding in the rain as long as I had somewhere in mind to stop. That is until the rain REALLY started pouring and I hit a section of road work.
Learning to ride in the mostly dry climate of Arizona, I have always been warned about the “oil strip” in the middle of the road and how hazardous it is when it starts to rain. With the road construction, I was being forced to ride on either the oil strip, or the wake up bumps. Add in the fact that it was cold, dark and I was tired and this was probably the most frightened I had ever been on a motorcycle. I needed to stop soon, but was reluctant to set up camp in the pouring rain, and there wasn’t a hotel to be seen. What had I gotten myself into?
Fortune smiled on me when I saw the sign for Cedar City 5mi. as I was ready to stop, but the rain was still coming and the weather was getting colder. Just as I reached Cedar City limits, the rain turned into sleet and I was finished. I made the decision to stop at a hotel for the night. Comfort Inn was calling my name with a hot shower and clean bed. I pulled in at 2am and slept like the dead.
Here’s what I woke to in the morning:




 
BIGmackie":1joyta4p said:
With little less to go after at this point, I pulled the air filter. It was gummy and dirty as any air filter I’d ever seen. Why didn’t I notice that when I pulled the carbs earlier?
With the air filter out, I took a test ride down the street about 15 miles. I was back in business, runnin’ like a bandit.

Don'tchu just hate when that happens! You shoulda seen what I went through in a dark parking lot one night and it turned out to be all because of a blown headlight fuse.
:doh: :head bang: :head bang: :head bang: :head bang:

mcgovern61":1joyta4p said:
This is going to make a great movie!!! :clapping: :clapping: :music2:
"Then Came BIGmackie" :popcorn:
 
I’ve met the Devil, and I’ve travelled through hell. Hell is known around these parts, as Utah!

This chapter will be a short one since I didn’t take any pictures. I apologize in advance for that.

I woke up in a hotel room, unaware of the snow that had been falling all night. I was well rested and had enjoyed my continental breakfast when I built up the nerve to see what was waiting for me outside. The snowfall was relatively little, only a few inches; but that’s enough to make it a cold morning. I fought off the urge to head back into the hotel and wait out the storm. So, I pressed onward. First order of business was gas.

The bike started up fine and I warmed it while I swept the snow off of it. So, ready as ever, I motored off to the gas station. Then the bike died…
Fortunately I was only about 200 yards from a gas station when she died (I’d only ridded about 200 yards total). Just as I got under the awning of the gas station the rain started falling again. Could this be worse? I submit that it couldn’t.
The problem was that I’d gotten water into the engine since there was no air filter. Pulling the spark plugs and applying a little WD-40 did the trick, I was on the road. I’ve got to throw a salute out to the Cedar Springs, Utah Policeman who offered to help me push the bike off the road, yet was kind enough to let me just do it myself.
Back on the road, I was set. It was still raining, but not very bad, just enough to keep me constantly wet and mostly miserable. It was when I started pulling into higher elevation that it got bad. I went through every road condition possible: Wet, slush, snow, ice, cinders, and miserable. As I gained elevation and the temperature dropped increasing the need to stop and dry my hands. In fact, I started stopping every hundred miles to use the hand dryers in bathrooms to warm my hands and dry my gloves.

So it went, along the I-15 North to Idaho. I looked up the weather and according to the radar I’d be facing rain and snow all the way North to about Twin Falls, Iowa so that’s where I set my sights. The trip North can be summed up as such: Ride, ride, ride, ride, ride, ride, ride, snow, snow, snow, snow, snow, snow, snow, WIND, WIND, WIND, WIND, WIND!

The wind kicked after I got off the I-15 onto HWY 84 and it was BAD. At one point I was leaned over about 20 degrees from the crosswind. I had been looking at Idaho as a beacon of light in this dismal time and had high hopes that as soon as I got out of this devilish state the weather would clear up and it would get warm and dry and beautiful. That didn’t happen, instead the clouds and rain stayed put and the wind picked up exponentially. I was in misery. Upon departing HWY 84 and getting on HWY 86 the conditions were so bad between the rain, the wind, and the road work that I got absolutely fed up and decided to take refuge in a rest stop.

I pulled in around 4:30-ish and was spent, tired from muscling the bike along the road and soaking wet. I couldn’t even get the bike on the centerstand; fortunately a nice gentleman saw me struggle and came give me a hand. I thanked him and went to sit in the nice warm bathroom and dry my gloves with the hand dryer. After about 10 minutes basking in the warmth of the bathroom, the nice gentleman returned and offered me a warm dinner, good company, and the heat from his truck. I took him up on this offer, being the adventurous person that I am.

Dale and his new wife were the epitome of southern hospitality. They were from Missouri and his jobs were to deliver 5th wheels and travel trailers from the stock yard to the customer, wherever that may be. This run happened to be taking him to Oregon, but he’d been to all 50 states and Canada doing his job; prior to that he retired from the Marine Corps as a Gunnery Sergeant. His wife accompanied him on the road and had made a delicious pot roast in a crock pot right there in the cab of the truck. We swapped war stories, ate pot roast, and drank cola for about 3 hours while I was drying out and hoping that the storm would pass. He’d stopped for the same reason that I had, the wind didn’t fair well with the unloaded travel trailer he was hauling. These were the nicest people that I came across on my trip and I was quite thankful they found me when they did; it was such a moral boost to meet these southern folks who went WAY out of their way to make me comfortable. After jaw-jacking with them for a little too long, I needed to get back on the road, so I headed out; dry, and warm with good food in my belly. Things were looking up.

It was only about 50 – 60 miles from there that the weather started to clear up and the rain stopped. I actually saw a rainbow just outside of Twin Falls, Idaho. I still needed somewhere to spend the night, so I pressed on a little further, and a little further, and a littler further. I drove WAY past sundown trying to make up for all that lost time, finally giving up sometime after midnight and pulling over in a highway rest stop outside of Boise. My plan was to look at the map and figure out a campground, but was so tired I pulled my sleeping bag out and slept right there. Everything was fine until the sprinklers went off in the morning, giving me an early morning wake-up call. I would have thought that I’d get arrested (a chance I was prepared to take) sleeping like that in a rest stop, but two state patrol drove by and looked at me, without a word. Another drove by while I was heating up water for coffee the next morning and actually waved!

This is where I’ll end this chapter. I’m sorry for the lack of pictures, but I was cold and miserable. Next up is Oregon, where I took a detour from my plan once again and was pleasantly surprised.
 

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