May 2001
Detour Version 1.0

Day 10

“Whoa”

-English translations of German and French tourists’ reactions to the Grand Canyon

Trip’s third and final breakfast waitress at Mike & Rhonda’s won the roadtrip’s snappy comeback award to Steve’s daily waitress/server baiting. We’ll really miss THE PLACE, the food and its folks.

We entered the Grand Canyon via the less travelled eastern entrance (AZ 64). Park was virtually ours. No lines. No waiting, kids, ugly Yanks, smog or haze. Colors changed endlessly as sun angles shifted and winds rose and died off.

Walked in and had our table pick for a park lunch at an empty Yavapai restaurant! Showed Steve the two park lodges for a potential future spousal visit (Bright Angel and El Tovar).

Moonlit ride to Kingman on an empty US 66. Breathtaking. Eerily still. Saw a pickup truck every 10 miles or so. A single brave coyote scampered across in front of us. Moon photo taken at 100 MPH. We speed-checked the full wide open throttled bikes on US 66: mine — 117; Steve’s — 132.

My pick of night’s motel, based solely on its cool sign, was delightful. Had a pile of gold-painted, smooth four-inch, river rocks outside the office door. Run by a Filipina. Claimed the sign was in a National Geographic photo spread. She ran a clean and modest 1960s era motel. I hadn’t seen good luck and fortune talismans (her gold spray painted rockpile), since I was in the Orient during the 1970s. Room price was right — $29 for two, tax included. Dinner at an old timey drive-in across US 66 from the motel.

Day 10 miscellany and counts:

Daily Windshield Bug Smash Bingo Game winners: Yellow

Query count as of the end of Day 10:

Where’re you going? – 12
What’s that? (Steve’s Valkyrie) – 4
Damsels in distress? – 5

Select Photos From Day 10

Day 10 postscript; I wish everyone could experience powering about on an American made, large-engined motorcycle on a sunny afternoon. Just to experience the way exhaust and mechanical noises can be felt in your body, the sound itself a physical thing, waves and vibrations rolling down your spine and legs — coursing through your brain. Even if you’re stuck in a commuter-traffic-jammed car at night under the pouring rain, you’ll hear a bike blast past you and start an earnest uncontrolled looking for that noise, hoping to hear it come again through the foggy mist. Gives you chills.

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