Election 2016: A critical choice is at hand.

Please think very carefully about your vote in a few weeks.  If you vote for anyone that is not Clinton or Trump, you will be throwing your vote away and helping one of the other candidates win.  That is not scare tactics; that is practical reality.  If you feel as I do, that neither candidate is totally (or at all) acceptable, then the most good you can do given the choices we’ve been given is to vote against the candidate that you don’t want most.  Vote for the lesser evil.

Please remember how this happened this time.  Then get out there next time and work for good candidates from the beginning.  There’s really nothing we can do this time unless the GOP dumps Trump before the election.  I can’t imagine that will happen.  They just won’t do that.

But I want you to think about this: How do you suppose Trump’s daughter feels about the revelations this past few days in the news. Behind the scenes, where the public cannot see her, in her heart, what impact has this had on her? Locker room or not, what kind of man says something like that about his daughter?  Ever?  I don’t know any good man who would ever speak that kind of garbage anywhere. The kind of person who says things like that is nothing more than ignorant trash.

Fathers, who do you think Trump was talking about when he spoke of women and how he prefers to “handle” them?  He was talking about all women – your daughters, your wives, your friends and your loved ones.  What would you do if you heard someone speak of your daughter that way?  Vote for them?

The president represents all of us as the “face” of the United States around the world. How could you possibly consider this person as a leader of the free world? How could we be so ignorant? What would it say about us if we had such a man representing us around the world. These things do matter - despite what his remaining right-wing supporters and all the neo-Nazis would have you believe.  

Where Trump belongs is in some deep, dark basement where no one would ever have to hear his vile voice again (or in that same prison he threatens to put Hilary in...).

I also flatly reject the assertion that Hilary Clinton is just as bad. She has a nearly forty year record of working for the American people.* Trump has never worked for anyone but himself, and that not honestly, but at the expense of others.  We have no reason to believe he will be any different as president and you're a fool if you think that doesn't matter.

*Just so you know, I am a fiscal conservative in the traditional sense and would not vote for Clinton if I had a good choice otherwise.  But she is NOT evil incarnate.  Those of you that think so are wrong. Conservative America, Donald Trump does not in any way share the ideals and values you hold most dear; you are being played.

There are parallels – similar political rhetoric and candidates – in the history of the past one-hundred years.  Because people did nothing to stop it when they might have, because the idea of a resurgent nation was attractive to them, because they gave in to ignorant and unthinking hate-rhetoric and hatred of those that weren’t much different than themselves, the entire world was plunged into evil chaos that took millions of lives and 6 + years to obliterate, not to mention the millions of innocent lives murdered during those years.  If you don’t think that could happen again, you’re wrong.  That all started a little at a time, because a nation was fed up with a status quo. I wouldn't want to see anything like that happen in my country, even to some lesser degree.

The hour is late and ignorance, irrational hatred and bigotry are out of the closet, even valued.  It is time for intelligence and wiser people to speak up – and act.  

In Memory of Tom Mix

Tom Mix, cowboy star

Back in the 1920s and 1930s, we didn’t have John Wayne.  The Duke was getting his start in one or two big screen flicks, like “The Big Trail,” but for the most part his 30s decade was filled with making Saturday afternoon “oaters.” 

No, in the early days, we had Tom Mix!   He was a big, tall handsome man with some real cowboy-ing background, a favorite with the ladies of his time and he had a smart horse (“Tony”) who took every opportunity to upstage him. He was made even taller by that trademark-tall white Stetson hat. He made over 370 (mostly silent) westerns.  You can still see some of them on the streaming services - for example, "Just Tony" from 1922, which mostly stars the horse with Tom as pretty much the "sidekick." 

By the late 30s, though, the big star was approaching 60 years old and the parts were not many in coming.  By 1940, he hadn’t been very successful in any kind of a career revival, although he was still working on that.  He performed in “circuses,” even had his own.  But in the depression years, none of those did very well.  Even Barnum & Bailey and Ringling Bros shut down for a time.  The Tom Mix circus was no exception and closed in ’38.

Tom Mix, the great cowboy star who helped bury the REAL Wyatt Earp, counted him as a friend and wept at his funeral, was living in reduced circumstances by 1940.  He wasn’t forgotten and although his star was fading, he still drew big crowds at the local events he attended; America still loved him. He didn’t live in big mansions in the Hollywood Hills anymore – but he did have a couple of nice ranches with some acreage in Los Angeles and near Phoenix (his ranch house near Phoenix is now the home of a good Mexican restaurant – one of the locations of Los Dos Molinos).

Perhaps his favorite possession was his beautiful butter-yellow 1937 Cord 812 Phaeton (although he also owned a 1927 Rolls-Royce Phantom I Roadster at the time of his death).  Not all the 812s had the supercharged Lycoming V-8 engine – but his did.  Not many were ever built and by the time of Mix’s death the company was out of business. But Tom Mix kept his, and he liked to drive it fast on his frequent journeys around the west.  If you look closely at the photo, you can see the tooled leather rear-fender guards - indicating perhaps that many of the roads he drove were gravel in those days.

Tom Mix's 1937 supercharged Cord 812 Phaeton

On the morning of October 12, 1940, he started out from Tucson on the 2nd leg of a journey from Las Cruces back to California for meetings about starring in some more films; he was headed to Florence that day for a Grandson's christening. He knew lots of people in the area, was friendly to almost everyone he met.

His first stop that morning was north of town at Oracle Junction (there was no I-10 in 1940).  Mix took the “back road” route that today starts as Oracle Rd in Tucson, and then splits off to Florence, Arizona and into Phoenix from the southeast.

From Oracle Junction to Florence, that road wasn’t paved – it was a main route but was graded-gravel according to the 1940 Arizona Highway Department map.  But Florence is on that road, so he went that way instead of a more direct route.  He also met a man (his friend Bud White) at Oracle Junction when he stopped at a roadhouse there, drank some whiskey and played some cards with his friend.  A couple of Florence boys had been there overnight after a dance; one of them at least knew him, and they were all three excited to see the “big star.”  After talking with them for a few moments, Mix left and the boys decided to follow him down the road toward Florence in their "old Plymouth."  But they couldn’t keep up with the powerful Cord and until the wreck he stayed quite some distance ahead of them.

About 18 miles south of Florence, he came up on a work site where WPA workers were in the process of building a bridge over what is now (sadly) known as Tom Mix Wash.  News reports said those construction workers were first on the scene, but the boys who were there said that was not true, as it was Sunday and in 1940 on Sunday, road workers were at home with their families, not building bridges over dry Arizona washes. 

The boys came up on the crash right after it happened, before the dust even settled.  They said that the wheels of the Cord were still turning when they approached. Mix had swerved and gone off the road into the wash where the motorcar turned over.  He'd had two aluminum suitcases in the back of the open car, and one of those (which was heavily loaded) flew forward or perhaps fell on his head as the car rolled and broke his neck.  That suitcase is still in a museum, complete with the dent left by the actor’s head.

Mix was certainly speeding - but speeding on that road may not be the equivalent of what we think of as speeding today.  It was a graded road.  Some have reported that the Cord approached at 80 mph.  But no one was there; no one except those boys, who were way behind him, so there is no way to know for sure exactly what his speed really was at that moment.  I suspect it was much lower than 80 mph. When the car was recovered there was little visible damage; had he really been doing 80, the damage would have been much more visible.  Had the heavy case not broken his neck, that wreck might even have been survivable, since the reports indicated that he was still with the car, not thrown off a couple of hundred feet as you might expect had he really been going as fast as some said. I am certain it had no seat belts -- cars just didn't in those years.

The boys said he was already dead when they got there – one of them checked for his pulse and didn’t find one.  It was several hours before the authorities got out to the crash scene.  The witnesses stated the wreck happened in the morning, but it was midafternoon before anyone else got there.  Mix’s body was taken to Florence that afternoon and the Cord was also towed into town. Because of the delay, most reporters wrote that the wreck happened in the afternoon. The witnesses disputed that.

The coroner did an autopsy and discovered the broken neck and reported it as the cause of death and his body was then prepared for burial by a Florence funeral home. His fifth wife Mabel had been notified and she came in a friend's private plane from Los Angeles to take his body home.  He had a funeral in Los Angeles fit for a king, with thousands of mourners and was buried at Forest Lawn Memorial Park in Glendale, California, wearing his platinum and diamond-encrusted cowboy belt buckle.

Where Tom died.

Tom Mix left behind a legion of movie fans and friends, a wife, four ex-wives (reportedly), two daughters and Tony the devilish horse. He had disowned the exes and one of his daughters and left his somewhat modest estate to his wife and his daughter Thomasina. Tony the wonder horse had already lived long – and he died of old age two years later to the day (from Mix's death). 

Tom's Rolls Royce was obtained by Warner Brothers after his death and it appeared in several movies as the years passed.  Robert Redford drove it in one of his films. The damaged Cord passed through several owners and was finally purchased by someone who restored it to mint-condition and as exactly as possible to how Mix had it set up, lamps and all (see photo).  It’s also still out there – it was auctioned a few years back and I haven’t been able to find out where it is now.  That might mean a private collector now owns it.   

You can still see some of the places where he lived over in Los Angeles, as well as that Mexican restaurant bungalow in South Phoenix and you can still see many of his movies. A monument was placed in a small roadside park on that "still a back-road" desert highway – SR79, just a couple of hundred feet from the spot where the movie cowboy went off the road into the wash.  It is paved now and a decent road. They dedicated that monument in 1947 and Gene Autry was there and sang a lonesome cowboy song. Vandals and thieves deface the memorial every once in a while, so it doesn't look now like it originally did.

I go by there every chance I get and I almost always stop.  The marker commemorates a man who added countless hours of excitement to the Saturday afternoons of American boys and girls all across the country.  I remember that silent-film cowboy in the tall white hat (even though his movies were really before "my time.")  I always will.  I might go watch one of them right now.

4th of July, 2016: The American Creed

Why is it that we don’t stand up when we see some among us who place conditions on our rights – when they belong to others who are different from us?  Wasn’t that the whole point, from the very beginning?  What is it that blinds us?

True Americans value their personal freedom, but with absolute remembrance that to our founding fathers and mothers, freedom did not extend as much to the individual – it was freedom of the people, of the nation as a whole.

True Americans believe in personal responsibility.  Our creed places value on self-sufficiency.

True Americans are reliable, and true to our word.

True Americans believe in charity and taking care of others.  But that does not mean we want the government to do it for us.

True Americans root for the underdog.

True Americans hate losing – and losers.

True Americans believe that justice is more important than winning.

No matter our spiritual beliefs, we believe in the Golden Rule.

Americans are a fighting people.  If you abuse us – you can expect to reap the whirlwind.  Justice will come for you.

True Americans believe in freedom of religion as well as freedom FROM religion.  America may be a nation of believers – but there are many beliefs.

True Americans value remembrance of our past, our people and our history. 

We place a high priority on honor.

True Americans value hard work and a job well-done.  We prize competence.

True Americans want to solve a problem at its root – not address it piecemeal from the tips of its branches.

We prize action, more than rhetoric.

True Americans have a strong belief in equality, of the dignity and worth of each person.  Not just Americans, but ALL people.  All of us - not just the ones who are like us.

The American creed “is a union of faith and freedom [wherein] faith elevates freedom and freedom tempers faith.”

We revere our elders.

True Americans hate a liar.

True Americans believe in right and in dealing from a position of power.

We believe that as humans we possess inalienable rights – we don’t need to wait for someone to give them to us.  We were endowed with them; they are inherent within us. 

It should be the government’s sole job to secure those rights.

We believe these rights have been endowed to the least of us, to the weakest among us. 

We do not believe that might makes right.

We believe in live and let live.

True Americans believe that freedom is our right – but that it is also our duty to secure that right, even if it means our death.

These tenets are my own opinions and beliefs, but some of the thoughts here were inspired by the writings of David Gelernter, David Azzerad, PhD and Forrest Church.

Riding in cars with dogs

On this day in 1965, I woke up in a motel in Lead, SD.  I was 11 years old. We were driving from Phoenix to Dollar Bay, a little town near Houghton, MI, where my Dad operated a Standard Oil gas station. 

The night before, on the last miles into Deadwood from Wyoming, there had been hundreds of deer grazing in the semi-darkness along the highway.  I had never seen so many.  On this day, we continued toward Minnesota, across the beautiful state of South Dakota (Not being sarcastic, I love the Great Plains).  I remember we drove through Belle Fourche and across what is now US 212 and ended the day in St Cloud, MN. 

Not Tootles, but looks like Tootles

The most memorable event of the day was our stop at the bank of the Missouri River, just west of Gettysburg.  We all piled out and down to the river, including our dog Tootles.  Tootles gloried in the momentary freedom – she was definitely a road-tripper, even had her own “seat” in that big ’56 Chrysler Windsor on top of a square suitcase placed on the back seat, which raised her up high enough that she could survey the passing scenery to her satisfaction. 

But like any dog, she loved to romp and run if she could and check things (everything) out at any stop we made.  When it came time to get back in the car and continue on, we discovered that Tootles had found something extremely dead along the riverbank and rolled in it completely.  Whatever it was, it was so far gone it was emulsified. Her new “cologne” would have given new meaning to the term “toilet water.”  The fragrance was intense, overwhelming and extremely unpleasant.  “Putrid” would be an accurate descriptor. And nothing took it off. 

We stopped at a filling station in Gettysburg, and Dad and Vera leashed the dog to the hydraulic lift in the service bay (so she couldn’t flee the hose), and they washed her with every anti-stink remedy known to man and woman-kind.  Soap, vinegar, milk, tomato juice. You name it, they tried it.  Maybe even pine-sol, I don’t know. To no avail; the pooch still stunk.  The only one who wasn’t offended by the smell was the dog herself, who seemed to think the odor was attractive.

That fragrance didn’t go away for at least a couple of weeks, and it made the last day and a half of our journey most memorable (It had been fun up to that point).  I don’t remember at all, but I’d bet a week’s pay we drove with the windows all down from that point on.

This dog was also a dedicated drunk, but that is another story.

Memorial Day, 2016

I was thinking of all the people, friends or relations, who have influenced my life, touched me in some way, even if only briefly for some, but who have “shuffled off this mortal coil.” We are a product of all we have done, all those we have known. When I think of all who have gone, it makes me appreciate all the more those I still have.

In a sense, we have all of those we’ve lost as well; they live in our memories and we should celebrate that. I have been richer because all of these people were a part of my life – their names are all in my “book.”

In loving memory...

Steven Scott Schaller
Tommy
Old Pete
Old Mr. Abbott
Hugh Kerns
Maybelle Kerns
Ernie Mills
Walter Fink
Retha Harris Fink
Guernsey Pogue
Amelia Cowdrey
Grandma Hicks (Pogue)
John Calvin Disharoon
Dora Mills
Dewey Hannum
Nellie Williams
William “Buss” Pickett
Don Moore
LaVera Sills
Charlie Merritt
Louis W. Schaller
Mahlon Schaller
Doyle I. Pruitt
Lula Belle Pruitt
Lloyd Lanham
Lamar Beaver
Mary Jane Beaver
Robert W. Schaller
John R. Schaller
Mae Whitmore
Nelson Pruitt
Jean Pruitt
Jane Pickett
Mike Pickett
Alice Bell
Donald F. Gillespie
Phyllis Gillespie
Vivian
Sharon Houle
David H. Melian
Ernie Tim Mills
Jeneva Lorene Schaller
Ron Delong
Octavia Den Beste
David Rogers
Ron Abbot

Although I have tried to remember them all, I'm sure there are some I've forgotten at this moment.

“Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs.
I am haunted by waters.”

― Norman Maclean, A River Runs Through It and Other Stories   

Arizona Motorcycle Tours -- Tonto Basin

March 1, 2016:  I got my motorcycle all ready to ride for the new season.  Didn't ride at all last year, so it was quite a job (for my mechanics)...  Two new tires needed "breaking in," and I am not working for a couple of days, so I hit the road in the Arizona spring sunshine. Yes, it is SPRING here, the deciduous trees in my yard are already leafing out!  The temperature was in the 70s and 80s, so it was a beautiful day for a ride.

I spent most of the day getting the bike ready, but with weather this good I could easily tolerate riding into the evening hours (it did get a little chilly in the mountains around Globe though); I got on the way at about 3:15 pm.  I headed east out of Phoenix on Shea Blvd, and picked up State Route 87 at Fountain Hills.  That's always a busy route, and it takes more than an hour to just ride those few miles.  I should have just followed the SR51 and Loop 202 out to Mesa, and it would have been a few more miles but definitely less time.  Once on SR87 (we call it the "Beeline" highway), I headed north and uphill.

I followed SR87 (a beautiful four-lane) north to SR188, took that SE past Roosevelt Lake to Globe, then rode home via US60 and the local Phoenix freeways.  I arrived home about 9:30 pm, but I made many stops for photos - the riding was probably only about 4 hours (243 miles).

The Route

I made stops also for drinks and snacks - I would normally carry these in a magnetic tank bag, but I could not find that today.  I must have packed it in a box when I cleaned the garage last spring -- but I cannot now remember where I put it.

My first stop was beside the road for photos of Four Peaks and the Superstition Mountains.  Four Peaks is one of three mountains (or ranges) that dominate the Tonto Basin. On the west, there's Four Peaks, Mount Ord and the Mazatzals.  On the eastern side there are the Sierra Anchas.  These mountains all figure prominently in Arizona's modern history -- as well as physically on this region's landscape.

[Mazatzal is pronounced Mat-a-zal with short a's.  I doubt that's the way Apaches pronounced it, but those pronunciations were very difficult for occidental tongues. So we settled for Matazal.]

Four Peaks

The Mazatzals drew their name from Four Peaks itself, but we don't call Four Peaks "Mazatzal," we call it Four Peaks!  But the Indians called that mountain Mazatzal.  It is a descriptive name meaning "the spaces between."  They described the mountain as the one with the "spaces between" the four peaks.  The Mazatzals stretch away to the north from there, all the way to the area to the west of Payson, Arizona -- and the SR87 highway runs right up through them, passing to the west of Four Peaks and around the west and north sides of Mount Ord, into the Tonto Basin and then north to Payson.  The highway from Fountain Hills to Payson runs through the Mazatzal Mountains Wilderness Area; then from Payson, the highway climbs up onto the Mogollon Rim and across the plateau lands to the north of the Rim to Winslow and the Dinetah.  This is spectacular country -- but many residents of my home city do little more than race through it on the way to the cool Mogollon Rim.  But these mountains and the Tonto Basin have many attractive qualities for a motorcycle rider!

The Superstition Mountains of AZ.

Lost Dutchman goldmine at left center horizon

Until just a few years ago, the highway ran through a canyon along Sycamore Creek, just north of Sunflower, until it climbed out the north end of that canyon and up the Slate Creek Divide on the north side of Mt Ord.  That pass is how the highway reaches the Tonto Basin -- but the highway now traverses the mountainside to the east and out of sight of that very pretty creek and canyon.  I miss that road, it was always one of my favorite sections of SR87.  In the summertime, it was the first "cool" you'd find on the road from Scottsdale to Payson - the highway entered that narrow canyon and followed the creek through shady, leafy tall trees.  It was 20-30 degrees cooler than the sunny road you'd been driving -- and a twisty, turning ride.

Between Four Peaks and Sunflower, don't neglect to notice the boulder-strewn terrain.  It's as close as a person can get to Four Peaks.  That mountain used to be much taller -- but in ancient times it blew up, much like Mount Saint Helens.  All of those boulders and jumbled rocks that lie astride SR87 south of Sunflower used to be the top of Four Peaks -- this is where they landed after the explosion.  So it truly is "as close as you can get" to Four Peaks -- even if you drive up the shoulders of that mountain, which you CAN do, you can't really get any "closer."

SR188 heading into the Basin

Once through the Slate Creek Divide area, the highway descends into the Tonto Basin, through Rye and up again into Payson, about 25 miles or so further.  But my route turned off at SR188 (before I got as far as Rye), and headed back south through the basin to and beyond Roosevelt Lake. 

First, a stop for a bit of water at Jake's Corners.  If you ride a V-Twin, the
de rigueur waypoint is at the saloon -- for me, a more sober-type, it's the general store.  Jake's Corner is a friendly little place, a stop for the locals as well as those visiting.  The Tonto Basin was frontier ranch country, and not much farther than a stone's throw from the scenes of the Pleasant Valley War - in that violent late 19th century debacle, two families, the Grahams and the Tewksburys (and their allies), wiped each other out to the very last man. At the end, the very last Tewksbury shot and killed the very last Graham on Broadway Road in Tempe - and got away with it.  In the 20th century the Basin became a center for outdoors pursuits for those living in the Phoenix area, as well as the few hardy "locals" living there.  Today, it's become a retirement destination for those who shun the busier Valley cities.  Those who live there now say the "old west" lives there with them.  I don't know about that, sounds like real estate sales hype to me -- but it is an area where I am sure things move a bit more simply and slowly.  And the scenery is magnificent.

Roosevelt Lake and the Sierra Anchas

As you head south toward Roosevelt Lake, you'll have the Mazatzals towering to your right and the Sierra Anchas rising beyond the valley on the east.  Both of these rock faces rise several thousand feet above the floor of the basin -- and 7,000 to 8,000 feet or more above sea level.  Ancha means broad and capacious in Spanish -- and these mountains certainly fit that description.  They stretch for many miles beyond the rampart ridgelines that are visible from the Tonto Basin.  They can be easily driven over in passenger cars on a road that begins south of Roosevelt Lake - it traverses the tops and descends through Pleasant Valley and Young, AZ and another 25 miles or so beyond that to the Rim highway (SR260).  This is also a beautiful drive -- but which takes the better part of a day.  In the photo above of Roosevelt Lake and the Sierra Anchas, perhaps you can see the magnificent eagle that is flying over the water at almost exactly the center of the frame?  You don't see that every day!  Today, as I rode along the lake shore, I could see that there was still snow on the upper reaches of Four Peaks on its east side, mostly near the top where it is rocky.  Still cold up there...

SR188 and the back side of Mt Ord (in distance)

The lake is not as full as it once was; it begins in marshy lands as Tonto Creek and its tributaries flow through and into it.  After a few miles, the lake starts to look more like a lake -- but skinny, before it widens out and becomes larger.  It's waters are often calm and smooth -- glassy looking, unless broken by the passing of a boat.  The lake is a very popular fishing spot, with bass, catfish, crappies and chubs "easily" caught.  Unless you are talking about ME; there's nothing so safe as a fish in the water when I am angling!  But... Roosevelt is the farthest reservoir in a string of them, that were created by damming the Salt and (further down the) Verde River to store water for use in the Salt River Valley (Phoenix) and also to accomplish much-needed flood control.  As the highway continues along the shore of the lake, you'll pass by numerous recreation areas -- boat ramps, campgrounds, etc, until at last you come to the Dam.

Waters wherein lie Italian aircraft...

When I see the east side of Roosevelt Dam, and the waters in front of it, I always think of the airplane that sank at the dam back in the early part of the 1900s.  A group of Italians were making their way around the world in seaplanes.  As they progressed across the United States, they had to fly from lake to lake (or river, I suppose).  Roosevelt Lake was one place they landed.  They were met by local dignitaries, taken down that nasty, winding rough and primitive road (the Apache Trail) to Phoenix, where they were wined and dined, before being returned to the waters in front of Roosevelt Dam where they had left their seaplanes "safely" moored.  Alas, one of them had sprung a leak and while they were gone, sank below the surface of the lake and was lost in the quagmire of mud at the dam's base, never to be seen again.  I assume the poor Italians had to continue their journey in what few aircraft they had left.  Apparently, the wreck of that historic airplane is still down there in the mud at the bottom of Roosevelt Lake... somewhere.

Theodore Roosevelt Dam - 1911

I took a few moments to detour on the Apache Trail to the back side of the Dam -- the afternoon light was very nice and I wanted some photos.  The dam was raised a few years back -- and refaced with concrete.  The old stone masonry is all covered up now.  I remember that it was leaking to some extent - and the dam was not high enough to contain the highest extent of flood waters that more recent estimates showed were possible.  It no longer has the "rugged" stone appearance it had as I first knew it, as a result.  It's still pretty though, in its own "dammy" way.  It's setting couldn't be much more spectacular.  When the dam was dedicated, President Roosevelt came here in a motorcar from Phoenix, first making a stop in front of the old Indian School (at Central and Indian School Rd in Phoenix) to exhort the Indian children being schooled there to grow up "good little citizens" in every "white" way.  So I think those old, fat, white men deserved every bump and jolt they got on the old Apache Trail that day.  It's still just about as rough today, if you want to give it a try.

At about this point on my ride, I ran out of daylight and it got a little cold.  Not bad, but just a bit.  I was wearing my summer mesh jacket and a t-shirt under it - so I felt it just a little.  I found though that if I hunkered down a tad behind my fairing and windscreen, the heat from that big motor radiated up just enough to keep me tolerable.  Of course, by this point my neck (and butt) were strained a bit too -- so it was hard to stay crunched down in that warmer place -- I'd have to stretch up after just a few moments.  So from there on, my routine was up, then down, up then down, plus squirm left and right frequent-a-mente.  I stopped at Walmart in Globe (for a sweatshirt), filled the tank, then rode on to Superior for supper at Los Hermanos.  I am a creature of habits -- and one of my habits is Los Hermanos in Superior.   It's a hole-in-the-wall family-run place - the food is Sonoran and simple, but always good. The staff was friendly, and they had good, hot coffee (two cups).  Which is why I am still writing at half-past midnight with no yawning at all.

Los Hermanos for St Patty's Day!

From there, it was a bit warmer, and I ran down US60 to Phoenix in a hell-bent-for-leather hurry.  Nobody passed me on that stretch.  When I got into Mesa, I veered around the north side on the new Loop freeway, and followed that across Phoenix to SR51 and home.  I got so petrified that I stopped once more, got off and stretched "things" out for a few minutes.  That "refreshed" me enough to come the rest of the way home.  I think for riding more comfortably, I need to ingest many more bananas and milkshakes and let those find a place to "ride."

Keep it between the fence posts!  ~Road Bob

Sonoran Desert "Naturatat"

Phoenix Mountain Preserve Trail

Hiking along the trail tonight, I saw this pretty little Cholla, getting his foothold on life on the rocky mountain slope.  These desert plants are what I grew up with, and are as familiar to me as Spanish Moss is to someone in Louisiana!   I started taking photos of the familiar ones, and next thing you know, I'm thinking BLOG!

Cholla - the fuzzy kind.  Looks friendly but it ain't.

Ocotillo

Palo Verde

Greasewood, or Creosote

Desert Sage

This is what we call the "jumping cactus."  Doesn't REALLY jump, but if your finger or some other part gets close to it, thorns jab into you from all directions and you can try to pull it off -- but you won't be able to.  And they hurt like hell.  There's another kind of cholla that's not quite as pretty.

Prickly Pear

The Barrel and the Saguaro

Barrel Cactus

Another Pretty Hedgehog

The Other Kind of Cholla

This is the lovely Ocotillo.  They usually bloom at the tops with pretty orange flowers in the springtime.










This is a Palo Verde Tree.  There are two kinds of this one also -- the Green, like this one, and the Blue, which isn't as leafy.

Mesquite Tree

The Greasewood bush is what gives off the lovely Sonoran Desert fragrance after a rain. My friend Charlie Merritt told me this plant has cancer-curing abilities, but it would be a bitter pill to swallow. It doesn't taste very good. But curing cancer might be worth having your tongue turned inside out.





I am allergic to this plant (Sage) especially when it is blooming.  I've got a couple of these here in the yard that my Mom planted.






The Prickly Pear would be familiar to any resident of the American West, either in the north or the south.  It grows a red or purple fruit that makes great jelly, if you want to go to the trouble.








The Barrel and the Saguaro are two of the more common cacti around here.  The state bird of Arizona is the Cactus Wren -- and it makes its home in that hole on the side of the Saguaro Cactus.  No critter will bother it there...








Here's another view of the Barrel Cactus.  They bloom also and are very pretty when they do. There is another type of Barrel that is more golden, like the Cholla or the Hedgehog. But it's a "Nursery" cactus -- you don't see them "wild" around here.








Like the golden fuzzy Cholla, the Hedgehog is another pretty one. This one has a little Sage bush for a desierto companero!











This is the uglier of the Cholla Cactus relatives.  This one has no "pretty" to go with the nasty pricks.









Lastly, here is a lovely Mesquite Tree. These are good for some nice desert shade on a hot day, and we use the wood for smoky flavor for your grilled chicken or steak.  Makes great barbecue!