Ride Report - Grand Canyon

Santa Cruz Ca, early morning, damp. Laurel and I had planned a trip on my hawg down to the Grand Canyon, trying to make one last big run before we moved to Tennessee. I think we had both just quit our jobs and we were enjoying that sweet little transition period before a move, getting by selling at swap meets and Etsy, not worrying about too much, spending alot of time at the beach, driving our old shitbox 1960 Ford pickup around. It was a simple time, we had roommates, rented a house, not much to worry about and we could take off for a few days no problem. I had on my trusty blue jeans, denim jacket, and my mexican blanket vest- layered good enough to shed some articles when we got in the heat of inland southern California that afternoon. Lo had her favorite daily driver leather jacket and her 35mm olympus stylus around her neck.

The goal for the first day was to make it to Pioneertown, CA so we could see The White Buffalo play at Pappy and Harriet’s. It was just under 500 miles, we were ready to ride all day! I had booked us a room at the Sands Motel in Yucca Valley for that night, when you are riding two-up on an old Harley, there is no room for anything. I did bring a 1 gallon can of gas because I have a real problem with always running out, and this was a new route for us so we wanted to be ready for any long stretches between gas stations. I also brought my tool bag which Laurel carried in her purse. Throughout our relationship, she always had her purse full of wrenches and shit, shed carry them around everywhere, I actually gave her a huge 3/4 open ended wrench to carry for protection, since she rode the bus everywhere and didnt have a phone for a while. One time we were going to court for something, I think driving a car without registration or insurance, and when we went through the metal detectors at the LA court building, Laurel beeped and had to put her wrench and knife in the bushes outside.

Anyway, we felt prepared for the long journey ahead, it was gonna be a hard day of riding. The first 100 miles are pretty beautiful, but not direct at all. There is no easy way out of Santa Cruz, it’s like living on an island. You make several turns through the hills out past Watsonville and Hollister, crossing over the 101, before you finally hit the San Louis Reservoir at good ole I-5. The bike was running good, we bought a pack of cigs at the gas station- we always smoked on our long rides together, even after not smoking for months, we’d buy a pack. Riding on 5 is not exactly enjoyable, it’s 80 miles an hour passing big rigs, sunburn, sore ass, neck cramps from fighting the wind. The first day was hard work to get to Pioneertown. We exited at HWY 58 and turned east towards the vast meth bowl of Bakersfield, Tehachapi, and other weird places. For some reason we went South on 14 into Palmdale, then East on 138 to Victorville. When I pull up the directions on my phone now, it tells me to go a much more efficient route ha. We got kinda turned around through the high desert, I remember having to turn around in Victorville after riding like 6 miles out of the way. Laurel would always squeeze my waist when I was supposed to make a turn, it was our little way of communicating on the road.

We finally roll into Yucca Valley at around 6:30 or 7 that night. It was a solid 12 hours of riding together. We went and checked in at our hotel, cheapest lodging we could find. I hopped straight in the shower to rinse the dirt off my face, Laurel smoked an American Spirit outside. The sunset was insane, I love the desert so much, and some of my first experiences with Lo were out there, so there is an element of nostalgia I will always hold dear. We rode into a little diner for dinner, then headed up the hill to Pioneertown, pitch black, its kinda a gnarly road but we made it up without issue and parked right in front.

The White Buffalo killed it, we had seen him many times before, but seeing him play at Pappy and Harriot’s was the best setting imaginable. We left the show during “The Pilot”, which is always his last song of the night, I wanted to split before I would be forced to start my bike in a crowd. We were pretty exhausted anyway. After riding a 50 year old Harley for 12 hours, you’d be amazed how well you can sleep on a cardboard mattress at the Sands Motel- $49 a night!

The next morning we woke up to beautiful desert skies. We didn’t know it at the time, but those first few hours that day would be some of the most epic roads we had ever ridden. We stopped for coffee at the only little coffee shop in Yucca Valley, I’m sure there are more now (this was 2016, before the real estate boom in the desert). We were sitting down sipping our coffee, when all of the sudden, Jake Smith (The White Buffalo) walks right through the door! I wanted to meet him really bad, so I approached him and told him how much we enjoyed the show the previous night. He sat down with us for a few minutes to chat, really nice guy. We told him we rode down from Santa Cruz and he was like “what the fuck” haha.

We left Yucca Valley heading north, we ended up on Amboy road. It was like riding inside of a painting, pastel colors in every direction, rolling up and down through the desert, not a car in sight. I dont think we passed another motorist the whole time on that road. We stopped at the legendary “Roy’s Motel” and gas station in Amboy. I had never even heard of this town before, but it blew my mind. Only a gas station and a post office, with the most badass mid-century motel sitting in the middle of nowhere. We met another dude on an adventure bike who just literally ran out of gas as he coasted to the pump- i guess they put that gas station there for a reason. He couldn’t believe the bike we were on together haha, but it never even phased us, we were so used to being uncomfortable.

We got gas and kept on old Route 66, it runs parallel to I 40. Through Needles we got gas again and were really feeling the strain on our necks. If you have ridden through Needles you know what I’m talking about. When you cross the state line into Arizona, the Colorado River looks like radiator fluid, it is a wild neon blue/green color, I wanted to stop and check it out, but we needed to get to some sort of lodging before dark.

Miles and miles pass, we were ripping it up, getting stoked on dinner at the base of the Grand Canyon, when my bike starts to misfire just outside of Seligman AZ. We had already been riding all day and the thought of mechanical difficulties on our home stretch seemed daunting. We pulled off to some gas station on Route 66. Lo hops off and takes out some tools from her purse. I go through everything and realize the one thing I forgot was my spark plug socket. I figured I’d start simple, plugs, wires, gas. We borrowed a hammer from an old guy with an epic ponytail and I used a flathead screwdriver to get my plugs out- if you place the screwdriver on the edge of the flat on the plug and gently hit it with a hammer you can rotate it enough to get it off! The plugs seemed fine, I inspected the wires too and they visually seemed good. I knew we had some sort of an electrical issue, the bike would start fine and idle normal, but when I got on the gas it would misfire and break up. I was running an old Mikuni round slide carb, the simplest carb i have ever seen, I knew it was good to go and working cherry. Unfortunately I did not bring any spare parts, and to top it off it was Easter weekend and there was not a chance in hell any motorcycle shop would be open.

This bald dude who looked like an off duty cop pulled up and tried to help us, I asked him if he knew of any motorcycle parts shops in the area. Amazingly, he thought there might be a little independent shop 40 miles east in Williams called Grand Canyon Motorsports. it was about 4 in the afternoon, there was no way they’d be open by the time we got there, especially the day before Easter. We really needed the parts if we were gonna make it home, the bike would just barely limp down the highway at 50 miles an hour, and there were some serious hill climbs. We decided to try and make it to Williams, risking the chance of breaking down on the side of the freeway, far away from an actual town.

The next 40 miles were pure stress. I remember vividly counting every mile marker, just praying we’d stay running, every hill we had to climb we’d hop into the slow lane and barely make it. I just had my mind on repeat saying “cmon baby keep going!”. Laurel’s arms gripped tight around my waist, it was getting cold now.

We finally reached Williams, just barely! and pulled off the freeway into the Grand Canyon Motorsports parking lot. Miraculously, the owner was still there! It was one of those serendipitous moments that only happens on an old chopper on the road. The shop specialized in pre-1984 Harley Davidsons. Shane, the crazy old man with long gray hair and beard, waved us right into his shop. His huge Rottweiler, Zeus, ran over to Laurel and sat down on her, he was covered with brake dust and motorcycle grime, but he was such a big sweatheart. Shane had a full wall of early HD parts in stock, he had a whole new advance unit with USA made weights which he walked me through how to install and time. This was my first time replacing an advance unit- on the road with a random old timer helping me out and showing me how to grease the springs, gap the points, and set the timing. I have actually had the same problem later in life on the road, once the springs go bad on the weights, the bike will still start and idle, but under load it will misfire. I know how to diagnose and fix that issue now because of this experience with Shane.

Shane was a real character, at one point he pulled out a pistol and started waving it around, he also told us he’s been living “off grid” in a remote hand-built cabin for the last decade. The bike started first kick, we were in a state of disbelief with the events that just took place, what are the odds? We decided to stay in Williams, which is right at the base of the Grand Canyon. We’d grab some food and get a motel for the night, wake up the next morning and hit the park.

Laurel and I sat in the greasy burger joint that night, drinking beers, exhausted but content. In that moment I really felt like I had everything I needed in life. I had my girl, my shitty old motorcycle, and enough money to be able to ride around aimlessly for a few days. Fuck everything else. We looked at eachother and I could just tell that she felt the same way, her gratitude and excitement for a simple life on the road mirrored my own. This journey had changed me, i knew we could get through anything. No matter how bad the breakdown, we could fix it and travel on.

We went back to the hotel and I took a hot bath, we watched some TV and slept heavy. The next morning when we woke up it was 29 degrees! We had jackets, but not nearly enough gear to ride up the mountain to the Grand Canyon. I knew we would freeze if we tried, we were only 32 miles away from the park, but we decided to skip it and head back west to California. The bike started with ease, and for the first time it felt like the wind was at our backs! The ride home was pretty smooth, we stopped in LA to see some friends, then bombed the remaining 350 miles home. Of course, we hit rain through the hills on 156, but that last hour you basically feel like you are home anyway, so we were buzzin’, feeling the joy of victory and another trip on two wheels together in the books.

When I look back on this trip, i cant help think about the bigger picture, what it means for our relationships and personal growth to ride an old machine long distance. I don’t consider it “special” or “difficult”- anyone can buy an old harley and take a long trip. But, I do think it adds a certain element of character to those willing to go through such bullshit. Don’t get me wrong, at the root, I think all people are pretty similar, and I can relate to anyone, I just think it’s way more interesting and appealing when someone can scrape by, can live low, the people who somehow find a way through, working a shitty low paying job, driving a shit car because thats all you can afford. That is the story that gets me excited, chiseling a beautifully intricate statue out of ordinary stone.

-Tay

Written as I remember

1,505 Miles, 3 days