I had taken a good look at the map and picked out what I thought would be a good route for a day's ride: north to Queen Valley,then highway 60 northeast to Superior, Globe, and Show Low, 260 west to Payson, then back south down highway 88, the highway I'd ridden the day before, back to Eloy. A huge triangle. Ambitious, but do-able. If I'd started out about 2 hours earlier.
I'd been overdressed the day before so I went with fewer and lighter layers, bringing some extra clothes with me for when I got to the mountains. Highway 60 was a perfect never ending series of sweeping corners, with just enough tighter corners to keep me from getting complacent. I've always been more of a fan of the twisty type road where I'm always hopping back and forth between 2nd and 3rd gear, alternating between full throttle and heavy brakes. That's the sort of road that's fun for a while but wears you down after an hour or so. This was the type of road where you could relax a little, enjoy the view, and carve through the corners. It's the sort of road Jennifer loves, and as I tore along I pictured the grin she'd have on her face if she had taken up my invitation to load her bike onto the trailer with mine and bring it down.
The speed limit started out at 65 but dropped to 55 when I entered the San Carlos Indian Reservation. I was never doing less than 75. The road looked kinda straight-ish on the map but www.bestmotorcycleroadsus swore it was good which is why I picked it. The road kept climbing and soaring as I kept crankin' and bankin', until I finally came out on a vast plateau, and realized how cold it had gotten. I hadn't even noticed the snow at the side of the road. When I pulled over to add some layers I turned on my GPS and discovered that I was at just over 8,000 feet of elevation. No wonder it was getting cold. The vegetation had changed from dwarf shrubs, to cactus, to pine forest. There was only one dot on the map supposedly showing a town, which turned out not to exist, and the only town I did find wasn't shown on the map, probably because it had been abandoned many years ago. There was almost no traffic, and what little traffic there was consisted mostly of motorcycles going the other way.
At the bottom of the canyon was another abandoned group of buildings, including one that from the look of it had to be the town jail. There were iron bars on the windows and a couple of cells inside.
When I crossed the river I entered the Fort Apache Indian Reservation and began the climb back up out of the canyon. Going up was every bit as much fun as going down as I easily passed everything that got in my way.
By the time I had covered half the distance from the canyon to Show Low, I realized how late it was getting, and that between the high elevation and the lowering sun it was quickly cooling down. I pulled over to check my map, and decided while the smartest move would be to turn back to Globe, I probably didn't have enough gas to make it. I had no choice but to press on to Show Low, fuel, and then return down the road I was on to lower elevations and warmer temperatures. That plan did have the bonus of letting me make another run through the canyon.
I dropped back into the canyon just as the sun was setting. As I tore up the other side a semi went past me headed down trailing a billowing cloud of thick blue smoke. When I drove into it I could taste the acrid stench of burning brake pads and wondered if he would be availing himself of the runaway lane at the bottom of the next corner.
Up and out of the canyon, twilight was ebbing and the temperature was dropping fast as I crossed the plateau, averaging 85-100 miles an hour on those corners as I hustled to get out of the mountains before it got too cold.
Shortly after full dark, the inevitable happened. Just after I had entered one of the few short straight stretches a vehicle came around the next corner, and almost the instant he was in sight he hit his blue and red roof lights. Crap! A State Trooper! I hadn't seen a single Cop all day. By the time he got turned around I was already parked on the shoulder with my 4-ways on, and was dismounting the bike while I started to take off my helmet.
"Good evening sir, how are you today?"
That's not how these exchanges usually start out. It's usually more along the lines of "You frickin moron!" and then goes downhill from there. Believe me, I know.
"There is a speed limit on this road. It's fifty-five. You were doing eighty-six miles an hour. That's a Felony!"
Oh Crap Oh Crap Oh Crap Oh Crap!!!!! I didn't know exactly what that meant, but I knew with absolute certainty it wasn't good.
You could have knocked me down with a feather when he spoke his next words: "I'm just going to give you a warning, but fer gosh sakes slow down! Ya gotta be safe!" He looked me up and down and asked "Are ya gettin' cold?" When I told him yes, he replied that the highway would drop quickly in the next 10 miles coming into Globe and get much warmer. "But ya gotta be alive to get that far! Would ya'all like to warm up in the car while I check your paperwork and write up your warning?" Back where I come from the motto seems to be "To berate and punish", but this guy seemed to take the whole "Protect and Serve" thing pretty seriously.
We spent the next 20 minutes sitting in the Cop car with him showing me on my map which were the best bike roads in Southern Arizona (turns out he rides a Harley, surprise surprise), and he filled me in on all the details about the various ghost towns along that highway. He also mentioned, almost apologetically, that should I get pulled over for speeding in the State of Arizona "for the next little while", the warning would come up, and that a ticket for the full amount was a statutory requirement, no discretion.
I gave the kind man a heartfelt thank you, proceeded on my way, and for the next 2 hours not once did I exceed the speed limit so much as .1 of a mile an hour.
I've used my Get Of Jail Free Card for this state, it's time to head to California.
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