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Going back to California

There were only three motels in Tuba City, at the confluence of the US 264 and 160 and all of them were booked up in spite of their high rate. As the sun was still high in the sky, I decided to keep riding as far as Page, which is located near the border of Utah 130 km further north on the US 89. In the east of the US 89 a series of gray small mountains endlessly lasts with a high wall of reddish steep mountains in the back. Lacking in green, the scenery gave me a feeling like traveling not on this planet, but on the moon. Soon later the gray low mountains disappeared and I found myself riding along the red wall on the US 89. A dry river flowed between the road and the red wall. The red wall shining in the setting sun was quite fantastic.

The US 89 along the "red wall"

Red Canyon

In Page there is a dam which store the river water flowing down toward Grand Canyon and forms a huge lake called Lake Powell. Page is a tourist town thanks to this lake and has lots of motels. I was ready to pay much, but I found a motel for $32 including tax, probably because of off-season. That was $29 before tax and then it was a good price in the US. The weather was good and the temperature was high enough for only a T-shirt. The north of Grand Canyon is in Utah and here are lots of national parks with the same fantastic rock formations as in the east of the same state. When I went up north to Canada, I took the road in the east edge of Utah and did not visit Bryce and Zion National Parks in the west edge, which lingered in my mind for a long time. The US 89 crosses over the Colorado River by the bridge next to the dam and runs to the west as far as two hundred and some dozzens of kilometers to Zion National Park. The road turns north, leaving Zion in the west , to Bryce National Park. In fact, Bryce National Park lies in the east parallel to this road in extension of around 30 km from the north to the south, however, there is no other access road to the park. So a long detour must be made to the north entrance of the park. The US 89 travels along the river in the valley. The colored trees have already dyed the valley in yellow. There are some hamlets in the valley and in places the horses are bathing in the sun in the pasture. It reminds me of a peaceful valley in the countryside of Japan. Riding in the mountains is indeed the best. for a motorcycle trip. Near the entrance of Bryce National Park there is Red Canyon, a literally red canyon where the weathered red mountains exhibit a queer formation of rocks. It promises my expectation of Bryce National Park. And it comes true.

At the entrance of the park the countless tall pillars of red rocks cover the whole valley in the shape of a horseshoe on a vast scale. This is the splendid carving by the great nature. A trail goes down to the bottom of the valley, meandering between a series of those red pillars. I felt like walking among the pillars, but gave up because of the sore foot. I met a couple of middle-aged riders in riding wear of thin leather. Both of them rode on the same type of motorcycle. I believed the two bikes were Harley Davidson's. But in fact they were the copies of Indian made by Kawasaki. The bike for the man had an engine of 1500 cc and the other one for the woman had 850 cc. This is the best combination of the American classical design and the most-advanced Japanese technology. Their long legs suited the bikes. They did not have much luggage. They told me they were making a short trip. Most couples ride a motorcycle with a woman on the passenger seat in the US or in Canada, however, a couple riding on each bike is more attractive.

Bryce Canyon National Park

That is my another dream. After taking a photograph of them. I honestly said, "I feel jealous of you". The elevation of Bryce National Park is as high as 2,500 m. I did not know that I had gone up so much. I gained the elevation little by little in a long time, while it would take short time in the steep mountains in Japan. Considering the high altitude, that coldness was not to be wondered at. I had turned the heated grips in "heat". When I left that morning, I had an idea to pitch a tent in the park that day, but I changed my mind and decided to stay in a motel near the park so that I would not feel misery in the cold.

Two Indian's with an engine of KAWASAKI

Jacuzzi bath at a motel near Red Canyon

Although the motel charged only $29, it had an outdoor hot bath. The motel was acceptable for that low price. It was because that day was Sunday and the motels over there were having an off-season soon. The motel where I stayed was to close in a week and would enjoy a long winter sleep. Thanks to this situation, the motel gave me an ash tray even though my room was a non-smoking room, saying "We will clean the room soon, anyway". A hot bath in the cold is the best. Reading the California Motorcycle Handbook, I took a massage on the sole of my left foot by a jet of water from the jacuzzi bath as long as two hours. I expected to heal the sore left foot by the massage of water. I think it had a better effect than the aura from the finger tips of the "witch doctor" in Albuquerque, but it was not good enough to cure my limping. Leaving Bryce National Park for Zion National Park, I went back to the south in the same valley with colored trees. Entering Zion National Park, I happened to see a signboard with "Buffalo" on the roadside. Far behind the board, there were 30 - 40 dark animals scattered slightly away from 6 -7 houses in the pasture. They were never cows. Their figures were somewhat different. I thought they could be real buffaloes.

I had seen a huge head of a stuffed buffalo in a bar in Canada before, but I had never seen a real buffalo. I parked the bike and limped toward the fence in the distance. Really, they were buffaloes. I never expected to see buffaloes in a place like this. Before Columbus came to this continent, the number of buffaloes were so many that they might dye every inch of the land in black. American Indians lived in the same land with those buffaloes and they played for God when they went hunting. They killed only the necessary number of buffaloes for their demand by an arrow with a stone harpoon or stone knife. They must have utilized every part of a precious buffalo given by God, from its meat to fur. Therefore the population of buffaloes never decreased in those days. Later the people who had a hard life in Europe knew the good news by Columbus and came in numbers to this rich continent. As they had a gun, they enjoyed hunting the countless buffaloes that covered the field all over. They aimed the gun to the disobedient Indians at the same time. As a result, both buffaloes and American Indians were driven away to the west, losing their population. The US is now bombing Afghanistan. I only wish that the US, the only superpower on the earth after the corruption of the Soviet Union, will not commit, together with United Kingdom, the same barbarism to the Muslim countries in order to deprive them of oil this time as their ancestors did in North and South America. Zion National Park is surrounded with steep, red, rock mountains.

Buffalo in Zion National Park

Zion National Park surrounded with rock mountains

In that valley a road runs through. The sharp red mountains scrape the blue sky. It was cloudy and cold in Bryce National Park yesterday, but the temperature of today is high and I feel very comfortable. There is a long tunnel in one of the huge rock mountains. As there is no light in the tunnel, I take the sunglasses off by my left hand. As the tunnel takes light from the outside at regular intervals, the riding in the tunnel is easier than I worried. A tunnel in Fjoldland, the South Island of New Zealand, on the contrary, was narrow and pitch dark. I still remember the fear. I will never want to ride in that tunnel. In North America I have ridden mostly in the mountains and seen some tunnels. Each of them was so short that the other end could be seen from the entrance. However, this is the first proper tunnel. At the exit of the tunnel the road meets another road that leads to the northernmost part of the park. The signboards standing by the road suggest a Red Permit required to go farther to the north of the park. And the shuttle buses are transporting tourists on the road. I neglect the sign and go further north, having an excuse in my mind that I am a Japanese who do not understand much English. But on the way, I find the situation is no longer ignorable and so I leave the park. Most access points of AOL are in Salt Lake City and its vicinities in the north of Utah, and in the south the only one point is in St. George. I made a short-distance detour to the city in the south. It was hot in St. George, probably because I came down form the mountains before I knew it. My underwear under the leather armor was wet from the sweat. The rapid change of temperature was a problem for riding. For the previous five days after leaving Gallup I could not find an access point and I was away from the Internet. I tried and failed to make an access to the Internet by a long-distance call several times before. So I made it a rule to move to an AOL access point and to make a local call. I had to send emails to the people whom I would see in California. Drinking beer bought at a convenience store nearby, I wrote my story about the trip and ten emails including those to Japan. When I finished it, it was already over three-thirty in the morning that day, too. I decided to stay another night in the motel.

I headed northwest, toward Nevada from St. George, taking the State Highway 18 and 56. As I went up the mountains, the temperature dropped down. I turned the switch of the heated grips to "heat". The road was a country road and the traffic was light. The area around there is as dry as a desert, however, the mountains were covered with low trees. Entering Nevada, the State Highway met the US 93 and ended there. There was a small gas station at the junction. I filled the gas as the map showed the distance to the next town is 180 km. The US 93 runs from Las Vegas to the Canadian Rockies. This is the road I was thinking about taking from around here to go to Canada, however, I changed my idea later. From the gas station I headed north on the US 93. Soon later I came across Cathedral Gorge State Park.

There used to be a lake there around one million years ago, however, the lake dried up according to the change of the climate and it now exposes its weathered lakefront cliff under the sun. The brochure at a unattended park gate wrote that the annual precipitation of this region is only several inches and that the temperature in the summer goes up to 35 - 41 degrees Celsius (95 - 105 degrees Fahrenheit). Nevada is divided by dozens of the mountain ranges running from the north to the south and long valleys are formed between the ranges.

Cathedral Gorge State Park

The US 93 is like a runway.

The US 93 goes through one of the easternmost valleys from the south to the north. There are low trees in the mountains on both sides of the road, but there are only shrubs as low as grass in the valley. This is a barren land close to a desert. However, it is in the end of October now and it is never hot. Or rather, it is a little cold. The US 93 extends straight toward north like an endless runway in the barren field. The traffic is in fact so light that an airplane can land at any time. The speed limit is 110 km per hour. However, I often become careless and open the accelerator more. Then the speedometer indicates 130 or 140 km. I try to open it slightly more and get 150 and then 160 km. As my R1100R has a windshield, I do not receive the strong pressure from the wind, but the open-face helmet is a little floated up backward. The R1100R, nonetheless, becomes more stable as the speed goes up. The maximum speed of the R1100R is 240 kph and so 160 kph must be a trot for this bike. But this is the fastest speed that I have never experienced before. Being scared, I reduce the speed. As the nervous tension has caused urination, I park the bike in the lane and do my job on the roadside. It does not matter. There are no cars, no humans, or no animals within reach of my sight. The US 93 hits the US 50 130 km north of the gas station mentioned before. At this T-shaped junction I find an artificial thing after a long time. There is a bar standing alone. Concerning the road numbers, even numbers indicate the roads from the east to the west and odd numbers those from the north to the south. Then, the US 50 is a east -west road. The road repeatedly crosses the mountains and then the valleys. The valleys are still barren fields. Are there no human beings living in Utah? I felt as if I found the reason why the nuclear test site was constructed in the south of Utah. And at the same time I remembered a book with a title of something like "Why did John Wane die?". According to the book, the deaths of many Hollywood stars were caused not by AIDS, but by breathing the death ash many times for filming in the desert adjacent to the test site.

Traveling further west on the US 50, I found the trees were disappearing from the mountains

and the land finally turned to be a real desert before the town of Fallon in the west end of Utah. The barren fields and the mountains continue till Reno, another gamble town near the border of California next to Las Vegas. Before Reno the US 50 makes a detour to the south and runs along the south lakeshore of Lake Tahoe and then turns west again for Sacramento, the state capital of California. I headed south for the US 50 that I left before Reno. As I was approaching Lake Tahoe, the elevation became higher and the number of trees increased and finally dense forests were formed. I was coming into the Sierra Nevada. The temperature dropped accordingly. I paid a visit to the couple in Placerville, a small town between Lake Tahoe and Sacramento, whom I met at a campground for the first night in my trip four and a half months ago. The couple lived by themselves in a big house built in a large area of 8000 square meters ( 2 acres).

The US 50 crossing mountains and valleys

Eureka along the US 50

They are not rich people, but an ordinary couple who live on their pensions. It is really envious that in the US even ordinary people can live in such a big house like that. Their neighbors have also a house of the same size. American houses are indeed huge everywhere. In Reno my sore left food got worse and at last I could not stand up after leaving the bed in the morning. In an hour, however, the pain eased up and I pulled the bike out for California. But, I could not shift gears because the back of the left foot also began to ache together with the sole. I had to ride to Rohnert Park where Michael lives, shifting gears by the heal of the left foot.

Big house of Mr.& Mrs.Baker at Placerville

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