After work on the evening of Friday 13th, we gathered at Fred Mork’s ranch. (We consisted of Jeff S. , Jeff W. Amy, Fred and yours truly, otherwise known as the Chief Bottle-washer from the Lube Ranch, the newlyweds, the Captain of Industry and the editor of Fishtail West. Due to the foresight of the Captain of Industry, all eight motorcycles were loaded in the trailer and all nonperishable gear was stashed, so it only took a few minutes to settle into each other’s aura’s, and hit the road. We left soon after 7 p.m. and traveled all night. Catnapping was essential even for the non-drivers.
I woke to watch the sun rise over the Mojave and smell wet sage.
Our first real stop was Oatman, Arizona, a town founded on gold-mining. Burros were part of the operation, but they could only work a limited number of years in the mines or they went blind. The retirement plan for the burros was to turn them loose. Although they were too old to work, they were not too old to reproduce, and their grandchildren and great grandchildren are now the main tourist attraction. The burros are wild, but the townspeople take care of them the best they can. Carrots are like pure sugar to the burros and have become illegal, but you can buy a switchblade for $5.
We continued east with stunning views. There was the open horizon, cliffs and washes with evocative names.
We reached Flagstaff after a couple more hours of driving. Exhausted and disoriented we pulled into the Kit Carson RV center and set up camp. We went into town for dinner and chose outdoor seating as a priority. Even when the rain started and the colorful pedestrian traffic dispersed, we didn’t get the clue. It was only when we returned to the campsite and found a river running through it did we get worried, and by then it was too late.
Jeff S. and I moved our tent two more times and set up the inside to avoid what was already wet. Jeff W. and Amy tried many different locations and finally slept inside the cabover.