I noticed tonight, looking in the mirror, that I have a 2" band around my throat that is wind-burned. How that wind manages to get in under my full-face and over my jacket is a mystery.
Greg and Moe offered to strap some of my bags on their rides to save time on fuel stops. All these guys have to do is just stick it in, pump and go. Me, I've got to unstrap several bags, my cover, and my lock. Pop up the seat, gas up and do it all again. Maybe an extra three or four minutes per stop, but that adds up over the course of the day. I'm just glad for any guy to carry my bags.
Saving time was a good thing today. Wicked head winds caught us between the western continental divide and Flagstaff. Up until today, I was able to keep up with the speed of traffic for the most part. Hills took a little extra effort, but once we crossed into New Mexico the speed limit increased to 75 mph. There were sometimes I could barely eek out 51-52 mph. It was brutal.
Greg pulled up beside me a one point to block the cross winds. It helped, but eventually he even stopped that because it was rocking his 1/2 ton of Harley all over the lane too.
I started drafting on trucks as they sped by. At a certain speed differential, trucks passing me would suck me into their draft and literally shoot me like a sling shot. If they could stay in the left lane, there was a pocket of remarkably stable air that would pull me along with little or no throttle. The whole drafting experience might seen unnerving to some, but I never felt in any more danger than merely driving a scooter on the freeway to begin with.
Several trucks seemed to not mind me drafting, but a few were not happy campers. Greg and Moe have CB radios and let them know what I was doing. I was grateful one flatbed, with a partial load pulled me the last 35 miles into Flagstaff, before he turned off to head to Phoenix. He could see me in his mirrors the whole time, so I figured he was OK with me tagging along.
As we got closer to Albuquerque, the overpasses and bridges were adorned with southwestern/desert styled motifs. Closer towards the town the noise barriers and pedestrian bridges were more elaborate. Not that it achieves any level of 'public art' but it's pleasant to look at nonetheless.
We took a detour into the Petrified Forest National Park in Arizona. It's a 28 mile loop through the Painted Desert with several breathtaking vistas of the badlands and dried up stream beds. Freight trains rumble through the park along the Santa Fe Railroad. The stunning colors and formations are merely a rehearsal I know for the sights to see next week.It got quite chilly towards the end, and we all donned our cold weather gear for the last hundred or so miles. We finally arrived in Kingman, tired and numb, but all in one piece.
I listened to tunes starting from 'N' through the end and started with the 'A''s again.
Here's todays pix:
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