70s FRIED BRAIN GUY
In my first book, Freedom’s Rush, I claim to be a world class expert on cheap motels. The thing is, I am. Really! Why? Because for a number of years, most of the places in which I spent the night were motels that were the cheapest I could find.
I also stated that staying in a cheap motel is almost always a unique experience. And it is. Good unique or bad unique? It could go either way. You never know. One cheap motel I stayed at was in Arizona just one day before the end of one of my long summer rides.
As I continue through Arizona, the temperature is still triple digits and I’m still stopping every thirty-five to forty-five miles. I’m keeping up with the water and the electrolytes and they’re doing a decent job of keeping me upright.
When the road starts going through the hills, the clean, blue sky in front of me is dotted with the prettiest white clouds. It reminds me of that famous painting by Magritte called “Castle of the Pyrenees,” and I keep expecting to see an enormous rock floating in the air. (Maybe I’m not getting enough electrolytes after all.)
My last stop is at a cheap motel in Quartzsite, which is just east of the California border. I’ve no sooner gotten off the bike when a guy with two dogs quickly walks up and starts talking. Excitedly. He’s wearing red tennis shoes, his frayed jeans go to just below his knees, his hair looks like he took a bath with an electric generator, and his eyes have this yeah-I-fried-my-brain-in-the-’70s look to them.
‘70s Fried Brain Guy: Shit, man, gotta get the dogs in, man!
Me: Uh, okay.
‘70s Fried Brain Guy: Shit, man, they can’t get dirty, man! (He was dog-sitting for his sister.)
Me: Uh, okay.
‘70s Fried Brain Guy: Shit, man, I gotta catch that thing, man!
Me: Uh, okay.
‘70s Fried Brain Guy: Shit, man, it’s a big one, man!
Me: Uh, okay.
I look up and, sure enough, there’s a hellacious dust storm coming from the west and it’s a big one, man, totally blocking out the sunset. As I walk in with my stuff, the 70s Fried Brain Guy is running out to “catch” that dust storm like a kid in Disneyland seeing Mickey Mouse for the first time.
I see him after the storm has passed and he’s covered with an inch of dirt and has a big brown smile on his face.
Me: Looks like you had fun.
‘70s Fried Brain Guy: Shit, man, I love that shit, man!
As I said, cheap motels are a unique experience.
A FEW PHOTOS OF MISSOURI
Riding into Arizona from the east.
I’ve always been drawn to this photo.
The next five photos were taken
from Highway 89 (killer route!) going south.
These next two photos were taken where Highway 89 splits into two one-way, one lane roads. To the left is a drop of, I dunno, hundreds of feet. At least.
Leaving Arizona on Interstate 10.
