The River

In Southern California, people say, "The River," and everyone knows what that means, even though it's over two hundred miles away across some of the most unforgiving deserts in this nation. It's such an anomaly in the harsh landscape that surrounds it. There's an entire culture that is centered around The River: Jet skis, dirt bikes, RVs, fishing, swimming, sunning, and drinking.

Here in Parker, on the Arizona side, the Colorado River still slides by with some volume, despite the numerous diversions that have been made here and upstream. The river will disappear below Yuma, parceled out in a hundred pieces, and it will never reach the sea. Parker is a one-story town – land is not worth enough to justify building up instead of spreading out. The exception is riverfront land; that is coveted for mobile home parks, casinos, and vacation shacks. Last night, walking back from dinner, I passed a huge, deserted structure that was essentially a condominium for parking RVs and boats. It occupied a full block. Enormous roll-up doors could easily swallow a Greyhound bus. A sign advertised storage bays for a one-time price of $25,000 to $35,000. The whole town is designed to service tourists and internal-combustion toys.

I told my girlfriend that one of my goals for this trip was to find a humble restaurant with a server named Ethel, a woman of indeterminate age and build with beehive hair, who would call me "honey" as she served me. During dinner at Crossroads Cafe my server was a relatively young woman named Maria, with a conventional cut, who looked like she had enjoyed the food there as much as I did, only more often. At one point, upon bringing the baked potato and the dinner roll to accompany my meatloaf and gravy, she said, "Here you go, hon." So I'm calling that mission partly accomplished.

The deserts on the far side of the Colorado are just as endless and forbidding as the ones on the California side. Later today I head southeast toward Salome, a hamlet on US 60. I asked someone about it last night, using the biblical pronunciation "Sah Low May," and he looked at me blankly. I switched to "Suh Loam," and he comprehended immediately.  I expect to encounter a lot of tortured names during this journey.From Salome it's on to Ajo, which I hope will be a quirky little town. 200 miles of pretty much pure desert, and I don't think that cold will be the challenge today.

Stuff That Will Only Interest Motorcyclists

It's been five years since I did any long rides. I was worried how this old body would react, so I bought a seat cushion from Freedom Air. They had very good reviews, and now I can add another one. 300 miles yesterday and, although parts of my body were aching last night, my butt wasn't one of them. Instead of buying custom seats, consider spending $150 on the cushion and sticking with the stock seat.