Apologies, we’re a little behind with our blog: It’s now October, and this relates our time in Arizona and Nevada, 25th Aug to 7th Sept. More soon! We also had a bit of an IT disaster and lost a lot of Clare’s pictures from August and September, so the imagery isn’t what it should be.

Next on the list of must see destinations was the Grand Canyon.  Having done our homework we knew that the Northern rim was thought to be the more spectacular of the two.  We set off from Flagstaff heading in totally the wrong direction – southwards.  We wanted to take in the scenic roads that were either marked on the map or had been recommended by other bikers.  But we were in luck – to get to the northern rim – we had to ride along the southern rim – bonus! Being a weekend the super route out and round to the south was rather over crowded and we were happy to get out of it but crowds were something we were going to have to get used to as we reached the more populated areas.

Along the southern rim we stopped at three vista points and learnt that the gorge was formed by opposing tectonic plates clashing and forcing each other up.  This created a raised plateau. From there the Colorado river cut through the rock.  Because there is not enough information left geologists don’t know why the river didn’t take an easier route around the outer edge.  The high levels of silt carried by the river have carved a deep gorge which continues to cut its course to this day.  The gorge was beautiful but the vultures stole the day.  Several vultures and some falcons rode the thermals swooping to and fro right in front of us.  ‘Have you got it?  Have you got it?’  we cried as another swept past.

Up at the Northern rim an elderly park guide was enthusing to us about the benefits of doing the North Rim road.  He told us that there were many viewing points and it was good use of our time.  But Gid was keen to do one of the walks.  Neither of us considered the whole day North Kaibab trail.  An 8 mi down 8 mi up marathon but we did think we could do one of the shorter ones.  Was there time for both?  ‘Of course there was,’ I exclaimed. And off we went.

On the rim road the information boards were very useful although I couldn’t see the ‘obvious’ fault lines on the southern side of the canyon.  We were excited to glimpse the Colorado river on a number of occasions as we stopped and started along the route.  We seemed to have swapped the birds for some views of the murky river.  I was pleased we’d seen both sides.

We hurried back to the start of the scenic tour road to pick up the hiking trail.  It was 5:15 when we set off on what was described as a 2-4hr hike.  We had torches and had been advised to take more water which we dutifully got.  Our walking speed is middling on most timed trails so I was predicting our return at around 8:15.  It’s dark by 8.  On a very uneven track how good was my torch?  Gid normally leads down hill and me coming back up, but I set off at a fair pace.  I wasn’t messing around we needed to speed this up.  Meeting a few people along the way was encouraging.  They were all on their way back but it was still nice to know we weren’t totally alone.  A few ‘not far now’ comments gave us encouragement but meeting a father and young daughter a few hundred metres short of our destination, Supai Tunnel, was quite a surprise.  We went through the tunnel, gazed down at the zig zagging path disappearing into the depths of the gorge and were ready to turn back.  One couple we’d met had done the whole day hike.  They’d set off at 8 in the morning and were on course to make it back completing their trek in just under 16 hours.

We made it back in good time just about catching up with the youngster and her dad.  Amazingly we did the round trip in just over two hours with just enough daylight, to pack our kit and set off back to the campsite.

We hadn’t got far the following morning before stopping for fuel.  Parked on the apron was a Royal Enfield Continental GT.  Paying for our fuel in the garage it was obvious who the Enfield belonged to.  This distinguished gent with a broad grin, a thick red beard and plaited hair readily admitted it was his bike.  We asked him about the unusual racking system he had and his tin seat.  Out we went to look at them.  He enthusiastically told us about his project to reduce the weight of the bike.  He lifted up the tin seat shaped to fit the gap between the metal rods and read from the bottom what the old seat had weighed and what his new tin seat weighed.  He proudly declared weight the saving.  He repeated this exercise with the side guards which were now leather flaps with another recorded saving.  The next project was the rear rack he declared.  That was trickly though as it had to take the cat.  At first I thought the bag of empty 5lt water bottles somehow housed the cat.  The cat, his travelling companion he informed us, was out prowling around back at camp.  The cat, he told us, could only manage three hours at a time on the bike.  With that saddle I’m sure I couldn’t manage any more.

Jamie Burns, the distinguished gent, had never been to Scotland even though he was directly related to Robert Burns the infamous Scottish poet.  ‘I  can’t go!’ he exclaimed.  ‘I’d have to set foot on English soil and I’ll never be doing that.’  A little later Gid pointed out the he must share some considerable empathy for the Native Americans with the atrocities that they suffered at the hands of the new settlers.  But he seemed to be handling American soil ok.

The Grand Canyon, Petrified Forest and our stop in Flagstaff ticked off Arizona: We were making good Pan-Am progress towards Ushuaia, on the southern tip of Argentina.  Next stop Mexico? Nope. North westwards to northern California.  We couldn’t miss the Pacific coast and the redwoods.  So we turned, heading back north up towards the northern tip of California.  We aren’t fond of megopolises, so for the second time, we avoided Salt Lake City, and this time, Las Vegas too progressing diagonally between them.  We’d soon have 12000mi under our belts so we chose Reno, Nevada, for a service stop.  It’s big enough to have everything, but not oppressively huge. Airbnb host Tyler was ok with us changing oil in the shade of his carport, and Royal Enfield dealer Eurobikes had got the service parts and our three new tyres in.

We headed westwards towards Reno along Highway 50 crossing the often empty Nevada, which passes just south of Reno. It’s dubbed ‘the loneliest Highway in America’ and served us well as it had little traffic.  The section we travelled from Ely to Silver Springs traversed great plains where there was very little to see except the next mountain range to cross.  It took ages crossing each plain, then we’d ascend up the mountains.  Most roads carve a pass through the summit with rocky cliffs towering on either side.  Pancake pass – 1988m – being the unusual one because it was flat.

The Pony Express central change over point at Old Middlegate Station on HWY50 was a wonderful choice for a stopping place, full of memorabilia with posters for ”Wanted’ criminals – Dead or Alive’, legalised prostitution advertisements and pony express riders job offers not to be missed.   Providing, that is that, you were under 18 and preferably an orphan who was prepared for high risk and possible death from their chosen employment.  The place was stacked with relics from the past both inside and out.  A quaint mix of old and modern as the petrol pump boldly claimed ‘no lead’.  Not now perhaps but there’s been no shortage of lead flying around this place I’m sure.  To add to the authenticity signage pointed out that Ned Kelly’s house was a stone’s throw away.

Our arrival in Reno was a little bit complicated, as we’d booked the Airbnb for Sunday onwards, not realising Monday was Labor Day.  Eurobikes and almost everywhere would be shut.  We needed to be close by Friday night, ready to hit the store Saturday morning to collect the service kits.  Experience told us that even ordinary summer weekends could crowd out the campsites leaving us struggling.  Lake Lahontan State Park was 30 miles out, a big reservoir with sandy shores, it seemed like a great retreat. We arrived with some trepidation about availability, but paid our fee at the unattended gate. We’d hoped for a pitch we could swim at, but there was a Red Warning stating that the lake was unfit for recreational purposes because the algae levels were unacceptably high. Oh no!  But we trundled round the shore, surveying the ad-hoc camping.  We found a beach spot facing the sunset: firm sand to park, soft sand and shady trees to camp. One RV right down on the shore was 50 metres away. The next units maybe 200m one way in a thicket, and 1000m the other.  On this side of the lake, people were swimming.  Definitely one of our nicest sites!  We stayed two nights, enjoying a starlit evening chat with the neighbours.

It was a short freeway ride to Reno on Saturday, but to return, we saw a wiggly back route going through Virginia City and tried it.  It turned out to be a local bikers’ favourite. Virginia City – City it says. Obviously swayed by the city part of it’s name I was expecting something big.  Bigger that is than a half mile main street, and not a lot else.  Rather than the boom and bust of many towns where a natural resource is found, Virginia City, once the mountain of silver under the city was depleted, has managed to maintain prominence albeit now as a tourist attraction.  Its high street is frozen in the style of 100 years ago with original buildings and facades, as are the rickety board walks beneath the overhangs.  There are tourist attractions like: the Silver Queen Hotel where the lady’s silver dress is a floor to ceiling art work modelled in silver dollars mined beneath the city.  There are many saloons, some with swing doors, eateries and tat shops, and events like camel races for the more competitive amongst us.

Mark Twain, at least his wax model, peers out of one window where he used to work as a newspaper reporter.  Words such as ‘never let the truth get in the way of a good story’, accredited to him, live on.  His famous novels, Huckleberry Finn and The Adventures of Tom Sawyer still make it onto many a reading list.  The local museum claiming ‘Of great interest to adults and children’ displays many relics from past life in the area. Virginia City became our regular route between Reno and Lahontan.

The servicing went to plan.  Having done it all before it was quicker this time. Now Gid is becoming familiar with the process he’ll let me play too – next service I hope to do the oil changes.

We’d noted the bike chains had needed occasional adjustment, but annoyingly, as we approached Reno, Gid was having to tighten them every couple of days.  Knackered. We ordered replacement chains and sprockets at the Reno dealer but RE gave no delivery date. Were they coming from Wisconsin or Chennai? We decided to wait into next week before requesting that they might be posted forwards.  The dealership had a branch at the coast and was happy for us to collect them en-route but we couldn’t continue to stay with Tyler.  With time to kill we needed a new home.

To get away from the bustle of city while we waited we went off to explore Lake Tahoe.  Our Lonely Planet guide book describes it as a very popular location for winter skiing with slightly fewer visitors in summer.  Wrong!  It, or rather its shoreline, was teeming with people.  Adding to the frustration most campsites were closed because the trails were being repaired and supplies were dumped in campgrounds.  We u-turned and got out of there as fast as possible, riding right back up the 9,000ft pass we’d come in on, returning to Mt Rose campsite near the top.  It was beautiful.  Pine trees spread around large boulders –  the sort of things that are called erratics in Norway having been randomly dropped by the receding glaciers but here they were at 10000 ft high!  It was beautifully peaceful, until the generators started.  The site host agreed that it was a beautiful area informing us, with a wry smile, that the noisy school group had left 2hrs ago. It was nice for one night, but we couldn’t think of a better option than returning to Lahontan. The exact same spot, and now the nearest neighbours were maybe 2km away. No cossies needed.

Having missed petroglyphs at the Petrified Trees NP I was keen to see the ones in this area.  Grimes Point, the site of the petroglyphs and the Hidden Cave, wasn’t far away and reportedly had the best examples so it had to be done.  We would have liked to have seen the Hidden Caves, also at the site, but on contacting the area office to arrange a guided trip we were informed that due to sickness that was off.  Thousands of years ago the Hidden Cave appears to have been a site of storage: furs, tools and remains of clothing were found there.  It’s under lock and key now to preserve the site for future generations but our wished for visit wasn’t going to happen.  On the self guided walk around the petroglyphs, the boards told us that human habitation in the area dates back to 8000 years ago.  Lahontan Lake, now some 20-30 miles away where our tent was, would once have been lapping the edge of this area.  The boulders, plenty big enough to hide behind, would have been the perfect site to hunt the animals who came to drink.  Shaman, responsible to communicating with the gods to ensure a successful hunt, may have been responsible for the pecked or carved rock art.

Finally – good news – the chains and sprockets were in. We’d already been on Bunk-a-Biker and made contact with a friendly soul who offered us a bed, a workshop, and a breaker bar, just over the border in California. We were off again, albeit only for 60 miles.