......| VIEW
FROM THE PILLION THE MOGOLLON
RIM
 It was
our first weekend in a long time to plan for a scenic ride. We
had spent the previous weekend and week playing Medieval and virtually
no riding, so we were both antsy to get out on the open road.We got an early start on Sunday, leathered up, bid a fond farewell to the smust (smog and dust) of Phoenix, the harried pace of the freeway, and headed off for Shea Boulevard to pick up Highway 87 to Payson. The sky was full of fluffy clouds with big patches of blue; temp was around 69 but warming up to 80 in the valley. Vixen seemed as anxious as we were to get out of the city and find some open highway. Feeling her insistent vibrations between my legs was a bonus to this adventure to a place I had never been before. We headed across the city, hitting lights about every ½ mile, but enjoying the easy pace and not too much traffic, meandering through Scottsdale and then the open hillsides of Fountain Hills, with its sprawling estates sprouting up on the landscape like miniature castles, without the moats of course. After about 45 minutes we finally meet up with Highway 87 and head North. I think what strikes me most about this stretch of highway are the layers of mountains all around you. The varying purples and dark blues, the browns and reds, the shapes and size of the different mountain ranges that are so varied. Its fairly clear today, and you can see one after another of undulating mountaintops and hillsides. There is something very profound and grand about being surrounded by these mountains on your journey, and something wild and free about riding amongst them. We cruised towards the rim country and after about an hour we pulled over to stretch and just take in the beauty of the surroundings. The wind was hitting us on the sweeping turns with noticeable gusts, making us very glad we invested in a windshield. But, even with that protection Master found it challenging to keep us on course. After a quick smoke we headed off again for Payson, laying about 30 minutes ahead. We got to Payson and stopped for gas, Master amazed at how the town had grown since his college days. There really isn’t a ‘downtown’ to Payson, formerly it was a thruway for hunters and fisherman headed for the rim country. The main drag is lined with gas stations, a wide variety of eateries, including the Knotty Pine, an old fashioned café which Master said was famous for its homemade pies. After gasing up, we headed north again, towards Christopher Creek, for drinks and lunch. Christopher Creek is about 17 miles north of Payson, and is a wonderful little village of basic wood cabins and various travel trailers and small houses set up long ago for Elk hunters and backpackers, fisherman, etc. People would buy a simple cabin and go for summer vacations and nearing retirement would fix them up a bit and eventually move up there where it was clean and quiet, a perfect respite from the heat in Phoenix. Even in the middle of summer where temperatures are 110 degrees and higher in Phoenix, Christopher Creek may only get into the upper 80’s at most. Lots of pine trees and blue skies up here, and in some places the trees are so thick you can’t see through them. We were on fairly new highway toward Christopher Creek and Master almost missed the turnoff, as the highway used to go right through Christopher Creek, but now the highway bypasses the little burg, and you have to take a turnoff to go through the village. We made our way through the pines, feeling the air temperature drop about 10 degrees as we climbed, and soon enough we came to the Landmark Saloon. We pulled up in the loose dirt and gravel parking lot in front of the horse railings, parked Vixen in her usual ‘lookout’ position so she could be better admired from the highway, and stamped the dust off our boots before entering the old western saloon. We entered a spacious room punctuated by a red felted pool table in front, a long bar along the left side running the length of the room, with a few assorted tables and chairs in the middle. The bar was virtually empty, with just a few locals sitting at the end of the bar having a beer. We were both hungry, just having had one cup of coffee before we took off this morning, and we were anxious to quench our collective thirsts . Master ordered a beer, and I ordered a bloody mary. I excused myself to use the cowgirls room for a much needed freshen-up. Master watched as the girl behind the bar mixed up a huge and tasty bloody mary. Im sure it was 16ozs and full of spicy flavor, as well as Two olives (gotta love it). Master said she used green tobasco sauce in it, and even though I’m not a big fan of tomato juice, it was very yummy. We looked over the menu and chatted with the bar girl for a few minutes, taking in the atmosphere of this very unpretentious, genuine article of western saloons. There were some carvings in the wood behind the bar, pictures of bears, wolves, etc. There was a smattering of fancy liquor stocked behind the bar for the tourists, but it was easy to see the drink of choice for the locals was Jack and beer. The bar girl told us the special of the day was open faced prime rib sandwich, so we both opted to try it. The food was wonderful, the conversation warm and welcoming. Master and I finished our lunch, had one more smoke, and we were off to continue the adventure. By this time of the afternoon it was pretty chilly, and we were headed for the rim, where the temperature would drop another 10-15 degrees. We bundled up and rode north again, the trees getting thicker and the smell of pine smoke very faint in the air. We came to the top of the rim, where there was a road leading to a parking lot and a visitors center, but a barrier was pulled across the access and said ‘closed, no parking’. We pulled Vixen up to the gate and walked under the bar out to the visitors center, which was a log cabin structure with a wooden porch around the exterior. I took Master’s hand and we walked out onto the porch of the cabin, which was perched on the edge of the rim. Master pointed out ‘over there’ where he had brought his son as a young teenager who insisted on creeping down onto a ledge and hanging his feet out over the cavernous ravine. Master said he had taken a quick picture and then told him enough was enough. Master’s son has all the adventurer inside that Master does. They are two peas in a pod in that regard. We looked out over the land that fell below us and I swear, the pine trees were like a huge shag run, a woven tapestry of deep green. The silence up there was deep, the sound of the wind rushing up through the pines, up the rim to the edge where we stood, and it surrounded us, making us feel like we were on the edge of the world looking over Eden. The rim is actually called the Mogollon Rim (mug – ee – own). This rim is actually the dividing point between the lower country and high country. After you climb to the rim the land just keeps going at that elevation, all the way up towards Winslow and the Grand Canyon. While we were enjoying the view another couple came walking up the porch to the viewpoint and said they saw Vixen and thought, ‘what the heck, they parked and walked in, why can’t we”, so we all had a laugh at the expense of the Forest Service and Master was asked if He could take a picture of the couple standing with their back to the view. He took their picture and we all said our goodbyes as we went back up to where Vixen was left guarding the barrier. Master had one more destination in mind before we would take the road back home so off we went. We followed the road a little further north until we came to the Willow Springs Lake turnout, and followed the little winding road down to a beautiful lake. We got off Vixen and wandered down to some big bolders which rimmed the lake. We watched a few brave people fishing in the cold breeze, dragging their plastic lawn chairs out with pole in hand, hoping for a taste of freah trout for dinner, I guess. To tell you the truth, I really didn’t want to leave. Its one of those wonderful romantic moments in time you wish you could pack away for future enjoyment. Holding Master’s hand, watching the whitecaps on the lake, the bright blue sky dotted with fluffy white clouds sailing by. I think we were at 7500 feet elevation, and even though the moment truly was very romantic, I didn’t relish walking uphill to get back on and head home. I just didn’t want this trip to end. I guess I became quiet, as Master asked me what was wrong, and I really didn’t understand what he was talking about at first, but it must have been my quiet mood giving out a mixed vibe. Its sometimes really hard to verbalize what feelings are going through your head when you find yourself in these beautiful surroundings. I grew up in the city, mostly just going to work and coming home, raising my kids and trying to make ends meet. This whole experience has been quite an adventure which I find myself still trying to absorb. It’s a truly wonderful feeling, but one which I am always at a loss to express fully, much to Master’s chagrin sometimes. We climbed the parking lot to get back on the road home and left the tall cool pines behind. We made one last stop back in Payson for one more gas stop, and I asked if we could stop at the Knotty Pine for some pie. Master smiled and said ‘sure’, and we found ourselves in a time warp, walking into what seemed to be the 1950’s, complete with wood floors, candy counter under the cash register, eating blueberry pie and reading jokes from a book poked into a slot in each of the tables. ‘IF LIFE WERE FAIR, HORSES WOULD RIDE PEOPLE SOMETIMES’. I had a big glass of milk, Master had ice tea and we spent the last few minutes of our adventure eating pie and laughing at old jokes. The ride home was windy, seemed to take twice as long as the ride up, I don’t know how that works, but its always true. When we finally got home we got in the hot tub and reminisced about our adventure, and vowed to make plans soon for another ride. |
