(Click on photos to see full size)
After a great night's sleep, I broke camp, paid the $5 fee on the way out, and went in search of a cup of coffee. About 20 miles up the road I reached Pietown, perched on the Continental Divide and boasting great pies. I stopped for coffee and breakfast and a little local color.
Pietown... "It's all downhill from here."
After breakfast, I was ready for the long ride into Arizona, leaving New Mexico and its charm behind. I crossed many state lines on this trip, but mostly on busy highways that provided no place to stop and document the transition. This photo taken on a quiet road on the NM/AZ border at about 7400 ft. will have to represent all of the border crossings.
Not far into Arizona is the town of Show Low, named for the way one of the original landowners/founders won the other's half. It seems that after hours of playing poker, one said that the low card would win. The partner drew the deuce of clubs and won all the property. This "monument" is on Deuce-of-Clubs Street, which is the main street through Show Low.
The weather in AZ was becoming extremely hot, and my new crown helmet was worse instead of better, letting the sun hit my face and start to burn. I stopped in Payson and went into a McDonald's to make myself a coffee float to cool down and was assaulted by the noise of screaming kids playing on the INDOOR playground equipment. I couldn't stand it long enough to really cool down, so was soon on my way to Sedona, which I remembered as a very beautiful spot, worthy of spending another night.
The red mountains of Sedona.
Though the pictures fail to show it, Sedona was over-crowded with tourists and tourist shops and I felt no desire to remain for longer than it took to drive through it. The town was over-flowing, the campgrounds were overflowing, and the beautiful road north to Flagstaff was bumper-to-bumper traffic, making pulling over and stopping impossible. I decided to keep rolling until dusk so I could make it home on Saturday instead of Sunday.
At Flagstaff I joined Historic Route 66, and started the final trek west. The heat of the day and traffic from Sedona had taken its toll, however, and I didn't make it to dusk. I did make it as far as Seligman, though, and pulled into the Stagecoach 66 Motel to crash for the night. It was a quaint place and not as bad as I thought it might be, being "historic" and all.
After the sun went down, I walked down the road about a mile for a beer and a few games of 8-ball with the local folk at the Black Cat bar. It's what you do on a Friday night in the middle of nowhere.
427 miles for the day, 3734 since Boston
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