Article - RavenStar, Arizona

Santa Fe, New Mexico

In a unique way, we are both new - RavenStar an unbroken, unridden colt-of-a-motorcycle, and me, 45, about to take posession of my 6th bike (the others long gone, as I alternately accepted and fought this strange motocycle disease that once in the blood seems impossible to eradicate.)

I am as nervous as a teenager on his first date. Ahead, in the first couple of thousand miles, the bonding process looms. How will it go? How will it go? Will we develop that easy familiarity, that comfortable settling-in and telepathic attunement? This is simultaneously ancient and new terrain, this
zone I call the Edge of Mortality. Once more I enter as a Dweller of the unique arena of life and death I call simply "The Road." Here is THE LIFE intensified.

I ask myself over and over "What is this recurring metaphor doing in my life, this wheeled image in black that try as I might to shake, has dogged me for 25 years like a hound on a summer's day?" I cannot take this Edge of Mortality too lightly, for my love of life, and loved ones is too strong. I remember the Road Warrior's prayer - "May I never become complacent on the Road." With RavenStar I will once again bring forth the archetype of the Stranger, the Wanderer, the Outsider, the Rider. I will once again follow the Code of the Road. I like it, for this is the country of my long shadow, emerging from its underground home in my psyche. I make peace with you now.

Our maiden voyage will be from sunny and warm Phoenix, Arizona, to my home in Santa Fe, New Mexico, where it is now the dead of winter. I will ride the back way into the frozen landscape - Florence Junction, Claypool, Carizzo, Show Low, Quemado, Pie Town, Datil, Magdalena, Socorro. I will watch the desolate landscape for signs of life, and I will stop for coffee and apple pie. I will watch the ravens wheeling across the sky - I will be alert for clues and signs. The Code demands no less. Once again The Road will lead me Home.

Part 2. March 16, 96' .... Phoenix, Arizona.

In the light of flowers I travel
Just for the sake of traveling
-Nakagawa Soen-roshi

I was waiting to get the word that the accessories (driving lights,f airing and saddlebags) had arrived and been installed before I flew back to Phoenix to pick up RavenStar, my R1100GSA. This was back in Jan. Well, it has been said, "If you want to make God laugh, tell her your plans."
For want of 2 bolts for the driving lights, everything was held up week after week, which was fine by me as riding through the countryside in February a la Higdon might have been a wee bit on the cool side.

Finally RavenStar was ready and I was free of obligations. My black beast was waiting for me in Phoenix. An old GoldWinger made small talk with me as he watched me mount up, put on tankbag, load luggage, nervously fiddle with switches. I think I'm in a very stunned state. I had been up since 3 a.m. this morning with a very old and rare (for me) nemesis at my throat, or rather my chest. A killer round of asthma had pushed me awake and held me with a tight, dark fist in my chest. I think it was stress.

I carefully headed on out, pointed out of town. They had told me at the dealership that I had a 1/2 tank of gas, but at 19 miles I peeked over the tankbag and, of course, the fuel warning light was on. I needed to stop anyway and attempt to re-enter physical reality so I found some gas and lunch (a powerbar and orange juice.) I was suitably entertained by some Conservation Dept. boys at the service station who tried unscrewing by hand the radiator cap of their truck. I got to see the Phoenix version of Old Faithful, and 2 very wet, slightly burned and sheepish lads. (Been there, done that, and more fun to watch from the sidelines).

Phoenix was hot, sunny, and I was headed south, towards Tombstone. After about an hour I noticed signs for a "Renaissance Festival," so I checked it out. I've been tired of this century anyway. I spent the next couple of hours wandering around a 20th century version of the Middle Ages. The they were having fun, the women were all wearing outfits that made the Miracle Bra seem puny, and everyone seemed as if they didn't have to read about Dole in the papers. The Middle Ages probably had a quite charming air if you weren't one of the multitudinous hardscrabble poor or peasants. It was there at this unlikely time warp of gypsies, and games that I found my first omen of the trip, a reproduction of a medieval talisman, engraved with suitably obscure mystical symbols on the front which, "When worn by the possesor will insure travel without danger to any part of the world." A bargain at any price. Now that I am psychicly prepared to face the rigors of travel, I continue on under a hot afternoon sun, with a nudging tailwind to push me along.

The scenery is typicaly Southwestern desert, low mountains on the left and right, the snaking along into...overcast clouds. I could see perfectly clear skies just ahead, why stop - you know how it goes - just a few more miles. Of course I was soaked, but the waterproofing on my boots held and I rode through into a sunny plain. To the right, clear skies; to the left, clear skies; ahead loomed the Wall of Death (and I don't mean the hairstyle.)

Black and ominous, with the road going straight into it. OK, raingear on, tankbag cover on, switch gloves, finger my new talisman. There was no place else to go, and the Valley of the Shadow of Death lay before me. To make it more interesting Lightning Girl is doing her war dance ahead of me. It is full-bore mantra time. At least if I die I will have the right thought going through my soggy brain. I would hate to be thinking of something mundane like snails, or medieval Miracle Bras and have to spend the next lifetime incarnated as such. I rode flinchingly cold and wet right through the heart of it for about 40 minutes, and with Walking Rain all around me finally outran the weather. The wind was picking up, and arriving in the little town of Safford, I called it quits for the day. Alive, and Tombstone tomorrow.

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