After three weeks of being grounded in Scottsdale, AZ, Sash and I packed up our things and left town, headed northwest.
We left September 30.
Our destination is Las Vegas, but we intended to overnight in Kingman, AZ, a mere 200 miles up the US-93, with another 100 miles into Sin City.
The thing is after a few weeks of remaining largely stationary, with the exception of a trip out to Jerome, it feels strange to uproot ourselves and get back on the road. Sash and I have become spoiled with staying at Residence Inn's for their comfy digs, modern amenities, and free breakfasts and dinners. I figure it's OK to spend extra on these rooms because they save us money on food.
But it's still good to pull myself up from the Earth and hit the pavement.
I mean, there are reasons why I do this on a motorcycle instead of a car, most of which I still struggle to explain in writing. It's just a thing.
The US-93 is not necessarily a road I had wanted to ride.
In fact, I had never ridden this road before. And if you look at it on the map, it's doesn't look all that interesting. It's somewhat a straight line from Phoenix to Kingman. But when you ride it, it's not really that way. It still has its curves, albeit the wide sweeping variety. But it's still fun leaning into turns at really fast speeds.
And then there are the Saguaro Cactus that the Grand Canyon State is famous for, which interestingly, give way to groves of Joshua Trees which I hadn't seen anywhere but in California. I often imagine myself as Francisco Vásquez de Coronado, exploring previously unexplored lands and journaling them in my logs for future explorers to come.
If anything, US-93 gives you a great look at vast stretches of Sonoran desert country. Every now and then, I'd see a lonely little home out in the distance with a crude dirt road leading out there. I could only imagine how cool it must be to live there. But on the other hand, I'm really a city boy at heart, and I love the anonymity of a chaotic, frenetic downtown.
I think that's really what riding down a long stretch of desert highway does to me. It makes me anonymous; a tiny fleck of shadow moving along a grayish line. I can observe people and places like a ghost, speeding by and never being seen. I can get away from people and hide my imperfections when I think the world expects better things from me.
I wouldn't mind moving on more often, except I hate packing.
Photos from our stretch from Scottsdale, AZ to Kingman, AZ