Small Town Magic

We’re back on the road again just where we left off last time, Remember the tiny motel in Hat Rock from my previous post? The next morning, after a good night’s rest, it was time to get back in the saddle. But not before having coffee and oatmeal made with boiling water on the same stove. I ignored the coffee maker in the room.

Packing up the bike and saddling up, I was off again on Highway 163 heading northbound. Before long I came upon another iconic rock called Mexican Hat. Precariously perched up there, it looks like it will topple over any minute, but it has probably been sitting there for at least the last several million years. I knew it well and it brought back a lot of memories. Exactly fifty years ago I had come down this same road in the opposite direction on an old Harley Chopper with my Hangmen brothers. We were riding bikes with long front ends and suicide clutches. When we saw this rock, we were amazed, not knowing what it was, we pulled over to the side of the road and took pictures.

Mexican Hat, 1973.

It was getting late in the day, and we had been riding for many hours. We noticed a dirt road leading down toward the rock and alongside the San Juan River. The decision was quickly made to spend the night here. We had our canned goods and a couple of bottles of whiskey and some psychedelics provided by some friendly local Native American youths who happened by.

We were more or less self-contained! And we had our sleeping bags.

I won’t go into the night’s frivolity since it’s already been talked about in Hangmen. But it must have been a fun night, at least for those who remember it.

The party on the San Juan, as told in my first book, Hangmen.

Thirty-plus years later, I was motoring down the same road and stopped for a picture. There was no wild party and it was hot as hell, so I only stopped long enough to take a few pictures and get back in the wind. That was the only way to achieve any semblance of cooling without air conditioning.

I had succumbed temporarily to riding a bagger, forsaking the Hangmen tradition of cool bikes for comfortable bikes. I have since seen the error of my ways.

Mexican Hat Rock, about 2008. The bike is a 1991 FLHS Electra Glide Sport.

Fast forward to 2023 and I am once again bypassing this famous rock. This time alone.  This ride is the best of all. Feeling free, recreating my rides of the past. On my own, going where I want, when I want. Being retired, no job to get back to and nowhere I really have to be. Living in the ‘Now.’ All that matters is going down the road. Where might I get gas? Where might I have another meal and spend the night? The freedom of uncertainty… It doesn’t get any better.

Mexican Hat, 2023

Soon I was back on the road heading northbound on Hwy 163 with the rugged vistas stretching out in all directions with the red tint, looking more like Mars than earth. I searched for that little rover thing but never saw it. The Valley of the Gods was off to my left, I was enjoying the feeling of moving down the road, I didn’t stop to take pictures.

Next was Bluff, Utah. A close-knit community forced closeness because of the monstrous rocks surrounding the small town on the highway. Someone said they were called Kissing Rocks.

Talking to the waitresses at the diner in this small town, they told me they’d lived there all their lives. As much as I’ve moved around all my life, that is hard for me to conceive of. It seems so different, so small, so strange, and so idyllic and peaceful.

Bluff seemed like a town I would love to live in. But then… There were many towns like that. Quiet and close-knit. Maybe it is an illusion, but it has that attraction just the same although I don’t think I would last long.

Bluff, Utah. Quiet, close-knit, remote, appealing

After Bluff, I headed north to White Mesa where I got gas. It was nothing more than a wide spot in the road, but as long as it has gas for the bike, it was a town to me.

Riding through more amazing country in Utah on Highway 191 I came upon a location I’d heard about but had never been to. I recommend checking it out if you are in the neighborhood.

‘Hole in the Rock’ has a five-thousand-foot home built underneath it. You can take tours, it is quite a novelty. But I just took pictures and hit the road again.

Moab was busy with real traffic.

Moab, Utah, the biggest town I’d seen in days

Stay tuned next month for Day 3 of my trip from Clarkdale, AZ, to Sturgis, South Dakota.