Heat, and Why

After looking at a map, it's obvious that I want to take 94 out of San Diego rather than I-8. Obvious not only because I-8 is an interstate and is sure to be tedious and unenjoyable like most interstates, but 94 looks windy and curvy on the map, and it passes through what looks like pretty much nothing. Very nice. It's an easy transition from I-5 in San Diego to 94 and soon crammed civilization is disappearing in my mirrors, and the lanes kept merging into each other until it was a two lane twisting through rocky desert passes, rising and falling. Very fun riding. Now and again I get stuck behind a semi for awhile until I can gun it up to 80 or so for a quick pass, but that's just how it goes. I stop in Campo to fill the tank and get a sandwich and a drink. At this point, most of 94 is behind me and I will soon have to get on I-8 for a quick stretch until I can get off again on another smaller highway, 98. This road is not as fun as 94 since it's mostly straight. I'm getting really hot on the road too, but I don't mind it after having to ride for so long with an extra layer and still feel cold. I can feel my back getting coated in sweat and for awhile I ride without my gloves to see if that helps, but it just feels odd after having them on for so long so I eventually put them back on. I take long pulls of sun-heated water from the CamelBak that I have stashed in a little backpack that's strapped to the top of my tent on my back seat, but I'm still roasting in the dry heat. At Calexico I take a midday break and follow the signs for the city library so I can get into some AC and use the Internet. I have to fill out a library card application which is a minor hassle, but I eventually get on and can update my life on the world wide web. It feels nice in the shade and AC and around 2pm I refill my CamelBak at the water fountain and get ready to start riding again. It's Friday and I can easily make it to Tucson, my next stop to see my cousin and his wife, but they have things to take care of and I have plenty of time, so I make a plan to camp out for the evening in Organ Pipe National Monument in central southern Arizona. When I get back on 98, I ride it meet up with I-8 once again and take it into western Arizona. I stop on the CA/AZ border in Yuma to eat some lunch. I have no idea where to eat, and try calling up a friend who knows a great place in this town but I don't get a hold of him so I am on my own as I cruise around the commercial wasteland of the Yuma outskirts. I pull into a supermarket, as you can usually get large, delicious sandwiches the deli in grocery stores for very cheap. Being so close to Mexico, they have a kind of hot bar of Mexican food instead, and I decide to try that out. Once I pick up a plate and slop some fried rice onto it, I realize that I know what nothing is, and none of it even looks good, but I already got that rice on my plate so I feel committed. I reluctantly take some meat chunks in a red sauce, and some more in a green sauce and pay. I pick at it for a bit at the table, and end up eating most of it, but I can't keep thinking what a bad choice I made, and I keep envisioning my stomach exploding while I'm driving across some nondescript stretch of highway in a boring part of an empty desert. Oh well. I stay on I-8 until I get to the intersection with 85, which runs south through Organ Pipe Monument and down into Mexico. As always, it's nice to get off the interstate, but as I am riding down toward Ajo, I can see dark clouds in the distance that I am heading directly toward. I pull off at a gas station in Ajo, and ask if the storms here get back, which of course they do, and if they last long, which fortunately they don't. The guy says most of the time the storms go around town, but when they don't, it gets bad fast. I think back to all the washes I just passed over getting to town when he says that the washes fill right up when a storm hits. I decide to take my chances, and get back on the road. As I'm driving towards the clouds, I can see the rain pouring out of them, and what looks good is that the two main rain clouds are dropping their water on mesas on either side of the road, so I hope I can sneak through. The closer I get, the more clouds I see, but fortunately I get through the mesaland with only a few drops here and there which aren't so bad, considering that they clear up my visor of all the bugs that exploded and hardened right in front of my eyes when I wipe them off. Now there are saguaro cacti all over the place, the iconic cactus of the southwest that are real all with the arms and whatnot. I think this is the first time I have seen them outside of postcards and cartoons. They line the hills and dot the desert among the rocks and red sand, and I pass a town called Why just north of Organ Pipe Monument. I say town, but it's really two gas stations at the intersection of 85, which continues south and 86 which runs east up to Tucson. I take a left on 86 thinking that its the way to the Monument, but I soon second guess myself, correctly, as it turns out, and turn around and continue south on 85. It's getting dark now, but I enter the Monument so I know I'm close. I think I see something about the campground as I fly past the first sign, but I keep going, figuring that I'll get to the campground as soon as I can to set up my tent in what little light is left. What I quickly noticed, but didn't really see though, was a "Campground Closed for Construction" sign. At this point I'm ten miles into the Monument and have to turn around and head back to Why, where luckily there is a campground that has tenting spots. I noticed this on my wrong turn on 86. I snap a couple of quick photos of the sunset silhouetting some saguaros, and ride back up to the campground. I pay my fee and find a quiet spot, pretty much anywhere on the grounds since I see about two campers in the distance and that's it. The sun is down, and it's still hot as hell. I try taking off my shirt as I set up my camp but the flies and mosquitoes don't leave me alone. I finally get camp put together and I take a dusty stroll into "town" past some trailers to one of the gas stations to pick up some beer. I consider my situation - a single dude on a motorcycle in the desert, dust covering my boots, camping out under the stars, about to head back to his tent to play on his guitar - and I decide that some good old Budweiser is the only beer fitting enough to be part of such an American evening. I buy two tall boys and drink one on the walk back. I've been sweating all day and it hits me quick and I feel good as I sit on a picnic table next to my tent and take out my travel guitar and try to play some music. I basically just go over the few riffs and chord progressions I know over and over. My philosophy concerning the guitar is that if I play a little bit here and there for a long enough time, in many years I'll be pretty good. I drink my other beer and watch the stars come out. Watching the stars out in the middle of nowhere is a real treat for anyone who spent most of his life in a moderately settled area with light pollution that ruins the night sky. As an added bonus, there is a noiseless lightning storm going on all night to the north of me, the very storm I drove through. The flashes light up the hills in the distance, and It's a real nice night over all. I don't bother with the rain fly on my tent, this way I can enjoy the air and stars through the mesh on three of my four walls.