Tag: Indian Super Chief
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In Search of Los Angeles
It never rains in Southern California, except for today, and yesterday. It’s been pouring, turning streets to rivers. Seems like the better part of valor is to live to ride another day. In my case, that’s the “temporarily” purloined Indian Super Chief Limited. It is, however, a lovely time to have a beer can regatta in my alley. The water is flowing at about two knots so conditions are pretty good, but that’s another story for another pub.
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Haunted Highways, Part 3
Valerie and I had ridden through Old West towns infested with spirits fun and foul. We galloped east near the New Mexico border and the stunning Chiricahua wilderness, a great place to hike or camp or eat a Bologna sandwich. It was a beautiful, sightseeing day, until deep and dark clouds, pregnant with rain, dumped their water on us. We got monsooned. If this has never happened to you, it’s a lot like somebody dumping a swimming pool on your head. Visibility zero, soaked to the bone in milliseconds, eyes filling with stinging sunblock runoff. Yes, it rains in Arizona, sometimes supernaturally so.
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Haunted Highways, Part 2
Tombstone remains a living monument to a romantic if murderous era. Its clapboard buildings and wooden sidewalks stir up images of cowboy heroes and villains, the likes of Wyatt Earp, Bat Masterson, Doc Holliday and Johnny Ringo, as well as the Clanton and McLaury clans, now taking up permanent residence on Boot Hill, where moldering graves are marked by rotting wooden tombstones. Their historic shootout near the OK Corral is known around the world. The Wild West is preserved in the town’s original 1880s’ buildings. The celluloid stuff you saw on TV is here to experience, live and undead.
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