2007— OFMC Rides the Inferno

We figured we'd better go before the heat of summer if we wanted to head south to Arizona and Nevada. So we did. It didn't matter. This may have been the hottest trip the OFMC has ever taken. (Photos are courtesy of Johnathon, Brett, and Ken.)

Johnathon, Randy, and Dennis started first, heading out Friday morning for Grand Junction. Bill, Ken, Friggs, Jason, and Brett hooked up in the afternoon and set out. Meanwhile, John came from Montrose. Break out the beer, it's time to party! So we did.

Saturday morning we headed south out of Junction and took the Unaweep Highway through some gorgeous country that you would swear was Utah. Red rock canyons don't stop at the state line, apparently.

We also stopped at Gateway, where John now has a gig as a professor in residence. We crossed into Utah just east of Monticello and then continued down to Mexican Hat. The San Juan Inn was the same nice place to stay that it has been the other couple times we've been there. John did get hit in the head by a falling rock, however.

On Sunday it was south again, into Arizona, this time crossing Monument Valley. We stopped to get some shots of the bikes displayed against the valley and then an Aussie family shot pictures of us with the bikes. Then, for their vacation memories, we shot pictures of them with this big gang of bikers. Bikers really aren't scary any more.

The road led on down to Flagstaff and then we took 89A through Oak Creek Canyon to Sedona.

John led the group up onto the plateau where we've stayed before and then it was time to head for Jerome. And on the way we filled up for less than $3 per gallon. How bizarre to pay $2.92 a gallon for gas and think you're getting a good deal! That's OK. We paid $3.59 a gallon later.

Jerome was fabulous. We had been through before but in the interim it has been discovered. What was essentially a ghost town about six years ago is now a vibrant community. One amenity that we all appreciated was an Italian restaurant that, in several of the guys' opinions, was the best Italian restaurant they have ever eaten at. And there was a nice bar where we managed to spend some of our money.

The next morning it was time to move on, but not without regrets. Randy said it all when he remarked that it was too bad we couldn't just stay a second day in Jerome. Indeed. Traveling with a herd of nine guys you can't just roll into town and expect to find rooms. So this trip, more than any before it, was booked and planned well in advance. We had to head on and we did, with this day's destination Laughlin, Nevada. A stop to check out historic Route 66 in Seligman was disappointing because the soda fountain everyone was more than ready for was not open. Brett did manage to hit it off with one of the locals, however.

We blasted on to Kingman and then over the hump to Bullhead City, with Laughlin across the river.

Did I mention it was hot? We knew from past experience that on the descent into Bullhead City we would feel the temperature rising but I'm not sure anyone was prepared for this. It was like a sauna, in the most literal sense possible. Hot, HOT! bone-dry air enveloping you. Get me to an air-conditioned casino NOW!

We had all sorts of great plans for our two-night stop in Laughlin. Funny how no one really gave much consideration to golf. Something about the heat. But the other option, renting jet skis—now that was an idea with appeal. Except that the water temperature of the river was just north of frigid. Somehow the swimming pool and a lot of beer started looking pretty good.

Oh, yeah, there was gambling, too. We had some winners, but another thing with nine guys is that if someone wins $400 it just doesn't compute to buy dinner for everyone. That works with three or four, but not nine. Of course, if anyone had won $2,000 we would have insisted on upholding tradition.

Leaving Laughlin was another desert blast, with another stop in Seligman, where surely the soda fountain would now be open. Wrong. But hey, just down the street is a new, competing soda fountain and they had real shakes and malts, too. And they were open.

Then more hot desert, backtracking up to Tuba City. We were really ready for some cold beers and a dip in a nice pool. This Quality Inn was the most expensive place we were staying so of course they would have all the amenities, wouldn't they. Well, OK, they might have a swimming pool, only they didn't. And Tuba City is on the Navajo Indian Reservation and the Navajo Nation does not allow alcoholic beverages. Strike one and strike two. However, Tuba City did provide us with an absolutely glorious evening for sitting outside on the grass and digging the night. It was one of those magical moments. And in all fairness to the folks running the place, I've never met a group of motel employees who were so consistently, unfailingly friendly and helpful. We survived. Of course, it didn't hurt that Johnathon had a flask with some rum, and the Indians do sell Coke.

From Tuba City it was on to Durango, finally seeing some green and some lower temperatures. Along the way there was the Four Corners Monument to stop and see. Most of the guys had never been in four states at once before but that's one to cross off the list now.

Durango was a welcome sight and the motel was about two-thirds pretty good. The unfortunate one-third was no air-conditioning for Bill and Dennis and Friggs, along with no linen for Friggs' roll-away. So they slept the night with the door open. We rode the bus downtown for dinner, then played some serious golf on a machine, and pool on a pool table, and then walked back to the motel.

Next morning was Friday and the young guys were all antsy to get home. Jason, Johnathon, Brett, and Randy all got up early and headed for Denver. The older guys left town at a more leisurely 11 a.m. and cruised along on the one day with no motel reservation. East to Pagosa Springs, where it started looking like rain. Wolf Creek Pass was wet but the rain moved on ahead of us. Then as we approached Saguache there was serious weather going on ahead, but once again, dawdling did the job and we stayed dry. There is one motel open in Saguache and we checked in.

Saturday morning it was time to go home. John turned west toward Montrose while Dennis, Ken, Bill, and Friggs cruised toward Denver. An easy ride and each one peeled off in their own direction and another year was in the books.

So, an aside to close the narrative: Not everyone is thrilled with a name like Old Farts Motorcycle Club. But we have such a cool logo that OFMC has got to continue. So we agreed that OFMC can mean whatever a person wants it to mean. Our Fathers' Motorcycle Club. Our Friends' Motorcycle Club. What the heck, Our Fuckin' Motorcycle Club.

Get your motor runnin'.

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