~ Sí Se Puede ~

"We will be known forever by the tracks we leave.” ~ Dakota saying.

Leaving Three Rivers, California at sunrise for Rocky Mountain National Park in Colorado

The hot desert sun beats down near Mojave, California as I push forward towards the cool Rocky Mountains in Colorado.  My first day is always a long one and this trip is no different.

“Just beyond Mesquite, Nevada as you leave the Narrows, there is a small BLM campground next to the Virgin River,” my brother Leo describes.  He has been almost everywhere and I listen carefully to his words.

I love Utah and its scenic views.

It's been a long first day, and the Virgin Canyon Campground is there as he described. I set up my hammock, and skip a fire, as the bright moon beckons to be my companion tonight. It is a quiet, peaceful place. I love to think about life at moments like this.  Where did we come from, where do we go….no answers? It is only now. Moments. The moon disappears behind some massive mountains and the stars take their place. I find the Big Dipper and my finger draws a straight line to the North Star.

The adventure before me is daunting. My figures cross the map easily but it's still a long road to Rocky Mountain National Park. OK, doing the math, that’s still another 800 miles. I try hard not to count days or miles, but this trip has a deadline.  

On September 23, 2018, my brother Leo is retiring as a Detective after 46 years from the Barstow Police Department. “OK, be calm,” I tell myself. “You have 13 days to see Rocky Mountain National Park, drop into New Mexico to attend the La Joya Fiestas, cross Arizona, and then full-throttle, hot-and-fast for Barstow where his retirement party will be held.”

Honestly, I don’t think I’ll make it as I fall warily asleep after my first long day.

Spotted Wolf View Area in Utah.

The scenery in Utah slows me down considerably.  At a view, the area called the Spotted Wolf, a young man is looking over my motorcycle.  It is windy and his hair blows freely. I think he is startled by my question. “Do you want a picture sitting on my motorcycle?” The grin on his face is his answer. 

I love talking with people who gravitate to my motorcycle.  They want to connect with the adventure, and when they hear about the miles it will take, they smile and dream. Nothing wrong with dreaming.

He smiled broadly when I asked, "Do you want a picture sitting on my motorcycle?"

The mild weather across Utah pushes me past Green River towards Grand Junction, Colorado.  We have a friend who I worked with at Pinnacles National Monument that lives there.  I find their house but they are not home.  I leave a brief note, “Hi Greg, stopped by on my way to Rocky Mountain National Park, perhaps I’ll see you on another trip. Bob.”

I’m taking some backroads now, heading north on Highway 131 a few miles past Rifle, Colorado.  At a rest stop, I look over my map.  An older gentleman comes up asking, “Can I sit and have some of your shade to eat my sandwich?”  Absolutely, I reply.  His little dog sits down next to him.  

“I’m heading north on Highway 131 and then Highway 1 on the Trough Road.  Have you ever been on that road?” I ask.  “I’ve traveled that route many times.  Is that your motorcycle, pointing to my bike?" As he and his little dog walk away, he stops and says, "It is high up there and you'll need your oxygen mask." 

OK, now that grabbed my attention.  The mountains were high and the Quaking Aspen colorfully lit up the hillsides.  

I hope to camp tonight at the Timber Creek Campground on the west side of Rocky Mountain National Park.  A traffic accident has closed down the highway west of Kremmling and has me concerned as I was hoping to grab a campsite before dark.  This high elevation ride is smooth and I did not need my oxygen mask.  There are three sites left at the Timber Creek Campground and I feel lucky to get one arriving shortly before dark. 

Heading for the Rocky Mountains.

“Thanks for flying the American flag,” she says as her small dog carefully looks over my motorcycle.  I respond wearily, “Thanks, something that I do.”  

A few minutes later just before dark, she and her husband return each with a bundle of firewood. “It’s late, we know, but we wanted you to have a cozy fire,” she says.  The fire, that I did not expect, warmed my body and soul by the kindness of strangers.  In the morning, I thank them again for the firewood.  I explain that I’m here to write a story for RoadRUNNER Motorcycle and Touring &Travel magazine.  They are eager to read about it so I give them my business card. I tell them, “That we lived at Estes Park for nearly seven years where I worked for Rocky Mountain National Park.”

I worked 6 1/2 years at Rocky Mountain National Park.

So in fairness to them and other readers, this is just a glimpse into that article. Trail Ridge Road, reaching 12,183 feet, has some of the world’s most spectacular high alpine views.

The Quaking Aspen color the landscape.

The weather through the Rocky Mountains is mild but that will change as I cross into New Mexico.  The dark sky ahead of me looks forbidding.  Raindrops begin to hit my windshield and I fear that the storm will intensify.  Just like that, there is a road sign pointing to a Rest Stop along Highway 25 offering refuge.  The wind has now grown stronger and huge lightning bolts zig-zag across the sky.  My rain gear is always easily accessible and I begin to put on my gaiters, rain pants, and jacket.

That’s when I see a trucker get down from his 18-wheel big rig.  “You’re not going to ride into that storm are you?” He asks.  I nod, and he shakes his head. “Well, you will hit some fierce winds and buckets of rains.” With all my rain gear on, I enter the highway into the eye of the storm.  While I caught wind and rain, it was not that intense.  It was black all around me, and somehow I think, I was in the eye of the storm where it was calm. How lucky was that?

I'm on a Rocky Mountain high.

Riding Trail Ridge Road.

Saw these cool bikers coming towards me on Trail Ridge Road. 
I would later meet these French bikers at a pull-out.

So cool seeing these French riders on Trail Ridge Road in Rocky Mountain National Park.

I explained to these French bikers who were touring the United States, that I took their picture earlier as they rode past.
"Please send them to us," they asked.

This bad-ass biker was riding a bad-ass Indian.

Las Vegas, New Mexico is my destination tonight for a warm motel room. It rains all night long and I feel lucky to weather the storm inside this cozy room watching TV. In the morning, I explore historic downtown Las Vegas before heading for Abo Ruins, Salinas Pueblo Missions National Monument for another RoadRUNNER story. Abo, is only about 30 miles from La Joya where I plan to camp for the annual Fiestas. My sister Elva and her husband Robert live at Abo where Robert’s family has been for generations.

Abo Ruins, Salinas Pueblo Missions National Monument.

I was born in La Joya village.  My roots are here; I love returning. I go first to the cemetery to pay my respects to our families. 

I’ll camp behind my mom and dad’s adobe house. To my surprise, my brother Gilbert and nephew Ruben are already here. They have collected firewood and have a nice fire burning. We call this place Jewels Camp. They even picked some apples from the large apple tree near the acequia.  It's good to have company.  The music playing is our signal that the fiestas have started.  We buy our meal tickets and feast on green chili, beans, and sopapillas. The music is a bit on the country-western side which suits me just fine. 

All of us will be here just one day, knowing that’s it’s a long way back to California where we plan to attend Leo’s retirement celebration.

Gilbert and Ruben take Interstate 40 back home and I favor the more crooked, less-traveled Highway 60 through Socorro, Magdalena, Datil, Apache Creek, Reserve, Luna, Alpine, Springerville, and then Interstate 40 heading west towards Barstow, California.

It’s now a tradition.  On Sunday morning, I’ll stop by Sophia’s Kitchen in Socorro, New Mexico for huevos rancheros, red chili, sopapillas, and some country-western music.  Doug Figgs is playing this morning and I’ve heard his music before.  It is straight-up New Mexico country-western music. I buy his latest CD, “A Cowboy Like Me” which I plan to give to Leo.  There isn’t anything finer than eating breakfast at Sophia’s and listening to Doug Figgs. I request a Johnny Cash song for the road, and he obliges, making me feel special. I hum his words for miles.

Though this is the scenic route; I know that I have miles to go. There is a campsite, about 9.5 miles south of Ash Fork, Arizona that I call Middle Satellite. I love this USFS dispersed camping as there is plenty of firewood and it is quiet. There are the occasional sounds of coyotes. 

In the morning, it’s breakfast at the Ranch House Café in Ash Fork. I don’t know how many times I’ve eaten here, but it’s a lot. It’s the same each time – two eggs over easy, corn beef hash, hash browns, sourdough toast, water, and coffee. I’ve been traveling now for about 13 days and about 2,600 miles so far (when I arrive home, it will be 3,015 miles). I hope to make Needles, California, and grab a motel room, not so much for sleeping, but getting cleaned up for the celebrations that start at 11:30 a.m. – Barstow is now only 150 miles away.  Denise is planning to meet me there and I’m hoping to ride the freeway under the radar. I pull up at 11:15 a.m. to the historic Harvey House at the train station where the celebrations will occur.

There are well over 300 people there and the Barstow Police Department has a first-class retirement party for Leo. There are pictures everywhere depicting his 46-year career beginning as Police Officer with the Barstow Police Department and ending as a Detective. There is also an ongoing slideshow of him, many pictures that I had not seen. 

The Mayor, Police Chief, Judge, District Attorneys, Detectives, fellow Police Officers, and fellow workers of Barstow spoke passionately about his distinguished career and honored him with dozens of awards and memorabilia. 

Leo, your legacy is etched in the granite of Barstow’s history.

We are very proud of you!

A thousand pictures paint a single man.

Leo Griego, D-1.

Irma and Leo Griego, and family.

Susan 'Griego' Aguayo, Leo Griego, Robert Griego, Elva 'Griego' Esquibel, Gilbert Griego.

David Griego and Wil Griego.

There were many others from New Mexico that could not attend Leo's retirement and sent their heartfelt congratulations to him.

"Leo, this is Tudi Romero.  Happy retirement."
Belen, NM.

"Leo, standing at your door.  Happy retirement bro."  Stanley Esquibel.
La Joya, NM.

"Leo, remember me - James Garcia.  Happy retirement man."
Jewels Camp, La Joya, NM.

"Leo, sorry we can not be there, but we congratulate you on your retirement."  Buddy and Benji Moya.
Dance Hall, La Joya, NM.

Maybe Leo is retiring here in Las Vegas, NM.

A relaxed Leo after his retirement celebration. 
He asked for this picture in front of the Barstow Police truck.  

Detective Leo Roy Jose Griego
~ Retired on September 28, 2018, after 46 years of distinguished service for the Barstow community. ~