Written by and Photos by Nicole Espinosa. Posted in Rides
The fog swirled in, swiftly covering any recollection of a beacon. No matter which way I turned my head, I couldn’t shake the thick invasion. Direction became murky as I tried to rely on intuition as my inner GPS.
I heard the voices of my loved ones calling to me from different locations, but the sounds of home faded into the distance. I was lost… and, I hadn’t even left my head.
As I slipped further into the automation of daily routine, the idea that it had been three years since my last solo weighed heavily. There was just one prescription to lift that “fog.” And, that could only be made by the road doctor—Jack B. Nimble, my DRZ.
His prescription was: “Three weeks on the road, solo, where I am the needle, and you are the thread, as we stitch together the most beautiful tapestry of connection with nature, with friends, with ourselves.”
“As usual Jack, you’re a wise little bike. Think I’ll take heed.”
And out the door we flew, after kissing my angels goodbye. You see, my kids have grown up knowing how important these journeys are to me, and to them. They get to witness me living life in a bigger way, and are embracing it for themselves. There will come a day when they, too, will spread their wings and have the confidence to find the highest thermals.
For some reason, I hadn’t been drawn to sit down with the maps to flush out a route. The only things set in stone were the homes of loving friends who were waiting for me to make my way to them in Arizona and Colorado. The pull that I felt strongly, though, was the desire to fly by the seat of my pants and leave it all to serendipity—a decision that would chart a journey of the heart. At every turn, friends, strangers, and circumstance would nudge me in the direction I needed to follow to fill my soul.
My first day on the road felt like I wasn’t soloing at all. I was in the company of trusted friends—familiarity, excitement, freedom, and oneness. Jack was packed for adventure, while I wore extra armor of self-sufficiency.
Along for this ride were products that would make me lighter and more efficient, and would help me to document this trip as never before. I took on the challenge of videoing this journey hoping to capture innermost desires and revelations from myself, others, and the landscape.
Oh yeah, I know it adds at least quadruple the road time to set up the shot, turn on the camera, go back to enter the frame cleanly, stop beyond, and come back to retrieve the camera, and so on. And, invariably around the next corner after getting a shot, there would be a more beautiful piece of scenery to capture.
The blooper reel will be hilarious, as I had to run back to get the camera, huffing and puffing in moto gear and helmet, over and over again. It was all so worth the effort to capture these gems of authenticity.
My first night’s destination was a remote campground at the Painted Rock Petroglyph site just northwest of Gila Bend, AZ. Having this place all to myself, I felt a deep sense of ancient history from the Indian tribes and long-ago explorers who left their inscriptions in the rock. After a quick camp set-up, I scrambled up the volcanic rock formations to catch the petroglyphs by twilight.
The past surrounded me in a way I had never felt before, giving me the sense that I actually had the power to help create new history for my own people. Later that night, after slipping into my Big Agnes Copper Spur 2p tent and BA Roxy Anne sleeping bag, I reflected further on how to effect change in this world. As I drifted off to sleep, I realized it would be through finding ways of giving back, and inspiring others to live life more fully. What a powerful way to start this journey.
I knew the next leg would test my dirt riding and navigational abilities. I also knew that staying open to the way the adventure unfolded would keep me flowing with the current rather than rowing against it. Friends Roseann and Jonathan Hanson, founders of Overland Expo, invited me to stay with them on their 23-acre off-the-grid Arizonan desert oasis.
The screen shot they emailed showed that all roads were marked, and seemed comprehensible. I felt confident that I could find them. But, after two hours of circling around on unmarked dirt roads with deep wash-outs, ruts, baby head boulder fields, and 30-foot soft sand pits, I needed an alternative solution. I had a SPOT satellite messenger, but didn’t want to press the help button… just yet.
I flagged down the first car that happened by within a two-hour period. “I’m trying to find Roseann and Jonathan Hanson on Cloverfield Road. Do you happen to know where that is?”
The husband looked at me quizzically, then responded, “No, I can’t say that I do.”
His wife smiled and while gently backhanding his shoulder said, “We live on Cloverfield Road.”
He laughed embarrassingly. “All I know is that I live next to a big cactus.” And we all had a chuckle as they pointed in the direction of the Hansons’.
I finally made it to my friends’ hideaway. Over the course of one of the most beautiful desert evenings I have ever encountered, these dear souls taught me the nobility of leaving a small footprint on this Earth. I fell asleep in the guest tent adorned with African handiwork, while I dreamt of building my own future off-the-grid home.
The next morning as I returned to the pavement I was proud of myself for staying upright through the torturous dirt-riding test with such a big load. Almost back to the tarmac, and on my way to visit Michael Battaglia of the famed Tucson motorcycle shop, On Any Moto, I realized I’d forgotten to put on my deodorant. As I flicked down the side stand, pulled my backpack around and took care of business, a sudden gust of wind knocked over the bike over.
Would I be able to get myself out of this predicament without anyone else around? Running the video camera out of battery juice only added to the comedy of errors as I filmed unloading the little beast to get it lifted. It was quite a feat when all was said and done. I sure hope Michael and crew appreciated how great I smelled by the time we cruised into Tucson.
With a new pair of Dunlop D606 shoes from On Any Moto, I rolled on to the quaintest of hillside towns, Bisbee, AZ. It was another gorgeous day of Arizona riding as I pulled up at sunset to my friend Grant Sergott’s custom hat shop, Optimo Hatworks. Grant knows the ultimate scenic backroads of Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado, and Utah like the back of his hand, and took it upon himself to map out my entire route. For this, I would be ever so grateful.
The landscape that these roads took me through was life-changing, and the most powerful experience there landed me in Navajo territory for a couple of days, at the Canyon de Chelly National Monument in northern Arizona. This was just before the government took it upon themselves to shut down National Parks for a few weeks to sort out their crazy red tape affairs.
Here I became fast friends with Howard, the Navajo owner of Spider Rock Campground, and took advantage of the culinary skills of his grandchildren, who were busy cranking out fry bread. That evening, I topped mine off with butter and powdered sugar, the perfect dessert after wolfing down a homemade rehydrated East Indian dinner to the Sunset Channel of Mother Nature’s big screen TV.
The next morning I set out early with a backpack stuffed with camera, tripod, camp chair, and lunch to discover the rim trail, which took me right to the expansive canyon striated with grades of red rock. Having this natural splendor all to myself was beyond anything I could have imagined, and it gave me a deep sense of clarity, with visions of my future as if I were already walking it.
Within this vision, I saw a greater tomorrow that’s growing exponentially. So many people are creating ripples of action that turn into huge waves of change. This concept of the “butterfly effect,” where the flapping of a butterfly’s wings might affect the outcome of weather across the continent consumed me for the rest of the trip.
The idea played itself out in a small way when I donated my time at the Thodenasshai Navajo Shelter Home.
No matter the size of the action, the people it touches will pay it forward into a larger wave of compassion. It was at this shelter that I helped Ron Grace’s Lost for a Reason deliver direly needed supplies to women and children. As I looked into the eyes of the four-year-old Navajo boy trying on a new jacket that would get him through the winter, I saw the future of humanity dance.
And, I took that vision home with me as I swept my children up in my arms to feel our love as one. And just beyond this embrace as I felt its power growing, was a butterfly in the garden gently opening and closing its wings to the sound of our laughter.
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