Cave Creek, AZ. 6733 miles.

With one last day in Phoenix before officially starting the long trip home, I woke up early and went for a leisurely 300 mile ride through Tonto an Coconino.

Just minutes from downtown Phoenix, RT 87 into Tonto takes you on a long slow climb from the floor of the valley up into the vast foothills that encircle the area. More endless fields of Saguaro cacti stretch across massive valleys and climb up over the tops of the hills in every direction. These are a really fascinating species. As ubiquitous as they are in this part of the country, it is the only place in the world they grow and they will only do that within a 1000 foot band of elevation. It takes upwards of 100 years for them to sprout their first arms and some of the giant 40-50 foot ones are estimated at over 200 years old but it is entirely possible they are more than twice that with some estimates topping over 500 years. Even after seeing 10’s of thousands of them in the last few days it is still pretty impressive to stand next to one of the giants. In every region of the country I have seen a certain tree rule supreme. The Jack pines of the Upper Peninsula, the Ponderosas of the Black Hills, the giant Firs of Glacier, the Cedars and Sequoias of western Montana and Idaho, the Douglas of the Pacific Northwest, the ancient Redwoods of northern California. And out here these old giants are every bit as reverent. As much as they seem to become common lawn sculptures it isn’t hard to understand why they are a protected species.

As the elevation tops 5000 feet a rocky strip divides the high desert from the green pine forests above. Just past Payson the road narrows and winds through groves of stark pine trees, their bark raw and red from the dry Arizona air. It would be easy to forget you were in the Southwest and think you were somewhere in western Washington except for the occasional giant outcropping of red rocks and a few lingering species of smaller cacti that can survive at the high altitudes.

From the top of the mountain, RT 260 takes you on the slow descent back into the blazing heat of the desert. I had timed it so I would be back before noon, but by 10:30 the temperature was already over 100 again and the long ride back down I-17 was not particularly fun.

For the first time in I can’t remember how long I got to spend Father’s Day with my dad and some very old and good family friends in Chandler where my godfather smoked some amazing brisket. We drank bourbon and argued about politics and had a pretty great time.

Tomorrow I get another early start and head north through Sedona and Flagstaff before finally hitting Utah where I have been repeatedly told all other landscapes will be eclipsed.

Wyatt Neumann was a phenomenally talented photographer and director, a loving husband and father, and a passionate motorcyclist. On June 11th he was doing what he loved riding in Delaware when he suffered a brain aneurysm which caused him to lose control of his motorcycle. He died shortly after. Wyatt was instrumental in both inspiring this trip and planning many of its routes and logistics. The title of this site was unapologetically stolen from his series of photographs from his own travels. He leaves behind a wife and two young children. A memorial fund has been established to help his family in this very trying time. Please consider donating. Any amount will help. Thank you.

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