“Hey, who the hell is on my campground?” we heard someone shout. Terry and I turned around in alarm to find a large chap striding towards us with a couple of his friends. It was clear they’d been drinking and in truth, so had we. We’d arrived in Jakes Corner, a remote outpost tucked away in the mountains of Arizona, a few hours earlier and had spent most of that time in the bar. We looked at each other with concern and confusion.
The man coming towards us was called Abraham. We’d met him in the bar when we arrived and he had agreed to let us camp on a grassy spot near his property for $5 each. Now something seemed to have changed. Jakes Corner, population 76, is not the sort of place where you want to fall out with the locals. Abraham’s RV park offered the unique combination of ‘Camping and Dumping’ (nice). Beyond lay rock, desert and battalions of giant saguaro cacti standing guard on the hillsides.
Then, suddenly, his mood changed. “Oh that’s my Englishmen!” He laughed, remembering he had allowed us to stay and explaining the situation to his friends. He then came over to chat and let his dogs out, which despite earlier assurances, didn’t just turn out to be just three chihuahuas, but also a very large pit bull called Patch.
“Out of the corner of my eye I could see his trigger finger reaching for the Dog Dazer”.
Terry, who won’t even go near a soft toy in the shape of a dog looked terrified and I didn’t blame him. Abraham’s assurances that Patch was a gentle giant didn’t seem to tally with the beast we were seeing. Trying to manoeuvre myself away from the hound’s attentions, I backed into the bikes and knocked them over.
Abraham and his mate (who he referred to as ‘one of my white boys’) then proceeded to trip over Terry’s guy ropes not once, but twice. Terry was not happy. Out of the corner of my eye I could see his trigger finger reaching for the Dog Dazer. The only question was who was going to get it first? Patch, Abraham or his mate?
Jakes Corner was the sort of place you’d could imagine movie-makers drooling over, all interesting characters and buildings that already look like a film set. Think Northern Exposure meets Shameless. What’s that? They did make a movie? Turns out the 2008 film Jake’s Corner (you notice that Hollywood added an apostrophe) follows the fictional story of an ex football star who, after facing tragedy, moves to a small desert town he owns (Jake’s Corner) to get out of the spotlight.
To call Jakes Corner a town is to give a false impression. It’s more a collection of buildings, primarily the general store and bar with most people living in the RV Park. The film explores how the town may just be a rest stop for travellers but for the people who work in the town and occupy the trailers behind the store and bar it’s a rest stop for life.
The film didn’t appear to have been a blockbuster success. Now if they’d have thrown in a storyline about two bike touring Englishmen and a pit bull called Patch it might all have turned out differently. Our day had certainly ended rather differently than we’d anticipated this morning.
After fuelling up on our healthy breakfast of bran and bananas we’d finally left our huge room at the Motel 6 and headed out of Globe, which also turned out to be far bigger than we’d expected. It had all being going so well until Terry realised we were the wrong side of the railway line and river and on completely the wrong road. Our early start was blown already.
Eventually we were back on track and cycled past Globe’s raison d’être – the huge copper mine on the outskirts of town – complete with an incongruous manicured, lush green golf course at its base. British mines have brass bands, U.S. ones have four irons apparently. It’s incredible how much mining scars the landscape. There was evidence of some slopes that had re-growth on them, but it still looked like a very artificial world.
Globe soon petered out into countryside and pretty soon we were cycling through the Tonto National Forest and the scenery, dominated by huge saguaro cacti, looking like enormous sentinels, took our breath away.
These cacti can expand to hold over a ton of water, which left Terry wondering why they don’t blow over in the scrappy soil (apparently although their roots are shallow they are spread wide – some as far as the plant is tall).
This scenary was every bit as spectacular as some of the landscapes we’d seen on the TransAm and we seemed to be stopping every few minutes to take photos. After a climb of around 1,000 ft we were rewarded with an incredible downhill into the next valley system now dominated by the azure blue waters of Lake Roosevelt. This is Arizona’s deepest reservoir and was formed by the Theodore Roosevelt Dam, being dedicated by the US President in March 1911.
It’s always a tough choice on downhills, whether to reap the rewards of the climb and race down as quickly as possible, or to slow and savour the view, take some photos and gently coast to the bottom. In the end it’s a mix of both.
Pulling into Roosevelt we spotted a shop and restaurant and, not knowing if there was anywhere further up the trail we pulled in, only to discover the shop was closed (an all too familiar story) although the waitress in the restaurant told us there was a Dollar General half a mile up the road.
So we had a quick drink and then bought up supplies, including lots of water that would hopefully get us to our night’s destination at Jakes Corner – and provide enough for the following day’s ride, where we would face more than 50 miles without services.
So, after passing through some of the most dramatic scenery on earth, we found ourselves eating peanut butter bagels sat on the kerb next to the bins at the side of the Dollar General. Well at least in provided some shade, which was in short supply.
The ride around Lake Roosevelt was a joy, offering a ringside seat on all the activities taking place on the water down below us – power boating, people fishing in small skiffs and paddle-boarding.
“Imagine Lake Windermere and but much much bigger”.
Alongside its banks people were turning up in RVs, pick-ups and cars to enjoy a day by the water. With the coast more than five hundred miles away the lake is obviously a key draw, particularly on hot days. Imagine Lake Windermere but much much bigger.
But there were also amazing views to be had by looking up into the mountains which overshadow the lake. Between AD1150 and AD1450, the Salado, who built Besh-Ba-Gowah in Globe, built many villages in the Tonto Basin, including the Upper Cliff Dwelling, which we could see with binoculars nestled in a large cave in the mountainside miles above us.
The Salado harvested from the desert and practised irrigation farming on the valley door making painted pottery, weaving cotton and trading with other cultures. You can take a walk up to take a closer look, but we were doing enough climbing on our bikes today, so wondered from afar.
From there we continued on around the lake, over several bridges and passing the dam. Towards the end of the lake, was a landscape of partly submerged trees, attracting numerous birdlife, including, to our suprising considering how far inland we were, white pelicans.
Passing through Tonto Basin itself and the oddly named Punkin Center we continued climbing up to Jakes Corner. This was hot uphill cycling for fifteen miles.
It was like riding into a hairdryer with the heat bouncing back off the road to make sure it chargrilled the underside of your head as well as the top. Plus we were carrying all that heavy water – and food.
We’d not spoken to anyone who could tell us there were any facilities at Jakes Corner (the ACA maps indicated a grocery store, but so many have closed in recent years). Doubting there was anything there our plan was to cycle through and find somewhere to wild camp on the other side, but to our surprise Jakes Corner turned out to be jumping.
Not only was there a store, but also a lively bar, with Harleys parked outside, and a RV park. Within seconds of arriving we were approached by a large chap in shorts and T shirt who introduced himself as Abraham, one of the staff at the bar.
Leading us behind the bar he showed us part of his, rather dishevelled yard, which had an area of grass to camp – all for $5 each for the night. It was a shrewd move as we later discovered the General Store next door did free camping and had showers. Nice guy though, who seemed to live on Dr Pepper soft drinks. By the time we got back to the bar, our camp site sorted, we’d been introduced to all the locals, some of the bikers and a random family who were having a meal.
When we waddled into Jakes Corner Bar we knew no-one, bar Abraham, but within a few minutes we’d been introduced to everyone as bad-ass English cyclists who were not only pedalling across the US, but doing it for the second time. With our helmet hair, sweaty lycra and English accents we could not have been more obviously from out of town than had we touched down in an alien spaceship.
It would have been so easy for these customers, who all clearly knew each other of old, to start poking fun at our expense and yet they were nothing but welcoming and genuinely interested in what we were doing and our opinions of their country.
We were soon joined by one of the locals, Ernie Crabtree (who features in the main picture of this blogpost), just short of his 65th birthday, a keen motorcyclist, Trump voter and, by profession, a machinist making high calibre sniper rifle barrels for the military. “Some save lives, some take lives in order to do that … I don’t know which ones do which”, he explained. Knowing very little about guns Terry and I just gulped and hoped we were never in Ernie’s sights.
“You realise this was the last stronghold of the Apache?” he said.
Fortunately when talk turned to motorbikes it became the Terry and Ernie show as the two old bikers swopped 1970s Triumph Trident tales of oil leaks and breakdowns and Ernie told his of his exploits on two wheels which left us amazed that he’d made it to 25, let alone 65.
Originally from Idaho he spoke with admiration for the Native Americans and went on to explain how the unique character of the area had been protected by local ranchers, who despite offers to buy their land , had refused because they loved it so much.
“You realise this was the last stronghold of the Apache?” he said, referring to the hills and mountains around the desert town of Jakes Corner. “This is the last of the Wild West”. And it certainly felt that way – there was something very wild and a little bit lawless about Jakes Corner
“He had even given some of the saguaro cacti individual names”.
Ernie was in love with the land and described how he would spend hours in the desert communing with nature. He spoke of birds and animals he classed as his friends and said he had even given some of the saguaro cacti individual names.
Sadly he hadn’t found as much solace in actual love, with a relationship many years ago ending in bitterness and the unexpected birth of a daughter.
For some reason our conversation seemed to bring him some comfort. “This has been great,” he said. “I’ve not spoken like this in years, I’m so glad you came in here”. It was a similar reaction to that given to us by Kelly, way back in Alabama. Somehow Terry and I had corned the market in providing counselling for men of a certain age who had voted for Trump, but still didn’t seem to have found the happiness they sought in life.
Perhaps we ought to start trailing a little booth behind the bikes setting up impromptu clinics from town to town. But the truth is I think the likes of Ernie and Kelly just wanted someone to listen to them and perhaps that’s why they voted for Trump.
Several beers later we had given up on the idea of cooking all the food we’d lugged up the valley and so, mistakenly, we ordered from the bar. As it was late Sunday evening by then, it was frozen cheese pizza or meat pizza. Statistically, they were fine … Terry’s was burnt to a crisp and mine was barely warm.
So while Terry crunched through his I sucked on mine, although by that time we were so tired we barely cared. Saying goodnight to Ernie we wheeled our bikes onto the campsite, three hours after we’d arrived at the bar and starting fumbling around putting up our tents. A few minutes later we could hear voices from beyond the small wooden bridge that led to our camp spot. They’d obviously spotted our head-torches, the beams dotting around on the grass – tiny search lights trying to pick out poles and pegs.
Terry’s top tip 68: always put your tent up while it’s still light and before you are totally pissed. It was at that point that Abraham challenged us, apologised and then let the dogs out.
“We’d prepared for the following day’s ride in the best way possible – lots of beer, under/over cooked pizza and a late night”.
Eventually Abraham and his mates retreated to his front porch to continue drinking, but not before assuring us that the next time we came to Jakes Corner we could stay for free. Under his breath I could hear Terry saying we’d have happily paid double if Patch had been kept firmly tied on a leash.
We finally got our heads down content in the knowledge that we’d prepared for the following day’s ride in the best way possible – lots of beer, under/over cooked pizza and a late night. But Jakes Corner had proved a blast – and to hell with tomorrow.
Today’s miles: 64.16
Miles since Anastasia State Park: 2,538.68
