So, we left our jobs, sold our stuff and hit the road... for Alaska and points south!
It's been three weeks and we're having fun, but I’m just now able to get the blog report going
Here are a few teaser pics from the trip so far...
Kimberly, aka “The Iron Butterfly”
Next post update soon!
We camped near Durango, where the temps hit 100º daily and the lack of breeze in the pines left a smothering feel. We were much closer to town than our last campsite, which made things easier, but at the same time the heat made going to "town" completely undesirable. After a day or two of sorting the camp and chilling, we took the bikes and headed for Silverton and Ouray to escape said heat.
Progressing up Hwy 550 into the elevation, I watched the temperature drop until we rolled under a rain cloud near Molas Pass, which at 10,900' or so made for a cool 70's temperatures experience. It felt good to be moving on the bikes, once again flying on the ground high into the mountains, sweeping through the curves and switchbacks, one's breath taken away by the immensity of the mountain beauty around.
A short break for gas, a small quantity of ice to keep our stir-fried chicken cool and a tire pressure check was the only break on the way. Kim's bike has had a low tire pressure warning for a couple of days, but both my digital gauges had shown it to be well within or above the recommended pressure. I had finally assumed that it must a failed sensor in the front wheel, but in a last act of desperation had her pull over again to try and deflate the tire quickly to see if it would trigger a reset of the monitor. Before proceeding, I again checked the pressure with my digital gauge and then again with the gauge on MotoPumps compressor. Both showed 34 pounds and the BMW warning showed 23 lbs. I had an old Slime analog needle gauge in my kit and when I tried it for a third opinion, it read exactly 23 lbs... same as the BMW sensor warning. Hard to imagine that both my new MotoPump and Slime digital gauge would be identically 10 lbs off, but I went with the 23 and added 10 more to the tire which took care of the warning. It's a bit disturbing to think Kim had been running with low pressure in the front, though 23 is fine for dirt roads and front end traction. Previous to this I'd gone through all of my tire pumps and gauges and found several to be reading high, so I massacred the lot and bought new gauges and pump. The new ones all read identically and I was happy. Until this episode. Maybe someplace I can find a calibrated gauge to find out which are accurate.
But back to the story... Hearing exclamations of excitement in my headset brought smiles. Having ridden so much solo and experienced so much wonder, I really enjoyed hearing someone else experiencing it for the first time. Kim has had riding experience, but this is her first true long term adventure ride and we've been getting her up to speed - pun intended - riding some dirt with loaded cases and getting a feel for her new bike, an F700GS. Previously, her lowered F650 left her confidently flat footed, but the taller 700 still has her a bit tenuous.
The road slipped under easily as we made descent from Molas Lake and Pass towards Silverton, until we hit the pullout that overlooks Silverton. I hadn't been to Silver Town in a very long time and the view over the old mining town was nice to see again. As we rolled into town in the cool overcast air, Kim was excited to see the old town and that a step back in time still existed. We cruised the side streets before stopping in front of the old hotel to walk and grab some coffee. Our meal of stir-fried chicken with garlic went down very well on a bench in front of the coffee shop, along with a caramel macchiato from within. It was fun watching the various bikes, folks, jeeps and UTV's roll by.
After a bit, two BMW water boxers idled up to park, a bit dusty and dirty. After they dismounted and settled down I asked if they'd come over the passes. The lady rider, whose name I can't recall said they had indeed but were exhausted. Turns out she and her male travel partner had ridden up from Katy, Texas for a one week trip and ended up Silverton for the night, having had to cancel their attempt to get to Lake City over Cinnamon Pass due to rain and fatigue. We talked a bit about the bikes and gear before letting them go find a hotel for the night.
Kim and I wandered a bit more around the town before huffing, puffing and staggering up the hillside to the "Christ of the Mines" statue overlooking the town. The spot seemed like a good place to pray for a miracle of instant weight loss, instant getting-in-shape and instant adjustment to the almost 10,000' elevation so that I could breathe, but alas no miracle occurred. Instead we headed downhill when the rains began to spatter us and looked for protection and sustenance within the Brown Bear Cafe, a hot blob of peach cobbler with ice cream and coffee seeming fairly miraculous at the time. Our plan had been to hit both Silverton and then Ouray that day, but we enjoyed the time rambling around Silverton and decided to go for Ouray the next day instead to chill in the hot springs.
It was beginning to get late, but I suggested we ride out towards the pass roads from Silverton until we felt the need to turn around before dark. The rain felt good as we rode out into the canyons and up to the basin.
Stops here and there filled the time and Kim did very well as the road narrowed and roughened, climbing in elevation toward the approaches for Cinnamon and Engineer. As the light faded, multiple UTV's with poncho clad tourists made their way past us, their blue-tinged LED headlights warning us of their approach far away.
Kimberly, aka “The Iron Butterfly”
Joseph, aka “LoneStar”
As it darkened, we turned around and made our way back down for Silverton and the ride back to our campsite near Durango. Tucking in behind a speeding truck for seeming protection from deer on the roadways, we were back to our site just as dark rolled in.
Kim and I have been on the road for about month so far but are just really beginning our trek. I've been wanting to travel for a while, unencumbered by deadlines and responsibilities as in the past where all my solo trips had to come to an end to return to "reality". Kim and I met about two years ago and she came on board for a travel period of life. Over the last couple of years I divested myself of most of my possessions, as well as my home, to be able to fund time on the road. My plan had been to explore Mexico, Central America and then south for Tierra Del Fuego, taking a year or so in the process.
Kim's riding experience has been on dirt bikes with some street riding, so when she decided to get her own bike after a couple of two-up trips with me to Mexico, I pushed her towards a BMW GS so that we could travel together. She first bought a lowered F650GS to get comfortable riding again, then when the decision was made to do this trip, she purchased an F700GS for the smoother highway vibes. I too decided it was time for a new chapter in life and sold my faithful 1998 R1100GS Anniversary to go with a newer 2012 R1200GSA. In a bit of coolness we both bought our bikes on the same day!
New bike day!
A rare day - we each picked up our new rides on the same day from completely different sides of the metroplex
Kim's "new" 2013 F700GS being relinquished by Peter from Colorado
My "new" 2012 R1200GSA with previous owner Dan
My beloved 98 and the new beast side by side
Kim's life and travels had been mainly in the eastern U.S. and I felt it would be good to explore the western US a bit before heading south - a chance to air out untested bikes and gear, giving her some time to adapt to a taller and heavier laden bike on some dirt as well as a chance to see some amazing land. Though we are traveling by motorcycle, after I sold my home and Kim dropped her condo, the reality of being literally "homeless" set in and I bought a used Sprinter van to have as a base upon returning. In three weeks we outfitted it to carry both GS's and all necessary gear, tools and ramps in the rear, as well as all our remaining belongings - literally a tiny house for the future.
The decision was made to park the beast somewhere out west as a base camp and return to it after the motorcycle travels. That said, we make our plans but God guides and we are enjoying each day for what it is and setting no deadlines. I hope you will join us in our journey... good times, bad times, warts, farts and all. We don't know where we're going, we don't know when we'll get there, but we do know why we're doing what we're doing :D
A few weeks ago when we left Texas for southern Colorado, by happenstance we found a great camp site overlooking the valley in Sugarite Canyon near Raton. Plans to stay a day turned into several, the cold evenings and 80º days feeling so good after the sweltering heat of Texas. Our camp neighbors were Lyle and Janda, world adventurists and explorers in their late 70's. Well read and intellectual, we had many interesting conversations and I hope that I can achieve 1/10 of their efforts in travel. From Sugarite Canyon, we explored many roads in north central New Mexico and returned each day to an evening rainstorm it seemed. Our intention had been to stay a day or two, however we enjoyed it so much that we stayed far longer than expected.
Kim had her baptism of fire in adventure riding in 2 consecutive days, and looking back I have to chuckle a bit. The first real challenge for her to face came during a late evening ride back to the campsite. As we rolled into the canyon, a severe storm blew in with intense lightning, high winds and pouring rain. Lightning is a real fear for anyone, but Kim had had a very bad experience in it years before and was having to face that fear directly. As we turned onto the rutted camp road and headed up the mountain in the midst of this, heavy hail began pouring as well. In my headset I tried to joke about it as we rode through the mud, rain, hail, wind and lightning. She wasn't responding other than to say how soaked her riding pants were, as we hadn't had time to toss on rain gear. Luckily she had her Klim Altitude jacket on and my Firstgear Kathmandu did it's job well.
The next morning we laughed about it - at least she'd gotten it all out of the way in one fell swoop the previous evening - and we rode south for Taos and the Pueblo.
Roadside wreck of a house was a good spot for a portrait
Pueblo de Taos, a UNESCO World Heritage Site
Returning to Raton
After a good nights rest, the plan was to ride a forest service road near Cimarron and we headed south for some more ride time. For those who've ridden the road from Raton to Cimarron, you well understand the beauty of the vast plain the road edges through. You may also remember the winds that can accompany the scenes. As we raced south for a forest service road outside Cimarron, there were several afternoon storms rising ahead, and the cool shadows and sprinkles were appreciated. Just as we were exiting the edge of one of these, I saw a small tornado of tumbleweeds cross the road ahead of Kim, followed by what seemed to be a microburst gust of wind that blew her sideways across the road. I rocketed past as she went off the edge, her voice in my headset loud as I tried to wrestle the wind and get stopped. In my mirrors I couldn't see her but heard her voice. As I got stopped and the burst blew past, I turned around to see her sitting about 30 feet off the road in the midst of a roadside prairie dog community. She was shaken but hadn't dropped the bike. After a couple of minutes to recover, she motored through the dog holes and back onto the roadway. In less than a day she'd ridden lightning, mud, rain, hail and wind, plus the pleasure of being blown off the road in a microburst.
A few miles later we hit the forest service road near Cimarron and rode back deep into the canyons heading northwest. After an hour or so of riding, a large storm began rising ahead, so we turned back.
We'd gone a few miles back down the road, when I turned to my left to see a large cinnamon black bear on all fours on the roadside. He was between two bushes and about 20 feet off the road. I yelled excitedly "Bear! Bear!" in my headset, which freaked Kim a bit. She was ahead of me a few yards and unsure where the bear was or whether I was warning her that he was coming for her. We both got stopped and looked back, spotting the bear as he took off in a full run away from the road and down into a riverbed, clearing the water and up the hillside in a flash before pausing to look back at us. He then continued to run up the mountainside pausing every 200 feet or so to turn and look back.
As we continued back south, the storm behind us grew, as did a few other cells over the plains. We headed hard and fast back towards Raton, but the black skies ahead didn't seem worth the effort, especially after having experienced the wind earlier. We had gone a few miles and decided to wait out the rain at the Colfax Tavern roadside grill, which sits in the middle of nowhere thankfully.
We toasted the ride and bear sighting with an ice cold drink and burger, until the skies cleared and we headed for Sugarite Canyon.
We'd ridden the Million Dollar several times just to soak in as much of the road as possible before moving our trek northward, ending up in either Silverton or Ouray for lunch or a dessert on the sidewalks and people watching. Folks seem to be intrigued by riders in their gear and sidewalk conversations are common. We were in the midst of a chat while sitting on a bench in Silverton one evening when I saw a guy who seemed familiar walk past, eyeing us and then turning to say hello. Turns out he was a fellow photographer, Kent Barker, who had been in the advertising industry in Dallas at the same time my studio had been there.
We'd never actually met but had connected on FaceBook. Kent said he recognized us from our travel postings and we had a good laugh and talk. Kent's sons had followed him into the photography and film business, one based in Jackson Hole who shot extreme sports films and Kent was on the way up to visit.
The weather in the region has been a bit spotty with more rain than usual sidetracking several of our explorations, but this day dawned crisp and clear with no weather warnings and only a 20% chance of rain, so I told Kim today would be a good day to test her riding a bit with an attempt to cover a mountain pass road.
Ophir Pass, running between Hwy 550 on the east and Ophir, just south of Telluride on the west, is just shy of 12,000 feet and generally an easier pass ride than others. My concern was not wanting to push past Kim's limits on the bike, but she was game to try. The high mountain passes are always a gamble on big bikes like the GS's, as they can be rough and dangerous at the best of times and especially with weather coming in. Ophir is known as an easier one but that is always relative.
There wasn't a cloud in the sky as we rode north from our campsite, just a crystal blue with not a wisp of white and brilliant stinging sunshine despite the cool air around us. We grabbed gas in Silverton with a stop at the small grocery store for some Italian dressing for pasta and chicken we'd brought for a high mountain lunch.
Outside the store sat a loaded, dark green Triumph 800XC, sporting signs of appropriate abuse. I spotted the rider sitting in the shade outside the store enjoying a sandwich in his riding gear. We introduced ourselves and talked bikes for a bit. His name was Joseph and he'd ridden from Florida, Orlando IIRC, in 3 days and was doing a portion of the Backcountry Discovery Route, as well as as many dirt roads as he could squeeze in on his way north to Wyoming. We exchanged contact information and said God Bless's and goodbyes then headed north for Ophir Pass road.
At the pass entrance, we stopped and I explained the rules of "right of way" for vehicles traveling up and down hill, with the caveat that tourists driving the ubiquitous jeeps we'd encounter and heavier GS's needing a decent place to stop threw much of that out the window. We turned off the ABS feature on both bikes and launched for the top of the mountain.
The lower section of the road up was nice and smooth dirt, clouded by dust from a Jeep who'd passed us as we'd been getting the bikes set, but after a bit the driver was kind enough to pull aside so we could pass. The road continued to rise into high meadows with stunning views and patches of snow ahead on the grey rocky peaks. Small streams and snow melt crossed the road here and there and as the rockier switchbacks started Kim got a bit more silent, concentrating harder I'm sure. As the elevation increased, I was informed that any Jeeps coming down were going to have to take the outside lane, as she was not about to pull over to the edge to stop for anyone. I completely understood.
Three riders on dirt bikes passed us, heading downhill in their motocross gear, the first flashing what appeared to be a peace sign, the second flashing one finger and the third a closed fist. She commented on their differing signs and I told her the first rider was showing "two" which meant there were two riders behind, the second showing "one" for one rider behind and the last guy showing "zero" riders left behind him.
When we had opportunities to stop, the views were awesome, the crystal clear skies, the grey fields of scree, patches of snow clinging for life in their battle with the sun, with green trees and flowers here and there made the effort worth the trouble.
As we finally approached the pass over the top, the road got much rougher and rockier. At the top there were a couple of 4x4's parked and I found a spot in the rubble where each bike could get a decent place to get a kickstand down.
Just as we stopped, three dirt bikers on KTM's passed, the last rider shouting to us that the way down we were heading "is very rough and rocky!"
We enjoyed the top and it's amazing views, shot some pics with cell phones of the other guys at the top for their memories and squeezed in a few ourselves. A guy with his snowboard on his back rode past on a dirt bike as we shot put selfies.
Finally the other 2 vehicles headed down, followed shortly by a speeding car coming up and stopping quickly. A family of three piled out for pics. They were from California and we shot some photos for them. They were intrigued to hear of our trip and wanted the blog address so they could follow. They pulled out the cameras and shot photos of us as we headed down the west slope for Ophir and Telluride.
As we had been warned, the west slope quickly became rough as we exited a large snow bank down into the scree field. The rocks were loose and ranged from the size of oranges to cantaloupes. It was obvious that a rock slide had wiped out the road and only a temporary repair had been possible. As we worked our way down, the length of the area of the slide increased and I told Kim to stop and let me proceed. Kim's bike is still a bit too tall for her and I knew picking her way downhill in the big rocks was going to be difficult. The ride down was a challenge as the large rocks were loose and slid under pressure, and when I finally cleared the section I was sweating. I walked back up to her elevation, huffing and puffing in the thin air and told her I'd need to ride her bike through the roughest part until we got to better road sections. As I dog paddled her shorter bike down, I was only able to use the front brake which eventually rolled over a football sized rock and I did a slow drop.
It took a bit to finally get clear of the first section, only to find that another really bad stretch was ahead. Since I was already on her bike I went ahead and took it all the way down to the end of the first switchback. As I looked back up to where my bike sat, this low-elevation-texas-out-of-shape-fat-boy's heart sank at the sight, a long out-of-breath climb back up in my hot riding gear ahead.
About 2/3 of the way back up, a dark green Toyota Tacoma with matching topper rumbled to a stop next to me. The lady passenger in her mid 60's told me what a nice bike I had, and proceeded to tell me she'd had a BMW R80GS Paris-Dakar and ridden to Alaska on it, as well as many other places and had met all the BMW guys in "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance". I politely smiled and nodded along, secretly dying for breath and not wanting to waste it talking. Kidding aside, it was fun to speak with her and her companion, a Geraldo Rivera look-alike.
She said to keep the faith in the Beemers and they continued down for Kim's position. Finally getting aboard the Adventure, it felt good to roll downwards, despite the rocks. Kim informed me that the couple in the Tacoma said there was another bad stretch ahead. Indeed at the end of the second switchback the road was as rough or worse, having been taken out by the same slide that had smashed the section we'd just cleared.
The Iron Butterfly was determined to ride through this section and she made it a ways down before a large section of loose rocks slid away and she went down, leaving the bike with its wheels higher than the tank. The way it lay, it was impossible to spin it on its guards and cases. The wheels were about 12 inches higher than the tank and we had to dead lift it together, then hold while repositioning and forcing a long final lift up. The heat of the sun and the thin air had us both sweating and breathing hard when the task was done.
It would have been easier to have ridden uphill through the loose stuff rather than going down but we had no choice in the matter. Once again I rode her bike through the worst section, only to see that the entire scree field section was bad completely down to the tree line. I went ahead and took her bike all the way down through the rock field. It turned out to be a good decision as the rocks were bad all the way and it wasn't worth the risk of Kim getting injured in one of the inevitable falls.
From my position at the bottom of the scree field, the look back up to my bike seemed ten times more depressing than my first trek near the top. I could see the GSA as a dark dot perched on the edge seemingly a mile away and a thousand feet above me. I was really tired and hot after wrestling her bike down in the giant marbles and DEFINITELY not excited at the thought of the climb back up. “So this is how it ends” I thought, “a combination heart attack and stroke on our first pass ride.”
I slowly started the trudge uphill, eventually meeting Kim as she walked down to her bike. I hoped that a Jeep would come by so I could grab a ride up, but it was not to be. My shin was squawking from an injury and subsequent infection acquired a week before, and my hot Forma boot agitated the fire out of it. At a previous camp site in the mountains my sandal had gotten in an argument with the jagged end of a log, the log winning the argument with a bash to my shin. A week later it was in full bloom, swollen and stinging and the walk back up in my boots wasn't helping.
A blue 4x4 pickup rolled slowly down past as I continued my climb, the driver rolling down the window to say "Nice Beemer dude! You must have some balls to ride that thing up here." I was too out of breath to do anything but smile and my balls didn't care either. After what seemed an hour I finally got to within 50 yards of the bike and stopped to watch a Jeep coming from below. By the time I made my bike, the Jeep rolled by, it's occupants waving cheerfully. I smiled to keep up appearances but was bushed.
The Iron Butterfly be down yonda somewhere…
Kim and her bike weren't visible below and she didn't answer in the headset which had disconnected due to distance, but I got the GSA started and began the sliding descent going. The moving air felt better but it was a concentration event picking my way down on the beast. By the time I reached Kim I was hot, tired and ready for an ice cold Mexican Coke in Telluride. We rolled down into the trees and eventually the community of Ophir before turning north for Telluride and some long needed food.
Telluride was bustling with tourists carrying shopping bags and walking the streets, the entire downtown reminding me of an outdoor mall. Years before when I'd ridden through it didn't seem quite as polished and there seemed to be less eateries. Most were closed in the late afternoon but a small Middle Eastern diner with an outdoor patio provided good food.
"Oh. My. God! What-Ev-Er!"
As the day had gotten late and we had a long ride back to Durango ahead, we decided to roll for Ouray, smothering in the heat but still enjoying the views of the mountains on the way to Ridgway, before the turn south. A coffee break in Ouray sounded good as our energy had faded from effort and the long day, but we ditched the coffee and grabbed some chocolate and a huge glass of milk instead. We sat weary and tired on the sidewalk until the setting sunlight told us to leave.
The ride back was beautiful, the late sun and sky that had remained clear all day lengthening the light until we rolled into camp just at dark. The dirt road up always proved interesting, with two tiny fawns running in front of Kim for a distance and then a literal ball of small raccoons in the roadway keeping us on our toes til the bikes stopped in camp. It was a long day, full of effort, and full of life.
What I never expected when I got into adventure riding years back would be the door it opened to the people I'd meet on the road. It has been a mosaic of folks, interesting and not so interesting, but there have been many special moments along the way.
Kim and I had found a cheap campground on our way towards northern Colorado, realizing it was also a place where many folks lived permanently, some in tents, some in old RV’s or vans. It was a pretty rough camp and RV park, replete with meth heads and drifters as well as older people who simply had little money to live on.
The morning sun was hot and growing hotter, as I feverishly worked on the bikes trying to get us on the road for the day. I was frustrated with the task I was attempting, made more so by the heat and sweat in my eyes. Down the way and over the handlebars I could see a thin man with long, black stringy hair and tattoos making his way our direction, moving very slowly on a walker. As he came closer I could hear the slow click of his walker each time he moved it, until he got close enough to say hello, a brown-toothed smile coming from under his black gimme cap.
Honestly, I really didn’t want to be interrupted, but I stopped working on the bike and introduced myself. Nick began talking and we chatted, typical small talk from strangers. He spoke slowly, almost weakly and said he’d been born with muscular dystrophy, eventually becoming a tattoo artist in Michigan. When the big BP oil spill occurred in the gulf, he, along with his brother and father went to work in the clean up operation to make extra money. What they did not know was that the chemicals used in the process were neurotoxins. Nick said he became severely disabled and his father died. Luckily his brother did not suffer quite as badly, due to age and overall health.
Nick told me he and his wife had been living on the road for a while in a very old and now broken down Winnebago, which I could see parked at the end of the campground where he’d walked from. His wife was working odd jobs and "flying a sign" as it’s known, panhandling for money on street corners. He said he was happy to be in Colorado now, having arrived recently after being in New Mexico for a while in the RV. He loved Colorado because he loved collecting rocks and minerals, as best he could, and proudly showed a slab of turquoise he kept in his pocket, its origin location a highly guarded secret he said with a smile.
We talked a long time and about many things, including organic farming which was his expertise and something he enjoyed studying. Nick was highly intelligent and well read, going into deep discussion of microbiological processes and their effect on organic foods and vegetables, as well as many other things. He talked of the difficulties of living on $722 a month for disability with an additional $65 in food stamps. He and his wife had lived mainly on BLM and National Forest lands taking advantage of the free dispersed camping where, as he said, they had lived on $10 a day in gasoline for their generator, that is until his health decline forced them to move near a town for a doctor.
With a lowered head, Nick said it was very hard, and most of all, how much he hated that his wife had to work odd jobs and beg for money on corners. He said it was demeaning and difficult being judged, and he had been able to join a class-action lawsuit against BP in hopes of getting some money some day. He said his dream was to buy his wife a little RV park before he died from the complications, so that she wouldn’t have to work. I told him she really had to love him and he said he knew how lucky he was. He shook my hand again and said he’d seen us arrive and just wanted to say hello and introduce himself.
I watched as Nick struggled away through the grass and dirt, his gaunt, bent body weakly pushing the walker, his shared dreams of a hopeful future for his wife ringing in my thoughts. I went back to work on my bike and a while later, I heard my name being called. Nick was slowly coming back through the grass with his walker to my bike and he said "I have something for you." He dug into a collection of rocks and pebbles in the pouch under the walker seat, handing me two small rocks, veined with sparkling green. He said he wanted us to have them as memories of our stay in Colorado. I shook his hand in thanks and asked where he'd found them. He answered "when I'm in my walker all I can see is the ground, so I look for stones as I go..." As he struggled away, tears came to my eyes, eventually dried by the dusty, hot breeze and thoughts of the stones in my own heart.
I was a bit miffed to discover that I'd left Texas without canceling the temporary vehicle import permit for my motorcycle from my last trip to the village of Real De Catorce in Mexico. My plans to visit my riding buddy “MotoHank” south of San Antonio and return the permit at Laredo didn't happen... in the rush to leave for this trip it was forgotten. It was due in August, about the time we hoped to be in Jasper, Canada so it was a hell of a lot closer to head back from Colorado than Canada.
We did a marathon 2 day run to the Mexican border to deal with it, initially planning to cancel it in Juarez, however when I found out the Aduana was 30 kilometers in, I got cold feet. A U.S. Border Patrol officer told me there was also an Aduana at the Santa Teresa crossing about 25 miles away in New Mexico, and though that Aduana wasn’t listed anywhere on the internet, We headed that direction. Indeed there was one there and after about 30 minutes crossing over, canceling and coming back into the US, it was done. What a pain, but after, we made it back up to the Gunnison region. From Ouray, we visited the Black Canyon and then headed north over Grand Mesa, driven away from camping near the lakes by huge mosquito swarms, instead staying overnight in Collbran during a fierce rain storm. Our goal was Steamboat Springs for the 4th of July parade and fireworks.
I'd been blessed to live in “The Boat” for a while and really enjoyed the time there. The small town a fantastic fireworks show, and I figured it would be fun to see the place again.
We got a late start, taking I-70 for Wolcott, the canyon from Glenwood Springs to Eagle just an amazing ride along the river, duly enjoyed by The Butterfly, and then Highway 131 north. The day was late, and we rode in spitting rain, racing to beat the sunset and find a place to camp for the night near Steamboat. A fellow adventure motorcyclist, Rob, who’d followed some of my rides online, had foolishly asked me to swing by sometime, so I shot him a message. By the time we got out of the mountains and had cell service again in Steamboat, he'd responded and offered to let us stay a day.
We decided to take advantage of the offer since it was late and we were tired, plus the thought of trying to find dispersed camping as dark was falling wasn't appealing. Rob and his wife Carol were absolutely awesome, opening their home to us and their garage for the bikes. I'd communicated with Rob on the ADVrider.com website and finally bumped into him at the Horizons Unlimited rally in Grant, Colorado a couple of years earlier. We stayed up way too late talking, and were groggy the next morning for the 4th of July parade, but it was entertaining despite the massive crowds and heat.
We eventually peeled away and sought cool breezes on the bikes, riding 20 Mile Road to Oak Creek, and then south for the local parade in the little town of Yampa. It was a small town hoot and we enjoyed it. From Yampa we rode back north to the forest roads of Buffalo Pass to find a campsite for the next day.
Amazingly, in the overrun town of Steamboat we found parking space for the bikes in front of our breakfast cafe, only to find out why - it was the “bird poop from hell” tree, covering our bikes and gear as we ate.
Main Street Parade In Steamboat
"The Band" in Yampa
Post Parade Partaking
One of my favorite places to eat in Steamboat was the Sweet Pea Cafe, sitting right on the Yampa River. The bacon and brie sandwich is to die for.
Rob had invited us to watch the evening fireworks with a group of his riding buddies - “Timboat,” “Tiger Jimmy”, and Ron - from the roof of Tiger Jimmy's house. Pink Floyd's Pulse album was an appropriate musical backdrop for the fantastic fireworks, preceded by grilled flora and fauna on the back deck, laced with laughter and BS.
The next day we spotted a couple of GS's camped further up on the pass and stopped to chat. One rider was from Connecticut on a 1200GSA, and they had been riding the Colorado Backcountry Discovery Route when his friend dropped his bike and smashed a side case. He was in the process of beating it back into shape when we said goodbye and continued up the mountain a bit further. We made our campsite on Buffalo Pass at about 9000' and managed to just beat a big, windy rainstorm getting the tent set up and staked out.
The site offered a great view of the valley below, as well as sunsets that were so unreal the photos look fake. Evenings were cool and we slept like babes.
It was a day or two later, as we rode down for town, that Kim had her "up close and personal" moose event. We were riding down the forest service road about 30 mph, Kim in front a few yards ahead when suddenly a huge, dark brown blur exploded from the roadside brush to her left, about 10 feet or so ahead and running full speed. The big blur was a moose, who came out at a slight angle but almost parallel with her bike and passed right in front of her fender, galloping very fast down the road ahead before disappearing around the next switchback. We were both stunned at the size and sight, and I finally got the words out to “stop!”
Kim was shaking from the suddenness, proximity and close call. After a minute or two I proceeded down a ways, peering around the corners to see if the moose had gone on, or was now pissed and waiting in the middle of the road. Moose are known to be foul tempered and territorial, sometimes challenging cars on the roadways. Kim followed me down, about 75 yards behind, until we cleared the area and then had a laugh about it. It was a very cool experience to see such a big moose so close, running just a few feet ahead.
This was the second "moose event" of our trip, the first coming at our campsite 25 miles north of Pagosa Springs, again at 9000' in an aspen grove. We'd arrived late in the day and had begun setting up camp when I saw a moose watching us from the trees about 100 yards away. I called Kim over to see him and then he began trotting downwards toward our area. As he got to within about 50', he stopped dead in his tracks, then turned directly toward us. At that point he began to walk quickly straight at us and I told Kim to get ready to run for cover. Instinctively she yelled and clapped her hands, startling the guy, who stopped then moved behind bushes next to him. We were concerned and watched the bushes uneasily for a long time. I had just hung a bear bag near where he was, and needed to add some food to it but we never saw him leave the brush so I waited until well after dark to head back over. We spent the evening looking over our shoulders.
At our earlier campsite north of Pagosa Springs...
But back to Steamboat... the "Yampa Valley Curse", the original by an Indian chief now sanitized a bit for tourists, states that once you come to the valley you will never leave. It seemed to be working as we stayed longer than expected, continuing to bump into folks I'd known and finding things to do and roads to explore.
My GSA had come with TKC 70's on it from the previous owner and I'd done my best to wear them out quickly so I could get some Heidenau's laced on. Rob offered to let me ship some in and put them on with his tire changer, but I found some in stock at Grand Junction BMW and they were able to squeeze us in for a service and set of tires in a couple of days.
Rob's wife Carol is a fantastic artist and they invited us to attend the sunset happy hour on the ski mountain our last night in the Boat. Carol paints alongside the live music stage, inspired by the music and atmosphere. It was a great night and we caught a beautiful sunset before the evening ride down on the gondola.
The next morning after packing up our camp and heading off the mountain for Grand Junction, I spotted a moose and calf in the trees along the roadway down. We stopped and found some gaps in the trees where Kim grabbed a few shots.
Stupid autofocus grrrrrrr!!!
From Steamboat we rode west for Craig, Maybell and Highway 57 south towards Meeker. Rob had suggested 57 and it turned out to be a really nice ride south. By the time we hit the Meeker vicinity we were starving and for some reason a bowl of chili sounded great. We found the Meeker Cafe on the old square and chili wasn't on the menu, but the homemade meatball soup was a great substitute. In fact, it was so good we ordered again. Our waitress was from Guadalajara and excited to hear that we were planning to ride Mexico. After talking with her a while we geared up in the fading light.
Yum!
Scenes from a cafe...
The road south was bathed in the setting sun, and fiery pink clouds above the cliffs were a perfect ending to the day as we found a motel in Grand Junction for the evening.
The Iron Butterfly and I had to camp in a really, really, really "interesting" RV park that was part meth lab, part drifter, part retiree and full/part-time/other residents.
We ran up to the local gas station for a bit and missed all the excitement, but here's how the story unfolded according to our camp neighbor who witnessed the whole thing:
A man, let's call him "Bubba A", was walking along the dirt road in the RV park when another man, "Bubba B", left his camper got in his pickup and peeled out throwing dust and gravel everywhere, then raced through the RV park, narrowly missing Bubba A and showering him with dust.
Bubba A shouted at Bubba B to “slow down” along with a curse word. Bubba B, upon hearing this, spun his truck around and raced back to his trailer, coming back out with a pistol and jumping back into his truck.
Bubba B then raced down to Bubba A's location, only to find Bubba A coming out of his trailer with a baseball bat.
Bubba B jumped from the truck with a cocked pistol to confront Bubba A in the roadway. (Editor's Note: Never bring a bat to a gunfight)
"Bubba C", apparently Bubba A's father, bursts through the door from Bubba A's trailer carrying an AK-47, yelling at Bubba B to “Get the "f*ck outta here! You ain't gonna shoot my son!"
Bubba B backs up, gets in his truck and goes back to his trailer.
Bubba A and Bubba C go back in their trailer.
Normalcy returns to the RV park.
Life just don't get no better than this Jethro!
After our uplifting experiences in the trailer park, Kim remembered she had a free night at a condo in Keystone, so we blew the wheels off heading east for a night of relaxing, showers and a chance to get some wifi. The next day in Keystone was a much needed break and we got caught up on email, paying bills online and such.
About the only excitement was when we stopped in Silverthorne at a sporting goods store to find The Butterfly a new insulated water bottle. As we pulled into the lot I saw a guy laying on his side on a motorcycle with the engine screaming. I pulled up and managed to do a ballerina type move to get off my bike with the giant duffel bag on the back without falling myself. The guy had a brand new Ducati 939 in pearl white and had fallen over in the lot, breaking off the foot brake lever, smashing his LED handguards, crunching the exhaust pipe and knocking off the rear blinker. I was busy trying to help with the bike but Kim noticed his balance seem to be a bit off. He was in an adrenaline rush and upset that he dropped his brand new Ducati, and though he was nicely clean cut and quite the “style man” I noticed when he came into the store after us he did seem a bit... what would you call it... "stoned"? I hate to imagine what the cost will be for the relatively small amount of damage to the Ducati.
From Keystone we headed north for Rocky Mountain National Park, my heart secretly dreading the tourist vehicle train that lay ahead, but it had been 9 years since I'd been through and The Iron Butterfly needed to see it. Kim's new front tire hadn’t solved the low pressure warning light, as it again occurred and we'd come to the conclusion it is the tire pressure sensor. In order to cancel the warning light, we have to run the pressure higher than normal...
After a brief stop in Granby for a power bar lunch, we entered the park and immediately stopped at a traffic jam. Just off the road was a large bull moose ignoring the crowd and chewing on some willows. We watched as he wandered off, then we continued on, stopping at a couple of campgrounds but as expected they were full.
The ride over the mountains was stunning as the skies were clear and we managed to find ourselves in traffic gaps, having clear road ahead and behind. Of course those moments were brief, as the park was slammed with tourists and stupid drivers. Instagram viewers take note - at a couple of the overlooks, a couple of suv’s unloaded the driver and passengers, who dutifully suited up in all their hiking gear, backpacks, caps and such, just to walk the 50 yards on the sidewalk to the overlook and take selfies in their gear with the mountain backdrops behind them… By the time we made Estes Park we were tired, hot and ready for a break. We found an EconoLodge with one room left and paid through the nose for it. Again, to be expected at a National Park.
The next morning we had conversations with a couple Harley riders who were surprised to hear of our long term trip and wanted the blog address. Our goal was to ride through the park back over to Granby, then make the Snowy Range in Wyoming later that day, however we stopped at the top of the park and spent some time just watching the sky and enjoying the wind and sun.
A curious marmot decided to hang with us for a while, trying on my jacket but deciding it smelled too bad.
Yep... the dread tourist train.
The afternoon slipped by as we made our way down the park, getting stuck in the parade of cars on the roadway until we passed beautiful Grand Lake and then stopped for gas in Granby.
From Granby, Highway 125 north for Walden was quiet, smooth and free of traffic, a beautiful and welcome relief. As we crested the Continental Divide and rolled into the valley south of Walden, we could see the smoke of forest fires ahead covering the road.
Luckily the smoke was north of Walden and the day had gotten late, too late to try to find a camping spot. All the rooms in town were booked, but we found an old motel that the new owners were willing to help, renting us a bedroom in their own old house. The 6' ceiling didn't agree with me well, but it was a bed and not too expensive. The evening was spent enjoying homemade cobbler at the Antlers Hotel and a walk through the sleepy town at dusk.
The morning light brought the heat of the sun as we loaded the bikes to finally break out of Colorado. Years ago when I lived in Steamboat I managed to connect with a great couple, Sherry and her boyfriend Gary, who lived in Walden, Colorado. They'd invited me to ride to Sturgis with them as they did each year. I figured it would be worth the trip at least once, and to say I went to the world’s largest Harley rally on my BMW GS. Hey, someone has to be a rebel.
Long story short, Gary had been a sheriff for many years and then headed the marijuana eradication program for Colorado. He was now sheriff in Walden and we swung by to see him before leaving for the Wyoming border. Unfortunately he was out dealing with the forest fires northwest of the area.
From Walden we rolled north through the rolling hills and green valley, hanging a left onto Hwy 125 at the fork, for Riverside & Encampment, a right heading for Laramie. Selfies and goofies at the Wyoming border sign were appropriate, which surprisingly sported only a single bullet hole. It must have only been up a day or two...
[IMG]https://photos.smugmug.com/Galleries/The-Trip-July/i-9GSWsw7/0/L/P1770823-L.jpg[/IMG]
There was a stop in Riverside to hit the Bear Trap Cafe, peer into the the now closed and for sale Mangy Moose Bar and a walk across the street to the tiny grocery in search of interesting bumper stickers. None were to be had, but the young dude behind the counter with long blond hair and a beanie offered me a few post cards and good luck on our trip.
We have been blessed with perfect weather and no rain since leaving southwest Colorado, much appreciated each day and especially over Rocky Mountain National Park for the views from the top. It was interesting to see the difference in the sky as we passed deeper into Wyoming, something I always notice when I'm in the state. There are always different types of clouds at different altitudes, creating a fascinating menagerie of white against the deep blue.
At Hwy 130, we made the right turn for the Snowy Range to search for a campsite, stopping in at the Ranger Station. The volunteer hosts were retired Coloradians, who now lived in Texas but spent their summers in the Snowy Range. Turns out the husband had been a benchrest shooter and president of the Benchrest Shooters Association, so we talked guns for a while and got some info on where to camp, as well as the moose and bear status.
A couple of miles up the road we stopped in Ryan Park, an old WWII prisoner of war camp, and had two awesomely delicious cheeseburgers. The owner and his wife asked what we were doing and offered to let us have some things shipped to their address if needed. Kim had asked about it earlier, as we've needed a couple of things for the bikes but haven't been in one place long enough to have something shipped.
As we sat after the burger, a family came in, asking about our bikes and the father discussing rides in Canada. As we finished talking, another group of people came in after pulling up on 4 wheelers. They sat near us and asked about the bikes as well, wanting to hear about our trip. When we left, everyone in the little cafe wished us well and safe journeys, which was a nice moment.
We rode into the national forest looking for dispersed camping, eventually finding a good spot on a babbling brook. After getting set up and unloaded, the sound of the water lulled us like a gentle massage, dozing in our Helinox backpacking chairs - aside from the bikes probably the best piece of kit we brought.
As darkness came, so did threatening skies and a bit of wind, but only sprinkles tapped the tent that night. Only readjustment of clothing layers as the temperature plummeted in the deep night interrupted the sleep.
The next morning we spotted a better place for the tent, as I had noticed a very tall beetle kill pine tilting our direction just as we went to sleep the night before. We managed to drag the assembled tent across the field, then as I bent to hammer in a stake at an odd angle my back went into spasm. I could barely breathe, let alone move and felt like a fool watching Kim assemble the camp mostly by herself. I did manage to get my bike moved to the new spot, but getting my leg over and then getting back off was quite the painful effort. The skies were overcast and threatening, and I didn't want to ride around looking at scenery in the gray anyway, but my back sprain ended any chance of that.
The day was spent much in chairs and a hammock, both of us literally lulled into senselessness by the sound of the water. The Butterfly is not one to sit around, and as she said, it must have been something about the sound that was like a drug. Twice when camping, it has been as if our bodies found something they desperately needed and we've been able to do nothing but sit an entire day.
About all that was accomplished during the day was building a temporary tripod to hold the MSR water filter bag, as well as having to add a bunch of new guy lines to the tent after a hard wind slammed it around, bending a pole in the process. We've been flying a big tent on this trip, a decision I made after spending years crawling around in backpacking tents with wet, smelly gear laying next to me. Knowing we would be camping 90% of the time, I wanted to be able to have room to stand and get dressed, as well as have room for gear inside. I'd planned on getting the Redverz Atacama, however REI had a great sale on the Kingdom 4 and Garage combo at about half the cost of the Atacama. Repacking the Kingdom reduced the carry size substantially and a dedicated duffel on the rear seat holds the tent and related, as well as a couple of Eno Hammocks and spare stuff. So far it’s been great, making camping in one spot much more comfortable for extended periods. Whether the tent will survive in the long term with winds we will inevitably experience is a question, but if not there's always a smaller tent option.
MSR Gravity Filter worked well
Speaking of camping, most of our gear has been working well. Water on the road and when camping is a huge concern, and my solution has been to use an MSR Gravity filter that holds about 5 liters when full, along with Platypus pouches that collapse when empty, and two collapsible Platypus bags that hold about a gallon of water each at the site. We also use two nalgene bottles that the MSR filter adapts to for filling. This has reduced or eliminated having to buy and carry large water bottles on the bike for camping. So far so good.
As previously mentioned, the two Helinox Sunset chairs were worth every penny and more. The higher backed Sunset version fits my 6'4" 250+ body very well and we can lounge in them for hours comfortably. They fold into small bags which easily fit in a very small duffel on Kim's back seat.
Helinox Sunset High-Backed packable chairs under the REI Garage attachment
This is the first trip to use the Sea to Summit collapsible pots made of silicon with a metal bottom and they work really well, folding flat for packing which is awesome. We are mainly using the kettle and two folding cups, but also have a second pot for cooking up our own stuff.
Kim has done a great job of handling the food for the trip - improving substantially on my previous solo trips menu of tortillas, jerky, Power Bars and instant oatmeal. In the few times we've stayed in a place with a kitchen, she cooks substantial foods and freezes them in Ziplocks, which double as ice in the soft cooler. We can get a couple or three days of eating well before having to default to backpacking pouches or dry foods to cook with water. Supplementing is with Kind Bars, Power Bars, nuts and dehydrated fruits.
Sleeping while camping is a huge issue for me, and after buying and trying so many different pads over the years I finally just bit the bullet and went with the large Exped Synmat - 4" thick, 30" wide and plenty long. It has a stuff sack that doubles as an inflator and works well. Packed size is reasonable.
Kim snagged a Klymit pad I'd bought and loved it. It packs smaller than any pad of its size and I decided to buy a second one as a backup in case of failure. Two Klymit pads rolled together are still smaller than my Exped and that offers her comfy sleep, as well as having a spare pad in case one gets ripped or fails while on the road.
Sleeping bags are Marmot Maverick 40º bags - chosen for their pack size and supplemented with liner bags to make them a bit warmer if needed. So far we've been good in mid to high 30's in the tent with them and can layer up if needed.
All our gear, tools, accessories, clothing, camping stuff and food fit well, though snugly, in our cases, with just tents, chairs and hammocks needing to be in rear seat duffle bags. It makes travel much simpler and I prefer to not have bags strapped all over the bikes. We've passed some adventure bikes on the road that have so many bags strapped on them I can't imagine trying to ride with the bulk and weight. One pain I wish I could remove would be the need for electronics and cameras - especially the need for constant battery juicing. Between my Mac, cameras, GoPro, cell phones, Cardo headsets and a Samsung tablet as backup GPS, the necessary cables and chargers are a pain. I've simplified as much as possible with a couple of 4 port USB chargers but it's laughable to see all the devices plugged in at once. I've layered my charging as much as possible, some done while on the bike with USB and some with 110 wall plugs.
When we eventually hit Mexico and South America, the plan has been to leave the camping gear behind and go strictly hostel/hotel. Being able to reduce the load would be great, however Kim and I have been discussing whether we should take camping gear for emergencies. We'll figure that out later...
The weather had been threatening rain since we set up camp for the last couple of days, but this morning it was clear with sun and blue skies, a perfect day to head on HWY 130 to Centennial and the chance to see the Snowy Range, a stunning mountain range of white granite with sheer peaks and mirror lakes at the base. I think of it as a "pocket size set of Grand Tetons".
The road wound past Ryan Park and higher, lined with forests littered with beetle kill pines with occasional glimpses of distant valleys and ranges to the south in Colorado. There was very little traffic or bikes, with only the occasional Harley coming our direction. Around a bend we saw three women dressed in Harley gear doing a self timer shot, so Kim sped up to se if she could photo bomb on her bike. She hit the horn as we rode past, the three women spinning around to see us go by. I waved as we passed and continued on. Always nice to see women traveling on bikes - especially alone or in a group like that.
A few curves farther up the road exposed the stunning sight ahead - sheer white mountains with snow patches at the base, The Butterfly's exclamations mirroring my own in the headsets.
We turned in at the top, riding around the small lake at the base of the mountain range and stopping to take in the beauty, as well as grab a selfie or two.
My back had continued to squawk, and in the process of favoring one side I somehow managed to strain a different set of muscles in my left side, so we didn't hike any but planned to return the next day. Motoring on, we reached the little town of Centennial at the eastern base of the range, our destination for the day, to get gas and some lunch since our two-boiled-egg breakfast had worn off with a vengeance.
Outside the gas station, a couple seated on a bench asked where we were from, and we talked a while about Wyoming, our trip and moose encounters. The Medicine Bow forest is saturated with moose and most folks here speak about them frequently to us, as a warning since we are on bikes.
Before we could pull away, another guy came over to talk bikes and share his stories of riding a Triumph around the western U.S. in the 70's, followed by an R-75 BMW which he said was a real pleasure after the Triumph and it's continuous breakdowns. He had also ridden a Royal Enfield around India and wished us well before heading back to the BBQ stand.
After lunch, we decided to check out another campground or two on the way, but changed our minds and decided to ride forest service roads around the north side of the mountain range rather than take 130 back. With The Iron Butterfly in the lead we set off on the dusty roads, well maintained for the most part and slowly climbed to over 10,000 feet before reaching Sand Lake and taking a break, resting on some large rocks overlooking the small reservoir. It didn't take long for the heat of the sun and swarms of mosquitos to get us back on the bikes for cooling air movement.
The roads were lined with thick forest and a lush green carpeted floor, and despite our best efforts to ride with swiveling heads we saw no wild game in the 2-3 hour ride. As the day drew on, the heat and dust in our heavy gear began to take its toll. Fatigue set in a bit and at one point an unmarked T in the road just over a rise caught us unaware, Kim barely getting stopped before going off the road and down into pines. After that we both were wide awake and she was quite happy to have made the sudden stop in heavy gravel.
By the time we got in the vicinity of camp, the shadows were deep on the road and rounding a turn there were two large black bulls on the roadway. We stopped to wait for them but they had little interest in moving. Kim honked her horn a bit, which startled them and one turned to face us. I revved the engine and rolled towards him slightly, which got them both moving forward and trotting ahead of us, but the one bull continued to spin around and face us. I felt a bit uneasy as he seemed perturbed at our presence. Eventually they trotted a ways down to a trail that paralleled the road, about 3 feet off the side. Since they seemed to be fine I motored ahead slowly as far to the other side of the road as possible to pass them. The one bull did not like my presence and whipped around into the road facing me at a 45 degree angle and about 6 feet away, at which point I hit the throttle and shot past him. Kim was not happy at the display and was now stuck behind the bull who stood in the road facing her while I cheered her on from a safe distance ahead. After what seemed like an hour in cow years, he finally turned and followed his buddy further down the road, before climbing off into the bushes. Kim raced past and caught up with me, discussing the event and her general unhappiness at being left behind.
We finally made camp and peeled out our hot, dust filled and heavy gear, dousing ourselves in the ice cold stream water to get some dust off.
With the fire finally going and a hot backpacker meal of peppered beef with rice, the long day set in and we both nodded off.
The previous day’s clear skies meant the night was very cold, testing the limit of my sleeping bag rating as well as my bladder. Through an unzipped section of tent I could see sunlight hitting the treetops and despite the cold air, I emerged for a chance to get in the warm sun. The Butterfly still slept, cocooned in the maroon of her Marmot bag and several layers of clothing.
I spent a little time writing the blog, until the sun heated the tent causing the Butterfly to emerge and begin the process of stretching and discussing breakfast. A moment or few later, the sound of bellowing cattle came in the distance, followed by the sight of black cattle running abreast down the road in our direction. The noise and the spectacle increased as we watched hundreds of cattle stream down the road, some pausing to stare at us before joining the herd again and the clouds of dust.
After a while I spotted the reason they were running, a lone cowboy riding through the trees above glimpsed briefly, but the sound of a cracking whip snapping through the morning air ringing clearly. It was indeed a cattle drive and not just a well organized group of cows heading for Disney World.
A while later we heard the whistles and cries of more cowboys as they came up the road, driving the herd before them. It was fascinating to see a cattle drive, especially so close to the tent and the spectacle was fun to watch. Rowdy cows and calves turned from the herd and reversed back our direction in ones and twos, followed by galloping cowboys yelling and shouting. Intermittently for the next hour, we'd have a running cow and cowboy heading back towards our tent, finally turning to some degree or other. It made breakfast quite interesting.
The beautiful blue skies began to turn grey again and though we had planned to hike in the Snowies a bit, the threatening skies made the prospect less interesting. Instead we decided to ride to Saratoga to find wifi and update the blog. Exiting the forest road onto 130, two KTM 1190's loaded with gear arrived and turned onto the forest road with a wave.
It began raining as we got going east, with winds increasing substantially before hitting the quaint little town of Saratoga. The hot springs called our names as we rode past, saying sweetly "you guys stink and need a serious bath!" True indeed, as camping doesn't often offer the luxury of showers. Seven weeks of camping, a few showers and 32,000 Wet Wipes later, any form of running water seems like heaven.
We grabbed coffee and a sandwich as payment for our wifi usage and tried to get some things posted before the day slipped away. In the lengthening shadows we walked the small town, watching deer wander through the neighborhoods nearby while we looked for light and interesting places.
By the time we headed out from town for campsite, the sun was about gone and we rode the last few miles of forest road very slowly in the dark, hoping to avoid deer and especially moose. At the last turn a huge black cow, a straggler from the earlier roundup, came running down the road straight at us and turned into the brush. A mile or two later we were in camp, hit the tent and fell asleep quickly to the sound of the water rolling over the rocks nearby.
From the Snowy Range our destination was Lander, where "Road Damage Rob" from Steamboat had said there was a great free camping area in the city park. I'd been through Lander a couple of times previously but it was only a fuel stop each time.
Heading north through Saratoga we left the lusher green valley near the Wyoming border, hitting I-80 at Walcott then headed west for Rawlins. Zipping along the interstate, I spotted a blue Yamaha dual sport with a rider dressed in black paralleling the freeway about 100 yards to my right across the fence in a field. He had soft bags on the bike and a spare tire, so I assumed he was on some form of the Backcountry Discovery Route. He was going slowly as we rocketed past at 75. Kim had not seen him so I described what I'd seen.
The exit for Rawlins and the road north came up soon after, where we stopped for ice and gasoline. While we waited, the blue Yamaha rolled in for gas. I introduced myself and Dustin said he was heading for Montana. I asked if he was on a BDR route and he said no, but was simply was trying to avoid the freeway since he was running a Yamaha 250 with gear, however his GPS showed an old road in the field which wasn't actually there. It finally ended and he had to backtrack to the freeway anyway.
Dustin from Lubbock
I told him about the city park camping in Lander before we headed on over the rolling terrain, drier and a bit more desolate but with massive vistas all around. Kim spotted a herd of wild horses amongst the hills while we rolled on in the ever increasing heat. At the Three Forks / Muddy Gap intersection, we again stopped for a water guzzle and after a bit watched Dustin on his Yamaha 250 make the turn towards Lander.
We eventually passed Dustin again and by the time we reached Lander it had gotten seriously hot - 102º per the signs in town. Along the main drag, I was surprised to see six or seven WWII era Harleys parked in a row in front of a restaurant. Kim thought they were "very cool". I wanted to stop and check them out but it was so hot we kept going to grab some groceries before heading off to find the park.
When we stopped at the park, Kim realized she'd dropped her BMW gloves somewhere along the neighborhood streets, so we retraced the route but they were nowhere to be found. We turned around and rode slowly back to the park again, but never saw them again, assuming someone had picked them up.
The park turned out just as Rob had described - thick green grass, tall shade trees and plenty of room for tents. We got set up and relaxed for a while in spite of Kim's grumbling over the lost gloves. At the other end of the park I saw Dustin setting up his tent and he eventually wandered over. We sat and talked til well after dark. He was on his way to Glacier National Park where he was to start his Continental Divide Ride south. He'd left Lubbock 4 days previous and was anxious to get to the Montana border. We wished him well and he headed off for sleep and an early departure.
Lander City Park - a great free camp spot
The next morning I was up early and surveyed the place. Many campers - hikers, cyclists and others - had arrived late in the night and some were sleeping openly on the ground. As the sun came up people began to stir. Through bleary eyes I watched Dustin pull away about 7 am. We packed up camp with plans to head for Jackson Hole, the Grand Tetons and Yellowstone National Park, having made the decision to brave the tourists hordes since she'd never seen the area before.
It had been a week of camping and we needed showers badly. A call to the local Holiday Lodge next to the McDonald's, brought good news of $5 showers, so we headed for a quick breakfast at Mickey D’s and then walked over to the adjacent motel. There sat the WWII Harleys, several guys working on them, oiling chains and doing maintenance.
The motel had a washing machine also, so we stayed to wash clothes after our long, hot showers. While waiting for the laundry to finish I heard the Harley guys speaking in what I thought was German. That was a real mind twist to see rare WWII American bikes with European riders. Kim had decided to bring her bike over from the McDonald's parking lot, and as she rode past the guys all gave a thumbs up.
After she parked, one of the guys wandered over and introduced himself. "Hugo" was Dutch and told us the story of the group. There were 10 guys who'd all grown up together in Utrecht, each buying an old GI Harley and forming a riding club years ago. They had decided to ship the bikes to Denver, then ride the American West for a cancer charity. They'd left Denver a few days before and made it to Lander, where one of the bikes broke down - an ignition shaft that, of course, was the only part they hadn't brought along. Their mechanic who'd worked on the old bikes for 30 years had never seen this part break and they’d decided to leave a spare at home.
Turns out there was a Harley shop in Lander - Strokers USA - and the owner had opened the shop to them to use whatever tools they needed. They'd overnighted a part from a vintage dealer in New York and it was due in by 10 am, so they hoped to be on the road for Cody the next day.
Hugo, who's name I couldn't pronounce in Dutch, told us about all the Harleys that had been left after the war and how they were dirt cheap for years, but now were in the hands of owners and collectors. He told us goodbye, handing Kim a commemorative shirt and exchanged info with us, then he and a couple other riders left, the sirens on the bikes blaring loudly. Kim and I both laughed out loud. It was a lot of fun.
In case you ever wondered how Dutch riders washed their undies...
It was past time to hit the road, but we needed to find some cheap gloves to replace the ones lost and hit a local hardware store to look. A few blocks down the road I saw an Ace Hardware and popped in to see what they might have for gloves as well. Walking inside the store with my helmet on, in my headset I heard Kim talking to someone about the BMW's and when I returned she was speaking with a guy who had a hockey puck in his hand and was talking about the R1200GSA. Turns out his name was Dave, a long time BMW rider who'd just come to the hardware store to find the right screws to attach the puck to his GSA sidestand. Kim laughed and pulled out her custom hockey puck with cord attached. He laughed out loud and invited us to come to his home later that day, suggesting we ride up Sinks Canyon after swinging by his place. We exchanged info and agreed to meet later, then we headed to the post office to ship a few items back after editing our clothing after the wash.
We had a couple more errands to deal with and Kim decided we should check out the Harley shop for gloves since it was just a couple of blocks away. We pulled in to see all the Dutch guys sitting on the porch with their bikes in the lot. They waved and we went over to join the discussion. They were talking with the owner, Jeff, about where to ride that afternoon to test the repaired bike. Jeff had taken them up Sinks Canyon the day before and they were wanting to kill some time in the afternoon now that the bike was ready.
We went inside to look at gloves and shortly after Jeff came in. Kim found some gloves to use until we could find some better ones. By this time it was well after noon and we needed sustenance. Jeff suggested a cafe downtown and when we pulled up, all the Dutchmen with their Harleys were there. We laughed and waved then found a spot on the patio for some fish and chips and a Mandarin salad. Before we finished, Hugo came over and invited us to ride with the group a few miles down the road to Hudson, where Jeff had suggested an after-work brew.
These guys sure got a lot of attention in downtown Lander
By this time the day was blown and we had enjoyed camping in the park so much we decided to stay another night in Lander. After lunch while loading the bikes, we were debating whether to ride with the Harley guys, only to hear the wail of sirens and looked up to see the Dutchmen group riding past, Hugo giving a big wave to follow them. We laughed and joined the group, stopping briefly at the motorcycle shop before Jeff and friends joined us for the short ride to Hudson.
Headin' to Hudson
The guys all pulled in in front of the bar and backed in, the Butterfly and I taking up last position. The bar was old, funky and cool, and we spent a couple of hours talking to the guys about bikes, politics and life.
An old veteran came in asking to see the soldiers who were riding the bikes, only to be a bit surprised they were from Holland.
Finally it was time to head back, so we said our goodbye's to the group before heading for Dave's place near Sinks Canyon. The bar owner gave us all black Harley doo-rags but Hugo didn't want his picture taken with it on, as he didn't want to look like a "Harley guy".
It was truly a great time running into these guys and getting to hang out with them. They continue the great tradition of Dutch adventurers and explorers, riding these old bikes around the western U.S. and having a ball. You can follow da boys at their Facebook Page.
Watching him trying to kickstart the bike in the heat quelled my enthusiasm to own one
The road to Dave's place out in Sinks Canyon was an easy dirt road ride to the base of the hills, where Dave was standing outside his garage and waving us in. His garage was a great man-cave, replete with several BMW's including a Paris-Dakar, 1200GSA and 800GS. I drooled over the place until he figured I needed something to drink. We sat on his porch with his lovely wife Audrey, a talented photographer, and talked bikes, travels, life and photography. The sun was getting low and we said our goodbyes, Dave telling us to come back by on the way through or if we needed a place to work on the bikes. Dave was just an awesome guy!
Back at the park we ate and watched a guy setting up a 50' long slack line nearby. He'd been camping there and walking a short slack line the two previous days, us watching him in amazement at the ability to stand up from a sitting position and then balance walk the line.
Kim went over to ask him questions and was wrangled into helping him pull the line taught. it was very high due to the length and Kim wanted to try, but he and another slack-liner said it wasn't a good idea to try on that tight of a line for the first time. We watched him try for an hour until he finally walked the entire line and return multiple times. His name was Will, and he set up a lower, shorter line for Kim to learn on. She was up for it and managed to do well, standing free for a few seconds before having to grab my finger for balance. It was fun to watch while Will coached her on.
The Iron Butterfly did well, standing free for a few seconds on the line but also impressed with the extreme difficulty of it
The tools of Will the Slackliner
The tools of Joseph the Slacker…
Sleep came easily after a very full day
The next morning we were awoken by the groundskeeper of the park telling us to leave, since he needed to water after the previous week's rock climbing event had slammed the park with tents from the 3000 or so attendees. We talked a while before we headed out for Sinks Canyon and the switchbacks Dave and others had told us of.
Sinks Canyon came soon, stunning with its high cliffs. We worked up the switchbacks and into the forest, the road turning to dirt and winding up the mountains. It was a beautiful ride, free of cars and peaceful. At one point, we passed a pickup truck parked on the roadside filled high with big logs. As we passed I glanced to my right up the hill, only to see a huge cut log about 24" in diameter and about 3' long tumbling down the hill straight at me, the cutter staring at me. I hit the throttle and the log missed me by about 3 feet. Sheesh what a wake-up call in the middle of nowhere. Man it was close.
We passed several lakes looking for a place to eat lunch, finally spotting a small one covered with lily pads. I was surprised to see all the pads, as it was a first for me to see them up high in elevation.
There was a nice flat rock in the edge of the water that made the perfect lunch spot for our tortillas, chicken and avocado. The wind in the pines made us sleepy, but the hot sun playing hide and seek in the clouds made the temps just a bit too hot to nap.
Yummay!
We geared up and headed for Atlantic City, one of the historic mine towns ahead. After passing through South Pass City we motored the few miles over to Atlantic City and after a few hours in the heat were ready for a break.
The heat sapped any desire to wander around the little town of South Pass City, our bikes idling past the few buildings and back up the road past the mine which appeared to be in operation.
A couple of miles up the road lay Atlantic City, the road snaking through the shimmering heat and smell of sagebrush. Kim rode ahead, enjoying the scenery and openness of the landscape.
The Mercantile was our stop, an old historic bar and store. It was cool and dark inside and after downing gatorade and an orange dream sickle soda we talked with the waitress Connie.
Connie was quite a character and suggested a brownie sundae as a treat. We weren't really hungry but it went down very well. I asked to shoot a pic of her for the blog and she happily agreed, pointing out her boyfriend and her stepson at the table nearby and telling us he was Nez Perce Indian.
Connie our waitress - quite a character
After taking the photo, Connie said she could see a bad storm coming out through a window behind us and said we needed to hit the road quickly. We paid and headed for the bikes, a big black cloud covering the sky. I could see huge clouds of dust on the hillsides to the west being blown by the wind blast coming directly toward us.
Just as we started the bikes the first winds hit, blowing up a dust cloud and showering us with grit. We headed for Hwy 28 as quickly as we could down the dirt road, for some reason an endless parade of cars coming to us and showering us in grit and dust in the winds. When we finally reached the blacktop and gunned it for Lander, 20 something miles away, the storm was looming very close, and to our left we could see lightning flashes and a cloud of rain. It appeared we would be able to outrun the storm and make camp, but as we got to the top of Red Canyon a large semi dump truck was slowing in the downhill just as we entered a construction zone. Unable to get around him we were stuck at the top of the canyon as a road crew flagman waved us to a stop.
Just as our feet touched the ground, a huge wind hit us broadside and it was everything I could do to keep the bike up. Kim was desperately trying to hold her bike up as well and I was able to roll next to her to try and block some of the gale force winds. It didn't help much. I could barely keep the GSA up, but was able to hold onto her side case with my right hand to try and help her. The wind increased so much, the flagman was no longer able stand, his hard hat long gone and the plastic "Slow/Stop" sign he tried to hold onto bending almost in half, whipping so hard he had to drop it. He could barely stay standing and his co-worker who’d struggled out of the truck nearby to try and help him with the stop sign, gave up as it was a lost cause.
Kim and I were in our own struggle, the incessant wind so strong we couldn't even consider trying to get off the bikes. I could hear the fear in her voice over the headset, asking me what to do. I calmed her as best I could and told her to follow my lead. I rolled forward a few inches at a time with the engine off, holding onto her case with my right hand to help keep her bike up and using the clutch to control the forward movement. She mirrored me, until we were able to get beside the lone car ahead of us to add some wind break, however it didn't really help. I was cursing the truck that had made us stop at the top of the canyon as I watched the rain and lightning approaching, really concerned at our predicament. The winds were so intense we couldn't even consider trying to get off the bikes as we’d be blown over.
On the roadside a few yards ahead there was a construction light generator, so I told Kim to continue our forward motion a few inches at a time until we got near, then I got my bike against hers sort of interlocking the bars and told her to slide off between. She did, but was afraid of being trapped between them if I fell over, but she finally was able to squeeze under the bars and get to the right side of her bike. I slid forward enough until her side case slipped off mine and somewhat leaned and locked together with my bike. I told her to keep her body weight against her bike and I was able to lean over and get my kickstand down, the weight of both bikes allowing me to slip off of mine.
My plan was to get her bike to the generator for some wind block and then follow. She used her bodyweight leaned at an angle against my bike to keep it from being blown over while I did the same with hers, rolling the smaller bike down behind the generator. Ultimately I had to tie her bike to use a tie down strap and tie her bike against the generator to keep it upright. We exchanged places and she was able to huddle behind the generator while I leaned against the big GSA, being pushed by the wind blasts. I gave up on trying to get my bike down behind the generator and just stood with it, holding it up and trying to wait out the wind.
We were very fortunate to only get sprinkled with big drops of rain, the lightning and downpours having turned down the valley towards Lander and just missing us.
It was a good thirty minutes or more of the strongest winds I've been in, before I could see some light at the backside of the storm cloud, giving hope that a reprieve was coming. As it slowly subsided a bit, a false lull would tempt me to step away from the bike, only to suddenly be hit again.
Too bad a photo can’t capture an image of the wind!
As the rain moved further down the canyon, the wind finally lessened to the point we decided to try again. The flag man saw us untying her bike and ran down, telling me to wait about another 15 minutes. He said that the storm was still intense about 4 miles down and the workers there had radioed him that it was very dangerous. We got our gear and bikes ready as the wind calmed and finally he waved us a thumbs up and we motored on down into the canyon.
That was a very long 45 minutes, feeling like hours actually, in winds that I've not experienced for such a sustained time. Having had to stop at the very top of the canyon left us in the worst spot unfortunately, but there was nothing to be done but hang in there.
As the blue sky appeared in patches here and there on the way to Lander, the smell of fresh rain and puddles on the road were the only signs of anything having happened, the black cloud to our right slowly disappearing over the horizon.
We stopped at a convenience store to get ice for the cooler and the girl behind the counter told us we'd been lucky to have just come in, as a major storm had blown through shortly before. I told her we were stopped and sitting in it outside of town. She said there had been reports of 86 mph wind gusts in the town and said "It's a good thing you guys weren't caught in Red Canyon, that's about the worst place for winds. Our family lost a travel trailer at the top curve a few years ago when the winds took it off and they were only about 35 mph. My dad owns a wrecker service and I've gotten to see a lot of the things he drags back after these storms."
I didn't bother telling her that we were sitting right in the top curve of Red Canyon, but it made damn good sense why we were having such trouble.
When we arrived back at the city park, our camp neighbors came over to tell us excitedly about the storm we had missed and the 40-50 mph winds and rain that came through the park. The willow tree limbs littering the camp area were testimony. Ron, a hiker from NJ who was camped nearby, said he was amazed our big tent stayed up and was one of the few that didn't get messed up with the winds. I was amazed as well, as the Kingdom tent is massive but stood it’s ground. In fact it was only one of three still standing with many smaller tents flattened. The entire camping area of the park had tents down everywhere.
We finished the evening in our chairs with a hot meal of Chipotle Cheesy Shells, cooked with CoffeeMate powdered creamer and some French Vanilla coffee creamer since we had no milk for the recipe.
The heat of the day's riding, combined with the stress and fatigue of the wind experience brought Mr. Sandman quickly...
As we packed to leave the next morning for Jackson Hole, several campers talked to us about the bikes and our trip, one man named Ron from New Jersey being particularly interested. He'd met a rider in the Snowy Range the week before who'd ridden to Tierra Del Fuego and now having camped by us he was quite interested. The fire had been lit and he was seriously considering an adventure bike.
It felt good to finally be on the bikes and moving in the heat of the day, our goal to make the Jackson Hole area and find a campground before it got too late. Finding any accommodation near Yellowstone is difficult but we planned to get there early enough to set up camp and relax for the next day in the Park.
At a gas stop in Fort Washakie, a big diesel pickup pulled in and the crew of 4 guys hopped out, asking about the GS's. They worked for Columbia, a helicopter company that flew big twin rotor choppers to fight fires. They’d just driven in from Colorado to support and fly out of Dubois to fight a forest fire burning in the area. We talked about having seen a chopper or two scooping water from a source right in Lander and heading for the mountains the day before. It sparked a conversation about the difficulties and politics of scooping water to douse fires. Apparently each load, 2600 gallons for the larger size, had to be logged exactly by the copilot for remuneration, and water sources such as lakes in national forest lands were subject to government environmental regs as well as red tape and bureaucracy delays in approval. When it came to Indian reservations the water could be considered "sacred" and there were other issues as well. All in all, the chopper pilot we were talking too said it was a ridiculous morass of red tape when compared to the imminent destruction looming at times.
We motored on in the coolish breeze, eventually being passed by the crew in the diesel truck as they blew by, honked and waved. As we rolled into Dubois (pronounced "Dew Boys" if you go through in the future) a white plume of smoke could be seen ahead from the fire. The downtown area of the town was closed for "National Cowboy Day" so we detoured around and stopped to drink some water in front of the Jackelope gas stop - a cheesy tourist trap that we simply had to go in.
Dang it was good day - spotted not only a Jackelope but it was being ridden by an Iron Butterfly. Surprised I didn't see a unicorn, leprechaun or a yeti getting coffee and a Twinkie...
Rolling out of town towards the plume of smoke was interesting, especially as we got closer and could tell the road was leading straight to it. The girl behind the register at the Jackelope had told us the road had been closed since the fire had gotten so out of control, but apparently was still open today but warned us it might be closed soon.
The rode led slowly into the canyons, directly towards the tower of smoke. I told Kim it might get interesting depending on how close we got but I was more concerned that the road would be open. A few days before, the highway from Pinedale to Jackson had closed due to a fire and folks had to backtrack through Dubois.
As we neared the area, the cloud grew in size and I was glad to see the heat was carrying the smoke high rather than blowing through the valley. We passed under black clouds, changing to a golden orange as the sunlight beamed through from above. Eventually it was clear we would be riding directly by the fire and as we rolled under the main cloud we could see orange blazes erupting, a lone small helicopter with water scoop appearing like a mosquito against an elephant. As the cloud loomed above, the sense of being insignificant in the world was driven home, immersed in a sense of apocalyptic destruction never felt in either of our lives.
The event was mesmerizing and overwhelming, and we had to pull over to watch it. I told Kim we'd probably never be in anything like this again and to take it in as much as possible. It was truly beautiful, overwhelming and magnificent to observe. The lone chopper made circles overhead, it's dumps of water seeming pointless against the immensity. As we watched a second chopper, a large twin rotor with a scoop much larger appeared in the smoke. Obviously it was the one the crew we'd spoken to were associated with, being much larger.
We watched in morbid fascination, moving ahead a few hundred yards at times, and watching the crews stationed near the road and across the fields near the residences at the base of the mountain. The fire had made its way down near the highway, less than a quarter mile or so away. We watched the choppers dump water on the ground ahead of the blaze, being directed no doubt by the string of firefighters positioned every 75 yards or so in a long line along the front edge of the blaze.
Sudden huge eruptions of flames would shoot into the air as dense areas finally ignited from the heat in almost explosive fashion. It was a sight we could have watched all day...
Finally, it was time to move on as we were unsure if the road ahead would be closed. We both talked about the scenes and feelings for the next hour and even the rest of the day, the majestic mountains ahead clear in the sunshine beyond the pall.
As we began the downhill towards Hatchett and Jackson, Kim was about 50 yards ahead and cruising at 70 or so. As we passed a very large opening of grass, a steep downslope from the woods above, a patch of tan caught my eyes. It was a mule deer running at full speed down the hill to the highway, directly on line to impact Kim like an anti-aircraft missile. She had glanced to her right for a second and I yelled in my headset "DEER! DEER! DEER!" She swung her head to the right, hitting her brakes as hard as possible, the deer hitting the highway about 15 feet in front of her at full run and suddenly panicking, spinning to it's left and running parallel about 15 feet away. It was as if the deer had been shot out of a rocket launcher from the woods and arced to trace her path for interception. I've never seen anything like it as he had a good 100 yards of open slope in front of him and yet he ran at full speed down a steep slope, redirecting his path to hit her. When he reached the highway it was if he suddenly came out of a trance and awoke, bolting away back up the hill. It was a very close call at high speed and shook us both up. What a bizarre moment.
The ride to Moran Junction was uneventful, as though we needed more emotional stimuli for the day. It had gotten late with our fire watching and I knew we were screwed in finding any reasonable form of accommodations or campground. We rode far enough towards Jackson to see the buffalo herds and Grand Tetons before heading back towards Hatchett to check for camping. We were beat, it was hot and the thought of all the tourists in Jackson was just too much.
The small NFS campground was full, but a mile down the road we we got a tent site at a private campground.
As per usual we were both beat from the long day, emotions and heat. About the only good thing about the campground was that it had no need for bear precautions and not having to “bear bag” everything was a relief.
The next morning was cold and frost covered the tent and all our gear when I got out. It was a surprise after the heat but felt great.
The road through Grand Tetons National Park was a spectacular gateway into Yellowstone, the Tetons never failing to impress. A pause by Jackson Lake to reflect on the beauty and let streams of vehicles go by was the only stop before entering Yellowstone.
I'd warned Kim about the crowds and the Park Ranger who welcomed us at the toll booth warned us to be extremely careful with the cars and drivers there. She said in her 15 mile drive from housing to the gate each day, there'd been many close calls and she said she always warns bikers to be extra careful.
These guys took so many selfies from so many angles we finally just gave up on getting a shot of ourselves and rode on...
We hit the main lodge to see Old Faithful, the thousands of tourists sporting dripping ice cream cones and cameras always fodder for people watching. After she blew, we headed up the Grand Loop on the eastern side, stopping very little but enjoying the views as we entered the northeast corner particularly. It is my favorite part of the park, offering grand vistas after the pine tree laden roads in the south.
Yep, still faithful...
Oddly enough we saw almost no wildlife, just an occasional solo buffalo in the distance. My last trip trough had been rife with animals crossing the road, but not to be the case this day. It was not until we neared the northeast entrance that we began to see large distant herds along the river in the valley to our right.
Our goal was Cooke City to try to find a motel and stage for Beartooth Pass and Chief Joseph Highway, but both our cell phones were having issues and I'd not been able to call ahead to find a room. As the day got later I figured we'd have a problem getting a place and that turned out to be true. We hit Silver Gate and Cooke City, only to find that there were no vacancies, but the Super 8 manager called every place for us and found the last room available at the Grizzly Lodge in Silver Gate.
It was right at dark when we finally got in, Kim so exhausted from the heat and long day that she went straight to bed. The manager said we might see some bull buffalo wander through the motel lot as they had been in the town recently.
As I unpacked the bike, a big, burly guy came over and offered me a cold beer. His name was Frank and he had a couple of GSA's, exploring Canada from his home in Montana. We talked bikes for a long time, until he and his friend returned to their packing. He said they were going to camp in the Park to fly fish and always stayed at the Grizzly to get up and into the park at 6 am to find camping spots.
Kim eventually awoke, absolutely starving so we walked to a small cafe adjacent to the motel. Kim went outside to the bathroom area as I perused the menu. She returned quickly, coughing and saying someone must have sprayed a lot of bug spray near the bathrooms and she'd had to leave. She told me one of the wait staff was outside in the back coughing heavily. Just as she told me that I began to cough as well, then I heard coughing in the restaurant and saw our Jamaican waitress running outside and coughing hard, struggling to breathe. We went outside and she told us someone had sprayed bear spray behind the building.
Though it took a while, eventually it settled down and we were able to eat. When we returned to the motel, Bob the manager asked about the meal, and was surprised to hear about the bear spray incident, because apparently it was the second time in just a couple of days. He recounted how one of the waitstaff had gotten drunk and angry one night, popping the top on a can and purposely dousing the other waitstaff as they slept in the housing. He said it was one of the more exciting things to happen recently and now he had yet another tale of bear spray at the same place to spread.
We laughed about it and went back to our room before wandering over to the camp fire pit to watch the stars. Oscar, one of the employees who was off work, sat with a big can of Foster's and slurringly told us snippets of his life as he wasted away. Sleep came easily as we told him goodnight and hit the sack after a long hot day.
After 9 weeks on the road, a bit of fatigue is showing and we find ourselves dragging a bit in the mornings before hitting the pavement. There were several small issues to catch up on after a breakfast of scrambled eggs and cheese made in the room's kitchenette, such as chain maintenance, cleaning some gear and clothes, boiling, sterilizing and cleaning kitchen utensils, and most importantly updating the cases with a few more stickers...
It was probably 11 am before we got on the bikes in the clear, cool air, the sun still not up to full broil yet. We grabbed some gas in Cooke City and then headed for the junction where Chief Joseph Scenic Byway connects to the Beartooth, continuing on to the Pass and eventually Red Lodge, Montana.
The climb to Beartooth was in crystal clear air, Kim a bit nervous since someone we'd spoken to had mentioned the winds at the top, but I assured her they wouldn't be anything like the winds we encountered at Red Canyon. There was little to no traffic as we passed Top of the World, the little store near the pass that is inhabited by the owners all winter and who have to trek down by snowmobile when the snows come. Several white university vans were parked along the roadside, a series of students standing in various places in the high meadow, each with a clipboard. It vaguely reminded me of a Monty Python sketch, but then again most things in life do...
The road was stunning, one of my favorites, and The Iron Butterfly was truly enjoying the views and curves. We stopped at the top to walk out and check the vistas, the sun warm and the winds almost non-existent. A few pics were shot and we motored on til the Montana sign called us aside for a pic or two.
The ride down the northern side is superb with views reminiscent of Switzerland and switchbacks down to the valley. Nearing the bottom the heat began to rise and by the time we rolled into the little town of Red Lodge it was full on Texas hot. We couldn't find shade fast enough and bailed out of our riding jackets to search for a cool drink and either wifi or a cell signal. Silver Gate had no cell service or wifi and after a couple of days without, we needed to feed on the teats of technology.
The heat made doing much in Red Lodge unappealing, not that there is a lot to do in the little town. It seemed as if it had grown and become a bit more “touristy” than my first time through. However almost 10 years had passed since then and I read somewhere that it has become a sort of mini Sturgis, hosting a big Harley rally that has grown significantly.
Must say I’d agree…
Cody, Wyoming was our next destination and I warned Kim to expect more heat there and on the way. We both decided it was better to avoid heat stroke and take our chances riding without jackets until it cooled down some. As we passed the old mine on the way to Belfry, a few riders on V-Stroms and GS's passed coming the opposite direction, heading full speed for the town. Short waves expressed both our feelings of camaraderie and the heat. At Belfry the turn south brought a slight puff of cool air as we passed some trees, but soon we were in the rolling plains, the heat feeling like a blow dryer on high in your face.
A hot highway south for Cody
We passed the entrance to Chief Joseph Byway a few miles before Cody and I was tempted to make the turn and forget the town due to the heat, but we raced on. As we finally pulled in, we checked for shade and Googled “Sierra Trading Post” since they have a clearance store there. Last time I'd been through Cody I'd stopped in and gotten some hellacious discounts on a few outdoor foofoo's and a new Marmot tent. The Butterfly and I needed to replace a couple of items in our cooking rig and grab a shirt or two to replace clothing ruined while camping. While we were there, we spotted a small Italian Ferrino tent at huge discount, that packed small enough to be carried as a second tent on Kim's bike.
We debated whether it would be good to have it for quick roadside overnights and save the big REI Kingdom for the times we planned to stay a few days in an area. In the end we decided to add it since we had room, giving us an option and also a backup if the REI takes a poop in the wind. The small duffle on Kim's bike needed a bit more in it to use as a backrest on long stretches, and she was actually happy the small tent filled the bag. Being gear minimalists, it’s a bit funny to be carrying TWO tents, but it seemed to make sense at the time.
The last time I'd been to Sierra Trading Post there, aside from the 50% off price, the cashier gave me another 30% off and an additional 15% above that. This time they wouldn't do it, but the manager knocked off another 20% since I couldn't access my online coupons.
Most of the day had passed and the sun was getting lower as we rode back to Chief Joseph and made the turn back west for Silver Gate near the entrance to Yellowstone National Park and our little motel room. I was miffed to find the Chief Joseph Byway sign removed for road construction, messing up my selfie plan to point to my name. Life sucks and then you die.
The road was as stunning as ever, despite plenty of road repairs in progress. The cooler air and winds were nice after baking in the valleys and we made a few stops for overlooks.
As they say in northern states… “There are only two seasons here - winter and road-repair.”
As breathtaking as Beartooth Pass is, I think Chief Joseph Byway may be the most beautiful road in America.
A stop at a canyon overlook was shared with several guys from Canada on Harleys, all trying to appear both badass and obnoxious. They succeeded in one and not the other, being only obnoxious, not to mention “lily white” from their likely jobs as accountants or bankers. Swigging beer and looking over the precipice, two eventually climbed down to a very precarious area on the edge of the precipice to take a couple of selfies. We both expected to have a front row seat to their plummeting, shrieking deaths since they were a bit drunk and stumbling along the edge in thick soled biker boots. Thankfully our day wasn't ruined with that scenario and we fired up to head on.
As at many stops, the guys watched somewhat incredulously as Kim rode by on her GS. It's been entertaining watching the swiveling heads peering at a woman on a gear-loaded adventure bike with blonde hair blowing in the wind. If I could make a buck for each look we might could fund our trip...
In our haste to get out of the heat in Cody, we’d forgotten to gas up and Kim's fuel light had popped on just at the entrance to the byway. It continued to nag until we eventually reached the lone gas station on the byway. The pump was locked and I went in to ask about fuel. The young guy inside said he'd sold out of fuel that morning, having had the busiest weekend ever. As he walked me out he saw the bikes and said "Cool! You guys are on GS's and I've got an F800 myself." He wished us a safe trip and apologized for the lack of fuel.
Which allows me to make a point as to why I chose the Adventure model of the BMW R1200GS. As has happened in the past on my previous bike, there’ve been a few times where the only station in a long stretch has been closed or out of gas, and I’ve barely made my destination on fumes. In the western US and similar places such as the Yukon or Alaska, fuel stops are scarce and untrustworthy, and the 9 gallon fuel tank on a GSA gets nearly double the distance of a typical 5 gallon tank. Topping up the big fuel tank has taken a lot of stress out of my exploratory travels, where high winds or a poor running bike can cause bad gas mileage and in new territory you really have no idea where the next fuel can be. In most places, it’s not an issue, but when you venture farther out having extra fuel is quite a relief.
The last few miles of Chief Joseph brought glimpses of Beartooth peak, shrouded in a dark cloud with shafts of light streaming past, appearing like the abode of some dark lord in a fantasy movie.
By the time we reached Cooke City before Silver Gate, we were starving and after filling the bikes with gas, hit the local little grocery store. The tiny store was crammed with several stoned guys - obviously camping in the area - who blocked the tiny aisles like zombies, staring blankly at the refrigerated case in a fog. We were tired and hungry and their ignorance of keeping anyone, not just us, from getting food made me want to knock some heads. Kim saved the day by squeezing through and pushing her way in, grabbing a few things while I muttered and waited, the long day and the heat having made me Mr. Crabs.
The last couple of miles at dusk to Silver Gate seemed like forever, but we finished the day with grilled sausage and some awesome mashed taters whipped up by the Butterfly. We followed it with an evening around the campfire at the lodge.
Life’s good and sometimes you don't die...
Our goal for the day was to get back through Yellowstone and head out the west gate for Dillon, Montana.
We rode back into the park and then did a dirt road loop for fun which backtracked us a few miles. Somehow I forgot making the turn at Tower Junction onto Grand Loop and was highly confused when we rolled into Mammoth Hot Springs. Señor moment...
The local vagrant elk herd wandered aimlessly and carelessly on the grass lawns of the buildings no more than 10 feet away from the throngs of tourists snapping photos. Luckily no humans were injured in the making of the film while we watched the people and elk melee from our late lunch snack location on a picnic bench.
The heat and traffic was taking its toll as we stopped a couple of times to walk around the hot springs and roadside attractions.
We were fading fast and the day had grown late due to our stops and park traffic jams, and by the time we exited into West Yellowstone we were done. After gassing up and hanging out in the gas station for coffee and a snack, our energy levels came back up and we decided to finish the run for Dillon, Montana, roughly 2 hours away.
As we rode north, a big storm to the west moved towards us, racing us to Ennis. At a gas station in Ennis we were able to get cell service, I checked the weather radar and found the storm lay directly on the westward route to Dillon. The winds began to pick up and I knew we'd not make it to Dillon without a major lashing from the storm. Calls to the local motels proved fruitless and we had options for two campsites locally.
As we sat there discussing what to do, very high winds and rain hit, driving Kim inside quickly. The huge winds and rains killed any thought of setting up tents. We hung around the gas station long enough to irritate the clerk, but I finally found a room in the old historic mining town of Virginia City about 15 miles to the west. The hotel manager said the storm had hit Virginia City hard but there were glimpses of clear skies to the west. I told her to hold a room and we'd wait until it got better in Ennis before heading that way.
The winds finally began to slow a bit and shafts of light began appearing through the clouds to the west which gave me some hope we'd be able to get to Virginia City by dark. I called the hotel manager again and she said it was clear and the winds had died down, so I told Kim we'd wait a bit longer before leaving to give the storm time to clear. It was already 9 pm and some serious light was showing to the west signaling the end of the bad weather. As the winds slackened some, we rolled out and headed west. However when we reached the edge of Ennis the winds picked up again and I could tell Kim was nervous.
The light ahead was absolutely stunning, but as we worked our way up in elevation the winds increased, gusting heavily and blowing rain, despite the golden setting sun ahead. I could feel Kim's tension and fear as we got higher, her asking me if it would get worse. I could only say I didn't know, but everything would be fine. I could hear and feel the fear in her voice as the winds gusted harder and harder, our bikes climbing the road ahead towards a summit. There was still blowing rain hitting us, despite the clear skies almost upon us.
The Butterfly is the strongest and bravest woman I know, but she's had two bad encounters with heavy winds on this trip - the first being a microburst in northern New Mexico that pushed her off the road and the second being the gale winds we suffered at the top of Red Canyon outside Lander. Her fears are well founded, weighing half what I do and on a bike about 3 inches taller than it should be for her leg length. Needless to say when she hears we're about to ride in winds it references the two previous moments. I can say that the winds we experienced at Red Canyon had me a bit uneasy as well...
As we approached the crest of the ridge, I had no idea what we'd be hit with. The fear in her voice betrayed the words she said. I began to pray a prayer out loud in my headset for slackening of the winds and for God's peace to overtake any fear. Suddenly in my left periphery I saw a brilliant coloration tempting me to look towards the valley, as did Kim at the same moment. The wind was strong enough that it was difficult to look to the side, but we simultaneously saw a stunning circular rainbow over the valley below - absolutely brilliant and intense in colors, forming almost a complete circle.
It was truly breathtaking and I heard only silence from her as my exclamations seemed to go unheard. It turned out that the scene was so breathtaking Kim had been unable to speak, both at the beauty and at the promise. Ahead I saw a series of trees and pulled off the roadside. There was no wind, hidden under the tall trees at the top, and we watched as the most marvelous light I've ever witnessed played all around us. We were bathed in bright golden light, a brilliant rainbow over the valley below, blue skies above the distant mountains and a swirl of purples, pinks and all combinations in the clouds wrapped around us.
There was nothing to do but try to take it all in and all we could do was to keep saying "Oh my God!" As a professional photographer, I know light and have seen some amazing moments in life. This light was like nothing I've ever seen. It so affected The Butterfly she had no words, only tears, wiping her eyes and saying that she'd never seen anything like it before. It was indeed a God moment in our lives, bathed in light and stunning colors, the promise of the rainbow glowing before us. As we sat and watched, the color of light changed constantly, bathing us in heavy gold, then magentas and pinks and even blues.
By the time the light began to fade, it finally dawned on me to grab my camera. My photos were only of the remains of the moment and I missed the most amazing moments. Even so, the images that came from the camera look false and oversaturated, but they're not.
We had been able to do little but sit and watch something so special, so overwhelming and so deeply felt that words didn't come until the rainbow faded and darkness began to come. I was worried about cresting the top and getting blasted by remaining winds, but we headed over the pass into gentle breezes and a stunning sunset, made more spectacular by the reflections of gold and orange on the winding, wet road ahead.
When we finally reached the old town at dark, the hotel manager asked if we'd seen the incredible light at sunset. I told her we had a front row seat on something never seen before. She said in the 17 years she'd lived there she'd never seen such an amazing sunset.
After dumping our gear in the room, we wandered down to the Bale of Hay Saloon and got some dinner - a Frito Pie and Pasty - the pasty being a beef, onion and potato pie covered in gravy that was popular with the Cornish Miners according to the menu. As we walked back to the hotel, a group of tourists on a ghost tour walked past, their guide telling some of the history of the hainted town.
Room 10 in the hotel was rumored to be replete with ghosts, guests saying they get pushed or tapped while staying in the room. We were in # 17 and nothing weird happened other than my BMW pants crawled around the floor on their own. I suspect they were desperate to find a washing machine or attempting to throw themselves off a cliff to end their suffering.
Early morning is the time I try to get caught up on writing the events of the previous day, and this morning I had a good chair in the quiet lobby. It wasn't long before an older gentleman with his riding gear began loading the lone Goldwing we'd seen in front of the hotel the night before. He asked about our bikes and the conversation started, followed shortly by the desk clerk joining in. I gave up on writing and the conversation turned to the Coeur d' Alene area, where the rider lived and he listed several routes to take. The desk clerk, a lady named Ronie, also had lived in the region and told us to camp at Prichard Tavern near where she'd grown up in Wallace, Idaho.
The older rider wished me well and headed out for Yellowstone. I packed up the laptop and Ronie asked if I'd seen the light at sunset the night before. I shared with her our experience and she said she was amazed at the sunset that night, having never seen anything like it. Kim came down and we asked about breakfast in the town. She suggested we ride a couple miles down the road to a cafe in Nevada City.
We headed out only to find it closed, so we returned to find a spot for some food and a tour of the old town. We walked until the sun got our attention in a bad way and we loaded up for the Anaconda area.
The town is a well preserved living museum full of interesting folks, items buildings and stories and well worth stopping in if you are going through the area.
We'd planned to head to the Bitterroot Valley by way of Dillon and the Big Hole, but we'd made a decision a few days before to change our route on the trip. Alaska had not been in the mix due to leaving later from Texas than planned, but after talking with a few travelers we decided to trim some time here and there and go for it. I figured if we save a day or two here and there we can get a bit further into the largest state before the weather turns us south.
From Virginia City we made Twin Bridges easily, grabbed some groceries then cut across on a heavily graveled dirt road, the heat, dust and smell of sagebrush our only companions on the long, talcum powder trail.
The day passed, with only a break along the river for lunch before rolling on to Anaconda and past, eventually ending up at Georgetown Lake for camping. The camp host warned us that they'd chased out an orphan bear cub earlier in the day right at our campsite and to be sure we got all our bear temptations out of the area.
The night passed bear-free thankfully...
The next morning we headed for Philipsburg and breakfast, exploring a series of old mine buildings in nearby Granite. Kim and I ignored the No Trespassing signs and tentatively wandered through a couple of the structures which looked as if they'd collapse at any moment.
I shot a couple of pics of The Butterfly in one, and as we looked at the ceiling there came the sound of snapping wood... We both stopped and turned to look out a window, when suddenly a large yearling mule deer came bolting through the door of the building at a full run. Kim screamed simultaneously at the surprise, which made the deer begin doing the springbok type bounding as he rocketed right past us. Kim was bounding as well, only backwards into me almost knocking me down.
Just before the mule deer came running through the building
After the shock wore off we both died laughing at the event and we weren't sure which of the three were more surprised. The snapping wood sounds had been the deer breaking branches but it damn sure got our attention in a rickety old building.
We wandered out to spot the deer high up in the ruins of the mine, apparently lost and stuck there having run up the cliffside in fear. He ran back and forth unsure where to go until finally scampering over some rubble.
Once again the heat got us moving for Skalkaho Pass, a beautiful pass road that cuts west across the Bitterroot mountains into Hamilton. The road works up high with stunning views and sheer drops, as well as thick forest on all sides. On the Hamilton slope side we stopped for a respite in the cool air of the waterfall before continuing back down for the town of Hamilton.
Two years previous, I'd met a bounty hunter in Hamilton when passing through for Texas and wanted to swing in and say hello again.
The bounty hunter and his Caddy
Luckily he was in his office and we got the chance to talk a while, the place festooned with images of Eastwood, Wayne, Confederate flags and more interesting collections of things than you can imagine. He showed us his artistic side, a workroom where he covered elk and bison skulls in turquoise. He was proud to tell the story of his recent acceptance into a very exclusive gallery in Jackson Hole, cracking Kim and I up with a feigned hoity-toity Cape Cod accent. In my initial visit to his office there had been loaded handguns and shotguns within arms reach everywhere, but this time there were less.
After shaking hands and saying goodbyes we headed out to find some shade in the late afternoon heat and to try to find a dive in Missoula for the night.
The courthouse lawn offered a bit o' shade
We found a crappy hotel near downtown Missoula, and it was one of those places where the owners should pay the guests to stay there.
The Beemer parked in front of America's Best Vagrant Inn