/s/ Yobo and Goda
Wyoming, Great Divide Basin
Saturday, January 26, 2013
R2R Video is Up!!!!!
It's taken almost a year and a half, but we've finally made it through 40 GB of helmet cam footage to bring you the R2R highlight video below. This brought back some major memories of a monster trip. Make sure you watch in HD. Enjoy!!!
Monday, September 5, 2011
Trip Report Day 18: Las Vegas, NV to Burbank, CA
Date: Sunday, September 5, 2010
Start: 1130 (1000 wake-up)
Start: 1130 (1000 wake-up)
Finish: 1900
Travel Time: 7.5 hrs
Distance: 276 miles
Total Distance Covered: 5215 miles
The last day was upon us. We woke, some of us foggier than others, and made our way through the typical morning motions of clean up, pack up, eat up, maintenance checks, followed by fuel up, followed by Cowboy up for your last day on the road, all the while Goda and Timmy had the unenviable task of recounting what actually happened only a few short hours ago.
This was a surreal sort of morning. We left only 18 days ago, but it might as well have been a year ago. It felt like our lives had become redefined by these morning rituals, and these hours spent on our bikes with the hum of the road, or the crunching dirt and rock sound of the trail beneath us. Our sole focus: making our miles for the day in one piece. Some nights were in tents with the cool rocky mountain breezes, or the tapping of rain on our fly. Others were in road-side motels with air conditioning and rerun sitcoms playing on TVs as we drifted off. Each day was its own mission, its own purpose, and that purpose was simple, yet entirely involving. We moved without thinking, and often without words, it was routine at this point.
That started to change when we fueled up. The last stretch of road was mere moments away from us and we were a mix of excited, and regretful. On one hand, we were 276 miles from completing the largest undertaking of our lives, on the other, we'd be back to reality, back to jobs and bills and responsibilities... back to stresses and problems that pale in comparison to "not riding off a cliff", or "not flipping your bike, breaking a leg, or dying in a fiery crash" Life was about to happen to us again. Not necessarily "Living", but life...
BLEH !!!
Having been through what we had, though, this last paltry 276 miles was meant to be a breeze. It was a trip I’ve made a dozen times, and there was no navigation and no uneven trails or hundred foot drops to deal with. It was a straight shot of highway from here to home. Simple.
This was our first mistake of the day. The road out of Vegas was crowded with the typical Sunday morning traffic. You had your local folks getting to and from, and you had your Angelino’s retreating back to LA, either entirely defeated by the house, or perhaps up a bit and feeling good… Either way, they were leaving with a weekend’s worth of memories, and no desire whatsoever to be on the road for 4 – 6 hours. Overall, they were a lot like us. Save for one small detail. They were obliviously plodding along in the aerodynamic, cabin-cooled comfort of a car, and we were being blown in all directions by inexplicable gale-force winds. Did I mention it was hot as hell again?!
That’s right for the third time this trip we were leaning 30 degrees into crazy strong winds that made high speed navigation a pipe dream. AND for the second time this trip, we were sitting in the middle of the Mojave desert covered from head to toe in moto armor. It was meant to be quick, simple and sweet, but it was turning out to be another adventure. We wouldn’t have it any other way. We exclaimed over our helmet comms and pushed on, head to wind, for the next hour and half.
The winds were whipping things in every direction, trying their damnedest to whip us off of our iron horses. They failed at that, but if you were tracking us on our website, you might think otherwise. About 40 minutes out of town the wind loosened up the top of Goda’s tank bag, and our spot tracker took a dive at about 60 mph on the freeway. It disintegrated into pieces, and with it, our progress online abruptly ended. If you were following our tracking site, you’d see that we made it a few miles out of town and then disappeared from the map completely. Only a last known position would be displayed… No updates showing our inchworm like progress across the map. No more stalker like moments of realizing that we’d gone another 10 miles and were travelling at “x” miles per hour… The whole trip ended in a dot on the side of the 15West… ?! We thought it’d be good to send a quick update to a few loved ones so as not to panic anyone, and we pushed on.
After about 90 minutes, the winds died down and we could ride like normal human beings again. We endured more heat, but for better or worse the next 200 miles or so would be largely uneventful. When we saw the last highway connection coming up we decided to play it safe and stop to fuel up. We had done this 45-50 times in the last 18 days by my calculations, but this was a stop unlike the others. It was the last one of the trip. We ran through the motions of ripping off our gloves, dismounting our tank bags, producing credit cards and pumping gas like a couple of robots. Before getting back on the road, we stopped for a quick snack and Chris looked at me and said, “ This is it dude… a few more miles and were done…” I looked on with not much to say. What could I say. He was right, this was our last stop. In about an hour or so, we’d be right back where we started 18 days and 5,215 miles ago. It was at once an enormous relief, and an equally enormous let down. I was excited to see Britt again, to sleep in my own bed, and shower… regularly… but the colors were starting to dim a bit. The tastes were beginning to dull… we’d been living for these few days in the moment, and that long and wonderful moment was about to die.
We chatted a bit more, finished our snacks, plugged in the tunes and hit the last stretch of road for the last time on the trip. In no time we found ourselves in the infamous LA traffic as we tore down the 210 freeway. It was all ending so fast, we wanted to savor it just a bit more. I popped on the helmet comms and broke through to Goda's headset interrupting his steady Mp3 stream.
“Dude… wanna take a detour?”
“Yeah man, let’s do it.”
We took the exit for the Rose Bowl in Pasadena, and weaved our way through the neighborhoods and to the hills for our last taste of moto-bound scenery. As we wound up and over the Pasadena/La Canada/Flintridge hills, the sun was just starting to hover over the horizon. The air was cooling and a mellow light permeated the sky. We crested to see a gorgeous pre-sun-set view and began our decent into Glendale. We didn’t say much. We just leaned into the turns a little too eagerly, and shot down the straights maybe a little too fast. It was a tiny reprieve from the inevitable, but it was enough.
Two or three turns later, we pulled into the driveway where it all began. The door kicked open and Brit was smiling and ready to greet us with hugs and a cold drink. We laughed and told her about the last day’s adventure. We snapped one last picture, and sent one last tweet that the trip was officially over. In a few minutes we’d be sitting in a restaurant recounting our favorite moments, trying to put it all into perspective. Who knows… Maybe a year from this day we’ll still be doing the same thing.
Roads to Rockies had officially come to an end. Of course we'd always have the memories of the trip, but this seemed to go a little further than that. It seems to me that each of us had left some part of ourselves out there in those miles of road and rock. And so, a part of each of us will always be on that trip.
Here's a final summary of our actual route.
/s/ Yobo
Here's a final summary of our actual route.
/s/ Yobo
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Trip Report: Day 17: Scottsdale, AZ to Vegas
Date: Saturday, September 4, 2010
Start: 1030
Finish: 1800
Travel Time: N/A
Distance: 308 miles
Total Distance: 4939 miles
So we woke up after a quiet evening feeling anxious to hit the road once more. Having hit the border just two days ago we were already in the throes of our extended ride home. We quietly recognized that there were only a two days left in our adventure and began with our ritual of morning preparations, which at this point was already starting to feel a bit nostalgic. Timmy got set up with the rental car, plenty of music and snacks for the ride, and we set off.
It was mid morning and nothing close to the typical early and cool start that we were used to. Temperatures were already fairly warm as we made our way through traffic and out of town. The now second-nature act of organizing our two motos as we navigated to and from our destinations was made more complicated with a third member following in a car. Where we might have split lanes and passed through long lines of traffic, we were anchored to our car-bound follower which made getting out of traffic a slower affair... and slower means hotter.
Whether your in a car, or on a bike, its one thing to be stuck in traffic in the hot Arizona summer. In a car you may or may not have air conditioning, but at least you don't have the sun beating directly on you. On a bike, if your prepared for warm weather moto sports, you have light jackets, and breathable protective gear. This was not the case with us. We were lucky enough to be stuck in trafic wearing head to toe heavy moto armor. We knew we could expect hotter conditions though, and were prepped with several liters of cold water in our hydration packs. We took measured sips of water, whether or not we were thirsty, at regular intervals to help keep cool. Along with that I had a soaking wet chamois around my neck to assist my body's natural liquid cooling process. So far so good, but we were more than ready for the open road and the 70mph breeze that came with it. One of the most memorable experiences of that trip was having to open up the visor on our helmets with 70 mph hot air blowing. If you're interested in a simulation, head to your bathroom, plug the hair dryer in, and stick it in your mouth. Seriously. It wasn't only hot, but tough to breath. Lesson learned...visor stays closed.
The open road did come. Not too long after we hit the road we were out of town and hooking up with our road to vegas. We continued to sip water and keep our neck wraps cool, but it was all for not. The American southwest is largely a dessert. AND it was late august. AND some would argue that the only thing worse than dry air wicking away your precious moisture is 70 mile per hour of dry air coursing across your entire body. The whole thing added up to a miserable experience... Imagine sitting in an oven for about 6 hours and you'll be getting close. To anyone else who's been through it, you have our sympathies, and I hope we have yours. Symapthy or no, we chose to be here, and we knew this would happen, and we did it anyway. It goes to show how stupid we can be for a couple of smart guys.
I remember Mr. Pagoda saying to me before we left for this trip that I would learn something about myself, and possibly even change. I thought that was a bunch of nonsense, but it was true. I had learned, and grown from the experience so far. I like to think I was made better by the whole experience. BUT, the trip had another personal lesson to throw my way. I don't do particularly well with high-heat situations. I have always been one for cooler conditions. I would be perfectly comfortable in high 60 to low 70 degree weather, year round. This 110 degree / 70mph desert oven was about as close to pure torture as I've come. We had been through alot on this trip. We'd seen our share of adversity, changing plans, routes, thrills, spills and danger. This was the first time I wanted to get off the bike and walk away from the whole thing.... I wanted to, but didn't. I kept thinking, "just hold it together and get through the next few hours and you're gonna be in Vegas, and all of its air-conditioned comfort." We stopped for gas, and I guzzled one and a half gatorades, with a bunch of beef jerky, and a grab bag of salty potato chips and I was much better off. The day started to cool off as we made our way futher north. (and by cooling off I mean going from 110 to 100-105 F) Despite the small quantitative value, the felt difference was welcome. My spirits began to rise, and I felt for the first time that day that I might make it out of this thing in one peice. phew.
Mileage signs to the Hoover dam began to show up. My spirits lifted even more. I could finally guage how much longer i'd have to play the role of a human heat sink! Next thing we knew, we found ourselves proceeding through security check points and then onto the damn in a long slow procession of gaping mouthed tourists in cars. We were no different... except for the car part that is. We pulled off to snap a few pics. The Hoover Dam basin was large and impressive, but not nearly as grandiose as the Freeport Copper Mine.
/Goda here/
And that brings us to Las Vegas, NV. Yobo had made the trek several times prior since he lived in such close proximity. I, however, have never been. So imagine the excitement of living on bikes for 2 1/2 weeks and then rolling onto the strip for the first time ever looking like you had just come back from a moon mission. This was a moment that I was anticipating ever since we finalized the route and it didn't disappoint. I think the only thing that would have made it better would have been to roll in at night with all of the lights in their full glory.
We had booked a room at the Hard Rock which was just off the main strip and had tried to rally some troops for one last celebratory party, but most everyone was busy. Key word here is most. Yobo had a hunch that Brit might surprise him. We unpacked our bikes and made our way down the hallway past the waiting line for the pool. I'm not gonna lie, it was pretty dope rolling through there like two grizzled motorcycle veterans. We made our way to the check-in and sure enough...Ms. Brit was there anxiously awaiting her knight in moto armor. I was pretty happy she was able to make the trip. AND apparently, she would have to leave around 0400 in the morning to get back home for another work commitment. I think that means Yobo found someone pretty special. We all exchanged hugs and headed up to the room. Yobo had booked this thing a while back and apparently he must have known the mayor of Vegas, because we scored the dopest hotel room we had ever stayed in. It was only a few floors up with a view of the pool area. We had a huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuge living room, master bedroom, and bar. It was literally straight out of the movie "Hangover." Timmy got us all started with Bacardi and Coke for the pre-grame. We showered up, got Gagafied, and headed down for some grub at the Pink Taco. Seriously, you could probably never leave the Hard Rock and still have the time of your life.
Dinner was a blast and the night followed suit. We all hit up the newly constructed City Center and I managed to take a poor innocent kid hostage on the escalators with my imaginary pistol. We relaxed outside of the Bellagio and enjoyed the classic fountain show and hit up a few more bars for some fancee adult beverages. By about midnight Yobo and Brit were "tired", so they split back to the room. This is where the paths of your two heroes makes an abrupt split, because Timmy and I were just getting our second wind. We wandered around town and enjoyed a few more establishments before heading back to the hotel room. Our return trip, however, was not to lay our tired heads to rest, but rather to finish off the Bacardi we had left up in the room like we were on a mission from God. We were totally the opposite of quiet and Yobo and Brit had a few laughs at our expense. Somehow we headed back down to the streets of sin city and enjoyed a few more drinks. We danced our jibs off until the hotel bars started closing. And this is the point where I get to say "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas." I know it sounds cliche, but guess what...it's sooooo true.
And with that, we wish you a good night. For tomorrow, the trip comes to an end.
/s/ Yobo & Goda
Start: 1030
Finish: 1800
Travel Time: N/A
Distance: 308 miles
Total Distance: 4939 miles
So we woke up after a quiet evening feeling anxious to hit the road once more. Having hit the border just two days ago we were already in the throes of our extended ride home. We quietly recognized that there were only a two days left in our adventure and began with our ritual of morning preparations, which at this point was already starting to feel a bit nostalgic. Timmy got set up with the rental car, plenty of music and snacks for the ride, and we set off.
It was mid morning and nothing close to the typical early and cool start that we were used to. Temperatures were already fairly warm as we made our way through traffic and out of town. The now second-nature act of organizing our two motos as we navigated to and from our destinations was made more complicated with a third member following in a car. Where we might have split lanes and passed through long lines of traffic, we were anchored to our car-bound follower which made getting out of traffic a slower affair... and slower means hotter.
Whether your in a car, or on a bike, its one thing to be stuck in traffic in the hot Arizona summer. In a car you may or may not have air conditioning, but at least you don't have the sun beating directly on you. On a bike, if your prepared for warm weather moto sports, you have light jackets, and breathable protective gear. This was not the case with us. We were lucky enough to be stuck in trafic wearing head to toe heavy moto armor. We knew we could expect hotter conditions though, and were prepped with several liters of cold water in our hydration packs. We took measured sips of water, whether or not we were thirsty, at regular intervals to help keep cool. Along with that I had a soaking wet chamois around my neck to assist my body's natural liquid cooling process. So far so good, but we were more than ready for the open road and the 70mph breeze that came with it. One of the most memorable experiences of that trip was having to open up the visor on our helmets with 70 mph hot air blowing. If you're interested in a simulation, head to your bathroom, plug the hair dryer in, and stick it in your mouth. Seriously. It wasn't only hot, but tough to breath. Lesson learned...visor stays closed.
The open road did come. Not too long after we hit the road we were out of town and hooking up with our road to vegas. We continued to sip water and keep our neck wraps cool, but it was all for not. The American southwest is largely a dessert. AND it was late august. AND some would argue that the only thing worse than dry air wicking away your precious moisture is 70 mile per hour of dry air coursing across your entire body. The whole thing added up to a miserable experience... Imagine sitting in an oven for about 6 hours and you'll be getting close. To anyone else who's been through it, you have our sympathies, and I hope we have yours. Symapthy or no, we chose to be here, and we knew this would happen, and we did it anyway. It goes to show how stupid we can be for a couple of smart guys.
I remember Mr. Pagoda saying to me before we left for this trip that I would learn something about myself, and possibly even change. I thought that was a bunch of nonsense, but it was true. I had learned, and grown from the experience so far. I like to think I was made better by the whole experience. BUT, the trip had another personal lesson to throw my way. I don't do particularly well with high-heat situations. I have always been one for cooler conditions. I would be perfectly comfortable in high 60 to low 70 degree weather, year round. This 110 degree / 70mph desert oven was about as close to pure torture as I've come. We had been through alot on this trip. We'd seen our share of adversity, changing plans, routes, thrills, spills and danger. This was the first time I wanted to get off the bike and walk away from the whole thing.... I wanted to, but didn't. I kept thinking, "just hold it together and get through the next few hours and you're gonna be in Vegas, and all of its air-conditioned comfort." We stopped for gas, and I guzzled one and a half gatorades, with a bunch of beef jerky, and a grab bag of salty potato chips and I was much better off. The day started to cool off as we made our way futher north. (and by cooling off I mean going from 110 to 100-105 F) Despite the small quantitative value, the felt difference was welcome. My spirits began to rise, and I felt for the first time that day that I might make it out of this thing in one peice. phew.
Mileage signs to the Hoover dam began to show up. My spirits lifted even more. I could finally guage how much longer i'd have to play the role of a human heat sink! Next thing we knew, we found ourselves proceeding through security check points and then onto the damn in a long slow procession of gaping mouthed tourists in cars. We were no different... except for the car part that is. We pulled off to snap a few pics. The Hoover Dam basin was large and impressive, but not nearly as grandiose as the Freeport Copper Mine.
/Goda here/
And that brings us to Las Vegas, NV. Yobo had made the trek several times prior since he lived in such close proximity. I, however, have never been. So imagine the excitement of living on bikes for 2 1/2 weeks and then rolling onto the strip for the first time ever looking like you had just come back from a moon mission. This was a moment that I was anticipating ever since we finalized the route and it didn't disappoint. I think the only thing that would have made it better would have been to roll in at night with all of the lights in their full glory.
We had booked a room at the Hard Rock which was just off the main strip and had tried to rally some troops for one last celebratory party, but most everyone was busy. Key word here is most. Yobo had a hunch that Brit might surprise him. We unpacked our bikes and made our way down the hallway past the waiting line for the pool. I'm not gonna lie, it was pretty dope rolling through there like two grizzled motorcycle veterans. We made our way to the check-in and sure enough...Ms. Brit was there anxiously awaiting her knight in moto armor. I was pretty happy she was able to make the trip. AND apparently, she would have to leave around 0400 in the morning to get back home for another work commitment. I think that means Yobo found someone pretty special. We all exchanged hugs and headed up to the room. Yobo had booked this thing a while back and apparently he must have known the mayor of Vegas, because we scored the dopest hotel room we had ever stayed in. It was only a few floors up with a view of the pool area. We had a huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuge living room, master bedroom, and bar. It was literally straight out of the movie "Hangover." Timmy got us all started with Bacardi and Coke for the pre-grame. We showered up, got Gagafied, and headed down for some grub at the Pink Taco. Seriously, you could probably never leave the Hard Rock and still have the time of your life.
Dinner was a blast and the night followed suit. We all hit up the newly constructed City Center and I managed to take a poor innocent kid hostage on the escalators with my imaginary pistol. We relaxed outside of the Bellagio and enjoyed the classic fountain show and hit up a few more bars for some fancee adult beverages. By about midnight Yobo and Brit were "tired", so they split back to the room. This is where the paths of your two heroes makes an abrupt split, because Timmy and I were just getting our second wind. We wandered around town and enjoyed a few more establishments before heading back to the hotel room. Our return trip, however, was not to lay our tired heads to rest, but rather to finish off the Bacardi we had left up in the room like we were on a mission from God. We were totally the opposite of quiet and Yobo and Brit had a few laughs at our expense. Somehow we headed back down to the streets of sin city and enjoyed a few more drinks. We danced our jibs off until the hotel bars started closing. And this is the point where I get to say "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas." I know it sounds cliche, but guess what...it's sooooo true.
And with that, we wish you a good night. For tomorrow, the trip comes to an end.
/s/ Yobo & Goda
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Trip Report: Day 16: Rest Day
Date: Friday, September 3, 2010
Start: 1000 wake-up
Finish: 1800
Travel Time: N/A
Distance: 0 miles
Total Distance: 4631 miles
So if you are continuing the posts from yesterday you're probably anxiously awaiting Timmy was able to make it to work only a few hours after polishing off a good portion of a bottle of Jack. I awoke first at 1000 and actually wasn't feeling that bad. I walked out of the room that was the location for last night's scene of the crime and ventured into Timmy's room to see if he made it up. Not even close. He was face down in the mattress and dead to the world. I giggled a little and shut the door. Yobo started tossing on the couch.
We both recounted last night's events and got a kick of how everything got raised a few notches. Yobo had made it through the entire spectacle without belting out one single note. We both woke up Timmy hoping that maybe he had already called in sick. Unfortunately that wasn't the case, and he let the office know he wouldn't be in.
Yobo and I now had a few missions for our "Rest Day."
The food gave us all a little extra energy and we decided to head down to the pool. Yobo and I were both still not sure how to handle this whole situation. We didn't have to pack a bike to go anywhere, we weren't in a constant state of fear thinking we forgot something, we knew exactly where we were going and how we were going to get there, and we were in bathing suits and not our storm trooper power ranger suits. Huh. A few more of these kind of days spread throughout the trip would have done us some good. We all sat by the pool and caught up on life. Timmy has a sense of humor like no one else we know, and it was just like being in our high school cafeteria at lunch. Yobo showed off his water treading prowess, our man is like a fish in water. Me on the other hand might be just the opposite and felt no more effective in the water than a bookshelf full of cinder blocks.
After a bit we headed back up to the apartment and enjoyed "Old School," one of the great cinema classics from our generation. After our unexpected bender last night and planned debauchery in Vegas tomorrow night, we decided to head down to old town in Scottsdale and enjoy a relaxing dinner at one of the local steak houses. The one thing that Yobo and I will say about Scottsdale is that...well...if you're a bachelor, there might not be a better place to be. This was our second time visiting in just over a few months and the scenery was second to none both times. Hind sight is always 20-20, but if I had to pick another school for a higher learning experience, ASU would be at the top of my list.
We made it home unscathed and talked about Vegas. Our quick radiator repair attempt didn't appear to be working and Tim didn't have a ride to Vegas. Our fix was to rent a car and ride up. With our plans figured out, we rested up and hit sack.
/s/ Goda
Start: 1000 wake-up
Finish: 1800
Travel Time: N/A
Distance: 0 miles
Total Distance: 4631 miles
So if you are continuing the posts from yesterday you're probably anxiously awaiting Timmy was able to make it to work only a few hours after polishing off a good portion of a bottle of Jack. I awoke first at 1000 and actually wasn't feeling that bad. I walked out of the room that was the location for last night's scene of the crime and ventured into Timmy's room to see if he made it up. Not even close. He was face down in the mattress and dead to the world. I giggled a little and shut the door. Yobo started tossing on the couch.
We both recounted last night's events and got a kick of how everything got raised a few notches. Yobo had made it through the entire spectacle without belting out one single note. We both woke up Timmy hoping that maybe he had already called in sick. Unfortunately that wasn't the case, and he let the office know he wouldn't be in.
Yobo and I now had a few missions for our "Rest Day."
- Cook some grub and get Timmy recovered
- Fix Timmy's car so he could make the trip to Vegas with us tomorrow
- Most importantly...relax and not ride our motorcycles
We walked down to his Saab and noticed the leak he had been talking about. Leak might be an understatement. Timmy basically had the Mississippi river of radiator fluid flowing from under his hood and the small lake that had formed underneath was a clear sign we might be in over our heads. We added some radiator sealant we had carried on our trip with the hopes he would be good to go and headed off to Whole Foods. Yobo made some of his signature omelettes with Feta, basil, spinach, and tomato. He also cooked up some chicken apple sausage and home-made hash browns while I sliced up the watermelon. The smells must have awoken our compatriot, because our boy Timmy soon arose from the grave and graced us with his morning glory. He immediately started chugging some water and we all had a good laugh about last night.
The food gave us all a little extra energy and we decided to head down to the pool. Yobo and I were both still not sure how to handle this whole situation. We didn't have to pack a bike to go anywhere, we weren't in a constant state of fear thinking we forgot something, we knew exactly where we were going and how we were going to get there, and we were in bathing suits and not our storm trooper power ranger suits. Huh. A few more of these kind of days spread throughout the trip would have done us some good. We all sat by the pool and caught up on life. Timmy has a sense of humor like no one else we know, and it was just like being in our high school cafeteria at lunch. Yobo showed off his water treading prowess, our man is like a fish in water. Me on the other hand might be just the opposite and felt no more effective in the water than a bookshelf full of cinder blocks.
After a bit we headed back up to the apartment and enjoyed "Old School," one of the great cinema classics from our generation. After our unexpected bender last night and planned debauchery in Vegas tomorrow night, we decided to head down to old town in Scottsdale and enjoy a relaxing dinner at one of the local steak houses. The one thing that Yobo and I will say about Scottsdale is that...well...if you're a bachelor, there might not be a better place to be. This was our second time visiting in just over a few months and the scenery was second to none both times. Hind sight is always 20-20, but if I had to pick another school for a higher learning experience, ASU would be at the top of my list.
We made it home unscathed and talked about Vegas. Our quick radiator repair attempt didn't appear to be working and Tim didn't have a ride to Vegas. Our fix was to rent a car and ride up. With our plans figured out, we rested up and hit sack.
/s/ Goda
Friday, September 2, 2011
Trip Report Day 15: Willcox, AZ to Scottsdale, AZ
Date: Thursday, September 2, 2010
Start: 1100 (0900 wake-up)
Finish: 1800
Travel Time: 8 hrs
Distance: 220 miles
Total Distance: 4631 miles
It felt like there was a big load off our backs now that the trail was over and the rest of the trip was a vacation in a vacation as we made our way to Vegas to celebrate. It all started with us sleeping in till 0900 this morning. 0900 you say...I KNOW...0900!!!!! Today was a light day on the road to Scottsdale, AZ where we planned to stay with one of our best friends Timmy Turner. We've all known each other since 6th grade and have remained the closest of friends since. We enjoyed the free hotel breakfast and then took advantage of the business center PC for some proper blog updates from the past two days.
We were loaded up and ready to go before noon, but the one thing we noticed was that we were breaking more of a sweat than usual. This was our first taste of some true AZ heat. But like everyone says..."it's a dry heat." Well try on storm trooper power ranger moto gear and see how dry the heat is. We just wanted to get moving so we could take advantage of the vents in our jackets and pants because it makes a huge difference. It could be worse though. If it had been raining we would have had to endure our rain liners which were basically sweat suits. Not too far into the ride, Yobo noticed that his fairing was making some noise, so we pulled off the highway into a rest station for a quick fix with some zip ties.
As we approached Tucson we were in the peak of the early afternoon sun and temps rose to 110F. It was the hottest conditions either of us had ever ridden in. At these temps, 70 mph of hot air blowing on you doesn't really provide a whole lot of relief. We needed gas, but totally picked the wrong exit. We passed strip mall after strip mall with no signs of fuel or place for a quick snack. We weren't too impressed with what Tucson had to offer. We finally found a Mini-Mart and enjoyed some snacks in the comfort of a shady curb and did some good old fashion people watching. We reluctantly geared up again and returned to that radiant furnace they called a highway. Soon after we exited for a gas station. At the same time, a decked out 1200GS pulled up and we chatted for a bit. He was headed cross country and on his way to San Diego.
We pushed forward on our last stretch to Scottsdale. About 10 miles away from our destination, my temperature light came on. It was nearing rush hour and traffic wasn't moving to quickly to help cool the engines. I ran into a similar problem on my trip to Bonnaroo a few years back and it jacked up my spark plug. I didn't want to take any chances, so we exited and found a shady spot in a parking lot and chilled for a bit to give the bikes a rest. By this point we just wanted to get to Tim's place. We got back on the bikes after about 20 minutes and soon found ourselves at Timmy's. He wasn't home from work yet, but he left a key and we unloaded our gear.
We cleaned up and headed out for a light and refreshing sushi dinner and followed up at another bar for a night cap. It quiet, but I guess that's what you get on a Wednesday night. On the way out we were getting into Tim's car when some high school kids went driving by pretending like they were shooting us. I reacted immediately and started chasing them in Terminator 2 mode with arms in full stride. -----I'll set the stage before I go any further. I am a pretty fit guy, but have been basically been sitting on my bummy for 2 weeks straight...and I had a few drinks in me.----- I was sprinting as fast as I could and got to the point where I could actually see there facial expressions say "Holy fucking shit. This guy is actually trying to catch us and he's gaining ground." They were slowed a bit by having to navigate around a sea of strip mall curbs, but eventually got to a straight section and pulled away. I remained in full stride because I thought I could cut them off when they had to exit the parking lot. Remember when I set the stage before? Well, this is where zero exercise for two weeks and alcohol came in to play. My legs started cramping and I basically tripped over a curb because my coordination at this point in the evening was a few notches lower then normal. I got up and spun around in circles just like that classic scene at the end of the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre with Leatherface . I had a hole in my jeans and was sad because they got away.
Needless to say we were pretty amped up heading back to Timmy's and for some reason started singing "Heaven" by Warrant in the car. When we arrived I went straight for his computer and pulled up the video on YouTube. Tim came in with a bottle of Jack that was basically 2/3 full. Mike crashed on the couch as Tim and I continued wailing at the top of our lungs in two-part-harmony for the next three hours. We covered every major 80's power ballad known to man. We would open one screen with the lyrics and one screen with the video. By the end of the night the bottle of Jack and a 2 liter of coke were empty. The best part about it was that every video was added on my wall in Facebook, so the night will live on forever. Mike and I had the luxury of sleeping in, but Timmy was supposed to be in work at 0900 the next day, which by this point was only a few hours away. Would he make it??? Stay tuned tomorrow and find out.
/s/ Goda
Start: 1100 (0900 wake-up)
Finish: 1800
Travel Time: 8 hrs
Distance: 220 miles
Total Distance: 4631 miles
It felt like there was a big load off our backs now that the trail was over and the rest of the trip was a vacation in a vacation as we made our way to Vegas to celebrate. It all started with us sleeping in till 0900 this morning. 0900 you say...I KNOW...0900!!!!! Today was a light day on the road to Scottsdale, AZ where we planned to stay with one of our best friends Timmy Turner. We've all known each other since 6th grade and have remained the closest of friends since. We enjoyed the free hotel breakfast and then took advantage of the business center PC for some proper blog updates from the past two days.
We were loaded up and ready to go before noon, but the one thing we noticed was that we were breaking more of a sweat than usual. This was our first taste of some true AZ heat. But like everyone says..."it's a dry heat." Well try on storm trooper power ranger moto gear and see how dry the heat is. We just wanted to get moving so we could take advantage of the vents in our jackets and pants because it makes a huge difference. It could be worse though. If it had been raining we would have had to endure our rain liners which were basically sweat suits. Not too far into the ride, Yobo noticed that his fairing was making some noise, so we pulled off the highway into a rest station for a quick fix with some zip ties.
As we approached Tucson we were in the peak of the early afternoon sun and temps rose to 110F. It was the hottest conditions either of us had ever ridden in. At these temps, 70 mph of hot air blowing on you doesn't really provide a whole lot of relief. We needed gas, but totally picked the wrong exit. We passed strip mall after strip mall with no signs of fuel or place for a quick snack. We weren't too impressed with what Tucson had to offer. We finally found a Mini-Mart and enjoyed some snacks in the comfort of a shady curb and did some good old fashion people watching. We reluctantly geared up again and returned to that radiant furnace they called a highway. Soon after we exited for a gas station. At the same time, a decked out 1200GS pulled up and we chatted for a bit. He was headed cross country and on his way to San Diego.
We pushed forward on our last stretch to Scottsdale. About 10 miles away from our destination, my temperature light came on. It was nearing rush hour and traffic wasn't moving to quickly to help cool the engines. I ran into a similar problem on my trip to Bonnaroo a few years back and it jacked up my spark plug. I didn't want to take any chances, so we exited and found a shady spot in a parking lot and chilled for a bit to give the bikes a rest. By this point we just wanted to get to Tim's place. We got back on the bikes after about 20 minutes and soon found ourselves at Timmy's. He wasn't home from work yet, but he left a key and we unloaded our gear.
We cleaned up and headed out for a light and refreshing sushi dinner and followed up at another bar for a night cap. It quiet, but I guess that's what you get on a Wednesday night. On the way out we were getting into Tim's car when some high school kids went driving by pretending like they were shooting us. I reacted immediately and started chasing them in Terminator 2 mode with arms in full stride. -----I'll set the stage before I go any further. I am a pretty fit guy, but have been basically been sitting on my bummy for 2 weeks straight...and I had a few drinks in me.----- I was sprinting as fast as I could and got to the point where I could actually see there facial expressions say "Holy fucking shit. This guy is actually trying to catch us and he's gaining ground." They were slowed a bit by having to navigate around a sea of strip mall curbs, but eventually got to a straight section and pulled away. I remained in full stride because I thought I could cut them off when they had to exit the parking lot. Remember when I set the stage before? Well, this is where zero exercise for two weeks and alcohol came in to play. My legs started cramping and I basically tripped over a curb because my coordination at this point in the evening was a few notches lower then normal. I got up and spun around in circles just like that classic scene at the end of the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre with Leatherface . I had a hole in my jeans and was sad because they got away.
Needless to say we were pretty amped up heading back to Timmy's and for some reason started singing "Heaven" by Warrant in the car. When we arrived I went straight for his computer and pulled up the video on YouTube. Tim came in with a bottle of Jack that was basically 2/3 full. Mike crashed on the couch as Tim and I continued wailing at the top of our lungs in two-part-harmony for the next three hours. We covered every major 80's power ballad known to man. We would open one screen with the lyrics and one screen with the video. By the end of the night the bottle of Jack and a 2 liter of coke were empty. The best part about it was that every video was added on my wall in Facebook, so the night will live on forever. Mike and I had the luxury of sleeping in, but Timmy was supposed to be in work at 0900 the next day, which by this point was only a few hours away. Would he make it??? Stay tuned tomorrow and find out.
/s/ Goda
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Trip Report Day 14: Clifton, AZ to Antelope Wells, NM to Willcox, AZ
Date: Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Start: 1000 (0600 wake-up)
Finish: 18:00
Travel Time: 8 hrs
Distance: 349 miles
Total Distance: 4411 miles
Day 14. Two weeks in. Antelope Wells, New Mexico was so close we can taste it. In a way this felt like the last day of the trip and in a way it just felt like all of our other days. The real question was, what kind of emotions would overcome us if and when we hit the border.
The motel we stayed at was a one-stop shop. We enjoyed the tacos at the bar last night, and this morning we went over to the restaurant for the most important meal of the day. The restaurant only had one other patron sitting down, but he was enjoying one monster omelette, so we decided to seat ourselves with the hopes we would also get to enjoy. Service was a little slow, but it gave us some time to befriend our lonely companion. He actually worked at the Copper Mine and was just getting off 3rd shift from driving one of the dump trucks in Freeport's massive fleet. These weren't your every day dump trucks, these things were the giant trucks of every little boy's dreams. The funny thing was that the mine was so massive that they looked like matchbox trucks when viewed from the road. He had some great stories to tell and filled us in on some crazy numbers from the mine:
Start: 1000 (0600 wake-up)
Finish: 18:00
Travel Time: 8 hrs
Distance: 349 miles
Total Distance: 4411 miles
Day 14. Two weeks in. Antelope Wells, New Mexico was so close we can taste it. In a way this felt like the last day of the trip and in a way it just felt like all of our other days. The real question was, what kind of emotions would overcome us if and when we hit the border.
The motel we stayed at was a one-stop shop. We enjoyed the tacos at the bar last night, and this morning we went over to the restaurant for the most important meal of the day. The restaurant only had one other patron sitting down, but he was enjoying one monster omelette, so we decided to seat ourselves with the hopes we would also get to enjoy. Service was a little slow, but it gave us some time to befriend our lonely companion. He actually worked at the Copper Mine and was just getting off 3rd shift from driving one of the dump trucks in Freeport's massive fleet. These weren't your every day dump trucks, these things were the giant trucks of every little boy's dreams. The funny thing was that the mine was so massive that they looked like matchbox trucks when viewed from the road. He had some great stories to tell and filled us in on some crazy numbers from the mine:
- 1st largest copper mine in the US
- 3rd largest in the world
- on August 31st, 340 thousand tons of ore were extracted
- in the mines prime a few years ago they'd pull 1 million tons a day
- his truck hauls 310 tons in a single load
- there are an expected 100 additional years of mining to be had
He was a down-to-earth guy who put in some hard hours and proud of what he did and we really enjoyed getting to know him. We packed up the bikes and decided to try and get some close-ups photos of the dump truck graveyard just down the road. Apparently we got a little too close and a few of Freeport's finest gave us a warning to get off the private property. On the way out, we giggled a bit as we passed under the "Primary Crusher" and proceeded on our way. If you looked up mining town in Webster's, Clifton might as well been the one-word definition. At this time though, it was showing signs of the reduced production. We said our good-byes and were on our way.
We headed east on Rt. 10 through Lordsburg and pulled off one of the exits to shop for some border souvenirs. We couldn't resist the never-ending billboards advertising this place. I walked away with a rattlesnake skin belt buckle and Yobo picked up a little treat for Brit. We got back on the highway and made that fateful right hand turn that left us with only the Mexican border in front of us. By this point, the Continental Divide had puttered out into a few small hills rising over the desert planes in the distance. The prominence was there but it was it didn't seem like the divide we've grown to know. It was unique and beautiful in its own way. We stopped in Hachita to fill up our tanks at what had to to be the oldest gas stations in the country. I actually emptied my spare fuel tanks that I've carried for over 2700 miles rather than fill up at the station. Our only interaction now was with other people involved the border patrol trucks on patrol.
We headed due south on Rt 81 and soon enough the signs for the border showed up and THEN...the border station was in sight. They were working on expanding the station so there was some construction going on, but other than that it was like a glorified gas station complete with soda machines and candy machines inside and a bunch of attendants sitting around exchanging war stories. We approached and told them about our journey and they told us about many just like it. The one that sticks out though was a couple that did the same thing as your two protagonists...but on unicycles!!!!! This port entry was pretty benign and they said typical traffic was five cars a day or so. They let us proceed to the border to snap some photos and revel in the moment. It was funny because we recorded some videos and we were both kind of at loss for words.
It must be interesting for these border patrolmen to observe different groups of riders both starting and ending their continental divide journey. They get to observe the excitement and anxiety just like we had in Roosville and the exhaustion and overwhelming sense of accomplishment we exhibited in their backyard. This moment was a culmination of once-in-a-lifetime experiences. We ended up with a trail from Canada to Mexico that is unique to us and only us. Yobo and I could do our best to capture it in prose for the rest of the world, but this won't be something we soon forget. Now we just have to get back to LA to complete the story.
We hopped on our bikes and headed northbound for the first time in10 days. And wouldn't ya know it, on our way towards Hachita we saw a bike riding towards us. It was our buddy Kyle. I guess it's not that outlandish that we would run into him again, but really??? We exchanged a few more stories and took a couple goofy pics. We highly recommended he hit up Rt 191 (Devil's Highway) on the way back to Canada. Kyle was a great guy and we both hoped to ride with him again at some point.
The goal now was to get into AZ. We stopped in Willcox, AZ and stayed in a Holiday Inn just off the highway. This was pretty funny because my father had been tracking us on my spot tracker and the satellite images that were available didn't have the Holiday Inn and he thought we were camping just off the highway in a parking lot. After reassuring him we were safe we asked the front desk for a local place to eat and they recommended El Ranchero. It was authentic Mexican in a restaurant with a dining area that looked like my parents living room. We had fun with our waitress, Carmen and she snapped a polaroid to add to the collection on the wall. We were still on a "Man vs Wild" kick, so we enjoyed a few episodes before falling asleep in some comfy queen-sized beds. Tomorrow our last phase begins.
/s/ Goda
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Trip Report Day 13: Cuba, NM to Clifton, AZ
Date: Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Start: 0930 (0715 wake-up)
Finish: 1930
Travel Time: 10 hrs
Distance: 414 miles
Total Distance: 4062 miles
We managed a good night's rest in a couple of beds that didn't seem they were capable of such of activities when we first arrived. It's amazing how nearly 4000 miles can have such an impact over time. We packed up and met Kyle for breakfast at a diner just down the road. We filled up on hotcakes and eggs and then parted ways. Kyle was off to catch up on some laundry and continue on the trail. We, on the other hand, were headed towards the infamous Rt 666.
Our route would take us through Albuquerque, and then due west to the Arizona border. It was our first day of heavy highway miles since we started the trail and in comparison to the continuous questioning of our GPS co-ordinates, navigation was a piece of cake... but boring. It was actually a pretty trying day. One thing we can say about highway miles is that you sit there and don't change position nearly as much. Your mind is in a state of being only semi-engaged in the activity at hand that you can become fatigued pretty quickly. Seems backwards right?
When your riding off road you are changing position so often, and your mind and body are truly engaged in the task at hand. Its literally a sport. That can be exhausting too, but there's a certain level of alertness that comes with that level of activity. Road riding is comparatively boring and uneventful. It certainly helps to have helmet comms. Goda and I have said a hundred times this trip would have been an entirely different experience without the comms. Just finding our way around towns was made infinitely easier with the ability to simply converse and consult each other. Navigating off road was made easier as well, and with the added bonus to be able to warn the following rider of potholes, puddles, and other dangers.
At times like these, the comms were a godsend. We could chat like we were sitting in a car next to each other and it really helps to pass the time. I've known Mr. Pagoda since the fourth grade, but now I know his top five favorite bands of all time, and in return, he knows my top five video game experiences of all time.
You can tell we were bored right?
Well that would soon change as we made our way into Albuquerque. Since day 3, the only roads we encountered were winding country roads. You know the kind with only two lanes and the occasional car or three? This was not the case. Albuquerque may not be Philly, and it certainly isn't Los Angeles, but it was the closest thing we'd encountered in over a week to either of those. We were hitting town near the lunch hour, so traffic wasn't horrible, but it was a nice change of pace that certainly got the heart rate going a bit. We navigated through town in a sea of sedans, occupied by people going about their daily business, and even worse, going to work! We were reminded that we were on an awesome trip and currently on the way to the Devil's Highway. There were worse things.
Once through Albuquerque we hooked up with the 40West and nearly instantly sunk back into the doldrums of boring road riding. Highway miles have a tendency to blend together. So here we are a year after the fact trying to recall and write down all the cool stuff that happened. Let me say, there are far fewer of those moments on highways than any category of the trip. There was one, though, on this particular stretch. We were passing these enormous rigs that were carrying one windmill blade each. That's right, windmill blades. here we were on our iron horses, doing battle (or the traffic version of battle) with giant windmills. I felt like a modern day Don Quixote.
Once we left the windmill caravan in the rear view, things slowed down significantly. We switched from the helmet comms over to our Mp3 players and zombified for the next several miles. When we reached our first fuel stop, we were stiff and bored and hungry and hot. It sucked. Luckily our first detour would be right around the corner.
Just ahead, we would turn off the highway again and take one of those welcoming back roads to hook up with highway 60, which would lead us to the top of route 666. This was certainly one of the most unexpected sections of the trip. We found ourselves passing through beautiful, rural, Northern New Mexico desert. These deserts are more like the Mojave than the Sahara though. They are chock full of flowering plants, and low-lying shrubs which blanketed the gently undulating landscape. All of which was set against the picture perfect blue skies with large puffy white clouds. It was a pleasure to behold and a pleasure to ride on.
Somewhere about half way through we encountered some strange and beautiful lava formations. There were countless lava tubes laid out like one of those corrugated welcome mats to our right. They were onyx in color, and the vegetation was more sparse than the desert sections we'd passed through earlier. On our left the formations rose from the ground to form a set of cliffs and high-hills that were reminiscent of the badlands in South Dakota. They were darker in color and their curved exteriors seemed to betray the flowing process that created them. It was oddly out of place and pretty interesting but for whatever reason we didn't really stop for a photo opportunity. We were tired and a bit groggy and honestly I think we just wanted to make our miles for the day. We decided to run the helmet cams so we could capture this section, whose flowing shapes looked like they could still be moving, while in motion.
Before long we hit our next intersection, and with it our next stop. We ate lunch at yet another road-side diner that had surprisingly good grub. When we headed out to the bikes, we found we had a fan. An older gentleman was checking out our gear. He had ridden a similar set up in his younger days, and still managed to get he and the wife out on weekends for a cruise on the Harley. If there's anything we can tell ya about motorcyclists, its that they are some of the finest, friendliest, and most approachable people folks you will ever meet. The trip wasn't even over yet and I was having a hard time remembering how many fun and wonderful people we got to chat with... He bade us farewell and good luck and, with that, we were onto the last stretch before AZ.
A quick jaunt down a breezy, hill riddled highway found us in Arizona at last. We stopped to fuel up, make a few quick calls to the loved ones, grab a beverage and a snack, and then we squared up with the Devil's Highway. PS. This road has earned its reputation by having more fatal accidents in a smaller length of miles than any other road in America. This serpentine stretch of roads winds through, around, over and under some very diverse landscapes, and most of these turns lack guard rails despite having steep, several hundred foot drops.
It was a formidable foe, and the reputation did proceed here. In fact, Arizona wants America to forget all about the "Devil's Highway". You'd be hard pressed to find a shop selling a shot glass, refrigerator magnet, or t-shirt with words on it. They've even renamed the highway to the nice and neutral "Route 191". To top that, I'm sure on any given weekend there'd be police hanging out at the front, back, and middle of the thing trying to deter riders from enjoying themselves to death, and not for nothing. This was not a weekend, however. It was a Tuesday! We had this beauty all to ourselves. We mounted our steeds, swallowed hard, revved the engine and shot ourselves head first in the the belly of the beast. Time to tango.
In recounting the details of this trip, let me say this... The biggest surprise of the trip was northern New Mexico and Arizona. When I think of those two states I think of blistering hot desserts, red rock formations, and sand. Nothing close to the diversity of scenery and landscape that we had encountered so far. It was beautiful and I consider myself lucky for having my minds eye set right.
The Devil's Highway lay before us and it was nothing like what I expected. It began, with a flirt. A relatively gentle road that swayed lazily back and forth through alpine meadows and glens. It was cool and humid. It was mountain terrain!? I felt that I'd somehow been transported to the Central California Sierras. I took a moment to check the GPS only to find that we were at approximately 8000ft. That is 2000ft higher than an average peak in the Angeles forest, and more than half-way to the highest peak in the contiguous United States. I was expecting a red-desert-devil of a road and got a smooth and satisfying jaunt through what looked like my backyard canyon roads in California. It was gorgeous! We pressed on ultimately surprised by the agreeable conditions, as we passed over a few peaks and valleys things started to slowly get more interesting. The flirtatious sweepers started to progressively tighten up, like the road was surreptitiously making a fist and preparing to strike.
A flicker of anxiety began to rise in my chest. The temperature was slowly climbing. I felt like I'd been lied to. Like I'd been lured into a trap that hadn't been sprung. Goda and I sparsely chatted over the intercoms. What began as a whimsical back and forth had gradually dropped in frequency as our task demanded increasing levels of attention.
We rode through open sided mountain sections where a vast valley to the left or right continuously pulled your gaze away from the black and yellow path of safety. Like a siren in the distance... Like part of the plan! Our lifeline was a 16ft wide patch of pavement in the middle increasingly less forgiving terrain, in the middle of nowhere, and it was all too easy to loose yourself in the amazing views. We cut through strangely wooded sections as well, where the birch trees crowded in on the road, making me feel like I was riding one of the many back country roads of my youth. It seemed strangely out of place for what began as an alpine environment. We were descending. The vegetation was changing, the air was getting warmer, the road was getting tighter and more aggressive. We decided to pull over to take in the view, rest up, and prepare for what we somehow unconsciously knew was coming.
We pulled off into what I think was a picnic area. It was small and non-descript and sat atop a plateau that the road snaked around. We enjoyed some jerky and a sip or two from our camelbacks. We stopped for a quick photo op. The bikes were set against the blue sky, and the progressively descending mountain tops. There was a smell of a rotting animal in the air. We could not find the source. I thought quickly about the last hour or so of riding. This moment seemed to epitomize the experience. The beauty of the landscape was juxtaposed to the reputation of this road. There did seem to be something strangely malicious about it, yet you couldn't deny how plainly gorgeous it was. I stopped myself. This was ridiculous. I'm standing in the midst of an incredible landscape, on one of this country's most historic roads. There was no hidden agenda, there was no subversive force attempting to tear us from the pavement. This was flat out one of the most incredible riding experiences I've had, and in one of the most beautiful places I've ever been. We hopped on the bikes and hit it again, ready for round two.
Within the next 20 minutes or so there was an abrupt change. The lush green gave way to browns, reds, and yellows. The tall trees gave way to scrubby bushes. We were transitioning into dessert terrain. Here's where the personality shift in this schizophrenic road occurs. The turns began to tighten drastically, we found ourselves in wonderful leans, pulling eagerly around blind turns, hairpins and chicanes. The road moved up and down and much as it did side to side. This was it. The hidden surprise was sprung upon us. Instead of a cruel-hearted beat up, it was a roller coaster ride. The road seemed to want to thrill you as it upped the ante around every turn. It was incredible. It was the craziest and most fun road-faring experience either of us have ever had the privilege to encounter. If you can't enjoy yourself on this road... you don't have a pulse.
We laughed over the comms, and exclaimed in every sort of manner. We simply couldn't believe it. I made a comment that if I was tasked with designing a road for a motorcycling video game, it would be something like this. Something LIKE this, but not this. I don't think I have the imaginative capacity to birth such a triumphantly twisty tale. If you asked me a day ago, I'd say that it was improbable that anything like it existed in reality. It was like we were living some one's dream of a road. This simply couldn't be real. We stopped and set up some video fly-bys. We traded leads. We tore, wide eyed around turn after turn. We were having a ball.
All good things come to an end though. Luckily, ours was not abrupt or unwelcome. The turns did get gentler, but they didn't leave us entirely. The road smoothed out and finally we began feeling like we were back on earth again.
The insanity of the road was instantly replaced with the insanity of scenery, however. It was like the forest and the sky opened up in concert. That wasn't all that opened up though. The ground opened up as well. To our left was the most magnanimous man made site I've ever seen. The Freeport Copper mine stretched nearly as far, wide and DEEP as the eye could see. We were blown away and had to pull off for some photos. We attempted, in vain, to capture the size and splendor of the sight before us. A camera simply won't do.
We packed it up and headed into the town at the base of the mine. We found a happening little hotel there and got set up in our room. We cleaned up, and headed out for some tacos and beer just as the sun was setting. The food was great and the drinks were welcome! This hotel also served as the mine's museum, of sorts, and had every manner of copper products on display. We checked out several strange looking contraptions and found our intrigue piqued. We'd have to ask more about the mine and its history tomorrow.
We headed to bed, once again, hardly able to comprehend what we'd been through in the previous 14 or so hrs. There's not been a single day on this trip that I could have predicted, and I felt it was pointless to try. As we hit the hay, I thought to myself, "Lights out... Time to head back to dreamland."
/s/ Yobo
Start: 0930 (0715 wake-up)
Finish: 1930
Travel Time: 10 hrs
Distance: 414 miles
Total Distance: 4062 miles
We managed a good night's rest in a couple of beds that didn't seem they were capable of such of activities when we first arrived. It's amazing how nearly 4000 miles can have such an impact over time. We packed up and met Kyle for breakfast at a diner just down the road. We filled up on hotcakes and eggs and then parted ways. Kyle was off to catch up on some laundry and continue on the trail. We, on the other hand, were headed towards the infamous Rt 666.
Our route would take us through Albuquerque, and then due west to the Arizona border. It was our first day of heavy highway miles since we started the trail and in comparison to the continuous questioning of our GPS co-ordinates, navigation was a piece of cake... but boring. It was actually a pretty trying day. One thing we can say about highway miles is that you sit there and don't change position nearly as much. Your mind is in a state of being only semi-engaged in the activity at hand that you can become fatigued pretty quickly. Seems backwards right?
When your riding off road you are changing position so often, and your mind and body are truly engaged in the task at hand. Its literally a sport. That can be exhausting too, but there's a certain level of alertness that comes with that level of activity. Road riding is comparatively boring and uneventful. It certainly helps to have helmet comms. Goda and I have said a hundred times this trip would have been an entirely different experience without the comms. Just finding our way around towns was made infinitely easier with the ability to simply converse and consult each other. Navigating off road was made easier as well, and with the added bonus to be able to warn the following rider of potholes, puddles, and other dangers.
At times like these, the comms were a godsend. We could chat like we were sitting in a car next to each other and it really helps to pass the time. I've known Mr. Pagoda since the fourth grade, but now I know his top five favorite bands of all time, and in return, he knows my top five video game experiences of all time.
You can tell we were bored right?
Well that would soon change as we made our way into Albuquerque. Since day 3, the only roads we encountered were winding country roads. You know the kind with only two lanes and the occasional car or three? This was not the case. Albuquerque may not be Philly, and it certainly isn't Los Angeles, but it was the closest thing we'd encountered in over a week to either of those. We were hitting town near the lunch hour, so traffic wasn't horrible, but it was a nice change of pace that certainly got the heart rate going a bit. We navigated through town in a sea of sedans, occupied by people going about their daily business, and even worse, going to work! We were reminded that we were on an awesome trip and currently on the way to the Devil's Highway. There were worse things.
Once through Albuquerque we hooked up with the 40West and nearly instantly sunk back into the doldrums of boring road riding. Highway miles have a tendency to blend together. So here we are a year after the fact trying to recall and write down all the cool stuff that happened. Let me say, there are far fewer of those moments on highways than any category of the trip. There was one, though, on this particular stretch. We were passing these enormous rigs that were carrying one windmill blade each. That's right, windmill blades. here we were on our iron horses, doing battle (or the traffic version of battle) with giant windmills. I felt like a modern day Don Quixote.
Once we left the windmill caravan in the rear view, things slowed down significantly. We switched from the helmet comms over to our Mp3 players and zombified for the next several miles. When we reached our first fuel stop, we were stiff and bored and hungry and hot. It sucked. Luckily our first detour would be right around the corner.
Just ahead, we would turn off the highway again and take one of those welcoming back roads to hook up with highway 60, which would lead us to the top of route 666. This was certainly one of the most unexpected sections of the trip. We found ourselves passing through beautiful, rural, Northern New Mexico desert. These deserts are more like the Mojave than the Sahara though. They are chock full of flowering plants, and low-lying shrubs which blanketed the gently undulating landscape. All of which was set against the picture perfect blue skies with large puffy white clouds. It was a pleasure to behold and a pleasure to ride on.
Somewhere about half way through we encountered some strange and beautiful lava formations. There were countless lava tubes laid out like one of those corrugated welcome mats to our right. They were onyx in color, and the vegetation was more sparse than the desert sections we'd passed through earlier. On our left the formations rose from the ground to form a set of cliffs and high-hills that were reminiscent of the badlands in South Dakota. They were darker in color and their curved exteriors seemed to betray the flowing process that created them. It was oddly out of place and pretty interesting but for whatever reason we didn't really stop for a photo opportunity. We were tired and a bit groggy and honestly I think we just wanted to make our miles for the day. We decided to run the helmet cams so we could capture this section, whose flowing shapes looked like they could still be moving, while in motion.
Before long we hit our next intersection, and with it our next stop. We ate lunch at yet another road-side diner that had surprisingly good grub. When we headed out to the bikes, we found we had a fan. An older gentleman was checking out our gear. He had ridden a similar set up in his younger days, and still managed to get he and the wife out on weekends for a cruise on the Harley. If there's anything we can tell ya about motorcyclists, its that they are some of the finest, friendliest, and most approachable people folks you will ever meet. The trip wasn't even over yet and I was having a hard time remembering how many fun and wonderful people we got to chat with... He bade us farewell and good luck and, with that, we were onto the last stretch before AZ.
A quick jaunt down a breezy, hill riddled highway found us in Arizona at last. We stopped to fuel up, make a few quick calls to the loved ones, grab a beverage and a snack, and then we squared up with the Devil's Highway. PS. This road has earned its reputation by having more fatal accidents in a smaller length of miles than any other road in America. This serpentine stretch of roads winds through, around, over and under some very diverse landscapes, and most of these turns lack guard rails despite having steep, several hundred foot drops.
It was a formidable foe, and the reputation did proceed here. In fact, Arizona wants America to forget all about the "Devil's Highway". You'd be hard pressed to find a shop selling a shot glass, refrigerator magnet, or t-shirt with words on it. They've even renamed the highway to the nice and neutral "Route 191". To top that, I'm sure on any given weekend there'd be police hanging out at the front, back, and middle of the thing trying to deter riders from enjoying themselves to death, and not for nothing. This was not a weekend, however. It was a Tuesday! We had this beauty all to ourselves. We mounted our steeds, swallowed hard, revved the engine and shot ourselves head first in the the belly of the beast. Time to tango.
In recounting the details of this trip, let me say this... The biggest surprise of the trip was northern New Mexico and Arizona. When I think of those two states I think of blistering hot desserts, red rock formations, and sand. Nothing close to the diversity of scenery and landscape that we had encountered so far. It was beautiful and I consider myself lucky for having my minds eye set right.
The Devil's Highway lay before us and it was nothing like what I expected. It began, with a flirt. A relatively gentle road that swayed lazily back and forth through alpine meadows and glens. It was cool and humid. It was mountain terrain!? I felt that I'd somehow been transported to the Central California Sierras. I took a moment to check the GPS only to find that we were at approximately 8000ft. That is 2000ft higher than an average peak in the Angeles forest, and more than half-way to the highest peak in the contiguous United States. I was expecting a red-desert-devil of a road and got a smooth and satisfying jaunt through what looked like my backyard canyon roads in California. It was gorgeous! We pressed on ultimately surprised by the agreeable conditions, as we passed over a few peaks and valleys things started to slowly get more interesting. The flirtatious sweepers started to progressively tighten up, like the road was surreptitiously making a fist and preparing to strike.
A flicker of anxiety began to rise in my chest. The temperature was slowly climbing. I felt like I'd been lied to. Like I'd been lured into a trap that hadn't been sprung. Goda and I sparsely chatted over the intercoms. What began as a whimsical back and forth had gradually dropped in frequency as our task demanded increasing levels of attention.
We rode through open sided mountain sections where a vast valley to the left or right continuously pulled your gaze away from the black and yellow path of safety. Like a siren in the distance... Like part of the plan! Our lifeline was a 16ft wide patch of pavement in the middle increasingly less forgiving terrain, in the middle of nowhere, and it was all too easy to loose yourself in the amazing views. We cut through strangely wooded sections as well, where the birch trees crowded in on the road, making me feel like I was riding one of the many back country roads of my youth. It seemed strangely out of place for what began as an alpine environment. We were descending. The vegetation was changing, the air was getting warmer, the road was getting tighter and more aggressive. We decided to pull over to take in the view, rest up, and prepare for what we somehow unconsciously knew was coming.
We pulled off into what I think was a picnic area. It was small and non-descript and sat atop a plateau that the road snaked around. We enjoyed some jerky and a sip or two from our camelbacks. We stopped for a quick photo op. The bikes were set against the blue sky, and the progressively descending mountain tops. There was a smell of a rotting animal in the air. We could not find the source. I thought quickly about the last hour or so of riding. This moment seemed to epitomize the experience. The beauty of the landscape was juxtaposed to the reputation of this road. There did seem to be something strangely malicious about it, yet you couldn't deny how plainly gorgeous it was. I stopped myself. This was ridiculous. I'm standing in the midst of an incredible landscape, on one of this country's most historic roads. There was no hidden agenda, there was no subversive force attempting to tear us from the pavement. This was flat out one of the most incredible riding experiences I've had, and in one of the most beautiful places I've ever been. We hopped on the bikes and hit it again, ready for round two.
Within the next 20 minutes or so there was an abrupt change. The lush green gave way to browns, reds, and yellows. The tall trees gave way to scrubby bushes. We were transitioning into dessert terrain. Here's where the personality shift in this schizophrenic road occurs. The turns began to tighten drastically, we found ourselves in wonderful leans, pulling eagerly around blind turns, hairpins and chicanes. The road moved up and down and much as it did side to side. This was it. The hidden surprise was sprung upon us. Instead of a cruel-hearted beat up, it was a roller coaster ride. The road seemed to want to thrill you as it upped the ante around every turn. It was incredible. It was the craziest and most fun road-faring experience either of us have ever had the privilege to encounter. If you can't enjoy yourself on this road... you don't have a pulse.
We laughed over the comms, and exclaimed in every sort of manner. We simply couldn't believe it. I made a comment that if I was tasked with designing a road for a motorcycling video game, it would be something like this. Something LIKE this, but not this. I don't think I have the imaginative capacity to birth such a triumphantly twisty tale. If you asked me a day ago, I'd say that it was improbable that anything like it existed in reality. It was like we were living some one's dream of a road. This simply couldn't be real. We stopped and set up some video fly-bys. We traded leads. We tore, wide eyed around turn after turn. We were having a ball.
All good things come to an end though. Luckily, ours was not abrupt or unwelcome. The turns did get gentler, but they didn't leave us entirely. The road smoothed out and finally we began feeling like we were back on earth again.
The insanity of the road was instantly replaced with the insanity of scenery, however. It was like the forest and the sky opened up in concert. That wasn't all that opened up though. The ground opened up as well. To our left was the most magnanimous man made site I've ever seen. The Freeport Copper mine stretched nearly as far, wide and DEEP as the eye could see. We were blown away and had to pull off for some photos. We attempted, in vain, to capture the size and splendor of the sight before us. A camera simply won't do.
We packed it up and headed into the town at the base of the mine. We found a happening little hotel there and got set up in our room. We cleaned up, and headed out for some tacos and beer just as the sun was setting. The food was great and the drinks were welcome! This hotel also served as the mine's museum, of sorts, and had every manner of copper products on display. We checked out several strange looking contraptions and found our intrigue piqued. We'd have to ask more about the mine and its history tomorrow.
We headed to bed, once again, hardly able to comprehend what we'd been through in the previous 14 or so hrs. There's not been a single day on this trip that I could have predicted, and I felt it was pointless to try. As we hit the hay, I thought to myself, "Lights out... Time to head back to dreamland."
/s/ Yobo
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Trip Report Day 12: Elk Creek Camp, CO to Cuba, NM
Date: Monday, August 30, 2010
Start: 0930 (0730 wake-up)
Finish: 1800
Travel Time: 8.5 hrs
Distance: 147 miles
Total Distance: 3648 miles
OK - Goda here to kick us off --- It was a rainy night, but we still managed some quality shut-eye in Yobo's Nemo Losi 3P tent. I'll diverge a bit and talk about our shelter. The tent was similar in weight and packed-size to many 2P tents, but with the extra comfort being one of the larger 3P tents money can buy. It was ideal for two giant Pollocks to move around and store gear, and with the luxury of two entrances, we didn't need to crawl over each other to get in and out. If you've never heard of Nemo, check em out and learn about many of the innovative features they are adding to their gear.--- The start of the morning was a bit drizzly, but nothing some oatmeal and hot tea couldn't fix. We dried the tent as best possible before rolling it up in the sack.
We were off knowing that the wet northern NM clay that our buddy, ‘Catastrophic Failure’, warned of was out there waiting for us. Our start was only a few miles above the border, so it wasn't too long until we entered NM. We spent some time climbing up through the low-laying cloud cover while on-road, then turned off onto the dirt through some cow pastures. The dirt roads were filled with potholes everywhere, but not too muddy despite the overnight rain, so we began thinking that the mud situation might not be so unmanageable. Then, the trail started going uphill, and getting twistier, rockier, muddier, and more precarious. We stopped at a Y in the road and double-checked our GPS. It looked like our hopes would be dashed right about now, as our GPSs were telling us to veer to the left, and up a slippery looking hill. We headed off with me in the lead and Yobo following.
All of a sudden the NM clay-mud took things to another level and the bike might as well been riding in quick-sand jell-o. I couldn't hold a straight line with my front tire and have no idea how I made it up the next rocky-muddy section because I think my eyes might have been closed the entire way. I stopped for a bit and then heard Yobo across the com system saying he was down. I ran down to check him out when he described the situation. He was riding the top ridge of the trail but began sliding down to the left and directly into a large puddle/dirt-death pond. So, he did what any young rider would do and nailed the gas, popped up on the pegs, relaxed his legs and rode it out. He made it up and out of the puddle unscathed, only to set his engine block down on a large, protruding rock on the other side. This teetered his bike forward, sending him over the bars and into some more rocks and mud. He clocked his noggin, but managed to roll through it and make it out a bit shaken up, but OK. He uprighted his bike, and navigated further up to where my bike was stopped.
We recovered for a few minutes and attempted the next section. Again, I was having one Hell of a time trying to go straight. I tried to avoid the water because it was too difficult to gauge the depth of puddles and ruts, and if you got stuck in a rut...good luck steering out. I got the bike swinging all over the place and found myself headed straight off the trail and stopping in the middle of a pine tree. I just started laughing because this was so ridiculous. Yobo had a few smaller dumps as he made his way up to me. I backed out of the tree and proceeded forward like a glutton for punishment only to find myself face down in one of the larger puddles. Naturally, I got caught in a rut I tried so hard to avoid. The water managed to fill up my boots and run down my pants and made for one soggy bottom. Yobo, luckily captured this on film and zoomed in on our rear TKC80 tires, which at this point, might as well have been racing slicks with all of the clay-mud that was caked on.
We reluctantly pressed on trying alternate routes off the side of the trail without luck. After progressing less than 3 miles in an hour or so, we decided to have a chat. We probably had a hundred miles ahead of us and at this rate we could end up stuck in the middle of nowhere. The sky ahead looked as if it was ready to unleash on us and the clay didn't appear to magically be getting grippy any time soon. Yobo mentioned in yesterday's summary how much I hated turning back. Well here we are, and once again, I wasn't 100% convinced we should retrace our steps and avoid what lay ahead. One of the things I was looking forward to most on this trip was making it through one of those epic days that threw everything at us. I enjoy those mindless zombie slogs and this would have been one for the ages. But, given how many times we had put a foot down, dumped the bike, flew over the bars, and ended up otherwise off trail, in trees, or simply sideways, it was a good bet we could get injured, or run into some major trouble. We decided to head back to the road and follow the trail in parallel. Once we got back to the road though, I noticed my bike's suspension wasn't reacting quite right. It was slow to rebound and felt dead when I hit any bumps. I tightened up the suspension and hoped that we'd soon be welcomed by the comfort of a motorcycle shop. As we were working on my shock, we heard a massive whistle blow. We ran to the edge of the plateau we were parked on just in time to see an old-timey train complete with passengers glaring out the window steam by. It was the Santa Fe railway, still in operation after all these years. Pretty cool. -----
So here we were, out of the mud, back on tarmac, several crashes the wiser, and one rear suspension down. The nearest town was a small road-side stop that had a gas station but no-one who could work on motos… A helpful dude there told us to head further down the road to the next town, where there may be a bike shop.
We did so only to find that the shop was closed on Mondays. Of course, the owner was probably out riding. However this was not a typical Monday, it was raining, grey, kinda cold and miserable. No biggie, the suspension issue was certainly worrying, but it seemed fine on the road, in fact, the only time we would really have to worry about a non-rebounding suspension is off road, when your tire needs to be springy and remain in contact with your riding surface. Roots, rocks, washboarded roads and the like are the enemy of suspension; without it, you tend to get all squirrelly on those types of surfaces. Roads, were smooth and even, and so we were probably OK with the stability, but what about the rear wheel popping off? Expert opinion would still be an advantage. Only we couldn’t get any. Strike one for us.
Oh well, its still lunch time and if there’s anything we know about small towns in the middle of nowhere, its that they have the best dang food you’ll ever find. We stopped off at the local watering hole, which looked to be straight out of a western. This establishment was made of all-wood construction right up to the old-fashioned swinging doors and all. I’m not kidding, there were even some cowboys there grabbing some lunch. Remember in an earlier post when we talked about feeling out of place in the fancy town restaurant at Carmel by the Sea? Well you can feel that same way in a dive bar in the desert. Only it’s the other way around. We were dressed like the Mighty Morphin Power Rangers, and everyone else was wearing blue jeans, cowboy shirts, and hats, and even lassos… OH, and the bartender had his six shooter strapped on and everything. OK well that’s a bit of an understatement, because this was hardly a six shooter… In fact, it was a 15 shooter. Or 16 if you keep one in the pipe. Our friendly neighborhood bartender was sporting a Beretta 92fs tucked casually into the back of his jeans...
Anyway – our bartender happened to know the moto shop owner. He said he does great work, but he’s closed on Monday, and he’s not a very friendly fellow. He offered to call him anyway, and interrupt him on his day off, to see if he might be interested. Given our unique situation, we agreed and secretly planned to buy the shop owners favor with good ol’ fashioned U.S. Dollars.
The call was made and the shop owner agreed to swing by in a few. Goda happened to get a call from work which kinda brought him back to reality for a few minutes. We sat at the bar and ordered some sandwiches to pass the time and just before we headed out, the bartender wished us luck and gave us some ridiculously good peaches that one of the locals had left to share. You don’t get that kind of treatment in the big city, lemme tell ya.
We got to the shop and the owner and one of his custom workers said hello and asked us what the heck we were doing. We told them about the trip and etc, and before long we were as chummy as moto riders can be. They threw the bike up in the stand and went to work.
The long and short of it is that the pivot in the swingarm was wearing funny and a little off-centered, affecting the response. It wasn’t too springy, but it wasn’t too squishy either. If we stayed out of the ruts and rocks it’d be fine. If we were in a turn and it got rutted, rooted, or rocky, there was the chance that the rear would loose traction and slip out a little, or a lot. Speed would be most important if / when we hit any more off-road sections.
That said, there was no repair that could be done with the parts they have on-hand but he didn't think it was a huge issue. We spotted our buds for their trouble and headed back to the road. We figured we’d make it as far south as we could and it so happened there was a town near the next intersection with the trail. Cuba, NM was our new destination. We hit the road and enjoyed some of the most amazing views in the trip. All the while, about 20-30 miles to the left of us, there was a series of dark storm clouds. We knew that had this morning gone differently, we’d have been in the middle of that and that meant more mud... We'd either having the best time of our lives or possibly the not so best time of our lives… For better or worse we weren’t there, we were here, and the road was with us, and so was the sun and scenery. We pushed on.
Cuba was a pretty uneventful town. A few gas stations a few restaurants and about 2 motels. One of which had no vacancy. The other of which had a TV with a “Who’s the Boss” marathon on it. We kicked back, cleaned up, an enjoyed the nostalgic “will they, won’t they” of a classic sitcom from our childhood.
Before long it was dinner time. A local tipped us off that just down the road there was a great Mexican food joint. We walked, and walked, and walked, 'till we found this little gem hidden just off the road. The exterior was nondescript. Once you passed through the doors, however, you were transported directly to Mexico. We took a seat out on the rear patio and in no time we had our food ordered. It was just short of totally awesome. That last bit to push it over the edge came with dessert. The sopapillas were out of this world. We enjoyed some chit chat with a local couple who had just gotten married and moved back to Cuba from Albuquerque to renovate the husband's childhood ranch home. They were in love with the country side there, but missed some of the comforts of the big city. That warned us of further muddy conditions, and that the rain we were experiencing was unseasonably early. On top of that, the early rainy season had been here for going on a month already… Things weren’t sounding too good for us, but he also mentioned that when the rain lets up and the sun comes out, the mud dries up nice and quick. This info was indeed welcome, but basically as helpful as a coin toss. In other words, "We might be stuck in the middle of nowhere going nowhere, or we might not"…. Ugh.
We went back to the room and low and behold we saw a familiar black and green KLR in the parking lot. We knew right away it was our Canadian buddy Kyle. We left a note in what we thought was his room and went off to the next-door gas station to wash down our bikes because they were a bloody mess. When we got back, Yobo put his KLR up on the center stand. It wasn't quite right and all of a sudden we watched it crash to the ground in slow-motion. Turns out that little fall caused him the most damage to the bike on this trip. His rack was all wonky and the case was a smidge bent. Yobo wasn't the happiest camper but used his Macgyver-like skills to get everything back straight. We touched base with Kyle and he mentioned that he had hit our first section of trail the night before when it was dry. Meanwhile - today he passed through rainy and sunny sections and had indeed encountered some of the infamous mud we had become so familiar with this morning. He also mentioned he had several flats through that section and went down a few times. It was a trying day.
We made plans to meet up for breakfast and headed in for the night. It was at this point that we had to make some decision. We knew that soon we’d be unconscious, and soon after that it was go-time. Rather than procrastinating, we started chatting about what was up. The trail was anybody guess. Based on the data we had, it could be a 1-mile-an-hour-crash-fest, or decent enough to enjoy some of the famed NM backcountry… Goda favored the trail but was down for either, Yobo favored roads but didn’t want to give up on the trail. In the end it was the devil, or rather the devil’s highway, that made the decision for us.
If you recall our buddy in Salida was singing the praises of this particular stretch of treacherous pavement, and we were already debating sidetracking a bit to hit it on the way back. It’d be a logistical issue, though, to hit this road and stay on schedule, and here we were a mere 2.5 hrs drive away… It seemed like the best compromise. We’d bail on what would be the last section of the trail for the chance to ride one of the united states most famous, or perhaps infamous, stretches of road. A real motorcyclist’s gem. Historic Route 666, 'the devil’s highway'.
With that, we regained our focus, got packed and prepped and hit the hay for the last time on the trail. It’d be roads from here to Mexico and back again. Our adventure had taken another unforeseen turn and we, once again, drifted off wondering what was next. We were playing motorcycle jazz and the trip was our concert. So far, it was a crowd-pleaser, but we’d have to see what was next…. Yet again.
/s/ Goda & Yobo
Monday, August 29, 2011
Trip Report Day 11: Salida, CO to Elk Creek Camp, CO
Date: Sunday August 29, 2010
Start: 0945 (0700 wake-up)
Finish: N/A
Travel Time: 7 hrs
Distance: 234 miles
Distance: 3501 miles
Distance: 3501 miles
So we got a sort of sleepy start in Salida. Waking up at oh-seven hundred in a hostel, the occupants of which were out on the town later than we were in most cases, means it’s a quiet morning. We took care to pack up and slip through the rooms of sleeping travelers with ninja like stealth and precision. Once downstairs, we enjoyed some peanut butter sandwiches, a sloppy orange, toast and coffee, and had some hushed conversation with our pals Adam and Leone, who were also getting up for an early day on the road home. Apparently Jim had managed to wake up and hit the road by 0600, which is magical stuff considering they were all out later than us.
Like so many mornings, it was wonderfully cool and humid. I've often said that if I could have any weather I ever wanted, it would definitely be east coast fall morning weather. It's crisp, and cool, and sunny, and wonderful. Well this morning felt just like that.
Once we finished up breakfast, we started the procession of taking gear out to the bikes, running through our mechanical checks, getting the armor on, electronics wired, GPSs triangulated, and helmet comms connected. While we were packing and checking another moto-traveler popped by for some early morning convo. He was riding an older model BMW touring bike and clued us in to the amazing roads and scenery in New Mexico and Arizona. He had the most to say about route 666 in AZ though. We mused for a moment with the idea of re-routing to include that section on our way back to LA but we didn't need to decide anything right now. In fact, we had miles of roads and trails, and constant connectivity through our helmet comms so this whole trip can be looked upon as one giant mobile conference call. Yay!!! AND, if there's one thing we'd learned thus far, it's that trips like this are not pre-planned. Your plan simply will never work 100%. BUT, half of the glory and fun is in swapping, modifying, and flat out re-inventing the plan on the fly. That's what travel and adventure are all about right?
We'd see about the devil's highway... Or would the devil's highway see about us? Hah! We'd leave that one for later as well, because right now we needed to finish packing and get our GPS devices online...
Wait...
Where's goda's GPS... ?
Crap!
We shuffled through our gear a dozen times but no dice. Maybe it was back in the room? Chris ninja'd back through the denizens of sleepy, hung-over, travelers and quickly searched the room but, again, no reward. We started to worry at this point. The last time we could remember any contact with the device was when we were navigating into town last night. Did we leave the GPS on the bike overnight? If so, it didn’t make it. Someone must have felt it would be better served in their possession, and with that, our kick-ass time in this kick-ass town will have taken a sorry turn and left us with a slightly sour taste in the mouth... Bummer.
BUT, low and behold, we did indeed find the device. It was IN GODA'S HAND THE WHOLE TIME. HE HAS BIG HANDS. AND HE DIDN'T NOTICE IT. Just kidding. It turned up in a jacket pocket! Somewhere we'd never typically put it, yet somewhere that seems to make incredible amounts of sense... Strange we didn't check it earlier but we'll just chalk it up to several long trail days, several early starts, and several beers the night before.
With that mini-crisis sorted, we hit the road rough and ready. We stopped to gas up before leaving town, and started chatting about route directions and the conditions expected, etc. One thing was for sure. Colorado trails on day 1 certainly did not disappoint, and we were anxious for more of the same. We knew we'd be on our way down in elevation as we approached New Mexico, and we also knew there'd be an inexplicable, sudden, and magical change in terrain and landscape as there nearly always is across state borders. And so, the question hovered in our minds this morning, as it has each day of this trip so far... "What is in store for us today?"
Well Colorado day 2 lived up to expectations. We started the morning in some beautiful mountain terrain and alpine meadows, with gorgeous vistas stretching as far as the eye can see. The trail was mainly comprised of dirt access roads and they were fairly maintained, but they were rutted in such a way that you'd swear they were designed for the sole purpose of shaking your bike and your butt to pieces. (Imagine about 50 miles of rumble strips and you'll get the idea.) It was a little worrying, and we knew that a full bike check would be necessary.
As we proceeded south, the terrain definitely started to level out a bit. As the day wore on, We started to see more red-rock, and sand. Oh the sand... What did the sand have in store for us?
So there we are on some nicely groomed dirt roads, chatting, taking in the beautiful, if rapidly changing, landscapes full of redrock buttes and cacti, when a turn comes up on our GPSs. It was a turn not unlike so many other turns we've taken. It beared to the left at about 270degrees. So we took it. No big deal. The road became trail. Honest to goodness trail. This was at times seemingly less than even a quad trail, and whenever it pretended to be a quad trail, it did so poorly. It pretended to be the worst, most deeply rutted, nasty quad trail in Colorado, and then, to fill those ruts, a grainy, sandy, rocky mix of hell on earth. Our +450lb loads were sinking and swimming and fishtailing and all kinds of other things that describe behaviors on loose, liquideous, un-solid surfaces. It was hard to go straight for any given period of time, let alone stay upright. We were "puttin' a foot down" every few feet! We may as well walked alongside our bikes revving the engine... It'd be as fast, and waaay safer. But nah! Why would we do that? That's no fun. We'd toughed it out. Besides, we were getting pretty close to the base of a butte to the left of us, and what looked like solid ground again. Ahead of us was an old rusted out bus, and some other strangely out-of-place objects. Barrels, Chairs, Buckets, a few dressers and a table... It was a camp of some sort. We figured that camp would have an access road that led to it and that'd be our ticket outta here!
As we got closer we began to ponder just what the heck this stuff was doing here - I mean, it's a fairly random mix of items, many of which have no correlation to the others.... Still, that weird pile of items has the road and the way out so we couldn't wait to meet our eccentric camp/pile of junk. (I'm convinced at this point that the great pile of nothing was actually placed there by aliens... or the illuminati... uh huh... thiiiiink about it.) It was about at this point we realized that we were lost. We were so busy trying to stay upright that we weren't looking at the navigation queues and we'd ended up in a spot where nobody in their right mind would ever go. All of our hopes and dreams of getting outta the sandy stuff just got smashed in our faces. Hard. Not only were we off track, but the last 30 minutes of white knuckled, teeth gnashing, foot frenzied riding would need to be repeated. Ugh. We stopped for a quick wits and water break, and then headed back into hell's gate for another dance.
Here's something about me. I don't mind being lost. I'm generally confident in my capabilities to work through problems, back track, and find my way out of whatever jams I've found myself in. Heck, I've been lost in the dark on a mountain in the middle of death valley before. No biggie, you camp out if ya need to and get your bearings in the morning and keep on keepin on... It's just that I HATE BEING LOST! I know, I know, it’s a contradictory statement. What can I say, it’s true. Intellectually, conceptually, I'm fine with it. Sure it sucks and you lose some time, etc. but it happens and we'll figure it out. It’s like sometimes there's a chilled out hippie in control of my mind. However, my guts HATE IT! I get a pit in my stomach and a grinding, nagging feeling in the back of my mind that just needs to back on course.
Here's something about Pagoda. He HATES GOING BACKWARDS. I’ve been in situation with that dude where the only tangible option is to turn around and get back to whatever you need to get back to, and he'll try to think of a way to drive on and end up in the same place. Even if it takes three years and a near circumnavigation of the globe to accomplish it. Needless to say, we were back on point and on task, but not happy about it.
So in about 20 more minutes we found the stupid turn we missed and guess what? MORE SAND! we'd battle it out for another few miles but we are no strangers to battle! We both have played video games where you battle something... Like a monster... or a mean turtle with an army of mushroom people... you know... battle. Before long we found ourselves back on the dirty stuff and we were exhausted. We hit a little gas-stop town to fuel up and rest. As we hit the station, we prayed we'd seen the last of sand.
We were in luck because this gas station was also a subway! We fueled up and headed in for an air-conditioned sandwich experience and that’s just what we got. Yum. The other attraction that grabbed our attention were the jacked up KTM motorcycles parked out front. We checked out the rides as we strolled in and we knew the owners were inside doing the same to us as we approached. There was an instant kinship felt by all. We started chatting it up with those guys and they let us know that New Mexico would NOT be as sandy as what we just went through… BUT, if it got muddy, the dirt turns to a clay-like substance that cakes into your tire tread and you may as well be rollerskating on ice. Double-Ugh… We walked in praying for no more sand, and we walked out praying for no New Mexican clay-mud!
Just like so many of the riders we met on this trip, those guys were on the ADV rider forums , so we exchanged handles (they were Catastrophic Failure), posed or a quick photo op, talked a little shop, then armored up to hit the road again. As we packed we noticed a green KLR that drove by twice. It was all strapped up with sleeping bags, and blankets and bags. He pulled up next to us and asked for some lube. We gladly shared what we had as he precariously leaned the bike over on the side stand and lubed it up. He rolled off as did we. Luckily the next section would be pretty, open, and uneventful. We made our way through more and more of the red-stuff as we approached the NM border. It was as if someone painted the rockies red and gold. It was beautiful, and made moreso by the slowly setting sun.
Speaking of setting sun. It was time to get set up for the night. We didn’t make it as far as we wanted to today. So we found ourselves near the border, instead of across it! Luckily for us, just as the trail petered out and hooked up with the tarmac again, there was a little campsite area that seemed perfect. We registered, and had our pick of the sites. We figured there was some rain on the way, so we hussled to get the tent up and the gear sheltered before it really started to pour. Then we got busy on a campfire.
Campfires are great. They’ve been called nature's TV and that’s pretty apt if you ask me. You can stare at em mindlessly for hours. However, unlike real TV, you can cook on a campfire and it will also keep you warm to boot! YAY! I tried the ol’ flint and steel again, but it was drizzling lightly and the vegetation was moist so nothing would take a spark. After a few well intentioned attempts I decided to grab my trusty bic lighter and put it to work. I just wish it worked! After failing yet again with my flint and steel, it was some consolation that even with modern implements the tinder was just too stubborn to take a flame, but it sucks not getting to watch natures tv. Not to mention getting some hot grub in ya!
Luckily my buddy had no faith in me at all, and had been boiling water on his wimpy camp stove for a few minutes now. We cooked up noodle soup, potatoes, and some freeze dried mountain meals, and treated ourselves to a nice dinner at a picnic table in a campground between the middle of Nowheres-ville, Colorado and Nowhereville, New Mexico. There was no view, and it was raining, but it still felt good.
Once we were fed, it was time to get rested. We hit the tent to review some route data, take some notes on our progress so far, and then finally, set up in our sleeping bags with bike magazines and the pitter of rain on our roof, we reflected as we individually drifted off.
Today was a tough one, and with the rain on-coming and not stopping, we each quietly supposed that tomorrow would be the same.
/s/ Yobo
/s/ Yobo
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Trip Report Day 10: Steamboat Springs, CO to Salida, CO
Date: Saturday, August 28, 2010
Start: 0900 (0730 wake-up)
Finish: 2030ish???
Travel Time: 11.5 hrs
Distance: 250 miles
Total Distance Covered: 3267 miles
Thanks to our preparations yesterday, we were up and ready for the road quicker than normal. We enjoyed some free cereal and juice in a tiny room just outside of the front desk. The sat phone, however, held us up again. Mike was pretty patient with our brother-in-law Jason who lent us the phone and customer service and eventually things got worked out. We noticed a baby Triumph parked next to Wild Bill's GS and the owner stopped over for a quick chat before we started up on the trail again.
As we were descending down into one of the valley, I stayed back for some good footage of Yobo heading down a descent. As I attempted to catch up, I washed out around one of the dirt corners and dumped the bike. I ended up breaking my left blinker in the fall. Yobo was out of line of sight, so the com system wasn't working and Yobo continued on. I've gotten good at uprighting the bike and was soon back on. I will say it is frustrating to go down, especially after having put all of these miles on. We stopped in Kremmling for some lunch and stumbled upon comfort-food gold mine. This diner/restaurant had the most unbelievable hot-open face turkey sandwich and we topped it all off with some homemade pies.
Back on the roads for stretch and found ourselves in the resort town of Breckenridge Breckenridge Como
We stopped at the Hartsel Gas Station for a quick refill of food and fuel. Three other riders on Harley's had the same thing in mind. Jim, Adam, and Leone were super friendly folk from Colorado and told us about some cool hot springs just down the way in addition to a happening hostel and pizza joint in Salida , CO Buena Vista
We found the Simple Hostel and snagged a bunk room on the second floor. It was way cheap and quiet. Definitely a recommended place to stay for anyone traveling through here. Just like Adam, Jim, and Leone had recommended, we headed over to Amica's Pizza for dinner and sure enough all three of them were sitting and enjoying some pies. The joint was hopping and we each ordered our own personal pie and enjoyed some funny stories. These peeps were a riot and invited us to join them for a few drinks at the Victoria
Salida really captured one of the aspects of the trip that we'd grown to love. Meeting great people and enjoying those off-the-beaten path places to stay and eat. So we're spreading the word and recommending the Simple Hostel and Amica's if you wanna have a good time whenever in Salida , CO
/s/ Goda
/s/ Goda
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Trip Report Day 9: Lander, WY to Steamboat Springs, CO
Date: Friday, August 27, 2010
Start: 1000 (0630 wake-up)
Finish: 1700
Travel Time: 7 hrs
Distance: 289 miles
Total Distance Covered: 3017 miles
This morning was a little different than previous mornings as we weren't quite sure where we were headed and how we were going to get there. The possibility of bad weather was in the forecast and Yobo was still not feeling 100%. The route remained remote, so if anything were to happen, we were kinda out of touch. To top it all off, the satellite phone was acting all wonky and we couldn't make calls. I had a couple mini repairs to make on my saddle rack and headed outside while Yobo suffered with the sat phone company. After some discussion, we decided it made the most sense to put in some road miles and get to Steamboat. This would allow us to make up some ground, catch up on some rest, and evaluate how we felt real time in the comfort of civilization.
We left Lander and took Rt 287 to Rawlins for a lunch stop. Before we strolled out of town, we passed a Kawasaki dealer and Yobo stocked up on a tube and an air filter kit. We were rolling through town and found a biker-looking bar right on main street and parked out front. When we got in, two dudes all geared up for a moto adventure, were getting ready to leave. Turns out they were northbound on the trail with some major cc's. The one was rocking a VStrom and the other a 1200GS. Yobo and I had been chatting this whole time about the ideal bike for this trip. I felt mine could have used a smidge more on the highways and it would have been nice to have something a lil lighter for the technical stuff. Overall, I think the 650's were a great compromise and both bikes were performing admirably. I'm personally fond the the F800 with a similar weight to my 650 with a bit more punch. The 1200GS seemed excessive, but the riders said they were managing. They were having a blast and warned of some muddy sections in northern NM. We wished each other good luck as they left and we polished off our burgers and fries.
The remaining roads to Steamboat were windy and rain was threatening. I was starting to get pretty tired and needed to pop an emergency Red Bull. We arrived at Steamboat in the late afternoon. Definitely our earliest arrival on the trip. We were scanning the town for a good place to stay when we spotted a dinosaur statue conveniently placed in the corner of a gas station lot. Yobo and I are not one to pass up a photo-op, so we pulled in, gassed up, and hopped on "Saddlesaurus Rex." After one trip down main street, we decided on the rustic looking Alpinier motel. We took advantage of the early arrival and gave our bikes a good once over. The plan was to hit the trails again tomorrow and we'd be all set for an early start by working on the bikes now. While going over the bikes, another biker on a yellow 1200GS checked in. "Wild Bill" as we called him made his way over and we chatted for a bit. He was from Colorado and out for an extended weekend trip to get away from things.
We freshened up and walked down town to scope out some grub. Here's a little secret about Goda. I like candy...and really like gummy candy. Well, we happened upon a candy shop and i couldn't resist. I picked up about a pound of gummy colas, blue sharks, and all kinds of sugar-coated goodness. On the way out, I noticed a squeaky rubber chicken and decided my bike was a little lonely, so I brought it with. We enjoyed some good smoke house barbecue for dinner and made our way back to the Alpinier. On the way, Yobo introduced me to the viral internet video "Double Rainbow" and we just about lost our shite spoofing it on the walk home.
Spirits were good as we hit the sack. We enjoyed a few "Man vs. Wild" episodes and chatted about our adventure. We were charged up and ready to hit the trails again. Today was also a big milestone in the trip. We are officially half-way complete and broke the 3000 mile barrier. To think we still had another 9 days remaining really put the trip into perspective. It was as if we'd already crammed a months worth of madness in the first 9 days. Cheers to the next 9.
/s/ Goda
Start: 1000 (0630 wake-up)
Finish: 1700
Travel Time: 7 hrs
Distance: 289 miles
Total Distance Covered: 3017 miles
This morning was a little different than previous mornings as we weren't quite sure where we were headed and how we were going to get there. The possibility of bad weather was in the forecast and Yobo was still not feeling 100%. The route remained remote, so if anything were to happen, we were kinda out of touch. To top it all off, the satellite phone was acting all wonky and we couldn't make calls. I had a couple mini repairs to make on my saddle rack and headed outside while Yobo suffered with the sat phone company. After some discussion, we decided it made the most sense to put in some road miles and get to Steamboat. This would allow us to make up some ground, catch up on some rest, and evaluate how we felt real time in the comfort of civilization.
We left Lander and took Rt 287 to Rawlins for a lunch stop. Before we strolled out of town, we passed a Kawasaki dealer and Yobo stocked up on a tube and an air filter kit. We were rolling through town and found a biker-looking bar right on main street and parked out front. When we got in, two dudes all geared up for a moto adventure, were getting ready to leave. Turns out they were northbound on the trail with some major cc's. The one was rocking a VStrom and the other a 1200GS. Yobo and I had been chatting this whole time about the ideal bike for this trip. I felt mine could have used a smidge more on the highways and it would have been nice to have something a lil lighter for the technical stuff. Overall, I think the 650's were a great compromise and both bikes were performing admirably. I'm personally fond the the F800 with a similar weight to my 650 with a bit more punch. The 1200GS seemed excessive, but the riders said they were managing. They were having a blast and warned of some muddy sections in northern NM. We wished each other good luck as they left and we polished off our burgers and fries.
The remaining roads to Steamboat were windy and rain was threatening. I was starting to get pretty tired and needed to pop an emergency Red Bull. We arrived at Steamboat in the late afternoon. Definitely our earliest arrival on the trip. We were scanning the town for a good place to stay when we spotted a dinosaur statue conveniently placed in the corner of a gas station lot. Yobo and I are not one to pass up a photo-op, so we pulled in, gassed up, and hopped on "Saddlesaurus Rex." After one trip down main street, we decided on the rustic looking Alpinier motel. We took advantage of the early arrival and gave our bikes a good once over. The plan was to hit the trails again tomorrow and we'd be all set for an early start by working on the bikes now. While going over the bikes, another biker on a yellow 1200GS checked in. "Wild Bill" as we called him made his way over and we chatted for a bit. He was from Colorado and out for an extended weekend trip to get away from things.
We freshened up and walked down town to scope out some grub. Here's a little secret about Goda. I like candy...and really like gummy candy. Well, we happened upon a candy shop and i couldn't resist. I picked up about a pound of gummy colas, blue sharks, and all kinds of sugar-coated goodness. On the way out, I noticed a squeaky rubber chicken and decided my bike was a little lonely, so I brought it with. We enjoyed some good smoke house barbecue for dinner and made our way back to the Alpinier. On the way, Yobo introduced me to the viral internet video "Double Rainbow" and we just about lost our shite spoofing it on the walk home.
Spirits were good as we hit the sack. We enjoyed a few "Man vs. Wild" episodes and chatted about our adventure. We were charged up and ready to hit the trails again. Today was also a big milestone in the trip. We are officially half-way complete and broke the 3000 mile barrier. To think we still had another 9 days remaining really put the trip into perspective. It was as if we'd already crammed a months worth of madness in the first 9 days. Cheers to the next 9.
/s/ Goda
Friday, August 26, 2011
Trip Report Day 8: Jackson Lake, WY to Lander, WY
Date: Thursday, August 26, 2010
Start: 1000 (0730 wake-up)
Finish: 2030
Travel Time: 10.5 hrs
Distance: 274 miles
Total Distance Covered: 2728 miles
I was feeling it from the night before and did not want to part with the soft mattress one bit. Weather predictions remained unchanged and we were still headed for a shit-storm the next couple days. We finished up with the bike check and decided to head over to the lodge for breakfast. Beforehand we published our most action-packed deal-of-the-day, complete with ninja hair, rain sticks, and punch-jumping. We were both anxious to check out the Tetons during the day and they didn't disappoint. The back patio was packed with TV cameras, cables and chairs in support of CNBC broadcasting a morning show live. We avoided the surrounding chaos and tried for a photo op with the mountains behind us. Y'all know how this works. You're with some friends, you find a dope photo op, you look for the most likely person in the area that could snap a good pic (usually a kid or young adult), and you're left with a memory to last a lifetime. So we did just that. We found a handsome young lad with a University of Wisconsin shirt to take our picture. He asked all the right questions, shifted us around a bit, and snapped. It was a little chaotic with the whole set, so he handed the camera back and left. We checked out the photo and it turns out our big noggins were totally in front of the Tetons...FAIL!
We were soon back en route and off the tarmac. The roads were particularly dry and dusty and that's when we got stuck behind a truck. Well we didn't really know it was a truck at first, because when we approached it was like a Tasmanian devil whipping up a blinding dust-storm of epic proportions. It was getting inside our visors and causing a hawt mess. Before we knew it we were only 10 ft or so behind the truck itself and had no idea we were that close. We couldn't pass because there was no way to check for oncoming traffic. After several fruitless attempts of swinging off to the side to let him know were behind, we contemplated stopping/ He eventually pulled over and we blew past.
The roads were rather twisty with some very loose gravel. This combination was a recipe for some close calls around the turns. Several times I found myself coming in too hot and having to brake hard. This wasn't exactly the most effective approach on loose gravel. Eventually Yobo noticed that something definitely wasn't right with his bike. When he looked down, he observed the first mechanical of the trip, a flat rear tire. We had practiced changing a tire before the trip and now it was prime time. And really, a motorcycle tire is just a jacked up bicycle tire, and we've both changed countless number of those. We got the bike on it's center stand, stabilized it, and got to work. The whole operation set us back about an hour, which wasn't too bad considering. The bead broke easily and Yobo's compressor saved our tired arms. We even survived a small scare when we bent the needle in the valve for the spare. I'm not really a gear-head, so it felt good get over this little setback.
It was probably a combination of the late night sauce and 7 looooong days on the bike, but we totally hit the wall and were way tired by early afternoon. I think stopping to change the tired wiped us out and let things catch up. We pushed through and eventually had our first encounter with sand. It got way fun as we navigated through some rutted jeep/quad trails. This was my first exposure and I was getting all wishy-washy. This perked us up because it required extra concentration and it was the first major change in terrain we'd encountered since we got on the trail. I led the way for a bit and noticed a bit of kicker climb coming up. I picked up some momentum. Soon the hill got ruttier and ruttier. Before I knew it, I was trying gain control of my bucking bronco bimmer and soon found myself off the left side of the trail near the top with a dumped bike. I gave Yobo a head's up and ranback to the hill to watch him successfully navigate to the top. We both checked out what we had conquered, and naturally it didn't look half as bad as what I felt when I road to the top.
After the adrenaline wore off, we were back in the funk that we found ourselves earlier that afternoon. We knew that we were paralleling a road and soon enough we found ourselves at a gas station in Pinedale, WY. We stocked up on Coke and snickers and got in line. I noticed the young girl behind the counter and something seemed different. She was blond, and kind, and soft-spoken, and the purest being to ever set foot on this great earth. She asked about our trip and expressed how she'd love to do something similar, but couldn't see herself breaking free. I was pretty close to grabbing her and throwing her on my saddle to join us on the remainder of our journey, but I opted to be less aggressive and wished her the best on whatever adventure she found herself. Yobo and I pulled our bikes over to the side of the building in the shade and just sat on the ground eating our snacks. A nap was in order, but we still had some big miles ahead of us. The upcoming stretch also happened to be some of the most remote miles on the trip through the Great Divide Basin in SE Wyoming.
Not sure if the Great Divide Basin can be described. I guess you can start by picturing yourself on some remote planet with dirt and rock extended out to the horizon. Straight ahead of you was a dirt road and your ticket out. The dirt road had dips and hills as far as the eye can see, almost like you were riding the neck of a Lochness Monster arching in and out of the water. This remoteness made it one of the most memorable portions of the trip. Unfortunately for Yobo, it would be memorable for another reason. He started not feeling right and it couldn't have come at a worse spot. His heart was racing and he couldn't control his pulse. We figured it was a combination of several factors finally catching up. We had been on the trail for 8 full days now and over 2700 miles without a rest day. Remember those consecutive early wake-rises...they add up. All of this combined with the fatigue we were feeling earlier and a caffeine binge in Pinedale created a perfect storm for his insides. We made it back to the Tarmac and figured we'd stay in Atlantic City. Well here's the deal with Atlantic City in Wyoming. It couldn't be more of an opposite of the Atlantic City in NJ. I'm not sure this ghost town even had electricity. We passed a few campgrounds, but with Yobo feeling the way he did, he wanted to be close to civilization and suggested heading to Lander, WY for the night.
I gotta admit, I wasn't too down for backtracking on the highway and heading off course, but it was definitely the smart choice. Yobo knows his body and his body said..."let's be sure you're good before we continue through the middle of nowhere Wyoming." We checked into a cheap corner room at a motel in Lander and headed to Tony's pizza for a rooftop dinner. We chatted briefly with a two dudes from Alabama and a couple from Steamboat as we dined under the clear Lander skies. Overall the meal was quieter than normal as we both thought about the uncertainty surrounding the next day's agenda. One good thing was that the weather held up and hopefully this would be true tomorrow.
/s/ Goda
Start: 1000 (0730 wake-up)
Finish: 2030
Travel Time: 10.5 hrs
Distance: 274 miles
Total Distance Covered: 2728 miles
I was feeling it from the night before and did not want to part with the soft mattress one bit. Weather predictions remained unchanged and we were still headed for a shit-storm the next couple days. We finished up with the bike check and decided to head over to the lodge for breakfast. Beforehand we published our most action-packed deal-of-the-day, complete with ninja hair, rain sticks, and punch-jumping. We were both anxious to check out the Tetons during the day and they didn't disappoint. The back patio was packed with TV cameras, cables and chairs in support of CNBC broadcasting a morning show live. We avoided the surrounding chaos and tried for a photo op with the mountains behind us. Y'all know how this works. You're with some friends, you find a dope photo op, you look for the most likely person in the area that could snap a good pic (usually a kid or young adult), and you're left with a memory to last a lifetime. So we did just that. We found a handsome young lad with a University of Wisconsin shirt to take our picture. He asked all the right questions, shifted us around a bit, and snapped. It was a little chaotic with the whole set, so he handed the camera back and left. We checked out the photo and it turns out our big noggins were totally in front of the Tetons...FAIL!
We were soon back en route and off the tarmac. The roads were particularly dry and dusty and that's when we got stuck behind a truck. Well we didn't really know it was a truck at first, because when we approached it was like a Tasmanian devil whipping up a blinding dust-storm of epic proportions. It was getting inside our visors and causing a hawt mess. Before we knew it we were only 10 ft or so behind the truck itself and had no idea we were that close. We couldn't pass because there was no way to check for oncoming traffic. After several fruitless attempts of swinging off to the side to let him know were behind, we contemplated stopping/ He eventually pulled over and we blew past.
The roads were rather twisty with some very loose gravel. This combination was a recipe for some close calls around the turns. Several times I found myself coming in too hot and having to brake hard. This wasn't exactly the most effective approach on loose gravel. Eventually Yobo noticed that something definitely wasn't right with his bike. When he looked down, he observed the first mechanical of the trip, a flat rear tire. We had practiced changing a tire before the trip and now it was prime time. And really, a motorcycle tire is just a jacked up bicycle tire, and we've both changed countless number of those. We got the bike on it's center stand, stabilized it, and got to work. The whole operation set us back about an hour, which wasn't too bad considering. The bead broke easily and Yobo's compressor saved our tired arms. We even survived a small scare when we bent the needle in the valve for the spare. I'm not really a gear-head, so it felt good get over this little setback.
It was probably a combination of the late night sauce and 7 looooong days on the bike, but we totally hit the wall and were way tired by early afternoon. I think stopping to change the tired wiped us out and let things catch up. We pushed through and eventually had our first encounter with sand. It got way fun as we navigated through some rutted jeep/quad trails. This was my first exposure and I was getting all wishy-washy. This perked us up because it required extra concentration and it was the first major change in terrain we'd encountered since we got on the trail. I led the way for a bit and noticed a bit of kicker climb coming up. I picked up some momentum. Soon the hill got ruttier and ruttier. Before I knew it, I was trying gain control of my bucking bronco bimmer and soon found myself off the left side of the trail near the top with a dumped bike. I gave Yobo a head's up and ranback to the hill to watch him successfully navigate to the top. We both checked out what we had conquered, and naturally it didn't look half as bad as what I felt when I road to the top.
After the adrenaline wore off, we were back in the funk that we found ourselves earlier that afternoon. We knew that we were paralleling a road and soon enough we found ourselves at a gas station in Pinedale, WY. We stocked up on Coke and snickers and got in line. I noticed the young girl behind the counter and something seemed different. She was blond, and kind, and soft-spoken, and the purest being to ever set foot on this great earth. She asked about our trip and expressed how she'd love to do something similar, but couldn't see herself breaking free. I was pretty close to grabbing her and throwing her on my saddle to join us on the remainder of our journey, but I opted to be less aggressive and wished her the best on whatever adventure she found herself. Yobo and I pulled our bikes over to the side of the building in the shade and just sat on the ground eating our snacks. A nap was in order, but we still had some big miles ahead of us. The upcoming stretch also happened to be some of the most remote miles on the trip through the Great Divide Basin in SE Wyoming.
Not sure if the Great Divide Basin can be described. I guess you can start by picturing yourself on some remote planet with dirt and rock extended out to the horizon. Straight ahead of you was a dirt road and your ticket out. The dirt road had dips and hills as far as the eye can see, almost like you were riding the neck of a Lochness Monster arching in and out of the water. This remoteness made it one of the most memorable portions of the trip. Unfortunately for Yobo, it would be memorable for another reason. He started not feeling right and it couldn't have come at a worse spot. His heart was racing and he couldn't control his pulse. We figured it was a combination of several factors finally catching up. We had been on the trail for 8 full days now and over 2700 miles without a rest day. Remember those consecutive early wake-rises...they add up. All of this combined with the fatigue we were feeling earlier and a caffeine binge in Pinedale created a perfect storm for his insides. We made it back to the Tarmac and figured we'd stay in Atlantic City. Well here's the deal with Atlantic City in Wyoming. It couldn't be more of an opposite of the Atlantic City in NJ. I'm not sure this ghost town even had electricity. We passed a few campgrounds, but with Yobo feeling the way he did, he wanted to be close to civilization and suggested heading to Lander, WY for the night.
I gotta admit, I wasn't too down for backtracking on the highway and heading off course, but it was definitely the smart choice. Yobo knows his body and his body said..."let's be sure you're good before we continue through the middle of nowhere Wyoming." We checked into a cheap corner room at a motel in Lander and headed to Tony's pizza for a rooftop dinner. We chatted briefly with a two dudes from Alabama and a couple from Steamboat as we dined under the clear Lander skies. Overall the meal was quieter than normal as we both thought about the uncertainty surrounding the next day's agenda. One good thing was that the weather held up and hopefully this would be true tomorrow.
/s/ Goda
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