DAY 22
Day 22 and I’m solo again. Even though I really enjoy the Aussie’s company when we ride, there is something inside me that always has the desire for solo adventure travel. I like deciding my own pace. When, where, and how long I’ll stop and when I might just turn off the bike and listen to nature. My pace is decided by my ability to take in the scenes around me.
After a fuel stop I take the highway up to the turn off for Gemini Bridges, the next landmark on the TAT. The road soon gets steep as I leave the desert floor, the early morning light beginning to illuminate the rocks on the cliff side. After providing a nice view, the road drops back down and turns right, heading into the backcountry. I pass interesting formations and navigate some sandy areas. The recent rain makes it a little easier. Eventually I pass a really soft sandy area then turn right onto a steep slick rock climb, the rubber from so many vehicles leaving two distinct lines to follow on the surface. After cresting the top, the trail becomes a mix of slick rock and sand making for technical, fun riding up to Gemini Bridges.
There is a lot of riding after that today that is long, fast, and frankly boring desert sections running down power lines or across open barren desert. And I mean barren. Except for a small patch of sand dunes that looked beautiful, this section is a snoozer.
Once I reach the Mexican Mountain Wilderness and the San Rafael Swell things begin to get more enjoyable again. The canyons return and the landscape is magnificent. This is bighorn sheep country, and there are over 900 currently making their home here after a very successful repopulation program started with only 12.
As ever, the weather has me firmly in its sights. I see a monster of a dark cloud headed my way and I will have just enough time to reach camp. I think. I round the last corner and see the campground. Completely empty and sporting some nice new metal shelters at each site. I pick the largest one that serves adjoining sites and set up as fast as possible. I’ve seen these types of storms many times in the desert and know what is in store. This is the calm before the storm, literally. I move the picnic table over, then set up the tent and the bike under the shelter.
As I pound in the last tent stake, I’m getting wet. The storm has come up the canyon and it is angry. I don’t know it at the time but the Aussies have taken shelter about 3 miles away. The wind tries to rip my tent out of the ground and I dive in to hold it down with my body weight. It pulls 4 of the 8 stakes out but the corners hold securely. I can barely hear the thunder over the rain pounding on the roof of the metal structure I’m under. The desert can’t absorb the amount of water it’s getting and my shelter begins to turn into an island for 1 guy and his bike. Muddy streams and small ponds begin to form all around the campsite. Then the hail starts and now it’s deafening. Everywhere around the campsite there is a puddle, it is exploding with the impacts of millions of bb-sized hail stones. The hail lasts about 10-15 minutes and all I can do it watch by peeking under the flapping rain fly of my tent. At least I’m dry.
After about 25 minutes the storm has spent it’s energy and the sun comes right in behind it. The rabbits and birds come out almost instantly and start splashing in the muddy water, knowing how precious it is in the desert and how soon it will dry up. They are almost completely indifferent to my presence. In the new silence, I can hear water rushing as the valleys empty down to the campground, flooding tent spaces and campfire rings. Luckily no one else is here and it’s just me to watch nature reclaim its personal space. The hail stones begin to melt away quickly in the sun and the nearby river is now a chocolate colored stream 4 times its normal size.
Soon, all seems to return to normal except for many ponds and muddy areas that will take days to dry, and the Aussies roll into camp to claim a couple shelters for the night.
Enjoy the pics. Good night.
DAY 23
I woke up last night around 2am from being cold. I fell asleep on top of my sleeping bag before I could even get in it. I guess all the storm excitement wore me out. Oh yeah, and riding. I’m out of camp by about 6:45 and make a quick stop at the Buckhorn Pictograph Panel. It isn’t as impressive as I remember due to mud that has run down after last night’s rain. The visibility of the images changes with seasons.
As I leave the San Rafael Swell area, I see an ominous dark cloud ahead. This does not bode well for me, as the Aussies are already convinced I am a rain magnet. I reach Castle Dale and top off fuel. As I put my helmet on it begins to rain and the curse continues. Up to this point my tires have not been an issue in the rain. I have not been overly cautious but I do ride with the understanding that I’m on off road tires, not special racing rain tires, and I conduct my behavior accordingly.
Up the road on Highway 29 before reaching Joes Valley Reservoir, I splash through a shallow rain runoff streaming across the highway. Just after that I cross a patch of road that is shinier than the rest but gave no initial cause for additional concern besides the normal caution I would use while riding in the wet. As I crossed it though, it may as well have been an ice rink. My back tire started sliding away, no longer following the front, which I can handle because I practice rear wheel skids as a matter of proficiency. But then the front wheel departed controlled flight as well and now I was drifting, or rather hydroplaning, across the lane. Two wheels hydroplaning on a vehicle with only two wheels is normally a near instant crash. By some random act of luck the rear started to swing back the other direction and the moment traction was regained the front and rear tires were in perfect alignment going straight down the road. It was a one in a million chance of not going down and somehow I didn’t. I’ve never had a two-tire hydroplaning incident before, only the rear, and I never want to again.
Once on the back side of Joes Valley Reservoir the road turns to dirt and the rain stops. I stop too and add an extra layer. It’s only 52°F but feels colder. I’m climbing over 8,000ft through the switchbacks when I’m stopped by a sheep protection dog guarding its flock as they move down the mountain. I’m a “dog person” and know that this pup has a job to do so I make it easy on her. I stop and turn off the bike, respecting the flock and in turn allowing the flock to move without fear of my actions. The dog gives me a few barks to let me know she’s the protector, and the two Australian Sheppards run around gathering strays and maintaining the form of the flock. It’s a beautiful thing to see working dogs engaging in their jobs. Dogs with a purpose. Soon the sheppard and his horse come around the bend to clear the flock from the road. The dogs take cues from a simple wave of his hand. No speaking, only signs. Signs can be understood easier I assume over the noise of the 300 or so sheep in the flock. Once clear we exchange the universal thumbs up and I’m off.
Down the back of the mountain to Ephraim where I can grab a bite and upload some previous day’s stories. The next section has me climbing up a semi-steep grade to the top of a mountain only to find the route now goes through a large ranch gate labeled Timber Canyon. The kind you see over a private drive into a ranch. Four years ago this wasn’t here and I can’t tell if the road is public access across private land or not. What I do know is that it’s very unusual to proceed through an entrance like this without it being private and two, I respect private property with a passion. All the tire tracks turn around here and none proceed up the drive. I turn around and on the way down the Aussies catch up to me headed up. I stop them and they also decide a possible trespass isn’t for them either. They will detour around to the south and I will detour to the north to retrieve a front sprocket I have at will call at Rocky Mountain ATV in Payson a short trip up the road. After 23,000 miles I’m going to need a new one soon.
On my way back to the TAT there is a grass fire on the median of the freeway so I take a back road diversion into Delta where I made a reservation earlier while in Payson. When I pull up, guess who is here just by coincidence. The Aussies. And I didn’t even bring rain with me.
Good night.
DAY 24
As always, when leaving a motel, I have a harder time getting up early than when camping. As I’m packing my gear I hear the Aussies heading off on their ride. They are making a detour to part of the Idaho BDR north until it hits the TAT. I’ve done the Idaho BDR and honestly, it’s probably a better route than the section I’m doing around the great Salt Lake. But I’ll stick to my route and maybe we’ll cross paths up the road.
I grab water and fuel in Delta, Utah before the section to Baker located on the Utah/Nevada border. This section from Delta to Wendover is my least favorite of the trip, probably rivaling the windy section I had in Oklahoma. Delta to Wendover is 250 miles and most of it consists of long straight sections of gravel road.
After about 40 miles of gravel I reach the Swasey Mountain Wilderness through the House Mountain Range. This section is a welcome relief from the monotonous straight roads I’ve been on. I pass by a Trilobite quarry but had no interest in digging up prehistoric roly-polies of the ocean so I continued into Death Canyon. An ominous name for such a docile two-track.
Over Dome Canyon Pass and through Wildhorse Canyon, the scenery is beautiful and unique for this area. After a short tour I exit west to an intersection marked by an old truck living out its last days as a bullet magnet. From there, another 40 miles of gravel roads across BLM lands to reach the blacktop near Baker and my fuel top off point. On the way a cloud blocks the sun and for a few minutes I’m riding in shadow. It’s hard to make out the tire ruts I’m following in the road for the lack of contrast in the road surface. So for a few miles I ride by braille, allowing my front tire to gently kiss the edge of the rut before nudging it back to the center.
Baker has a gas station, a small motel, and a convenience store that has only just enough items to get you through a night if you plan on camping somewhere before reaching Wendover.
After I leave Baker heading north to Wendover, I’m in for 115 miles of gravel road of varying quality. Some hard packed, some soft. But if I keep my speed between 50 and 60 mph I can blast through, or rather over, whatever the surface changes to. There isn’t much to see along the way but there are a few interesting standouts. West Desert High School is the smallest and most remote high school in Utah. Riding by, it seems a little out of place. It doesn’t look like there would be enough people in the area to even have a school at all. It’s over 40 miles just to the nearest paved road. There is a campsite that the Civilian Conservation Corps built that would serve as a good stop if you can’t make it to Wendover before sunset. Next I pass the remnants of one of the old Pony Express Stations along its route. On my bike I sort of feel like one of those old Pony riders. Just me and my steed making it from point to point.
By the time I finally reach pavement, I have about 35 miles to reach Wendover. I made good time today and have time left in the day to make some miles but I decide this is a good stopping point. 250 miles of gravel roads is plenty and it puts me in a good position tomorrow to hit the Transcontinental Railroad Scenic Byway and visit The Golden Spike NHS.
Good night.
DAY 25
Miles: 318
I left Wendover this morning a little grumpy that I couldn’t find an open diner in town. They were either closed or closed down. So I grabbed fast food and headed for Bonneville.
The famed Bonneville Salt Flats. It’s heyday was during my childhood and I can remember stories about land speed record attempts. I had to make the quick stop and run my bike down the racetrack out and back while I’m here. The course isn’t the same as it used to be. At one time the salt was 3 feet thick and the race area was 12 miles long. Now, over time, it is only 2 inches thick in spots and the course is only 2 ½ miles long. The big speed record attempts are no longer attempted here, although many smaller events still are. I run up and back a few miles in the early morning before the Sunday tourist crowds show up, take my photos for posterity, and head off to kill more TAT miles.
Fifty miles down more of Utah’s less exciting gravel roads I reach the start of the Transcontinental Railway National Back Country Byway. The official TAT route splits to the left here and more or less parallels the Byway on the north, meeting up with it about 45 miles from here. I decided to take the Byway and retrace the route of the original Transcontinental Railroad. Along the way there are interpretive signs telling about the different stations that used to be along the line. Many of the old trestles are still in place and the route goes around them. I pass a few ADV riders along the way and eventually arrive at the Golden Spike National Historic Site. As I arrive I’m just in time to see the 119 engine pulling up to the more famous Jupiter, chugging along slowly and blowing its whistle while the bell is rung by the conductor.
After visiting for awhile and watching a film, I stop in Tremonton for fuel and head north through miles of farmland towards the small town of American Falls located on the Snake River. Along the way I pass into Idaho, another unmarked border crossing between two wheat fields.
With the exception of a few short sections, the entire 300 miles today has been rather a tough slog, just hammering out distance in order to get to the good stuff tomorrow.
I arrive in America Falls, clearly a town dedicated to supporting the local farming economy, and grab a bite for dinner before finding a spot to camp. I’ve zeroed in on a BLM campsite on the bank of the Snake River but it’s Sunday and there are limited spots. When I get there I find only one campsite open and take it even though it’s within earshot of the next campsite having a party. I’ve got earplugs. As I’m setting up, the music stops and the cars eventually go home, apparently only out for the day. The rest of the evening is perfectly quiet and the sound of water over the distant rapids sends me to sleep after a long day of riding.
Tomorrow should be a better ride with more to see and talk about.
Good night.
DAY 26
This morning I woke up on the bank of the Snake River. A peaceful camp all night was a pleasant surprise given that the adjacent camps had music playing in the afternoon. Luckily everyone but me was local and just out for the day. I was left with the camp to myself.
After leaving American Falls, I hit about 25 miles of more farmland. It appears to be mostly wheat and canola. Every field as far as I can see is being sprinkler irrigated and like a giant evaporative cooler it’s helping to keep the ambient temperature down. Some of the sprinklers spray onto the road and I debate parking my bike for a little while in the spray zone for a free wash.
I initially wasn’t excited about the next section, the part that skirts the Craters of the Moon National Preserve. When I did it in my truck it seemed to take forever and it was rough and slow going. But on the bike it was a pleasurable ride at a good pace. Mostly 20-30 mph, but many times it was slower. There was good dirt, soft sand, some volcanic rock, and a section of many miles of cinders. As I began the section a sign says Arco, 60 miles. I instinctively check my gas gauge and notice something odd. It’s not full. When I stopped at the gas station before it was just to get water, not fuel but it my mind I thought I topped it off. I hate starting a day without a full tank but if Arco is 60 miles, I can probably do that even on reserve. The bike has been returning a hand-calculated 61.5 mpg on trails lately. I hate to be low, but I’m not riding 37 miles back to the gas station. On I go. The 60 miles to Arco are a lot of fun on a bike, not to be skipped in my opinion.
In Arco I get gas and then lunch at Pickle’s Place. A simple joint that prefers cash if you got it. Nothing fancy but the food was good.
After Arco I’m pretty much leaving the farming behind. I enter into a valley, and as the walls become closer they pinch out the fields and the only place for me to go, is up. It’s starting to rain lightly as I begin my climb on dirt roads when I’m flagged down by a forestry truck going in the opposite direction. He tells me the road is washed out about a mile ahead and someone put the sign at the washout instead of at the beginning of the road. I can continue but should probably turn around now he advises. I didn’t bother to check for myself if it was one of those closures that pertains to cars and trucks but not motorcycles if you know what I mean. A simple work around and I’m on track again.
The scenery through this section of the White Mountains is stunning. It rivals anything in the Rockies for beauty in my opinion. Descending down on the forest service road I am suddenly, and a bit shockingly plopped right into the resort town of Sun Valley adjacent to Ketchum, ID. One minute I’m on dirt roads in a mountain valley and the next minute I’m looking at a beautiful golf course and million dollar homes. I feel like I should have taken a shower and washed the bike before entering.
I stop for gas in Ketchum and another Tenere 700 rider is finishing up. We say hi and chat a bit like owners of the same vehicle usually do. Likes and dislikes, modifications, and stuff like that. I then cruise through town to look around. Ketchum is a winter ski resort town and a summer mountain bike town, as well as probably many more activities. To me it is a beautiful place and even though it’s a bit touristy, it’s always been high on the list of my favorite towns. It’s on my “if I ever win the lottery” list.
I know there is dispersed camping right outside of town on Warm Springs road so I see if I can find something close but not too close. As luck would have it I split down a road with maybe 5 spots and no one is here mid week. I go all the way to the back (and then just a bit further) and stake my tent near warm springs creek.
I stage some gear and head back into town for dinner at the Pioneer Saloon. While I was there I met a wonderful couple who were very excited about my trip and traveling off road by motorcycle. We had a great conversation and I really enjoyed their company while we ate. If you guys happen to read this, know that your generosity was above and beyond and will not be forgotten. Thank you.
Back at camp I settled in for a quiet night by the creek. Writing this story, editing photos, and reliving the day’s ride like I do each night looking forward to what new memories tomorrow will hold.
Good night.
DAY 27
This morning is like an old bike with out of spec valves, hard to start. I wake up but my body doesn’t want to do anything. Everything is perfectly comfortable. My pillow and sleeping pad are just right, the temperature is perfect, I’m not rushing anything this morning.
I lay there, listening to the sound of Warm Springs Creek, until finally a cloud moves and the sun illuminates my tent. The temperature rises instantly from “ah that’s nice” to “get me out of here”. Ok fine, I’m up. I get dressed, pack up, and hit the road.
My first climb takes me up to Dollarhide Summit at 9,300ft. The road is well maintained and the route is easy. The hardest part of the entire day is just keeping my eyes on the road. Practically every route on today’s agenda has either a creek, a stream, or a river next to it and I’m not complaining one bit.
Nineteen miles after peaking at Dollarhide Summit I reach the Smoky Bar Store. A small convenience store and bar where you can wet your whistle and pick up a few snacks. This is another one of those "TAT stops" you have to pay a visit to while passing through.
Continuing on, it’s just more and more dirt along the gorgeous trout-filled waters of Big Smoky Creek until reaching Featherville. Not much was happening in Featherville, the cafe wasn’t open and the bar was the center of activity for the local crowd. I skipped getting gas here and made tracks toward Idaho City.
North out of town on Phifer Creek Road until hitting the Middle Fork Boise River, a left on Middle Fork Road and then I get to follow this beautiful river for miles. It eventually flows into Arrowrock Reservoir and the section around it is occasionally washboarded due to increased vehicle traffic that drive way too fast.
Soon, I turn north on Highway 21 and the Ponderosa Pine Scenic Route up into Idaho City. There are plenty of places to choose to eat in this small tourist trap town and a modern Sinclair station for fuel. The Roadhouse Saloon had an excellent burger with mac-n-cheese. A young 14 year old boy entertained the patrons singing and playing the guitar.
Before leaving cell reception at the Saloon, I checked my map to make plans for camp. I could see that I’d want to find a spot prior to reaching Horseshoe Bend so I went as far as I could while watching the sides of the road for a dispersed campsite pullout. I almost ran over a rattlesnake in the road before pulling into the last camp spot before residential homes start appearing. It’s not anything fancy but there’s a nice spot for my tent and the creek is flowing right next to me. I strip off my boots and riding pants for sandals and shorts and walk around my backyard for the night. I startled a green garter snake and it took off to the creek. Snakes are officially on my radar now. I set up my tent away from the creek and settle in for the night against the backdrop of the creek on one side and the occasional car on the other. The cars stop at dark, which surprisingly doesn’t come until about 10pm this time of year.
Another day down. I rode along at least 140 miles of riverbank today and it was really hard to keep my eyes on the road. I’d call that a good day.
Good night.
DAY 28
My alarm clock this morning is the sound of a truck pulling a very light trailer with stiff suspension over a washboard road. Not even the creek could mask that noise. My packing goes like clockwork today. A little too easy I’d say. That’s because I forgot to pack up my chair. Unstrap. Open. Close. Restrap. Damn. Forgot my camp shoes. One of those days, eh?
It’s a short ride into Horseshoe Bend. I remember this town. I remember that bridge. The one that’s now closed to vehicular travel on what was West Boise Street. I remember watching the kids jumping off it and the abandoned railroad bridge into the Payette River. Those kids, the ones swimming in cutoff jeans, not the latest name brand board shorts. The kids who learned to swim in this river, in the current, like it was nothing. Those kids, who jumped off rusty bridges with bare feet without a helicopter parent hovering overhead. Without any adult supervision of any kind. I’m so happy some kids get to have the freedom I had growing up. Get a jump in for me, kids.
I follow along the Payette River for a few miles up and over the rolling hills into Emmett for breakfast. I play a little Yelp Roulette and land at the Blue Ribbon Cafe and Bakery with a Denver omelette and hot coffee in front of me. Another fine establishment with hand written checks where your name is hun or sweetie or sugar and that’s how you know it’ll be good. I also take a moment for a spray wash, although pointless really. In an hour it’ll look exactly the same as it does now.
After reaching Payette, it’s time to say goodbye to another state by crossing the mighty Snake River into Oregon. The bittersweet last state of the TAT. This is the second time I’ve met the Snake River. Just 220 miles away as the crow flies I camped 10ft from it’s waters.
Off onto more gravel roads that are far too close to civilization, full of drivers who don’t seem to understand or care how big the dust cloud behind them is when passing you, or that in a moment you’ll be breathing it. No, in the air conditioned bubble that they live in, nothing else matters. Gone are the days of four fingers on the top of the wheel extended to greet oncoming drivers as a silent way to say thanks for slowing down while passing. No one slows, and they barely move over. I need more solitude.
Passing the Malheur Reservoir it’s clearly much lower than four years ago. The bus is still there though. I wonder how high the lake was when it ended up there.
On a long gravel section I wonder to myself why this gravel is coming off my front tire and hitting my boots and no other gravel has ever done that. I keep feeling the impacts on the top of my feet. The geometry and physics don’t make sense. I look down at my right boot and it looks damp in spots with flecks of green. I’m apparently decimating the grasshopper population. Look out boys, commin’ through.
I cross Highway 26 and the riding gets really good. Some rocky forest trails, some narrow paths through manzanita bushes, and then some incredible unmarked pavement through the pine trees that looks like it’s just there for my personal enjoyment. I don’t see one car the rest of the day until reaching town. It was incredible.
When the TAT crosses Summit Prairie Road I decide to dip out to Prairie City to the north and check out a place to clean up. I ate a lot of dust behind a Subaru today. As soon as I enter town I get a great vibe. A couple good looking restaurants and a hotel, all dressed up in an old time theme. I get a room at the Hotel Prairie which is an awesome place to stay if you’re in the area and head across the street to El Cocinero.
As I’m seated on a bench seat at my booth I place my hydration pack next to me. Unbeknownst to me at the time I’m sitting on the bite valve and my seat is filling with water. It feels cool but I figured I was just feeling the coolness of the vinyl seat. By the time I realized what was happening I was sitting in Lake Cocinero. I tried to slyly push water off the seat with my hand like a little bulldozer but that’s not going to cut it. I’m literally sitting in it because I’m making the low spot. My riding pants are soaked. I’m trying not to make a scene but I only have one napkin against what may as well be a bathtub. My waitress must have thought I was the messiest eater of all time because I kept asking for more napkins. I mean, how many times can you ask for more napkins? I really needed a wet/dry shop vac. I save the last two napkins to give a quick wipe as I stand up. The seat looks presentable. As I walk to the register I feel water running down my legs to my boots. Just get me out of here I think to myself as I wait for the world’s slowest point of sale machine to run my card. I step outside and deposit the wad of wet napkins I was hiding into the trash and walk uncomfortably to my hotel. I hope my pants dry before morning.
Good night.
