July 2009: Colorado and the TAT

Heading for RockyGrass and CO on the motorcycles
July 19th, 2009: Pony Express Trail (well, sort of) and Hwy 50 to Eureka, NV
July 20th, 2009 (Dave W): On the actual TAT
July 21st, 2009: Sawmill Canyon, the SPOT spot, and Salina
July 22nd - 26th, 2009: Stalling resolution and great weekend at RockyGrass
July 27th, 2009 (Dave W): Lyons to Buena Vista via Rocky Mountain National Park
July 28th, 2009: Buena Vista to Lake City
July 29th, 2009: Cinnamon Pass to Telluride
July 30th, 2009 (Dave W): Telluride to Manti-La Sal
July 31st, 2009: Manti-LaSal into Moab (and Onion Creek)August 1st, 2009 - White Rim Trail
August 2nd, 2009 (Dave Z): Moab to… well…
August 2nd, 2009 (Dave W): Moab to Green River
August 3rd, 2009 (Dave W): Green River Train Tracks & Black Dragon Canyon...
August 4th, 2009 (Dave W) - On the ride to Salina
August 3rd - 4th, 2009 (Dave Z): Oh no, stuck in Grand Junction again...
August 5th (Dave W): End of the line...
August 5th - 6th, 2009: 2 x 2 wheels in the back of 6
These are broken...

These are broken...

So the next morning, we got back in the UHaul to make our deliveries around town. First stop was the KTM dealer where we parked in the back alley, rolled up the door and wrestled the crushed orange down the ramp.

In the lead up to the trip, both of our service departments had worked on the bikes doing last minute updates (and in my case failing to diagnose my fuel pump issue) so they knew exactly what we were planning to do with them. Still, the look on their faces as the bikes rolled into their bays was priceless. Six months ago, two n00bs had walked through their front doors looking for adventure bikes and now those bikes were coming through the back door pretty well thrashed. Sand and bits of sage brush from Nevada, thick mud and rock dings from Colorado, and red dirt from Utah had created quite a respectable patina.

Next was the BMW dealer. Oddly enough, my service writer had called while we were in the UHaul limping home across Nevada. "Hey there, funny, you should call now," I said. "Guess where I am? Well, I'm in a UHaul with my brand new bike in the back. No, not because of the stalling issue you guys couldn't figure out in the three weeks leading up to the trip - we resolved that out on the trip when, after a day in Salt Lake and three in Denver, we realized that you had never installed the fuel pump I'd asked you to install because it was backordered but didn't tell me. This time, it's because the clutch went out with less than 4,000 miles on the bike. Anyway, I'll be stopping by on Thursday with the bike and a new set of clutch plates. It'll need springs as well. See ya then."

That was three weeks ago... We're both still waiting for our bikes.

 

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August 5th - 6th, 2009 - 2 x 2 wheels in the back of 6

When I got the text from Dave, I was hunched over the bar, deep in a slurrred conversation with an equally guilty afternoon bar patron about touring the Pilsner Urquell brewery in the Czech Republic. When I saw what it said, I just stared at it for a while not really understanding what it meant. I mean, we had been separated for two days now, him pressing westward on the TAT and me making my way from Moab to GJ to play the dealer service waiting game. I was still hanging onto a strand of hope that I would get a call that afternoon from the dealer saying the final clutch spring I needed had been located and would be there in the morning and that I would be back on the road by noon. I took another drag from the IPA and let the realities absorb into the four that had preceeded it.

5 minutes later, Dave called to say that his situation was looking grim. No KTM dealerships worth heading towards would be able to fix his bike by the end of the week, and he was starting to look into renting, buying or stealing a truck. At that moment, it clicked, forget this waiting. Within another 5 minutes, I had found a UHaul truck in GJ that had a ramp, could fit both bikes and was available. It was 4:00 and they closed at 5:00. The bartender at The Alehouse had warned me that there was only one cab company in GJ and the lack of competition meant you could expect to wait 40 minutes to get one. GoogleMaps on my iPhone said it was a 43 minute walk. Let's be honest, after my afternoon, sweating some hops out of my system might not be a bad idea. I set off into the Colorado heat.

I had called the dealership on the way and told them to put the bike back together and have it ready for me. Okay, they closed at 5:30. I was running across a four lane highway towards a UHaul truck as I read the text from Ann that said "Be careful." I got there at 4:45 and was checked out by 5:00. By 5:28, I was at the dealer closing the rolling door on the back of the truck with the F800GS inside just as they were closing the rolling door on the service department. It'd been a quick transition from optimism to paralysis to progress, but after a good night's sleep (and a few Advil) back at my Motel 6, the F800GS and I would be headed west to rejoin Dave and the KTM for a final push home.

From Fillmore, we settled into a steady routine of filling the tank ($80+!) and switching drivers every four hours. I don't think there was much conversation about the plan. We'd drive the 17 hours or so straight. On the bikes, we'd planned to take 4 days to explore this stretch but in the UHaul, the iPhones were our only stimulation and the lure of home was hard to resist. After a short stop in Reno for some food in the Nugget restaurant and enough hands of blackjack for Dave to win his half of the cost of the truck, we pulled into San Francisco just after midnight.

 

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August 5th (Dave W): End of the line...

I stayed the night in Salina at the Friendly Inn and got an early start as my plan was to make it to Eureka in one day. That had been the next agreed upon meeting spot with Dave, and I was still hoping he'd get his clutch issues straightened out. I took a wrong turn somewhere on the way to Richfield and my GPS seemed to be acting up, because the trail I was on didn't match anything in particular, but I was on dirt and sort of on a trail, and generally headed towards Richfield, so I stayed on it. The weird thing was that my GPS told me I was crossing over a major highway in a couple of instances, where there was no highway within 1000 or more yards. I restarted my GPS once I made it to Richfield and all was fine after that. I had to stop to get some fresh lithium batteries for the SPOT. It turns out I hadn't been broadcasting my location for a while, and the folks back home were about to send in the Utah National Guard or something.

Heading out of Richfield, I was immediately in Fishlake National Forest along the Paiute ATV trail. This was some seriously FUN riding. The trail was often burmed, with whoop-de-whoops and some nice scenery along the way...

All was great. The weather was warm, but not yet hot, the dirt was packed, but not dusty. I was really enjoying myself and cruising along at a decent clip. It crossed my mind that Dave must really be bummed to be missing out on this, and that it would have been nice to have had him there to talk about the sweet jumps I was going off. My mind began to drift to all of the mechanical issues he had been having, and just how reliable my bike had been throughout the entire trip. I was in the midst of my own, personal KTM is awesome moment, when suddenly and without warning, my rear wheel completely seized up... I must have skid/slid close to 100 feet or so...

I managed to keep the bike up and come to a stop. My first thought was that something, somehow got wedged such that it forced the rear brakes closed, but the weird thing was that my clutch lever simultaneously went all spongy on me. My 1990 BMW K75s' master cylinder once failed, which froze the brakes, but that wouldn't explain the clutch. I tried to wash some of the dirt of the rear pads, to make sure there was clearance, which there was. It wasn't until I took off the sprocket cover that I realized what had happened...

Somehow, the chain-slider had come loose, or failed, and got sucked between the chain and the sprocket. You'll also notice that this forced the chain outward, which pushed the chain into the clutch slave cylinder. Game over. This was the end of the line. While I've pulled off many a MacGyver in my day, there was no way to jimmy-rig a fix for this. I was 12 miles from Kanosh and hadn't seen anybody in a good hour or two...

I packed up all of my water, trail-mix, my gps (marking my bike) and the SPOT and started the long walk to Kanosh. By now it was getting close to noon and it was heating up. I had given my running shoes to a friend to drive home after the music festival, so footwear-wise, my options were flip-flops or motorcycle boots. I opted for the boots.

I'm in decent, not great shape. I struggled through a half-marathon back in May, and knew I'd be able to hike my way to help, but after about 6 or 7 miles, my feet were blistered and the mid-day Utah sun was beating down. I was really, really ready for help, and just then, I saw a couple of US Forest Rangers about to get into their trucks. I told them my situation, and they were able to give me a lift to Kanosh, and actually recommended a little shop in Fillmore that might be of more help. Fillmore is a thriving metropolis next to Kanosh.

Once in Fillmore, I text'ed Dave that I was broke down, and we might need to look into bike transportation to get us both back to SF in time for our friends' wedding. Meanwhile, a local mechanic named Dwight took me back into Fishlake National Forest in his 70s Blazer with a trailer to rescue my bike. We had to cut the chain in order to free up the rear wheel to be able to move the bike and get it on his trailer. Dwight was a good dude. I'm not sure how I could have gotten my bike out of there without his help. I settled in for the night at the Best Western knowing Dave would be there in the morning...

 

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August 4th, 2009 (Dave W) - On the ride to Salina

Continuing on from the Black Dragon Canyon area, the terrain slowly transformed from a Martian landscape to more the backdrop for High Plains Drifter. Less red, more gray, less dirt, more gravel and shrubbrush. During a couple of spots along the TAT in both Colorado and Utah, there were some washes/ creekbeds that looked as though they were God's own toothpaste basin. I couldn't tell if it was some sort of mining pollution, or just a natural occurance. My guess was the former, but I ain't no high-falutin' Fluvial Geomorphologist with leather elbow patches.

This picture didn't totally capture the toothpastiness of it all...

Cruising solo was fun, as I could go at my own pace, but it also sort of sucked, because my solo pace was usually a bit on the safer side of fast. Not seeing anybody for an hour or more in each direction meant I was truly on my own if something went wrong. I did have the SPOT, just in case. Being alone also meant that I had to stop and take pictures for myself.

After seeing other peoples ride reports and various pictures of the very spots I was riding, there was often a sense of dejavu all over again. Somebody had mentioned the giant rat turds in a previous thread, and that captured the essence of these constipative droppings. I couldn't help but scan the horizon for a 200 ft rodent.

I had been hoping for more sweet, sweet water crossings on this voyage, but some over-zealous civil engineer ruined another refreshing splash...

Perhaps I was a bit dehydrated, but I really thought I was going to see a scrawny old prospector emerging from this shack. Turns out there wasn't even a mine within, but just a little shady shelter for cows and their keepers...

For the next while, on the way to Salina along 70, there were several underpasses weaving the trail north and south of the interstate. I took a picture each time, but they all pretty much looked just like this, plus or minus some rural graffiti.

Having seen pictures of this tunnel in other TAT threads, it was yet another "this is all too familiar" moment. It turns out that I70 is like 20 feet to my right, so it doesn't have quite as much of the 1910's old-timey charm I had been anticipating. Never-the-less, it was pretty cool to ride through and it sure made my bike sound good!

 

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August 3rd - 4th, 2009 (Dave Z): Oh no, stuck in Grand Junction again...

When I read the first line of Dave's last post, I was sure it said "With Dave back in Moab, and in the BMW Service limo" instead of "limbo." Good stuff.

Yeah, I was in limbo alright. I rode with my new best friend, Ray, 2 hours to Grand Junction with the F800GS in tow. We arrived at the combo Harley/BMW dealership (huh?) and I took my place in line behind 5 or 6 hog riders whining about a slight drag on a brake pad and rattles from a hard bag and which new loud as F exhaust to install while I patiently waited to determine the fate of my trip. Turns out the BMW tech was not in on Mondays but after some begging on my part would stop in sometime that day to have a look. While I was appreciative, I felt the need to remind them (now that I seemed to know more about the operation of a BMW Motorrad service center than they did) that I was VOR (vehicle off road) and they would need to order the part by 2 pm if it was to be overnighted. I called at 1:45 to learn that the tech had evaluated the bike and determined I needed new clutch plates which were on the way. With that, I let Dave know that it'd be Tuesday at the earliest before I could catch up with him and found a cheap Motel 6 where I settled in for a Shark Week marathon on Discovery.

I woke up the next morning optimistic. I gave the dealership until 11 to wade through the Big Dogs and Road Kings and Astro Glides before calling for an update. Seems our generous tech had indeed come by the shop the day before but had only started the bike up rather than taking anything apart and just guessed on the plates. Now that he had it open, it was clear that it needed new springs as well. Might I mention that we need to order those before 2 pm if there's any chance of getting them by WEDS! With Friday morning as a drop dead deadline for getting home in time for a good friend's wedding that evening, that was going to be tight. Doable in two days if I stuck to 70 and 80 (and rode 90!), but still tight.

I realized I couldn't spend another day holed up in the Motel 6 and started looking for a way out of town for the night. Harley dealer rental bikes - all rented for Sturgis Bike Week. Other bike rental places - dirt bikes and ATV's only. Airport rental cars - all out. Rental cars around town - all out. Okay, staying in GJ it appears. A few web searches and I saw a link for a place called "The Alehouse" somewhere between the motel and downtown. Now that sounded like a place I could spend a couple hours. How far could downtown be? I walked about a mile before seeing this sign...

Soaked through my t-shirt and with my tank bag hung over my shoulder with a bungee, I walked into The Alehouse and began sampling . Three STRONG microbrews in I heard from the dealership that they'd located 5 of the 6 clutch springs they needed and were looking for one more. With one spring standing between me getting home in time for this wedding, I started looking into flights as a backup. Having found a flight that would be my last resort, I weaved out of The Alehouse and continued my forced march towards "downtown." But in my highly suggestible state, I was easily distracted...

Two IPA's later I got a text and then a call from Dave...

 

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August 3rd, 2009 (Dave W): Green River Train Tracks & Black Dragon Canyon...

With Dave back in Moab, and in BMW Service limbo, I decided I may as well continue on westward with a new location along the TAT to regroup. We decided that either Salina, UT or more likely Eureka, NV would be the next possible spots to meet up. I packed up and headed out with plenty of water and trail-mix squirreled away.

In addition to having had Ann around to take a lot of pictures, because I was generally following them for both mechanical and safety reasons, most of the navigation issues weren't my concern. I would just follow along, or hear over the scala that I had missed a turn somewhere. Now that I was on my own, and wasn't in the habit of checking my tracks, it was easy for me to drift off course. Heading out of Green River, I somehow ended up on the north side of the train tracks...

It wasn't as though I was the first motorcycle to ride this way. Perhaps other TAT riders did too, and there were certainly enough tracks in the dirt/sand/clay to make it seem like I was on course. I figured that at some point there'd be a spot to cross underneath the tracks, or maybe a railroad crossing in a trail, but as the trail veered south in my GPS, there was no logical place to get across the tracks.

Being relatively new to dirtbikes, and having not been around many train tracks before, I thought that it was probably just a simple matter of riding over the tracks, and heading south towards the frontage road along Highway 70. It didn't really dawn on me that I might be acting like a complete idiot, nor had I ever thought of myself as a Darwin Award nominee before. Basically, after looking in each direction along the curved track for a train, and not seeing any, I gunned the throttle and tried to muscle my way across the first rail. Not a problem. I went up the embankment with ease. My front tire was over the rail like a mere speedbump, but I soon realized the loose, light gravel that the raised tracks rested on were not holding my rear tire, I let off the throttle. At this point, my bike was half way across the first rail -- but I was still confident I was doing the right thing.

After taking another look left and right for oncoming trains, I calmly gave the bike some gas and only dug my rear wheel deeper into the rocks, which were really light -- almost volcanic. It only took a moment to realize that I wasn't really going anywhere because my skidplate was firmly resting on the rail.

OH CRAP! My calm, not a problem, this is a piece of cake, easy going attitude was quickly turned into thoughts of being swept away by a freight train. A quick glance left and right showed no trains, but trying to rock my bike backwards off the tracks did absolutely nothing. It barely budged. I was in trouble, and although it was probably going to be hours before the next train, I had convinced myself there was one speeding towards me just around the bend. I got off my bike, which wouldn't fall over as it was fully resting on the skidplate, and started to frantically dig around the rear tire to clear out the volcanic rocks/gravel. It was nearly all the way up to my chain at this point. I was kicking up a rooster tail of gravel, but with my hands. After some of the rocks were cleared, I was able to rock the bike a little bit now, but it was just barely budging. I dug more rocks out of the way, until I could get the wheel to spin freely. Using all of my stength, I was finally able to roll the bike up and off the rail and after several more tries was able to get the front wheel back over the rail. The whole process probably only took about 5 minutes, but if felt like 5 hours.

I'm still pissed at myself for not getting a picture of my bike resting there. It did cross my mind that I would step back and calmly take video if a train were to come, but apparently there wasn't time for a photo with the imaginary train barreling down the tracks.

I ended up retracing my tracks back east towards Green River, until there was a legitimate undercrossing. I'm glad I scouted and opted not to cut through a drainage path, as that would have really gotten me into a predicament. After about a 45 minute or so detour, I was back on track...

I was coming up on Black Dragon Canyon/Wash, which is always mentioned in just about every TAT report I've seen. It was pretty cool to be approaching it live, in person...

The canyon itself was full of loose rocks and sand as you might expect from a wash, and the trail was sometimes in the dry creekbed and sometimes not. I found myself looking up at the ridge a lot for some sort of ambush from above.

Apparently somebody had some issues right about here...

Coming out of the canyon, I definitely had a moment that I was on my way back home, rather than in the midst of a 3 week vacation...

 

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August 2nd, 2009 (Dave Z): Moab to… well…

After leaving Dave and taking a perpendicular out to 191, the clutch on the F800GS was getting worse and worse. My thought was that if I could get it up to speed slowly and carefully, I would have enough friction to keep the bike moving and could get to somewhere with cell connection where I could see what the folks in "Beasts" thought about my predicament. Losing about 10 mph every 5 miles of the 20 mile ride up to I-70, I literally coasted into World Famous Papa Joe's Stop & Go in Crescent Junction, where 191 runs into I-70. Still trying to be optimistic, I parked the bike in the shade, got a snack and a drink and settled into a comfy patio chair with 3G coverage where I could post Help! F800GS clutch slipping - stuck near Green River, UT.

Around that time, I heard from Dave who had made it to Green River via the TAT and was waiting at the Motel 6 we'd agreed upon with the help of the Zumo. I was telling him that I was still evaluating the situation when Ann called to say that her flight had been cancelled out of Moab and they were figuring out whether they'd put her up in Moab for the night or try to get her to Grand Junction. The three of us settled in to see how the chips would fall.

Within 20 minutes, the good inmates of ADV started responding and helping me think through some possibilities. I also ran into a guy on a K1200 who turned out to be a motorcycle mechanic. He mentioned that the clutch springs can tend to stretch and fatigue under extreme heat and that was his guess. So they'd recover after some time in the shade right? No. I hopped on the bike just in case. Now, I could let the clutch completely out in first gear and while it would pull a little, it wouldn't stall. Bad sign.

Time to make use of my BMW roadside assistance which despite being comically uninformed about my VIN, motorcycles in general, and the name of the "town" that seemed to made up wholly of Papa Joes, managed to put me in touch with a guy named Ray who would be out with a trailer shortly. We confirmed that BMW would cover getting the bike to the nearest dealer in Grand Junction but since they were closed on Sunday, that it would have to be stored in Moab and brought up there in the morning. When Ann called to say the airline was paying for a night in a motel in Moab, the plan came together and I hitched a ride with Ray and the bike into town. Dave would continue west on the TAT and I'd try to catch back up with him on I-70 from Grand Junction once the bike was fixed.

Ray turned out to be a very interesting guy. We talked about our trip, his recoveries of flash flood ravaged jeeps down Kane Creek, pole barns, hot rods and who knows what else before he dropped me in front of the Moab Valley Inn and we agreed on a 7:00 am departure for Grand Junction. Within minutes Ann and I were crossing the street to the Moab Brewing Company for some beers and dinner.

As soon as we walked in, we recognized the group in front of us as the French tourists in the Toyotas who'd let Ann soak up their AC in the final miles of the WRT. With an exclamation of something like "Se vive!" we knew they were happy to see she made it. Turns out they'd decided to turn around when the road got ugly as we'd warned them it would. After Ann and I had downed the beer sampler platter and a pint each of our favorite, we decided to send a bottle of wine over to the French group's table with a Moab Valley Brewing Company bandana tied around it. Hey, we owed them a replacement for the bandana the one guy had given to Ann. We watched the waiter walk with it towards the table, then suddenly turn and put it down on the table next to them who were very excited by the unexpected gift and proceeded to tie the bandana around the father's head and generally make merry with our wine! When we explained to the waiters that they'd brought it to the wrong table, they were horrified and apologetic. We took matters into our own hands, arranging to cover the three pitchers of beer they'd ordered and hand-delivering another bandana.

They were so surprised and thankful and insisted on taking about 100 pictures with us. As we walked away they were each posing for more pictures with the bandana. They'd really helped us be more comfortable on the trail and it felt good to see them so happy. 'Course, by then we were feeling pretty loose, having been nervously sipping on pints while this whole thing was going down. We crashed after a long day in limbo, anxious to see what the next day would bring.

 

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August 2nd, 2009 (Dave W): Moab to Green River

Originally posted by Dave W

After the White Rim Trail, the pool back at Slickrock Campground in Moab was fully refreshing. Dave & Ann ended up getting a hotel for the night, I stayed at the campground, and we planned to meet for breakfast at the place in Moab along main street that only serves breakfast. It was okay, not great. After that, we said our good-byes to Ann and left her at a cafe to catch a cab to the local airport in a couple of hours for her scheduled flight (more on that later).

Dave and I fueled up and saw a couple of guys at the gas station with a 990 Adventure and some other bikes in a trailer. They asked us about the WRT on big bikes and we said, "DO IT!" Hopefully they had a good time.

Without Ann riding pillion anymore, we lost our full-time photographer. We sort of spaced on taking pictures for a bit. In the meantime, we had a minor routing issue. Heading out of town on 191, our tracks (manually translated from Sam's maps and put into our GPS's) had us what looked to be cutting off the highway, and then what looked to be under the freeway and under/over some train tracks. After trying to go through a little bicycle tunnel and down a trail along some powerlines to a dead-end, we found our way back on the TAT. The signs led toward Gemini Bridges.

Dave was cruising along at a quicker pace now that he didn't have to worry about his passenger anymore, and we were making good time. Good time, that is, until we came to a decently aggressive ascent with some seriously fine, dry sand...

Dave was in front and ended up losing his momentum at about 30 or 40 feet. I gave it a shot, and after losing my momentum at about 80 feet, was able to get it going again and made it to the top. This was definitely one of the more difficult sections we had seen. Had the sand/powder not been so fine/dry/deep, it wouldn't have been bad at all, but it was squirrely, steep and already fully chewed up.

After making it to the top, I hiked back down to help Dave. He was in a fully rutted, deep sand pool, and was having difficulty getting traction to go up or back down. We managed to get the bike towards the left side, which was seemingly less tracked out, but it still took some serious revving to get the bike moving. After 15 minutes or so, he managed to get some grab in the right spot, and squirreled his way up the hill. I hiked back up with his topcase and helmet in hand.

Shortly thereafter he noticed his clutch was not grabbing like it had been. Thinking it might just be over-heated, we cruised along at a brisk pace to get some airflow across the bike, and as the clutch started to slip all over the place, we went back to the old routine when the fuel-pump was acting up and found some shade to let everything cool down a bit.

After letting the bike cool for 45 minutes or so, we thought it best for him to continue on to Green River via highways, and for me to take the SPOT and some of his water and continue along the TAT to Green River. We'd sync up in Green River that evening, and wishfully think the clutch would heal itself along the way.
I set off towards Green River, and if I felt isolated and remote before, I felt even more so now. I took a slightly slower pace with a little more caution as I was on my own if anything went wrong.

Once in Green River, I was a bit surprised to not see Dave, but to actually find decent cell service. I gave him a call, and he actually answered. What luck! Cell service is a rare commodity along the TAT. He explained he had made it to the intersection of 191 and 70/50/6?, but that the clutch hadn't improved and had only become worse...

 

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August 1st, 2009 - White Rim Trail

It says right there on the bag that Maverick is "Adventure's First Stop" so after some McMuffin's, coffee and stocking up on Cliff Bars, trail mix, and Gatorade, by 7 am we were headed out to tackle the White Rim Trail.

We used the Wells book to find the counter-clockwise starting point at Mineral Bottom Road which leads to Horsethief Trail. Only a total idiot would confuse this with Mineral Bottom Trail that leads to Horsethief Camp. Fortunately, this morning, we did not fall into this category. The road was fast but deeply rutted from what looked like recent rains. At 55 mph, if you lost concentration for a sec, it was easy to find yourself bumping along for a quarter mile in one of these ruts until you could find an opportunity to hop out.

We'd heard a lot about the switchbacks on either side of the trail. "Hit them early in the day when you're fresh" etc. Didn't really seem to make any difference since there were steep switchbacks on both ends of the trail and compared to the loose grapefruits coming down from California or Ophir, these were cake.

Once at the bottom, we generally skirted the left side of the canyon, at times climbing on trails rising up on the steep, red rock walls.

We followed a little side trail that was on the GPS track we'd downloaded somewhere and found the first of many lonely bathrooms scattered along the route. Here Ann is either signifying that this is the first of the day's bathroom stops or indicating which number she did.

Not too long after, we encountered the first obstacles of our counter-clockwise route. The first was some deep sand running for maybe 100 yards ending with a turn up to the left. The Orange Crush crew will be disappointed to hear that I didn't drop the F800GS in the sand but definitely had to paddle a few sections to get myself and pillion through.

The next section was the climb up Hardscrabble Hill. Ann and I had been feeling pretty confident riding rough trail with both of us standing and didn't even hesitate as the incline increased and small steps started to appear. But then they kept coming... We communicated over the Scala the whole way with me mostly trying to infuse confidence into statements like "Okay, big bump coming up. We got this?" After a sunny stretch along the canyon wall, the trail turned left into the shade and I think we both let out an "Oh $H!T!" when we saw a jumble of rock shelves and small boulders across the width of the track. We kept our momentum, stayed flexible in the knees, and pretty much just hung on as the big bike bounced up and over the whole mess.

Definitely one of the more exciting 2up experiences and all caught on the helmet cam. Something must be wrong with the difficulty detection meter tho because, of course, on the video, it really doesn't look that steep or challenging... There's some "chase bike" video too that might look more impressive.

On the other side of Hardscrabble Hill was a challenging descent. The step itself was probably about similar to the ones we'd encountered on the way up but the precipitous drop on the right side was enough to make us decide that I'd attempt it without Ann on the back. Even still, I managed to psych myself out enough that instead of following the smoother (but MUCH closer to the edge) route I'd be planning, the bike's self-preservation instincts headed closer to the wall through loose baby heads towards the 18 inch drop I'd wanted to avoid. At that point, I panicked, dabbed my rear brake foot (rookie!), and ultimately dropped the big beemer which then received a swift kick to its saddle for its insubordination.

This guy had an easier time.

As did Ann happily waiting at the bottom.

Soon after, we hiked up to some shade for a lunch break.

By this time, the sun was rising to the center of the sky and the temps were rising. Ann, blocked from the airflow behind me and wearing a black pressure suit was beginning to really feel the heat. We were just about 50 miles in, halfway, and had at least three or four more hours to go. Dave and I were feeling good so we pressed on with frequent shade stops and making sure Ann had as much water as she could drink. Our increasingly frequent bathrooms stops made us confident she was staying hydrated.
We pressed on through more amazing scenery with cliffs of equal scale climbing above us and dropping below us.

The next challenge we'd read about was Murphy Hogback. I had been quoted (while sitting comfortably on my couch) as saying that it really didn't look that bad from the pictures. Prepared to eat my words, I warned Ann, kept our speed up and just charged it. The F800GS threw us up and over with little fanfare.

And Dave made it look like nothing.

The rest of the trail was a bit more of a slog, possibly just because we knew the obstacles were behind us and Ann was still running hot. We just kept pressing on and finding shade when we could.

At least the view was nice during our stops.

About 8 miles before the final switchbacks, we came across two brand new rented Toyotas (a Highlander and a RAV4) filled with 8 or 10 French tourists. We stopped and talked to them about the trail, giving Ann as much time as we could sitting in the driver's seat with the AC cranked. They had been told by a ranger that the trail would be no problem and planned to camp one night along the way. Thinking back Hardscrabble and Murphy Hogback, we told them we weren't so sure about that. In the end, one of the French guys gave Ann his bandana soaked with cool water and we set off in different directions.

Just at the base of the final switchbacks, we caught up with another family of French tourists who willingly allowed Ann to ride final 30 minutes or so in the back of an air-conditioned rental car instead of the back of a tight, bumpy, dusty and HOT F800GS.

Though they were tempted to keep her, we negotiated her release at the top and revved the big bikes up to 90 as we sped towards the campground pool and a welcome dip. It was a long day on the WRT with all of our shade stops but quite doable on the big bikes and with a willing passenger. Of course, we were pretty well warmed up after two weeks on the trail, but the two main obstacles could be walked by a passenger if necessary. The usual WRT warnings apply - bring lots of water and enough food and supplies to crawl under a rock and wait out the sun if you need to.

It was a tough day for Ann, but looking over my shoulder as I was reviewing the pictures to write this, she just said, "We should go back and do that again in October."

 

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