Dirt Rider's Digest

Oregon or Bust!

2010-07-16T11:09:00.005-06:00

There’s nothing like experiencing an exciting road for the first time. Crossing the state of Oregon on the way to the 2010 BMW Motorcycle Owners of America (BMWMOA) rally at Redmond, Oregon, there are two possible routes, one short and one long. Naturally the longer route is the more exhilarating ride.

You know you’re in Oregon because the Tourist Information Kiosks are replicas of the venerated Conestoga Wagon.

Highway US26 out of Ontario runs flat and straight for many miles through farm and ranchland. The wait is worth it. First through hilly scrub brush and then through alpine forests, the road is a ribbon of twists and turns. Most of the curves are easy to track and suggested at 30-45 mph, so there’s no grabbing for handfuls of brake in an unexpectedly tight curve.

Once you pass through the town of John Day, you will begin to see that name a lot. Seems everything is named for this fellow, starting with the river that runs through this whole area of

eastern Oregon. There’s even a National Park named John Day that’s all about fossil beds andpaleontology. So who is this John Day guy?

Idyllic campsite at the BMW rally site – first come first served must mean these folks arrived very early.

Well, it seems that John Day was an early settler who got robbed one day in 1810 at a well-known river crossing. From that day forward everyone called the river John Day, and the rest is history. Nice to be famous for something.

The curvy road is a delight, as is the BMWMOA rally site, the Dechutes Fairgrounds. Lots of grassy campsites, a very pretty central water feature that flows like a babbling brook, and plenty of air-conditioned display halls and event centers.

The Beer Ladies having more fun serving brewskies than drinking them!

Like any big motor bike rally, there’s food, a beer tent, music, every sort of motor bike gadget and farkle for sale, and plenty of seminars on everything from avoiding dehydration to picking the right kind of tires. And of course there are thousands and thousands of BMW and associated brand bikes to look at and their owners nearby ready and willing to gab at length about their bikes.

New roads, new bikes, new people to meet, there’s nothing like it.

Western Colorado’s Wonders

2010-07-13T20:32:00.007-06:00

All due respect to Ike, our 34^th president and Head Coach for the last big world war, but the Intersate sucks. Okay, for truckers and for everyone else trying to get everywhere else as fast as they can, the U.S. Interstate Highway System is a wonder. But for the love of Mike, if you’re not in a rush, use the exit and take the back road once in a while, you will not regret it.

The blogger aboard a 2009 R1200GSA headed north from Santa Fe to attend the 2010 BMWMOANational Rally in Redmond, Oregon.

The story goes that Eisenhower, after the war, was so impressed by the beloved German Autobahn that he set about trying to duplicate it in the U.S. The guy responsible for the autobahn idea has a “good idea” “bad idea” ratio that’s so heavily weighted on the bad side that it’s really, REALLY hard to give him credit for what a good idea the autobahn is.

The autobahn, technically called the Bundesautobahn, which roughly means “divided carriageway,” is a meticulously maintained, gently curving scenic highway system in Germany mostly famous because most of it has no speed limit, it has lots of other rules, though, like very strict lane discipline and a hard-nosed no insults rule. It's amazing what you can learn from the Discovery Channel.

Any one who has driven any part of the U.S. Interstate system knows that it is not, in any way, meticulously maintained. If you’ve driven the Interstate in any of the western or Midwestern states, you know how mind-numbingly flat and straight it can be – sleep inducing in its arrow-like trajectory.

So here are three roads that will not put you to sleep even though they do have speed limits – which you might want to think of as guidelines, rather than strict mandates.

For a head-spinning drive, go straight north out of Durango, Colorado on US550 and into some of the most beautiful mountainous terrain in the world. From Durango to Silverton and up into Ouray, experience all the beauty of the Western slope of the Rocky Mountains, and all the curvy roadway delights on a stretch of asphalt some call the “Million Dollar Highway.” This road is almost impossible to describe. If a piece of asphalt could be made to fold over on itself like a ribbon of taffy in multiple figure eights, this would be the $1,000,000 road.

Twisties and mountains and twisties, US550, oh my.

The story varies on how this road got its name, some say it’s because of all the

riches taken from these mountains during the 19^th century, others claim its because of the cost of building the road – given its engineering complexity, an easy argument to believe. But who cares? The road is a bargain at any price.

There’s another surprisingly fun road that marches straight up the Roan Plateu from Loma, Colorado, a small farming community just west of Grand Junction, to Rangely, Colorad0.

CO190 winds its way through the Salt Creek Canyon

This road, Colorado State Road 139, is a blast. Prepare for bunches of 20 mph hairpins that are long, sweeping and heart pounding when taken at significantly higher velocities – again 20 mph is a suggested speed, right? There are also lots of nicely spaced passing lanes (thank you Colorado Department of Transportation) and multiple s- and double-s twisties that climb high into the aspen trees over two mountain passes, Baxter and Douglas, and then pitch downward with the same zeal at an 8% to 10% grade. Ride it at your ultimate pleasure. Oh, yeah, and the road is just about deserted, so enjoy your solitude, too.

Once you get over into the North East corner of Utah, there’s yet another “don’t miss it road" that runs north out of Vernal, Utah, US191, toward the Flaming Canyon National Recreational Area.

The Flaming Canyon National Recreational Area

More curves, more scenery, an unreal azure lake that emerges from the canyon, and a drive that you will always remember with a smile. Honestly, when was the last time you could say that about the Interstate?

Custer’s (and very nearly my) last stand

2009-08-22T19:16:00.002-06:00

A Motorbiking saga in two parts

Part Two – Cascading Mistakes Prompt Early Exit

The “Big Summer Tour 2009” route plan included one funky collection of roads in Montana that would lead from the Little Big Horn battlefield to Red Lodge, a welcome night in the KOA campground and a next day ride across the Bear Tooth Highway and into Yellowstone National Park. But that was not to be.

Readers of this blog have realized by now that I don’t typically write in first person, but this one time (I hope) I’m going to break with tradition, because there really is no other way to tell this particular part of the story.

So, I rode all the way from Thermopolis, Wyoming, to the Little Big Horn fueled only by the wonderfully greasy and delicious breakfast I had in Greybull. I assumed there would be some kind of food (and air conditioning) at the national monument. There was neither. Mistake number one.

Because it was ungodly hot, I rushed through my tour of the monument and forgot to take a break – you know, sit in the shade, drink some water, take it easy. Mistake number two.

The little mini-mart at the Little Big Horn looked pretty unappetizing, so I assumed there would be someplace to eat in the next town, Crow Agency. Mistake number three.

I had chosen a route from Crow Agency to Red Lodge that was pretty obscure and most likely would include some unimproved roads. The names of the roads should have been a clue. I took the Crow St. X cutoff to State Road 313 to the Prior St. Xavier Highway, where, as predicted, it turned into Prior Road – a pea-sized gravel ranch road. Mistake number five.

So, now I’m really tired, really hungry and really thirsty. Add on top of that the fact that I got hit right in the breastbone by a honeybee at 80 m.p.h near the little burg of St. Xavier. The little buzzer amazingly survived the impact and crawled around in my jacket stinging me at least once in the middle of the chest. It was several minutes before I figured out what the heck was happening, get to a stop and do the wacky “I got a bee in my jacket” dance. Should’ve taken a break right then, but didn’t. Mistake number four.

As I rode Edgar Road all was going well, the gravel was loose and dusty but in pretty good shape and in my addled mind I could see a glistening Tasty Freeze in the little town of Edgar just a few miles ahead – mmmmm ice cream treats. Daydreaming; mistake number six.

As I approached Edgar I came down a hill, going 35-40 mph, standing up on the pegs. At the bottom of the hill I hit a patch of deep gravel and the rear tire on my 2006 R1200GS washed out right. I counter-steered, but not enough and the tire washed out left, just a little bigger. Mistake number seven.

Instead of giving it a bit of gas, I rolled off the power just a bit, and it made my loss-of-traction issue even more serious. Mistake number eight.

The rear tire oscillated back to the right, at a much higher wavelength this time. I tried to get my weight back and up on top of that rear tire, but it was too little too late. Mistake number nine.

The tire whipped back left and the bike went down hard on its right side as I did my best to do a standard “dirt bike get off” but I slammed into the road on my right side, skidding head first as my helmet filled with light brown dust and gravel. I don’t know if I lost consciousness or not, at the time I didn’t think so, but it was such a remote landing site that there were no other vehicles or witnesses, so I really have no way of knowing. To me it seemed that I instantly got up and began to assess the damages to both myself and the motorbike, but I could have been out for some time.

Happily, my Aerostich combat-lite riding boots and Roadcrafter jacket performed as advertised. My Nolan helmet was essentially totaled, but my face was untouched. Later I’d discover quite a nice “hangman’s” bruise on my neck from the chinstrap, and I’d develop a black right eye, but other than that the helmet performed very well. No cuts, no blood, no broken bones. No mistakes made here. I was going to be sore, though, and black and blue all over.

So, I figured I’d grunt the motorbike up on its wheels and be on my way. Unfortunately, my beloved GS was down for the count. Headlight and instrument cluster totaled. The front fork and the handlebar were decidedly out of alignment; seriously bent. The right side cylinder head was cracked and leaking oil – its protective crash bar bent all the way back and broken at the welds. No point in even trying to start it.

Even though I was about six miles from Edgar, there was good cell phone coverage. After dialing 911 I had about a ten-minute wait for the arrival of a Montana State Trooper. The motorbike was eventually hauled to a U-Haul rental place where it could be loaded for the long ride home inside the truck’s box.

These are the moments when you find out who your friends really are. One of mine dropped everything and flew from Santa Fe to Billings the next day to help me drive the bent and broken BMW back to its final resting place. That same friend would come to the aid of my frightened wife when I developed a fairly common concussion-related syndrome one week later that would land me in the hospital for four days.

My medical malady turned out to be something called “syndrome of inappropriate anti-diuretic hormone secretion” or SIADH, and I’d advise anyone who has experienced even a minor concussion or blow to the head to be on the lookout for this particular reaction, also known as “hponatremia,” because it’s pretty freaky and, in my experience, hard to diagnose.

Happy Ending

Exactly one month after the Montana crash I took possession of a new 2009 R1200GS Adventure. My State Farm Insurance agent (also an avid rider) did an amazing job guiding me through the claims process for my totaled ’06, paving the way for the purchase of the GSA. Now all I have to do is remain patient through the long, long, snowy winter until the 2010 riding season starts – so I can go on the next tour, and finish one this time.

Custer’s (and very nearly my) last stand

2009-07-21T19:28:00.001-06:00

A Motorbiking saga in two parts

Part One – The Little Big Horn

Because of classic shows like “Bonanza,” Gunsmoke,” “The Lone Ranger,” and “The Rifleman,” the lore of the old west is engrained in anyone who watched TV in the 1960s.

The ultimate old west tale – one taken from real life – is the story of Custer’s Last Stand, the battle of the Little Big Horn, June 25, 1876. Adding to the fascination is the more modern difficulty that Americans have with how this country’s indigenous people were treated by those American through immigration.

It’s for these reasons, and others, that the site of the battle in southern Montana is a fairly major attraction that would be a really major attraction if it weren’t located in the middle of nowhere. But for the motorbiker, the middle of nowhere is sometimes the ideal, especially when it’s combined with the boyhood fantasy of joining the Calvary, strapping on a six-shooter, holstering a Remington, and doing some old fashioned Indian fighting.

Luckily we grow out of most of our boyhood fantasies – hopefully all of the politically incorrect ones, anyway.

One fantasy remains, though, to stand where Custer and hismen once stood, where they drew their last breaths, to look out over the landscape that they saw for the last time. To try to understand better why it happened the way it did.

Getting to the Little Big Horn Battlefield National Monument is a hike. Steadfastly avoiding the highway makes getting there even more of a hike, but a hike well worth the effort.

One route begins in Thermopolis, Wyoming, and winds its way north on U.S. 20 through rich farmland to Greybull. At Greybull you head east on U.S. 14 and the ride gets really interesting. Winding your way through the Bighorn National Forest is a real blast because of both the exhilarating road and gorgeous scenery. After you crest the mountaintop and pass Burgess Junction the road gets even more interesting. Ride this one right away because they’re building a new road even as we speak that takes out about 90 percent of the coolest curves you’ll ever ride.

At Dayton you can take State Road 343 to U.S. 87 north to Lodge Grass, or stay on U.S. 14 and take Interstate 90 all the way to the National Monument.

The Little Big Horn Battlefield National Monument has a small museum that does a good job of giving nearly equal time to both sides of the story, native and military. Several of the park service personnel are Native Americans and they add credibility to the interpretive explanation of the times and motivations. The walk up to “Last Stand Hill” is a somber one, given that the whole place is basically a big graveyard.

Standing at the monument to the fallen U.S. soldiers you’re struck by the smallness of the battlefield and reminded that fighting a war from horseback is a decidedly smaller scale experience than the more contemporary, 20th century battles.

In summertime, bring water and food if you can. It’s blast-furnace hot and there is precious little infrastructure near the site other than a gas station with a mini-mart.

The distances between stops in this part of the country are immense. Infrastructure is sparse – so the old rule of “eat, sleep and poop when you can” really applies because you can’t be sure there’s an Applebee’s in the next town over – meaning you can inadvertently find yourself overly hungry, tired, and distracted at the end of a long journey. In fact you could easily find yourself at journey’s end.

Oxygen is Overrated

2009-07-20T20:05:00.008-06:00

One of the things you have to both love and hate about places like Estes Park, Colorado, is how kitchy-touristy it all is. Estes Park is the gateway to Rocky Mountain National Park, and at 7,800 ft. the one true tourist items seemingly everywhere is a t-shirt emblazoned with what must be the town motto, “oxygen is overrated.”

All roads westward from Estes Park lead to the mountains. And for a $10 motorbike entrance fee you can experience a glorious road called the “Trail Ridge Road,” that fully lives up to its name. The road climbs and climbs and climbs, you almost hear a voice in your head say, “the Captain has turned off the seatbelt sign, so you’re free to move about the cabin.” And the road offers up more twisties than you can almost imagine.

This is not a road build for speed, however. The scenery is so spectacular that motorbikers and motorists alike will be craning their necks to take in the vistas, watching the road is a definite afterthought – so speed is not recommended. Even in July, the weather at the top of the world is decidedly windy and a cold 50 degrees. The ridge road tops out at about 12,200 ft., well above the tree-line. There are parts of the road that really feel tilty, like you’re about to tip over and go a-tumblin’ down. And, boy is the air thin. Thankfully, the R1200GS, like all newer oil-head beemers, is equipped with computer-controlled fuel injection, so the bike automatically adjusts for the lack of Oh-Two in the atmosphere, and so the bike never falters.

The rider, on the other hand, should be reminded to breathe in-and-out, try not to death-grip the handlebar, and pay no attention to that pounding pulse you feel in your temples – it’ll pass when you get back down below 10,000 ft. The GS dualsport proves its worth once again as the road from Timber Creek to Grand Lake is under construction and reduced to loose gravel, torn up asphalt and base-course. The street-knobby Metzeler Tourance tires bite right in and never miss a beat. Grand Lake really is grand – even zooming by at 55 mph.

Other nearby roads to recommend: Colorado 125 that connects Granby – on the western side of RM National Park – with Walden. It travels through the Arapaho National Forest and is just a blast. Another is Wyoming 789/US20 north out of Riverton. This road leads into Thermopolis, Wyoming, dropping into the Big Horn River Canyon – a surprise bit of beautiful, majestic topography in an otherwise flat, unadorned landscape. Not to be missed.

So, take a deep breath. Then another. Air Traffic control has given you go-ahead to throttle-up your motorbike and climb to flight-level One-Two Thousand at Rocky Mountain National Park.

Sometimes You Forget

2009-07-18T11:53:00.006-06:00

Sometimes you forget how truly beautiful America is, particularly the Rocky Mountain southwest. Sometimes you forget how much fun it is to be out on the motorbike, especially when it’s been a year or longer since the last big tour. Sometimes you forget that there’s an America away from the Interstate. Sometimes you forget that the people of that America are, well, nice.

Take Fairplay, Colorado for example. Just a tad more than 300 miles straight north of home-base, Santa Fe, New Mexico, Fairplay is located on US285 – which also happens to run right through the City Different. It’s a hardscrabble

little town nestled in a wide, expansive valley, surrounded by peaks still dusted with snow in July and bereft of vegetation – as they all tower more than 11,000 ft. – the arborist’s dreaded tree-line.

Seeking a place to rest for the night you may want to try the tiny local U.S. Forest Service office, located right at the town’s main crossroads. First thing you’ll notice is the welcomi

ng “I really want to help you” smile fromthe young woman behind the counter. This is not a forced “corporate performance measure” smile – sometimes you forget that there’s a difference between a smile that’s part of an employee’s job and a smile that’s genuine.

The Forest Service maintains two idyllic (except for the mosquitoes) campgrounds near Fairplay, Horseshoe and Four Mile. The Ranger is

actually camped out at the entrance to Horseshoe and also smiles a genuine smile, and is dedicated to finding campers a place to set up for the night. When the campgrounds fill up, people are not turned away – instead the Ranger creates a makeshift little village of tents in a nearby grassy field usually used to park vehicles during firewood collection season.

The campsites are well groomed and the Forest Service restroom is typically as clean as a whistle. The whole camping experience is very nearly perfect, but the ultra-aggressive, dive-bombing, Colorado Attack Skeeter very nearly ruins the experience. Bring DEET.

Sometimes you forget how much fun it is to steadfastly avoid Fast Food America and resolve to seek out, whenever possible, those little mom-and-pop eating establishments. (Full disclosure, this blog was written in a Barnes & Noble Starbucks Café. Hey! Nobody’s perfect). In Fairplay, it’s the Brown Burro restaurant, espresso bar and ice cream parlor.

The Brown Burro serves all meals, including a delicious breakfast. If you are one of those who believe that hot food should be hot, then sit at the little four-place counter in front, and more than likely the owner, George Davis, will personally hand you your plate right out of the kitchen window. As you gather up your helmet and motorbike jacket, don’t be surprised if each and every employee – including George – says something like, “have a great ride today,” and “please be careful and ride safely,” and, you know, they really mean it.

Fairplay is steeped in the Old West. The town itself looks like most of it was built around the

turn of the last century. If you like your Old West towns to look a set from an old John Ford movie, then a visit to the 1880s restored mining town and museum, South Park City, is a must. It’s located right in Fairplay – and though it might be a little rough around the edges and a bit cliché, a couple from Iowa with three very active youngsters said the kids loved it.

So here’s to remembering – Colorado is gorgeous, the people – in Fairplay at least – are warm and welcoming. And the motorbike is just a fabulous way to take it all in.

An Italian voice for the quiet German

2008-08-30T11:26:00.014-06:00

BMW motorcycles are not noisy. They do not roar. There’s no ear-splitting blap-blap-blap or potato-potato-potato rumble at stoplights or through the first gears. BMW riders have no reason to rev the engine while idling like so many other bikers who seem to need to say “I Am Here” with a loud blast of engine noise while waiting for a green light.

BMW motorbike engineers clearly seek to delight many senses, but the ear is not one of them.

There are times when a BMW motorbike needs to be loud. When the inattentive or distracted driver begins to lane-drift, power-brake, or red-light-run, a good loud motorbike horn can snap them back to reality, and just maybe, keep them from squishing you.

BMWs of the past came stock with a really loud, deep-throated horn. The 1984 R100RS that was once the “dream bike” had a Fiamm horn that really got the job done.

Today’s BMWs, sadly, are delivered new with a tinny, weak squeaking high-pitched horn made in Spain by Bosch. It’s a horn that works, and given the reputation of BMW designers, was certainly tested and proven to be just loud enough to get attention without startling, and tuned to an optimized pitch that properly informs an offending roadway inhabitant without overtly insulting them.

Right. When a driver more focused on a cell-phone than a rear-view-mirror begins to seriously invade your lanespace you want to startle and insult with quick short-long-short blasts of sound that unmistakably say, “Hello! There’s a motorbike over here! Hello!”

One of the great things about the Aerostich catalog, besides being an excellent addition to the porcelain library because of its hilarious product descriptions, is its utility at traditional times of gift giving. Little blue “post its” easily inform caring family members of ideal motorbike necessities suitable for birthdays, father’s day, and the granddaddy of gifting, Santa's Winter Holiday.

Aerostich offers a couple of aftermarket horns. But the obvious choice is called the “Ear Cannon,” described by the Aerostich writers as “The loudest motorcycle horn available. If Ethel Merman, Sam Kinison and John Philip Sousa ever had a band, and played through a wall-of-sound amp rack, it would sound like this.” Getting an Ear Cannon in a brightly wrapped box under a decorated pine tree while the world is a snow-covered, motorbike-unfriendly place is truly a message of hope and springtime.

The “Ear Cannon” is actually a dual tone air horn made in Italy by Stebel. It’s sold by a wide variety of retailers and even comes in a chrome model for those who want a little bling. The horn comes with a relay, but is not supplied with adequate instructions for either wiring or mounting. And by comparison to the stock horn it’s big – so it’s not clear where the thing can be mounted on a modern, compactly designed BMW.

So a mounting kit is essential. Turns out, one of the best kits is made by a small company called Excel Cycle. The kit comes with everything you need to both mount and wire up the Stebel horn, including instructions. A superbly machined spacer is mounted on the same bolt as the stock horn. Then an angled steel bracket easily attaches to the spacer, providing a perfect place to mount the horn and bolt it in tight right between the front forks without interfering with them.

The kit comes with everything you need to wire into the original horn’s power source and hook it up to the relay, fuse, and battery. Both the relay and fuse holder tuck away nicely behind the t-bracket used to hold the owner’s manual.

The Stebel horn is very loud. Is it Ethel Merman, wall-of-sound loud? Well, no, even though the Aerostich description is entertaining, like most of advertising, it’s only accurate enough to make a sale.

The real proof is the startle effect, but how to achieve an accurate test result? Let's face it, you can’t just pull up beside an unsuspecting morning commuter and blast your horn just to see if the poor soul will jump out of their skin. It’s also no fun to wait for an actual road emergency to conduct the test. Luckily, one recent morning an opportunity presented itself.

As an unsuspecting co-worker sedately motored his way to work, a newly Stebel accessorized R1200GS pulled alongside, and as a way to just say “hi” gave the driver two short samples of the Stebel’s Vocce Italiano. With a sincere apology, let’s just say that the “startle effect” was profound. Honestly, the motorbike is usually very quiet.

Daddy of ‘em all

2008-07-23T09:47:00.010-06:00

No doubt about it, Wyoming is an iconic place. There’s the profile of a proud buffalo on the state flag. There are the geologic icons of the Old Faithful geyser in Yellowstone Park and Devil’s Tower of Close Encounters movie fame. And of course the Bucking Bronc, that silhouette on Wyoming license plates and symbol of the University of Wyoming cowboys.

That Bucking Bronc is also the primary icon of Cheyenne’s yearly blowout event, Frontier Days. Begun in 1897 – when it was just a one-day event to race ranch horses – it now runs the last full 10 days of every July, and is billed as the largest outdoor rodeo in North America, a claim also made by the Calgary Stampede in Canada.

Of course the rodeo is the main event, but Frontier Days is so much more, like a state fair on steroids. For the people of Cheyenne, who refer to this time of year as “CFD,” it's all about parking cars in your yard, hosting out-of-town visitors, or volunteering to help with the show.

CFD actually employs only 13 paid staff. The events at Frontier Park every July are managed by a small army of volunteer workers, some 2,500 of them, organized into committees who handle tickets, rodeo competitors, and Public Relations, to name a few.

Like the other two big-name rodeos – that one in Canada and the National Finals Rodeo in Las Vegas – CFD has PR problems. Seems that animal rights activists swarm all over these events with cameras and note pads just waiting for an animal to be injured or otherwise harmed so that more evidence for the elimination of all rodeos can be gathered.

So the folks at CFD really stress animal safety. During a “behind the chutes” tour, visitors get to see how the animals are gathered, kept, fed, and handled during the rodeo. No one promises that animals won’t be injured, but they do promise that it will not be on purpose. Oddly enough, they don’t talk much about cowboy safety, except to point out the large memorial to those who have “fallen” at the rodeo.

When asked about how the bulls are made to buck, the tour guide explains that a leather strap is tied around the bull’s – uh, hmm, private parts – but that this is not harmful, more like squeezing into a “too tight pair of underpants," oh daddy!

Speakin' of which, they call CFD the “Daddy of ‘em all” because all modern rodeo is, more or less, patterned after CFD. The Cheyenne Chute, another icon of the west, that big ol’ swinging gate that almost instantly opens wide to free the bucking bronc or brahma bull, is an invention of CFD.

For CFD’s estimated 500,000 attendees, there’s the rodeo, nightly music concerts that feature big-name acts, and a huge carnival midway filled with the screams of thrill-riding teens and the ubiquitous odors of cotton candy and caramel corn. Frontier Park also features old west demonstrations like the Chuckwagon Cookoff and the Indian Village that includes living quarters for the Native Americans who operate the village in authentic Tee Pees.

For the last 52 years another tradition of CFD has been the Old Fashioned Melodrama. This is a frontier style show that pits good vs. evil in the simplest terms – the audience “boos” the villain, “cheers” the hero, and “ahhhs” the damsel in distress. The play’s acts are punctuated by interludes of old-timey singing and can-can dancing.

The 2008 version of the melodrama is held in the historic Atlas Theater in downtown Cheyenne. The theater dates to 1908, making this its 100th year. The melodrama, like much of CFD is all-volunteer. The show, titled, “The Rhyming Rapscallion” stars Tallen Handsome as the hero and Dirk Degenerate as the villain, and features a literary twist where Tallen’s young, effeminate, poetry-loving son, Hardly, is tempted by evil and nearly joins the dark side before coming to his senses and conquering the villain through prose. The play is very funny and cleverly written, blasting away at stereotypes with gender-bending characters and a hero in pink coveralls.

If you like rodeo, big-time country music, ferris wheels and roller coasters, old west nostalgia, BBQ, and beer, CFD is a once-in-a-lifetime definite. You may have such a good time that you’ll want to become a regular.

The Devil and Deadwood

2008-07-18T23:11:00.009-06:00

Gillette, Wyoming -- They call Wyoming, “Wonderful Wyoming” but they miss an adjective in this description. It should be “Wonderful, Windy Wyoming” because around here high atmospheric pressure seems to be always trying to push low pressure out of the way, at high velocity.

This makes motorbiking more like sailing than motorbiking. There’s nothing like leaning a bike into a curve when there is no curve, just the pressure from a 60 mile-an-hour gale. But, heck, that just makes the trip more interesting, yes?

And the trip is interesting. There are two spots nearby Gillette that are worth the journey. The first is Devil’s Tower, the iconic, volcanic, geologic feature that was burned forever into the American consciousness when Richard Dryfuss made a model of the mountain out of mashed potatoes at the beginning of “Close Encounters of the First Kind’’ and then spent the rest of the movie with half a sunburned face inexplicably moved to visit the place – only to then take a trip on a UFO to who knows where.

All of that wacky stuff is fiction, of course, but the tower is very real. You get the first glimpse of it from about 16 miles away, but the full flower of the tower is held in secret until you are up upon it. And it is big. Almost 1,300 feet tall it looms above another icon of America, the trading post.

That’s right, the Devil’s Tower trading post dominates the scenery up close. Inside, not surprisingly, they sell every kind of DT kitsch that you would expect, but not a lot of stuff in the extra-terrestrial motif, which can only mean that the Spielberg movie is now very old.

Why is it called the Devil’s Tower? Well back in 1875 when the United States was trying to figure out a way out of the Treaty of Laramie – a treaty that basically gave the Black Hills of South Dakota to the Sioux even though it was really theirs already – Col. Richard Irving Dodge met with the Sioux who tried to explain the importance of the geologic feature, but Col. Dodge’s translator goofed, so the Native American’s description “Bear’s Lodge” was thought to mean “Bad God’s Tower” and the name has stuck.

A bit further down the road is the old west town of Deadwood, just across the border in South Dakota. This place, too, has connections to that Laramie Treaty the U.S. was trying to break, and why? Well, gold, of course.

Deadwood is also a place with a Mass Media connection. There’s an HBO series running with the same name as the town that’s been something of a controversy mainly because the show’s characters use the F-Word so much. Again with the fiction.

Deadwood is also a real place, though, and also dates to 1875 and the Black Hills gold rush. Today’s Deadwood is a Disneyfied Las Vegas in the mountains. The town motto should be “A slot machine for every tourist and a tourise for every slot machine.”

The ambiance is old west, but seems forced, which is too bad. The place has real history that includes famous westward expansionists like George Custer, Phillip Sheridan, and even more famous names like Wild Bill Hickock and Calamity Jane.

The ride from Gillette to Devil’s Tower and beyond to Deadwood is about 230 miles, round trip, and well worth it, even though a major portion of the journey is spend at 80 miles per hour on Interstate 90, tilted into 60 mile per hour headwinds. Ah, Wonderful.

Cowboy up in Gillette

2008-07-18T18:05:00.008-06:00

Ride your motorbike to the middle of nowhere, then go 110 miles north and you’ll find the coal and oil town of Gillette, Wyoming. For three and an half days in July 2008 you’ll also find more BMW motorbikes and their riders in one place than anywhere else.

Gillette is host to the 2008 BMW Motorcycle Owners of America international rally. This year’s event, the 36th annual, is being held at Gillette’s Cam-Plex, a kind of multi-use special events, rodeo, state fair grounds and convention center.

Nearly 6,000 riders – some with bikes and some without – are in attendance. There are a multitude of events, seminars, and entertainment along with vendors offering food, drink, and an assortment of motorbike gizmos so extensive it boggles the mind.

Included in the indoor vendor area is a display of vintage BMWs with a collection of very early bikes in like-new condition. The owner of the bikes boasts that they all still operate perfectly, including a 1924 model.

The vast majority of rally-riders are also campers. The grounds surrounding the Cam-Plex have blossomed like a giant multi-colored, garden of tents, tarps, and trailers in every shape and size. Parked next to nearly every campsite is an equally diverse variety of motorbikes.

It seems that every bikes has customized his or her bike just enough to make it unique. There’s an R1200GS with its side panels painted with a Great White Shark motif. There’s a 1977 R100RT pained like a yellow cab. Every bike is just different enough to make wandering the grounds ogling bikes seem like a new experience every time.

There are but a few food vendors, and the selection is decidedly institutional. The only fresh offerings come from a couple of trailer-sized smokers churning out $9 and $12 plates of BBQ pork, beef brisket, and beef ribs. A Pizza Hut in an RV is making a killing cranking out $5 slices of pizza at an amazing pace.

A staple of any motorbike rally is of course the Beer Garden. This one’s inside a giant rodeo barn and is serving horse-troughs full of thin American Beers and pouring four microbrews on tap. There is literally a tractor-trailer full of beer kegs parked out back – hidden from the prying eyes of fun-quashing abolitionists, no doubt.

And there’s entertainment. Unfortunately the first band to take the stage only got one tune out before rally organizers announced an ominous and looming “severe thunderstorm” due to arrive in minutes. This prompted nearly the whole audience to leap to their feet and scurry to their tents to secure tent pegs and batten down hatches.

The T-Storm proved less devastating than advertised, luckily, and the show continued after about an hour. But a four-hour overnight rainstorm left the whole rally waterlogged the next morning

Asking a rally official for the reasons behind a rally in the middle of the middle of nowhere the reply was unpredictably reasoned. It seems the middle of nowhere is actually quite centrally located for people who are traveling from the four corners of the U.S. and Canada.

The location also comes with a nice variety of day rides in the area, including Devil’s Tower, the icon of Steven Spielburg’s classic film “Close Encounters,” and the old west settlement of Deadwood, in nearby South Dakota, also made famous through the current HBO series named for the town. So, maybe it’s not the middle of nowhere afterall.

Welcome to Skeeterville

2008-07-17T16:14:00.006-06:00

If you’re looking for a very quiet, simple and sparsely populated camping area near a large body of water in a Western state, Wyoming's Glendo State Park, about 90 miles north of Cheyenne on Interstate 25, might be for you.

However, if you have a low tolerance for mosquitoes, Glendo could be a challenge. Then again, if you just can’t stand those teensy, whiney, blood-sucking bugs dive-bombing your soft tissues, camping near any body of water in Wyoming in July is probably a bad idea.

But Glendo is quiet. And sparsely used. The folks who visit this State Park are generally Coloradoans seeking a boating or watersports experience without the maddening crowds typical of Colorado’s lakes. And at Glendo they get it.

Glendo is a reservoir, so its water level is managed by the state. This July the water is reportedly 85% of normal, and it’s clear from the shore that recent levels were considerably higher than now.

At $12 per night it may very well be one of the least expensive camping areas in the Rockies.

The little nearby town of Glendo is hardly a town at all — and quite probably would be a ghost town if not for the reservoir. Bring everything you need with you, there are no amenities at Glendo State Park.

If you’re just looking for a nice, quiet overnight campsite on your way from here to there, this is a pretty good option. But for goodness sake, don't forget the bug spray.

Coffee and Dirt

2008-07-17T13:46:00.011-06:00

Sedalia, Colorado -- What do we search for? Well, many things; people who really, truly love us, a perfectly executed béarnaise sauce, a great cup of camp coffee. What did you say?

There is this one particular coffee-snob, who shall remain nameless, who requires a piping-hot, 1 ¾ cup, cup of coffee each day before anything else. But, not just a regular cup of coffee. This extra-sized, extraordinary beverage must be a mix of dark-roasted, fine-grind Sumatran beans and Café DuMonde brand Chicory, ground medium. This elixer must be sweetened with the best Tupelo honey that ever came out of Florida, and it must be lightened with real ½ and ½.

And it must be reproduced both at home and on the road.

Okay, the constituent parts are easy, as long as you have the luggage space and a willingness to carry a great many thimble-sized cups of UHT-grade half and half that Land-O-Lakes appropriately calls “Mini-Moo’s.”

The hard part, until recently, is how to get the coffee infused into the hot water so that little chunks or the sandy, muddy grit of coffee grounds don’t get included in the final product.

Forget all those fancy gizmos and convenient coffee presses. What works best is a basic pour-through filter cone. The water from the Jet Boil is plenty, plenty hot, and the coffee tastes just like home – that is unless you burn your tongue on the fist sip.

With the required caffeine dose coursing through the bloodstream it’s off to find an alternative to that horrific stretch of I-25 between Colorado Springs and Denver. For Motorbikers who prefer taking the time for a bunch of curves and a bit of dirt, there is an option, State Road 67, north out of Woodland Park.

This road is a joy. The paved part is narrow and twisty and roams through thick forest and an area recently devastated by fire. At a place called Deckers it gets really fun. The road more-or-less mirrors the Platt River, so there is almost no straightaway, just a bunch of curves that zig-zag both wide and tight like long a downhill ski course. At places the road is almost level with the raging waterway, making one wonder what happens to the road when the water rises. At another place called Oxyoke — not a going concern so much as a collection of seemingly ramshackle cabins — the road to Sedalia, Colorado turns to dirt and delivers buckets of fun.
Just a fraction of SR 67 is the loose stuff, a mixture of sand, gravel, and a beautiful red clay, but well worth the detour. There are big wide curves that turn to sand on the low side, and teeny hairpins that really get the heart pumping. For the real dirt bike set there are a number of side roads that look like logging roads, at best. Not for the heavily loaded dual-sport big-bike with street knobbies, but for the brave on a 500cc dirt bike — oh baby!

State Road 67 in Colorado is one of those roads that make owning a GS bike worthwhile.

One bit of warning though, the fine grit from a long ride on dirt really gets into everything. The MacBook used to post this article was safely sealed, supposedly, inside a padded aluminum briefcase, and held inside a sealed, supposedly, Touratech pannier. But at day’s end the laptop was dusted with a very fine coat of the most beautifully red clay. Now where did that come from?

The Rig, The Elf, and the Peak

2008-07-15T19:53:00.009-06:00

Cascade, Colorado -- The Rig, as it sits in its home driveway, is a 2006 R1200GS outfitted with 41 litre Touratech panniers, a BMW GS tank bag, a MotoFizz camp bag, a Garmin Zumo, Metzeler Tourance tires, and a Ztechnik windshield. The Rig is headed to Wyoming and the BMWMOA National Rally in Gillette – happily, it’s taking me with it to points north that include not only the rally, but also Pike’s Peak, Devil’s Tower, Deadwood, Mount Rushmore, Cheyenne Frontier Days, and – with luck – the home driveway at journey's end.

After a 330 mile journey on the Interstate, the first order of business upon arrival in the Colorado Springs area is to find a campsite near the Pike’s Peak Highway – and to hastily set up at Lone Duck Campground even as dark skies loom, promising a blasting cold rain but delivering only weak sprinkles. Once the heavy bike baggage is safely ensconced in the tent, it’s time to blast off in search of dirt at high altitude.

There’s a well known stretch of dirt road in Colorado that’s very popular despite the fact that it dead-ends after just 19 miles. Was a time the whole 19 miles were dirt – and home to a famous stock-car race called the Pike’s Peak Hill Climb, a coming-of-age race in the 1960s and 70s for driving legends like Bobby and Al Unser.

But now the road is part paved and part dirt – about 6 miles of it is the loose stuff. This may not seem like enough gravel and mud for the average Adventure Tourer, but rest assured it’s a road that should not be missed.

But first it’s best to pull off the Pike’s Peak Highway and visit that jolly old elf himself. That’s right “The North Pole – Home to Santa’s Workshop” is located on the highway just before you reach the Colorado State Park entrance station, where you fork over $10 to ride to the Peak.

For those of you who thought the North Pole was at the North Pole, oh no. It’s located just outside Colorado Springs and is – as advertised – fun for all ages. It’s also an opportunity to speak to the old elf himself while he’s not overwhelmed by the whole Winter Holiday thing. He seems more relaxed, and appears to be eating right, which is nice.

Anyway. The road to Pike’s Peak is a barrel of monkeys. It’s too bad it’s so popular with slow-mover SUVs and Minivans – but as usual, nimble motorbikes with street knobby tires make easy pickings of behemoth Fords and Chryslers. The trip up to 14,000 feet takes about an hour, or a bit less, the trip down, just about the same amount of time. Signs all along the way warn that “Hot Brakes Fail!” and advise using “Your Lowest Gear” meaning some of the more timid drivers might as well be walking.

But who can blame them, the road above the treeline has no guardrail; one misstep, one errant move and over you go, and where you will stop, nobody knows. The smell of hot brakes is noticeable on the way down, too, so the advice is sound.

The ride both up and back is thrill-a-minute. The air at the top is respectably cold at about 55 degrees and dizzyingly thin. Needless to say there aren’t many roads that go to the summit of 14,000 foot peaks, at least not in the U.S. There might be five or six such roads states-side, and at least three of them are in Colorado. Certainly, the only one with a stop at Santa’s place is the Pike’s Peak Highway – so you better be good, you better not pout, and you better make time to ride to the top, you won’t regret it.

Happy Independence Day!

2008-07-04T17:16:00.004-06:00

The Fourth of July is one of my favorite holidays, if for no other reason that it's one of the only Federal holidays that's actually celebrated on the 4th whether it's a Monday or not.

For all of its faults, the USA is still the greatest country in the world, in my humble, patriotic opinion.

So, happy 232nd birthday to the United States of America, long may Old Glory wave.

The 4th of July also means that summer is finally, completely, really here, so let's ride!

-- Kevin

Buying tires online

2008-07-04T16:52:00.008-06:00

Does it save money?

The 2006 R1200GS comes standard with Metzeler Tourance street knobby tires. And they are great tires, but of course you would expect nothing less from German tire-maker Metzeler. The tire is made to perform exceptionally well on pavement regardless of the road’s overall quality, and to perform admirably on maintained dirt roads. For the adventure-touring rider who enjoys more time on wilderness dirt than smoothly paved track – a more knobby tire like the Continental TKC-80 might fit the bill.

GS riders report that their Tourance tires last between 8,000 and 14,000 miles – depending on road conditions, riding style, and time off-road. Sooner or later, though, it’s going to be time for new shoes and a decision about where to buy the tires and how to get them mounted. For many riders this is a decision based on both an economics and shop skills.

So, do you buy tires and have them mounted by the experts at your favorite shop or BMW dealership, assuming of course that they have the tires in stock, which is painfully not the case all too often. Or, do you buy the tires online and have the shop mount them, or, gulp, do you try to mount them yourself?

Buying online.

In this case it’s a comparison between two online motorcycle parts suppliers that offer tires, Motorcycle Superstore and Dennis Kirk. The rear GS tire in question is a 150/70R/17 Tourance. At Dennis Kirk the tire retails for $158.99 including shipping. At Motorcycle Superstore it’s 10 bucks cheaper, $148.99 with free shipping. The Dennis Kirk tire comes via UPS in 5 days and is packed – albeit loosely - in a cardboard box. The Motorcycle Superstore tire is delivered by the same Brown Truck in 6 days, but is packaged in only a plastic bag. Both tires arrive in excellent condition, though.

The same tire purchased exactly one year ago from a BMW dealership was $177.25 retail. Of course you would expect a few dollars of markup, and this seems pretty reasonable.

Mounting.

For the rider who does not posses either the knowledge or the tools required for mounting ones own tires, there is little choice. In this case, mounting an balancing two new Tourance tires at the BMW dealership comes to $144.51 and the peace of mind that comes with knowing the job is done right.

Anomalous Oddity?

However, in an attempt to create a fair comparison of costs an oddity arises in the equation. One year ago the BMW dealership charged only $70 to mount the same kind of tires – tires purchased at the dealership. This year that amount doubled, but is that because the tires were not purchased at the dealership – or are there other factors? 100% inflation in a year is not unheard of, but is a puzzle.

Saving money.

Clearly the only way to truly save any appreciable money on tires is to buy them online and mount them yourself. Actually knowing how to repair or replace a motorcycle tire is valuable knowledge to possess, especially if you’re out in the boonies with a flat.

GlobeRiders offers a BMW R1200GS adventure touring instructional DVD featuring globetrotting motorbiker Helge Pederson, who demonstrates step-by-step tire repair and replacement techniques for this model bike. Some special tools are required, like a bead breaker, tire irons, and a wrench specifically to loosen the motorbike’s front axle. Marc Parnes offers just such a wrench, and some other expertly machined tools like a nifty wheel balancer. Pederson also outlines all the things you need to pack under your seat for a long tour free of panic attacks related to tires in his DVD.

Next year, assuming another 100% inflationary period, a savings of nearly $300 will be realized through buying online and mounting and balancing in the home garage. Helge tells all who view the DVD that changing ones own oil is also very easy and since the dealership charges more than a hundred bucks for that service, it may find a place at home as well.

The High Road to Cimarron

2008-06-22T18:17:00.012-06:00

There are lots of ways to get to Taos, New Mexico. Most folks (and by that I mean skiers) fly into Albuquerque, rent a car and take the route recommended by their GPS device. That means north on I-25 to Santa Fe, north on U.S. 285 to Española, and then north to Taos on U.S. 68.

But for motorbikers there’s a better, and decidedly more exhilarating, way to go north to Taos and beyond. But first let’s eat.

The little enclave of Tesuque, just outside Santa Fe, is a wacky mixture of ultra-upscale haciendas tucked into beautiful cottonwood groves, hidden behind gated pseudo-adobe walls, and pure Santa Fe downscale funky. One of the funkiest spots in this little funkiville is the Tesuque Village Market. Yes, it’s really a market, with a small deli/dessert counter, a big cooler full of upscale beers and a fine little wine section. But mostly it’s a restaurant and bar. It’s got seating both indoors and out and is open seven days a week for all meals.

On a Sunday morning it’s very busy, but for the diner, the pace is leisurely, which is nice. The food is excellent. The huevos rancheros al fresco comes with eggs cooked perfectly over-easy, just the right amount of cheese, and a well softened blue corn tortilla at the base. Bacon at almost all breakfast spots is usually limp, if not outright raw, but the bacon that comes as a side dish at the Tesuque is crisp and crumbly — mmmm, bacon, the perfect start to a day-long ride.

Those out-of-towners headed north are probably going to blow right by the exit to State Road 503 at little town called Pojoaque. This is the road to motorbike bliss. SR503 is very twisty, very scenic and goes through a bunch of little villages that make northern New Mexico what it is. The road weaves through Nambe and Cundiyo, and then a turn onto SR76 goes through Truchas, Trampas, Chamisal and Peñasco. Then State Road 518 heads right into Taos. What a way to go, not a lot of cars, but a lot of adrenaline-producing hairpin curves, cool forest temperatures, and beautiful landscapes.

At Taos it’s onto U.S. 64, the lower half of the “Enchanted Circle” a road that motorbikers from all over North America crave to ride. The road twists east toward the Angel Fire ski area and unless you’re stuck behind a horse trailer or some other slow-mover it’s just a blast. Heading north at Angel Fire you stay on U.S. 64, looping around Eagle Nest lake and heading down through Cimarron Canyon — fly fishermen literally line the roadside stream that runs through the canyon's State Park — to the primary destination of the day, the Santa Fe Trail waystation of Cimarron and the St. James Hotel.

The St. James is a remnant of 1880s westward expansion. The hotel was a major stop along the Santa Fe Trail and host to a long list of famous names from the period, wild west trailblazers, lawmen, and gunsligers. According to the hotel’s website guests included Buffalo Bill, Annie Oakley, Kit Carson, Frank and Jesse James, Wyatt Earp, and Billy the Kid.

The hotel’s current marketing scheme includes selling the idea that the place is haunted — if you believe in hocus pocus and the supernatural then check in for the night, maybe you'll see a full-torso floating apparition wearing a big handlebar mustache, a striped waistcoat, and a tin star. The closest most people are going to get to touching the ethereal plane though is an expertly grilled green chile buffalo cheeseburger at Vera’s Café inside the hotel. Served with thin, crispy french fries the burger is a perfect motorbike lunch — not the kind of gut buster that you feel for hours, but a tasty morsel that simply satisfies.

During the summer the little town of Cimarron and the St. James hotel are going to be crummy with Boy Scouts, both young and old. That’s because they come from far and wide to experience the quintessential Boy Scout experience at Philmont Scout Ranch and training center, just south of Cimarron.

So visit Cimarron and the St. James, and go there the back way thorough Taos. You’ll enjoy peg scraping curves, delicious New Mexican dishes, and just maybe you’ll see a ghost, for sure you’ll see more merit badges, olive drab knee socks, and colorful kerchiefs than anywhere else on Earth.

Grand Canyon Drive By

2008-05-28T10:50:00.008-06:00

From the westernmost corner of southern Utah the routes east are few and far between, mostly because there’s this gigantic canyon blocking almost all paths southward. So, it only makes sense to catch a glimpse of this famous canyon from its less famous North Rim.

The road from Hurricane, Utah to Jacob Lake, Arizona, is largely uninspired. Once at Jacob Lake however, the road turns to fun all the way into the National Park. Fun, that is, unless you’re stuck behind one of those Whales on Wheels rented from El Monte RV. But on a bike passing is far easier than in a car, so the Whales are easily slain and unfettered access to the curvy road regained.

The centerpiece of the North Rim Experience, aside from the big-ass hole in the ground, of course, is the Grand Canyon Lodge. This building is a testament to architect Gilbert Stanley Underwood and National Park style of the 1930s. It’s located right on the canyon edge, it’s big, it’s stone and logs, and what a view from every window.

The restaurant inside the great lodge is pure National Park institutional. The food is okay, but the lack of culinary inspiration is more than forgiven by the unparalleled view from each and every seat.

For the motorbike rider looking for a bit of dirt road, there is the Point Sublime road, 17 miles long and well maintained. If you’ve planned well in advance a day or two stay at the North Rim is available in the lodge, and a variety of cabins and campsites. Reservations are required and the place is booked months in advance.

The road east out of Jacob Lake is also tons of fun. A very curvy blacktop that drops in elevation down to the plateau that is home to the headwaters of the Grand Canyon, Navajo Bridge (the easternmost crossing of the Colorado River) and eventually Glen Canyon and Lake Powell. The road here is mind numbing – but, surprise, the scenery is great.

Glen Canyon Dam, dedicated by Lady Bird Johnson when she was First Lady, is an engineering marvel, but an environmentalist’s touchstone. Love Lake Powell, or hate it, it’s been a recreation Mecca since the early 1970s, and over a Memorial Day weekend it’s packed – even with $4 a gallon fuel prices.

The Lake Powell recreation area has a wide variety of sleepover options, from nicely maintained (if a bit sandy) campsites to a basic hotel, resort. A recent New York Times article talked a bit about a new American vacation phenomena called “luxury deprivation,” where people go out of their way, and spend money freely, for the illusion of “roughing it.” Okay, as a motorbike touring and camping enthusiast, the description fits. Here’s to riding all day and then roughing it by sipping a nice Robert Mondavi, enjoying a delicious salmon fettuccini, and then sleeping in a comfy goose down-filled sleeping bag inside a high-tech Eureka tent.

Up Over Around and Through

2008-05-25T21:49:00.008-06:00

A day’s ride from Torrey to Hurricane

Highway 12 out of Torrey, Utah sweeps past some of the most pastoral settings you will ever see. Cattle and horses alike live the sweet life here in the valley below Boulder Mountain, munching happily all day long on the thickest, greenest pastures that smell freshly mown, even though they are not.

The Highway very quickly turns mountainous as it climbs toward the summit. 25, 35, and 45 mile per hour curves (recommended speeds) are swallowed up at significantly higher actual velocities. The big round curves and little double, triple and quadruple s-curves appear so often there are almost no sections of straight road. Automobiles and dreaded RVs are few and far between, and in retrospect, these slow movers that do appear help to moderate what would be an overwhelming tendency to go faster and faster with every turn. Don’t forget to breathe.

As the road climbs toward the snow covered summit the temperatures drop, and the rush of adrenaline and rapid heart rate create an annoying foggy faceshield — another clue that it might be time to lay off the throttle.

At the summit the road is wet but not icy. The ride down the mountain is just as much fun as the ride up. Can it get better than this? Oh yeah.

At the little settlement of Boulder on the western slope of the mountain is a little known back road called Burr Trail. If you’re riding anywhere near southwestern Utah this is one road that should not be missed, and it would’ve been if not for a nice tip from a nice couple from Colorado riding an R1150GS.

Burr Trail is about 75 miles long — a shortcut of sorts — and about half of it is roughly paved. Even though it may not go where you’re going, ride it and you won’t be disappointed.

Dropping through the Grand Staircase National Monument into Escalante is also a rider’s treat. As it says in the motorbiking bible, “the path of the righteous rider is beset on all sides by UNBELIEVEABLY BEAUTIFUL SCENERY." When does it stop? Well, it doesn’t.

On the way to Hurricane, and a night’s rest, is Zion National Park. You may balk at first when learning that, even if you’re just driving straight through, it’s going to cost $25 per car and $12 per motorcycle. Pay it. You will not regret the expense. Needless to say, again, the views are spectacular. The road may be packed with cars and motorhomes, but that’s okay, you want to go slow, believe or not. You may actually sprain your neck trying to capture all the scenery.

The ride from Torrey to Hurricane is slightly more than 200 miles, but it includes three of the most fantastic motorbiking roads in the southwest.

And at the end, if you have planned well, you can enjoy a delicious dinner and a welcome night’s rest under the stars.

Motorbiking Across Sand and Surf

2008-05-24T22:28:00.008-06:00

One of the coolest little stretches of unpaved road anywhere is located in a very out-of-the-way corner of southeastern Utah. Riding north out of Mexican Hat on Highway 261 the road seems to dead end into an imposing cliff side. Signs along the way warn the drivers of Houses On Wheels and pickups pulling fifth wheel trailers that the road ahead is probably unsuited to their vehicles. The signs do not warn motorbikes to turn around, however, and they shouldn’t.

The unpaved portion of the program is called the “Moki Dugway” and it’s a section of dirt road switchbacks and inclines that is simply a blast to run. Dual sport bikes can make excellent time, for them the road is not nearly lengthy enough. Street bikes do well to take it slow, as the road is gravelly and loose.

The vistas from atop Moki Dugway are spectacular with views all the way south to Monument Valley.

The paved road that takes over from Moki crosses the Grand Gulch Primitive Area and is just a joy of a ride. The blacktop is curvy enough to keep the senses sharp and allows for decent speed. Halfway across Grand Gulch is a nice ranger station with clean bathrooms and plenty of information.

At Natural Bridges National Monument a left on Highway 276 heads straight for the Glen Canyon National Recreation Area and Lake Powell. The approach to Lake Powell is a very nice section of road that traverses some amazing geology, the road is so well made that it’s smooth as silk.

The near-term destination is Hall’s Crossing and the ferry across the Lake. There’s something just plain fun about a motorbike on a boat on a lake. The $10 ferry is a quick half hour ride across one of the wider sections of the still green water and skirts a small city of houseboat moorings. The ride offers views of the tree-less lakeside and many happily recreating boaters. The boat docks seamlessly and Highway 276 continues north alongside the triple snowcapped peaks of the Henry Mountains.

The long-term destination for this day’s ride is Capitol Reef National Park, another area with almost other worldly geology. The road into Capitol Reef winds through a narrow, deep canyon and the nearby town of Torrey offers the rider a wide variety of places to stay and restaurants to try. The Rim Rock Café located between Capitol Reef and Torrey gives diners an unbeatable view from just about every table and has expertly grilled steaks and salmon that are served piping hot.

So, here’s to a motorbiking theme day of sand and surf and steaks and salmon.

A bit of the Old West

2008-05-24T18:18:00.011-06:00

In southeast Utah, nestled next to the springtime raging San Juan River is the little town of Bluff. It’s one of those truly Old West settlements that didn’t exist until it was settled in April of 1880 when Fort Bluff was established.

What remains of that settlement is now the Bluff Historic Site and includes what’s left of an original settlers cabin and a larger stone house that has long since crumbled.

But Bluff is more famous because of the river. It’s a mini-Mecca for river runners who, along with the ubiquitous European tourists, keep the town a going concern. Whether eating breakfast, lunch, or dinner, or just picking up six pack at the local mini-mart, it’s common to hear people speaking German, French, or Dutch.

And speaking of eating and the Old West, when in Bluff it’s a treat to try the Cottonwood Steakhouse for a charbroiled chunk of Old West beef and a heapin’ helpin’ of Old West décor. At the Cottonwood the kitchen is outdoors. Rain or shine the cooks grill steaks, chops, and chicken, pan fry potatoes and boil big pots of cowboy beans while braving the cold fronts and thunderstorms of late May. During one recent dinner the sky opened and dropped an almost unbelievable quantity of rain mixed with hail — but the cooks toiled undaunted. While the kitchen is covered, one cook shrugged and said, “Yeah, but it leaks, and there’s not much you can do when the rain comes in sideways.”

The $20 14 ounce ribeye steak comes with those pan-fried potatoes and the beans, and was cooked more to the medium-well than the ordered medium, but was still crispy on the outside, more tender than expected, and very tasty. The pre-dinner salad was simple, but fresh and crunchy.

The dining room is adorned with all manner of shootin' irons, bear traps and three beautiful coyote pelts hanging proudly on the wall next to the fireplace. The napkins are red cowboy bandanas that are take-home keepsakes.

Proving that Utahns can take a joke, the restaurant proudly serves the whole line of Wasatch microbrews that includes Polygamy Porter, a dark, sweet beer that comically sports the slogan, “why have just one?”

Bluff is one of those towns that’s mostly a waypoint on the road from here to there. But this is one little town that’s also great place to stop and soak up a little history, have a nice steak, and smile as you sip an “Evolution Ale” and enjoy the amazing scenery.

To the four corners of the Earth

2008-05-23T21:49:00.008-06:00

Geological oddities abound in the American southwest.

There’s literally a new, astounding earthly feature to be seen on both sides of the road every few minutes.

Geographical oddities, on the other hand are rare, mainly because they are mostly man made.

One of the great geographical oddities of the American southwest is Four Corners. This is the place where four American states, New Mexico, Colorado, Arizona, and Utah come together at perfect right angles.

What makes it odd is singularly human.

But first you have to get there.

The Four Corners is not nearby anything. From Santa Fe it is quite a jaunt — south on Interstate 25 to Bernalillo, and the required breakfast of blue corn tortillas, eggs, beans, and potatoes at the venerable Range cafe.

Then it’s a journey back to the northwest on US 550 that on a day in late May can easily result in conditions that are less springtime and more Arctic. The road on a typically sunny New Mexico day is an easy traveler. On a more blustery day, or worse, it can be decidedly adversarial — can you say frozen rain and hail? Even though quitting, tucking tail and slinking home, or tucking into a local inn are thoughts that dominate the mind, pressing on is the best course — for in New Mexico it rarely rains like the three-or-four-day downpours of the northeast or Florida. “Don’t like the weather,” the locals say, “then just wait thirty minutes, it’ll change.”

Through the towns of Bloomfield and Farmington you stretch out into a no-man’s-land that eventually leads to the Four Corners monument, a monument — to surveyors.

It is in the middle of nowhere. How turn-of-the-century surveyors found this place and marked it is, well, history. And it is packed with tourists. And they are all doing the same thing. This is the oddity part. They are all doing whatever it takes to physically exist in four U.S. states at one time.

“Look mommy, I’m in Colorado,” a little boy shouts. “Yeah, well, I’m in Arizona,” counters his big sister. “I’m in Utah AND Arizona, now,” squeals the boy, upping the ante. “Give someone else a turn,” says the mom.

If you are from one the Four Corner states there’s also this weird feeling of underlying territoriality to the monument. Listening to the kids brag about how many states they were visiting simultaneously, I felt strangely insulted that no one seemed to brag about being in New Mexico. Then I realized I’d unwittingly parked my bike in Colorado. I felt a strange urge to move it to New Mexico, it would only be a matter of a few feet. What a silly thought, but I had the thought none-the-less.

Leaving the monument you exit New Mexico and enter Arizona headed toward the little town of Bluff, Utah. Utah, now there’s a state dominated by geological oddities, except that that most Americans believe it’s just dominated by genealogical oddities. Needless to say, Utah is a most misunderstood place.

Track day a beginner's blast

2008-05-04T20:23:00.010-06:00

Chance to develop street riding skills

Once or twice a year New Mexico’s BMW Motorcycle dealers, Sandia BMW in Albuquerque and Santa Fe BMW try to host a BMW sponsored “track day” for interested BMW riders to hone their street riding skills and get just a taste of the motorcycle racing experience.

The dealerships foot the bill for 50 complimentary passes to track day, held at Albuquerque’s Sandia Motor Speedway, that features four classes of riders. The racer class is just what it’s named, followed by the experienced and beginner classes and the first-timers class, called “street school.”

After prepping the bikes by removing rear view mirrors and taping over all lights and signals — distractions like headlights are disliked on the track, and you really don’t need to see what’s behind you — and running all equipment trough a technical checkpoint to make sure boots, leathers, and helmets meet track standards and that all bikes are in top working order, street school holds class.

The young instructors of street school do an admirable job of communicating a fairly large amount of information in a very short period of time. Rules of the track are a crucial part of the schooling, as is safety, of course. Some valuable tips about finding the best “line” through the course are given, along with throttle, braking, countersteering, and vision lessons.

Nervous because you’ve never been on a track before? As you enter the course following closely behind your instructor in a small group of four riders you hope first that you won’t fall down, that you’ll remember all the tips and that you’ll not embarrass yourself. First time out, you go pretty slow, maybe even too slow, but then again maybe not. After 30 minutes or so on the track it’s time for lunch.

It’s a BMW sponsored event, so of course there are bratwurst and potato salad. And there’s a very large German Chocolate Cake decorated just like a BMW logo. Getting the theme?

The second round on the track is much faster, and the skills begin to surface. The 1.8 mile course includes a grandstand straightaway that begs for speed. Turn one is a right that’s sweeping and wide and exits into a slight uphill that hides turn two until you’re right on top of it. Turn three is a tightly pinched left hairpin that is sharply banked. If you take the right line you can just about chop the hairpin in half and blast out of it with good inertia, transitioning into turn four, a sweeping left that sets up turn five, a tight go-around right that almost feels like a complete circle. Turn six is another right that’s about a 90 degree turn and opens to a short throttle-up straightaway and turn seven, a tight right that becomes the long grandstand straightaway – back bigtime on throttle and start it all over again. Whew!

Fifteen laps later your head and hands are buzzing and as the signal for “time up” is given you exit the track laughing out loud inside your helmet. Adrenaline is a wonderful thing; no wonder so many people spend so much time trying to coax their physiology into giving it up to the brain. Track day is an activity recommended for any level rider, you can feel your skill grow as you round the course, and feel more confident as you reenter the public roadways on the journey home — it’s time well spent.

Those ducks love their bikes

2008-04-02T21:12:00.014-06:00

A campus tour

The campus touring season is in full swing. By the time parents are preparing, er, I mean paying, for High School graduation and one final prom, it’s likely that they’ve visited quite a few college campuses, both near and far from home.

This story is not about motorbike travel. It’s about another kind of specialized mini-vacation of sorts — the college campus recon mission. In this case, it’s the University of Oregon in Eugene.

Apologies for straying from the usual subject matter for Dirt Riders’ Digest, but what the heck, the pictures are pretty — and there are the bicycles. Yep, those ducks appear to love their bikes. As one current student explained, “having a bike is, well I guess it’s pretty essential.” There are more bicycles parked on campus than I’ve ever seen in one place at one time. So, that’s the bit about two-wheeled transport, just to make this almost about motorbikes. And while in Eugene, there is a plan to visit the local BMW motorcycle dealer, so there is that.

But I digress. The UO campus is an interesting mix of old and new, but mostly new. The park-like atmosphere is heavily treed and very green. On an early spring day the smell of freshly mown grass is heady. It’s all very far from New Mexico in so many ways.

The tour’s focus is on the two most essential questions, where to sleep and what to eat. For parents whose college experience in now far in the past, it’s a jolt to remember just how small typical dorm rooms are. They seemed so much bigger back then, am I wrong? There does seem to be much more choice in dining, as well, so much more than beer and burgers — in fact there don’t seem to be any beer or burgers, oddly enough.

Anyway, the university’s student recreation facilities, student union, business complex, Knight library, and science complex are all very impressive. It really is a big, beautiful, and on a sunny day, busy campus.

For those of us who were in college when the movie Animal House was released, there is a final highlight. Johnson Hall, the UO administration building, doubled as the administration building for fabled Faber College in the movie, which was filmed largely at the University of Oregon. Ah, the memories of Bluto, D-Day and Flounder giving that White Stallion a heart attack in Dean Wermer’s office … but maybe that’s just me.

So it looks highly likely that there will soon be an Oregon Duck in the family. Call me obsessed, but I’m already trying to figure out routes to central Oregon that’ll make an interesting motorbike trip.

Riding into history

2008-03-31T09:30:00.010-06:00

Origins of New Mexico’s popular image

Little is better than a break in the weather that invites a day-long ride to a place that’s steeped in history, both real and contrived, across roads that are far from the Interstate, abundantly curvy, and visually astounding.

New Mexico is a strange and wonderful place, truly the Land of Enchantment. But not for the reasons most people think. People see silver and turquoise jewelry, adobe (or what passes for adobe) architecture, a strong ancient native culture crossed with a stronger Spanish Colonial heritage, an impossibly big, blue sky; a sparse, tan, almost empty landscape; and it all seems based on a culture that’s, well, primitive.

There are a few places from New Mexico’s past that still lend insight into the origins of the New Mexico of today. Some are going concerns, such as the Taos Pueblo. Others are long abandoned, like the Gila cliff dwellings, the ruins at Chaco Canyon, and the amazing Salinas Missions. Now there’s old … and there’s old. In Europe, structures dating to the 1580s aren’t all that old, really. But in the United States, established in 1776, a large building from 1580 would generally be considered very old. Well, in 1581 the pueblo of Quarai was a thriving community of more than 400 people, just southeast of what is now Albuquerque. It’s not known exactly how long Quarai had been there before the Spaniards visited for the first time in that year, but it had clearly been there a long time.

Visiting there now is not only fascinating, but also a really fun motorbike ride. It’s about a 250 mile ride round trip from Santa Fe. Starting out south on State Road 14, through the semi-famous artists’ hamlet of Madrid. At Interstate 40 near Tijeras the road essentially becomes State Road 337 and gets twisty. The blacktop snakes through mountainous terrain emptying into a plain and turning to State Road 55, revealing a collection of tiny settlements called Escobosa, Chilili, Tajique, and Torreon along the way, all with storied colonial histories of their own. The Quarai ruin is nearby the tiny village of Punta de Agua.

The Salinas Missions, Spain’s colonial, religious strongholds, though in ruins and long ago abandoned, have a very strong influence on what people are thinking when they think of New Mexico today. The Missions, Gran Quivera, Quarai, and Abo, along with their more northern cousin, the Mission ruin at Pecos, formed the basis for what we now know as “Pueblo Revival Architecture.” The Mission ruins are part of the National Park Service. The facilities are excellent, the ruins well preserved, and the Rangers expert. There is no camping, but there are excellent little museums, picnic tables, and clean restrooms.

Believe it or not, the predominant architectural style of Santa Fe in the 1910s was, like most of America, quite brick-a-brack and brightly-colored Victorian. There are stacks of books on how Victorian Santa Fe became “Pueblo Revival” Santa Fe, but if you want to actually see some of the influencing style, go to Quarai.

The architectural complexity is stunning. Neither the native peoples nor the Spanish priests were building primitive structures. And the people were getting along. The evidence of native “Kivas,” places of native religious ceremony built inside the Mission grounds, lead most historians to believe that a get-along-go-along culture existed for many years.

Of course the whole thing had to blow up. The Spanish delusion of “El Dorado” riches did not materialize. The home government of Spain demanded tribute and so the priests and government officials clashed over the priorities of tribute to State versus tribute to God.

It was so bad that it all came apart for the southern Salinas Missions about 10 years before the more famous, exceedingly violent, Pueblo Revolt of 1680 in the north. Whether you are riding for the day or on a longer trip, if your route takes you through central New Mexico, a stop at one of the Salinas Missions is a valuable way to touch a bit of the old that has had a real influence on the new.

Clearly Polycarbonate

2008-03-28T22:01:00.005-06:00

A not-too-big windscreen you can see through

The stock windscreen on the current models of the BMW R1200GS is a marvel of molding. The squared-off design is a futuristic angular beauty that, on the road, is more about looks than function. Sure, it keeps the wind from blasting you directly in the chops, but doesn’t really redirect the rain or substantially buffer buffeting from 18-wheeler bow wave or windshear on really windy days.

Plus, after about a year on the road, the tiny scratches from repeated washings in the West’s exceptionally dusty environment begins to turn the stock shield slightly smoky and soft-focus.

A really big windscreen is great in the rain. Full-on touring types always rave about their electrically adjustable see-through barn doors that they raise up with the flick of a switch and hide behind when the weather’s nasty.

Smaller windscreens look good, though, and weirdly enough, a big part of motorbiking is all about how you look.

It’s not easy to find a replacement windscreen for the GS that’s big but not too big; cheap but not cheap looking, aerodynamic and scratch-resistant, tough without being clunky, optically pure with minimal color, and free of lightwave interference lines at the plastic bend points. What’s wrong with wanting it all?

There are tons of aftermarket windscreens out there. The biggies include perennials Aeroflow, Cee Bailey’s, and Parabellum. Newer to the scene are Givi and ZTechik. All offer aftermarket windscreens specifically for the GS. Larger screens require additional hardware to keep vibration at a minimum.

The Z2242 from ZTechnik meets nearly all the stated replacement requirements, even though it would be better if it was just a bit bigger. It mounts easily in about 30 minutes using the existing windscreen hardware. It’s as clear as a bell. It’s made from 4.5 mm hardcoated polycarbonate, so it’s tough and scratch resistant. At about $150 it’s just about the least expensive windscreen out there. Its shape is rounder than the stock windscreen, and a modest 2 inches taller and 4 inches wider. But at 80 mph it’s an obvious improvement, blocking more wind with less buffeting.

It’s odd that you can’t order a ZTechnik product directly from ZTechnik, but must go through an authorized dealer. It’s not a big deal, though, as the Z2242 arrived from A&S BMW in about 10 days.

Just a couple of installation tips: Watch out for the vanishingly small nuts, bolts, and washers that easily drop out and disappear into the black hole of the garage floor. To reduce the stress on the plastic and to dampen potential vibration, add a couple of small rubber faucet washers to the front mounting points.

A bigger windscreen may eventually be part of the motorbike’s future. It’ll be interesting to see how the ultra-clear poly holds up over time and many miles and how well the design sheds the rain away. But for now, the ZTechnik fits and feels like an excellent alternative to the Star Trekian sheet of acrylic that comes standard on the GS.

Book Review: The Road

2008-03-28T13:39:00.004-06:00

An Unimaginable Journey

People’s fascination with a post-apocalyptic world has produced a wide variety of books and movies based on the subject. The classic Australian film The Road Warrior starring an impossibly young Mel Gibson remains the Gold Standard of world-gone-mad, car-crashing survival-at-all-costs tales. Too bad the prequel and sequel, Max and Thunderdome failed to be equal.

Actor/Director Kevin Costner has also made two “what if the world blew up” movies, Waterworld and The Postman.

Now that the film adaptation of Cormac McCarthy’s No Country for Old Men has won the best film Oscar it is certainly only a matter of time before a movie of The Road (2006, Vintage Books) McCarthy’s Pulitzer Prize winning story of survival on a charred and hostile Earth, goes into production.

McCarthy’s vision of America the Destroyed is exceptionally bleak. At least Waterworld’s Costner got a cool catamaran, a tan, and the sultry sex appeal of Jean Tripplehorn. Even Gibson got a sawed-off shotgun, a bitchin’ booby-trapped hot-rod, and a dingo. All the main characters in The Road have is a blue plastic tarp, debilitating lung disease, a broken down shopping cart, and a well-deserved, hyperactive paranoia. Unexpectedly though, The Road is strangely uplifting.

The realism is breathtaking. McCarthy’s economy of language is masterful. The result is a story of journey, hunger, survival, death, fear, and a father’s devotion that tattoos images on the brain. It’s a day-to-day description of satiating the simplest, minimal needs under the most terrible circumstances, yet clinging to hope in the face of hopelessness. It’s a frightening, suspenseful book that’s impossible to put down. Like the main characters in The Road you must keep going even though the temptation to give up is there on just about every page.

Like a lot of life’s journeys, a big part of you really doesn't want to go, but you do—because, ultimately, you are better for it.

Obviously, not all great books translate easily into movies. But, if this one does, Mel’s Mad Max could be in for some serious cinematic competition.

Touratech Panniers for the R1200GS

2008-03-08T20:54:00.011-07:00

Tourenkoffer Motorradausrüstung

Long time motorbikers all remember Vetter. The Vetter line of motorbike accessories brought the idea of aftermarket fairings and panniers to the mainstream. Back then stock motorbikes came unadorned, just frame, engine, and wheels. The only stuff you could take with you was the stuff in the pockets of your coat.

First generation GoldWings could be seen in the late 1970s cruising down the road with a full Vetter faring and luggage holding that extra helmet and your bag lunch while blaring Led Zeppelin from the console mounted “Cycle Tunes” motorbike radio — it was all very new.

BMW’s were the first bikes in memory that came stock with some kind of fairing and panniers. Pannier is a word from Middle English that roughly means “a pair of woven baskets” slung across the back of a beast of burden. While better than a pair of woven baskets, BMW luggage has had a mixed history. There are many stories of BMW Integral Bags inexplicably “going missing” somewhere along the road. They are legendary for their stellar aerodynamics and good looks, but limited capacity.

The BMW “Vario” line of panniers for the current edition of the R1200GS have an almost foolproof system that assures they will not fall off in transit. They also have a nifty feature that allows the bags to fly in low profile, or expand to a larger size, adding about 30% more volume. But their construction is primarily plastic with a brushed aluminum trim that gives only the illusion of robustness. The lever system that enables the expansion mode has that feel that quietly says, “push me too hard and I’m definitely going to break.”

There is a universal truth that all two-wheeled vehicles will, sooner or later, fall over. When the R1200GS with Vario bags falls over, the bags are a major point of contact with the ground — the other being the cylinder head. Suffice to say that the cylinder head fares better than the Vario bag, especially if the bag is in the full-capacity expanded mode. One or two minor spills and the injured bag lists like it’s had a minor stroke, on spill #3 it snaps and will no longer function.

Criteria for a suitable replacement: The panniers must not break. They must be lightweight. They should be large but not barn door large. And they must look good.

The debate: Jesse Bags vs. Micatech vs. Touratech. The hardest part is deciding on obscenely expensive panniers knowing that you can’t really know how well they’ll work until you’ve already shelled out major bucks and have them mounted on the bike. You ask around, you surf the web, you see a few types at rallies and at your local dealership and then you roll the dice.

The choice here is the German-made Touratech “tourenkoffer” which translates to English as “suitcase for a go around-the-world.” The panniers arrive from Touratech wrapped in enough corrugated paper and bubble wrap to thwart even the most aggressive Silver Back parcel handler. Ripping into the packaging like a kid at Christmas the motorbike owner-turned-accessory-installer quickly faces the Tourtech puzzle.

First challenge: The assembly instructions are in German. In bold letters the first instruction is Alle Schrauben zunachst nur ansetzen und erst anziehen wenn alle Schrauben angesetzt sind. Using a German to English translation website you later learn that this means, “Don’t fully tighten any bolt until all the bolts are installed,” or something to that effect. This is valuable information to have before installation, but completely worthless after.

Luckily the instruction book has pictures.

The instructions also do not tell you that you’ll need #25 and #30 Torx drivers and a set of metric hex wrenches, not even in Deutsch.

The hardest part is that the entire tail section of the bike must be disassembled to add a supporting bar in the rear fender. And, the hardware bag is filled with a dizzying array of hex-head bolts and washers, but the instructions do not specify what goes where. If you like puzzles, you’ll like spending the two hours it takes to figure it out and install the panniers. If you don’t like puzzles, pay your local BMW mechanic to do it.

Hint, hint, the Touratech panniers are very German. Well constructed from high quality materials they exude quality but are not fancy. They’re built for durability and function. The 41 Liter per bag capacity is big, but not too big. The top loading feature means you can fill the bag to bursting and open it without having stuff spill out into the mud. The mounting frames are exceptionally sturdy, but lightweight and engineered to fit at high tolerance. Locks? These bags are set up for padlocks.

With the panniers mounted and road tested — you hardly know they are there — all that’s left for the packer is to contemplate the space available, the stuff that should go into that given space, and how to do it. Einige Menschen lieben Rätsel (some people love puzzles).

Pilot to navigator …

2008-03-08T15:35:00.008-07:00

Trading beloved maps for an electronic wayfinder

Old Man Winter’s grip is as tight as ever. With early March temperatures in the single digits, the bike is forced to hide in the garage and leave the rider with a building, coltish frustration — way past ready to ride, yet still unwilling to freeze.

Two weekend short trips have been canceled so far due to the spotty forecasting by the Government’s meteorologists who have promised sunny Saturdays and Sundays but have delivered only overcast skies, cold, and snowy roads. It’s got to be a conspiracy concocted by those sadists at the National Weather Service and car-driving motorbike-haters everywhere.

Beset on all sides by black ice all that’s left to do is thumb through motorbiking catalogs and ponder the irresponsibility of spending money on gadgets that are advertised as essential to the Adventure Touring Experience.

The gaze lingers on the pages of electronic navigation devices.

While considering what kind of Global Positioning Satellite based device might work best and not lighten the treasury too much, a lightning bolt of luck strikes. While discussing all things motorized with a friend he explains that he’s stopped having fun on his GoldWing and so has sold it. But he’s kept his rarely used, barely one-year-old Garmin 550 – The Gold Standard of GPS devices made specifically for motorbikes. And, he wonders if you’d like to pick it up, for say, far less than half of retail.

After a day of audition, the Garmin 550 changes ownership. It’s a solidly built unit that comes with a variety of easy wiring options — though wiring it yourself is apparently a violation of the warranty — it does not require a relay if wired directly to a 12 volt system. It has a sturdy mounting bracket that is able to twist itself into an almost infinite number of Cirque du Soleil worthy positions, and locks down tightly, so an aftermarket bracket is not needed.

The bracket attaches pretty easily to the small inverted u-shape bar that partially supports the instrument panel of the R1200GS. Using a standard 2 inch u-bolt and an inch-long piece of hard-rubber ¾ inch sprinkler tubing, the bracket holds remarkably tight and displays almost zero vibration at speed. It looks right at home perched aside the instrument cluster.

The Garmin has a large, bright touch screen that has easy-to-read maps, buttons big enough to be seen, and navigating its menu is accomplished even wearing the heaviest gloves. It’ll calculate any route you’d like to take and provide you with more data about your trip than you’ll ever want to know.

Even though GPS devices have been around for more than a decade, and are commonplace in most cars today, having one for the bike feels like a decadent luxury item. And, for a monthly service fee it’ll even report the most current weather forecast. Fat lot of good that’ll do you.

Man Points

2008-02-22T17:31:00.005-07:00

A Theory of Male Homo Sapiens Behavior

This rather strange story is a way of trying to explain why men do what men do. When you see a guy riding a motorbike on a frigid day in February, it’s perfectly reasonable to think the guy is nuts. But he can’t help it. He’s just a citizen of Man Planet hunting for Man Points.

Man Planet exists for all men. Some men are aware of Man Planet others are not, yet all go there at one time or another. When a man really focuses, Man Planet feels like an actual place, but it’s imaginary — a way of thinking — a centralized repository of Man Ideas located in the purely sophomoric hormonal reptilian brain of human males.

To go there, think of the wackiest, yet most enjoyable things you do — like playing football in the mud, barefoot waterskiing, bungee jumping, elk hunting, “reading” Playboy, shotgunning beers, watching NASCAR, taking your girlfriend to a Rambo movie, or riding your motorcycle in 20° weather — remember that it’s not all about being stupid, insane, or anything gender-specific. Not about any lack of certain physical attributes, or sexual orientation, honestly. No, it’s really, mostly about doing things that are, well, kind of crazy.

The rules of Man Planet are simple. There is very little contemplation, and certainly no planning. It’s about urges. About feeling good about yourself. Getting outside your comfort zone. Living life rather than watching it on TV. Naturally, the global slogans of Man Planet are “Go With Your Gut,” and “Live For Today.”

The central activity of Man Planet, and its almost exclusive reason for being, is the acquisition of Man Points. Why? There’s no explaining it. It just is.

The awarding of Man Points is odd, to be sure. Silently, without even knowing it most of the time, Man is keeping a ledger in his head, a Man Points scorecard of sorts about himself and other men. One can award Man Points to oneself, of course. One can also award Man Points to a stranger even though the stranger does not know it. In fact, if you are awarding Man Points to a stranger, he’s probably awarding them to himself, too. Man points can be deducted, but that’s another story.

Man Points can be competitive, or not. The guy with the giant tires and giant shocks on his giant four-wheeler is probably more competitive than the guy with the little yellow VW Bug, then again, the guy in the Bug could be a skydiver, the crack-heads of Man Points. Make sense?

A Man Points Story: You commute to work on your motorbike. Man Points. It’s about 100 miles round trip, not a trivial ride, especially in February. Man Points. It’s just sunrise when you start out, and it’s probably going to be dark when you head home. Man Points. You wear a Gerbing’s heated jacket liner, turned all the way up to hot-high. No Man Points. (Heated clothing is a must on a cold day, but is sometimes called a “wussy-suit,” so you don’t get Man Points unless it’s snowing.) There are no other bikes on the road. Man Points.

No, wait. Three quarters through the commute you see another bike coming in the opposite direction. You wave, he waves back. Even though you have no idea who he is, you give him Man Points. Even though he has no idea who you are, he gives you Man Points. You give yourself Man Points. He gives himself Man Points. You both smile. See how it simply it works?

The hope here is to provide a shorthand explanation for some of the things Man does. So, now you know, when you think cliff diving, hurricane surfing, bull riding, funnel drinking, skydiving, and winter motorcycling, don't think crazy, think Man Points.

Are you what you eat? Or how you eat?

2008-02-17T10:29:00.004-07:00

Book Review

After a 400 mile day, after the tent’s all set up, nothing’s better than plopping down in a camp chair with a beer and a good book. It’s an essential part of motorbiking, second only to food.

If you’re a typical American it’s highly likely that you have a store-bought rotisserie chicken cooling in your fridge right now. According to the meat counter guy at the local Sam’s Club in Santa Fe, they sell about 60 fully cooked chickens an hour on any given Saturday afternoon. And it’s no wonder, they’re really easy, very tasty; and three-pound bird is just five bucks.

If you’ve ever wondered how such a thing is possible you may have also wondered where that particular chicken is from, how it is grown, even what it is fed. You may have even wondered if cheap, delicious chicken … is really a good thing. The answers to those kinds of questions, and many more, can be found in a book by Michael Pollan called The Omnivore’s Dilemma: A Natural History of Four Meals (Penguin, Paperback. $16 retail, about $10 from Amazon.com).

According to his biography, Pollan is a San Francisco bay area foodie, professor of journalism at Berkeley and a contributing food writer for the New York Times. Clearly an old-school journalist, sometimes called a “Big J” journalist, who is not afraid to dig for a story, even a story about food, and keep digging until all the roots are exposed. The first big scoop is that what we eat isn’t what we think it is. That chicken, for instance, really is a chicken, but it’s a chicken made from corn. Same with that steak and that pork chop.

It’s called “commodity corn” and bears only a passing resemblance to what we normally think of as corn. Pollan breaks down a dinner-for-three from McDonald’s with assistance from a Berkeley biologist and a mass spectrometer — now that’s digging. What he exposes is that his family’s cheeseburger, fries, McNuggets and Cobb Salad represents about six pounds of corn; that the soda pop is 100% corn, the burger 52%, McNuggets 56%, and the salad dressing 65%.

When the book focuses on beef we learn that animals evolved to eat grass are now forced to eat corn, which will eventually kill them if the slaughterhouse doesn't come first. The reasons for force feeding corn to grass eaters are a complicated knot of economics, politics, pharmaceuticals, and tradition. This much is for sure, beef would not be as plentiful or available year round, and much more expensive, without the current system.

Pollan explores niche agriculture, organic, and corporate-organic farming to explain that there exists more than one way to feed a nation. Sure, it’s probably better for our health and for the environment, but it’s not cheap and it’s not big or organized enough to satisfy our National Hunger.

The book goes beyond what we are eating and into how we are eating, with an extensive breakdown of a meal that is personally hunted, gathered, and cooked by the author. The imagery alone of a neophyte city-boy crashing around in the woods with a loaded rifle hunting wild Sonoma County pig while worrying about the ethics of his actions is worth the price of the book.

Thinking about food and where to get it, whether that be a grocery, farmer’s market, or restaurant; and how to prepare it, whether that be a campfire, cooking system or restaurant, takes up a lot of brain space when motoring down the road on two wheels. This book provides a whole new perspective on those ruminations. It’s not enough to make you stop eating bacon, but when you’ve finished Omnivore’s Dilemma you’ll not soon forget the stories of happy pigs, cows, and chickens allowed to be their essential selves instead of simple commodities at a place called Polyface Farm before they give up their lives to be our dinner.

Waldo Canyon

2008-02-11T20:10:00.001-07:00

A Favorite Weekend Journey

Experienced drivers northbound on Interstate 25 begin the steep climb of LaBajada Hill knowing that their journey from Albuquerque to Santa Fe is nearly done. At the top of LaBajada, just before the the Sangre de Cristo Mountains and Santa Fe come into view, there is something of a mystery.

Many a curious driver used to openly wonder when they saw the old sign for exit 267 — Waldo. The question, “What’s Waldo?” doesn’t linger as much anymore since the sign’s been changed to read Waldo Canyon Road. At least now we know it’s a road, but what kind of road, and to where?

Waldo Canyon Road does not appear to go anywhere except into the horizon. The section of asphalt visible from the Interstate runs straight and flat across the eastern part of LaBajada Plateau, and vanishes. The really curious driver can, of course, look at just about any map and see where Waldo Canyon Road goes, but what no map can show is what a fun ride it is on a dual-sport motorbike.

The road is not for cars, especially in wet weather. The asphalt runs out after only a couple of miles and turns into a semi-maintained dirt track that is anything but flat and straight. The road is part washboard, part gravel, with plenty of sandy bottoms, deep ruts, and treacherous potholes. The road has enough up-and-down and round-and-round to keep every rider laser focused. Big bore dual-sport bikes with street-knobby tires can keep up a moderate pace, but the 250cc class dirt bikes with long-reach shocks and full knob rubber can really scream into the corners and raise the dust. Either way, the road is a fun, short ride perfect for a sunny Sunday when all you want is a couple of hours in the saddle and a dusty bike in your driveway at day’s end.

And the road does go somewhere. Waldo Canyon Road is an interesting shortcut to both the village of Cerrillos and the more famous artists’ community of Madrid. Both places are great motorbike destinations because of their respective histories as mining towns and their quaint old west semi-ghost-town vibe. Madrid is the larger of the two, with many more shops and a popular restaurant that almost always has a parking lot full of Harleys.

For a bit more adventure, there’s another shortcut across more dirt to the tiny village of Galisteo. From Cerrillos you take State Road 14, known locally as North 14, to Camino Los Abuelos. The road is well maintained, but has enough whooptie-whoops and soft sand to be well worth it. At Galisteo the road intersects with SR 41 and easy routes back to both Albuquerque and Santa Fe.

New Mexico is dotted with an almost unlimited number of really fun, little dirt roads that go largely unnoticed by the Interstate crowd, and also actually go somewhere cool. Santa Fe in particular is a city that has easy access to rides that hit the trifecta — fun, scenery, and truly unique destinations — all in an hour’s ride. So, here’s to Sundays, mysterious freeway exits, and motorbikes that do both street and dirt. And, more importantly, here’s to springtime, may it begin soon.

Motorbike archeology and campfire eggs

2008-02-10T11:15:00.000-07:00

Testing the Jetboil Fluxring frypan

Lurking there underneath months of common garage accumulation, the trained motorbike archeologist begins to make out the familiar shapes of windscreen, handlebars and mirrors. Yes, with just a bit of digging the comforting shapes of wheels and boxer-twin engine will be unearthed, the signature curve of BMW exhaust pipes yearning for speed will once again, with luck, be exposed to sunlight and allowed to reach operating temperatures.

But it’s early and the thermometer reads just 31.1° Fahrenheit. If the National Weather Service predictions hold, the mercury should reach 45° by mid morning and with luck could climb to 55° by afternoon. Today could be the first day on two wheels since Thanksgiving.

But before beginning any motorbike dig, it’s good to remember that breakfast is the most important meal of the day.

A nice windless, sunny morning offers the perfect opportunity to test the latest edition to the motorcamping kit, the Jetboil Fluxring frypan.

The Jetboil cooking system is designed primarily to boil water and it does this with amazing speed — as if boiled at the tailpipe of a Fighter Jet on afterburners. Boiling water is the catalyst for all freeze-dried camp meals, and of course the only true necessity after a night in a sleeping bag besides a bathroom; hot coffee. The basic water boiling system consists of an aluminum cup wrapped in a neoprene cozy, a tiny canister of isobutane/propane fuel, and the burner unit. The fuel can and burner tuck neatly away into the cup, resulting in an impossibly small package — ideal for the motorbike camper who is obsessed with packing small.

But man does not live on freeze-dried food alone. Man must cook meats. More specifically, man must fry.

Enter the Fluxring frypan. The Fluxring refers to a heat distribution device that’s integral to the bottom of the pan, a zig-zaged heating coil of sorts that helps spread out the ultra-focused and ultra-hot flame from the Jetboil burner.

It’s an 8 inch pan that’s 1 ½ inches deep. It’s got a cool folding wire handle that’s coated in plastic and doesn’t get too hot to hold. It’s advertised as “non-stick,” but that’s a term open to interpretation, as any cook will tell you. The pan retails for about $50 but can’t really be used without $20 worth of accessories — little stabilizers for the pan and fuel can.

Bacon slices placed in a cold pan begin to sizzle almost immediately after the burner is turned on, which is accomplished matchless, by turning on the gas and pushing a little button that creates a spark. Luckily the Jetboil burner has a pretty fine control knob, and can be turned way down to low — otherwise the bacon would turn to cinders in a blink.

The center of the pan gets understandably hotter than the edges, but the bacon fries up crispy with moderate attention from the cook. The bacon leaves a thin fond in the pan, which could be deglazed with chicken broth and turned into passable gravy with just a bit of flour.

Most non-stick pans don’t allow any little bits of browned goodness to stick to the pan — caused by the Maillard reaction, occurring when proteins and sugars are heated to more than 360° — but this one does, which is a good thing, in terms of sauces and gravies.

Two eggs plopped into a bit of the remaining bacon fat begin to cook up well, but cling to the bacon bits stuck to the pan. The eggs do scrape up easily with a little coaxing from a plastic bladed spatula. Heat regulation is key to campfire eggs, and this system yields tasty over-medium orbs that are crispy on the outside and smooth on the inside.

Campsite cleanup is something that is usually done in the absence of soap and water, and this pan wipes out fairly well with a dry paper towel. To get it truly clean however, hot soapy water is required along with gentle scrubbing. The pan does come completely clean, true to its non-stick promise.

In the time it’s taken to write this review, the thermometer has risen to 44.4°. With bacon and eggs under the belt, the archeological dig will begin soon. Assuming the battery charger's working and no fuel lines are clogged, the motorbike’s Metzeler tires will taste asphalt and dirt today for the first time in 2008.

More about “first ride” next time.

Cold Weather Obsessions

2008-02-02T10:58:00.000-07:00

Furry Prognosticators Disagree — Scandal!

Punxsutawney Phil, clearly the most famous weather-predicting rodent in the World, is not a singular animalistic meteorological oddity, however. It seems that all manner of towns and hamlets in the U.S. and Canada have their annual “see-or-don’t-see your shadow and thereby predict the length of time left until spring” events – they just don’t get the kind of publicity the folks in Pennsylvania do.

The Internet has changed all that.

For the better? Who knows?

What we do know this Groundhog Day 2008 is that most of the lesser-known beady-eyed burrowing weather-chuck-hogs disagree with the venerable Phil. Seems Shubenacadie Sam and Wiarton Willie of Canada, Woody the Woodchuck of Livingston County Michigan, Staten Island Chuck, and New Hampshire’s Pennichuck Chuck ALL predicted an early spring this morning. Only Phil, who in one incarnation or another has reportedly been predicting the distance to springtime since the 1886, says it’s six more weeks, the rat-bastard.

It kills the spirit, but you’ve got to go with Phil. His overall stats are pretty impressive, even though it’s all make-believe and he lives in a stump.

Six more weeks of winter, that can only mean one thing. Gerbing’s Heated Clothing.

The Gerbing’s heated jacket liner is a mainstay for any rider wishing to start early or extend the motorbiking season into the cooler, even significantly colder months. On a non-wind-chill 20-degree day the jacket liner under a normal motorcycle jacket is as warm and cozy as a crackling fireplace in a rocky mountain log cabin. It’s wired like a thin electric blanket, only with sleeves, collar, and zipper, and made from 100% nylon and thinsulate. The collar is also wired and stands straight up to protect the neck. The wiring system has interconnects that allow hooking up a chain of accessories, like electric gloves, pants and even socks. Sizing is excellent, fitting every rider from the tall and gangly willow trees to the short and squatty beer barrels.

The garment is hand-wash and hang-dry only. I’d recommend sponge-bath surface cleaning as dunking the whole think in a hand-wash bath is a bit frightening.

The Gerbing’s electrical systems draw too much juice to be hooked up to the standard BMW auxiliary power outlets, so it’s best to tap directly into the battery with an easy to install harness. The liner comes with a basic lighted on-off switch, but you can’t beat the temperature regulator (a simple rheostat) that allows the rider some level of comfort control without having to constantly fiddle with the switch.

The heated gloves are a dream. They come in a variety of styles. The pair designed and marketed to the snowmobiling crowd are a bit bulky but nevertheless work very well on the motorbike. Combined with heated grips they ensure that the hands are never too cold, which is a big deal when you need subtle throttle control or the ability to reach clutch and break levers in a hurry. Construction, fit, and finish are superb. I found that, oddly enough, the color matched, and the piping lined up perfectly with my Cortech ADX jacket.

The gloves plug neatly into the jacket liner’s sleeve sockets, and when not in use the sockets tuck easily away into their own personal zippered pockets,

The liner and gloves don’t look electric, either. So don’t be surprised when you ride on a particularly freezing day and have people unconsciously give you major Man Points for being such a hardy soul. You don’t have to confess when they make the question/statement, “seems a bit cold for motorcycling?” You can just smile, bank the Man Points, make that “I don’t really understand the question/statement” face and say, “No, I’m really good to go anytime after Groundhog Day.”

More on “Man Points” later.

Winter Doldrums

2008-01-31T20:46:00.000-07:00

Gila Run Marks Last Seasons’ End

Trapped indoors and in cars for weeks at a time by single digit temperatures, Cabin Fever forces the mind into strange places. One begins to believe in legends, especially now. Because on February 2 the legendary Punxsutawney Phil can loosen winter’s stranglehold — if he so chooses, by missing or otherwise ignoring his shadow. Having actually witnessed the Groundhog Day celebration on Gobbler’s Knob in person I can say unequivocally that Phil really is a groundhog, but the prediction is a hoax, and the Bill Murray movie is absolutely nothing like the actual event. Still, the chill in the air and the motorbike mothballed in the garage make me want to believe.

While the new riding season seems far away, all there is to do now is count backwards to the last ride at season’s end.

Autumn in the mountains of southern New Mexico is as beautiful as you might imagine. The morning air is crisp with September temperatures and the afternoon thunderstorms race in, rain hard, and run away from the cool, clear nights. Too soon the motorbike will be destined for its winter nap, tethered to its computer-controlled battery charger while it dreams of springtime dirt roads and a new menu of BMW rallies. Time to add miles and exercise the camping gear one last time, and what better place than the Gila National Monument just north of Silver City in south-central New Mexico.

The plan: ride south from Santa Fe to Truth or Consequences on Interstate 25, stopping only for food and gas, so as to limit time “on the slab.” Take State Roads 152, 35, and 15 into the Gila Mountains, dead-ending at the Gila Cliff Dwellings welcome center. As they say, you can’t miss it. No dirt roads on this trip, but plenty of well-maintained asphalt creatively configured by highway engineers into ribbons of heart-thumping up-and-down looping and s-curving fun-on-a-stick.

Breakfast on day one consists of genuinely delicious green chile, blue corn, huevos rancheros at the Range Café in Bernalillo – a must stop at any mealtime, but particularly good for breakfast. If you’re tempted by sugary sweets, avert your eyes as you pass the display case upon entry to this eatery – you will not set eyes upon a more visually delectable selection of cakes, pies, cookies and pastries. One hundred sixty two miles later lunch was supposed to take place at the best steak house in T or C, the famous Los Arcos. Yeah, well, Los Arcos is a dinner-only place so a culinary change of venue is granted and results in a Big “A” Burger with Big “A” Fries at Big “A” Burger just down Main Street from Los Arcos. Don’t know what the “A” stands for, but do know that, although delicious, only a few Big “A” Burgers would quickly result in a Big “A” Backside.

Just south of T or C, the Hillsboro/Kingston exit for State Road 152 welcomes the motorcyclist to some of the best that State Roads everywhere have to offer. After just a few miles the road will elicit a permanent smile on any rider’s face. By the time you get to Kingston, a reclaimed coalmining ghost town turned into a tiny artists’ community, you’ll be thinking the road can’t get much better. But it does. As you begin to climb into the nearby Gila National Forest, the hills get hillier and the curves get curvier. You’ll be on and off the throttle and brake like lightning and left-to-righting through multiple hairpins and sidewinders that snake through dappled sunlight and some of the most beautiful mixed conifer forest around. On an early Friday afternoon in late September the road was very nearly deserted. The few automobiles encountered were typically gracious, pulling over almost immediately upon detecting fast-mover motorbikers in their rear view mirrors and letting the two-wheelers fly by.

After 45 minutes or so it’s best to pull over, take a deep breath, and laugh uncontrollably to burn off some adrenaline — no really, it helps.

The Gila National Monument and Cliff Dwellings are exceptionally well maintained and staffed by the National Park Service. There are plenty of campsites, amazingly clean bathrooms, and challenging hiking trails … but no garbage cans. However you visit the Gila, think about ways to minimize and contain how much trash you might generate, because you’re going to have to haul it all away when you leave. The nearest hotel, food, and beverage service is in Silver City, an hour’s drive away, which is also where the nearest public dumpster can be found.

The Cliff Dwellings themselves are a beautiful easy walk and a fascinating glimpse into the lives and living spaces of the region’s “ancient ones,” sometimes called the Anasazi; Native Americans who lived in the Four Corners region some 1,000 years ago. The knowledgeable and nice folks at the Monument’s welcome center will also kindly recommend a wide variety of hiking trails for experts and beginners.

The long ride home from the Gila was made shorter by the knowledge that this would be it for several months. The memory of 2007’s last ride is still fresh, but the mind wanders, eager to believe that Phil will limit this exceptionally chilly season to just six more weeks, and that the next ride could come as soon as the next 40 degree morning.