Black Rock Desert: Final Leg

Our last morning was clear and beautiful - but quite cold!  Fulfilling my obligation to Jonathan, we waited for the hotel breakfast before heading out.  Yes, for the record, we had breakfast each and every day this trip!  Don't tell him, but I kind of enjoyed it.

We made several brief stops that morning, to warm up in the bright sunshine.  We only had a little over 300 miles to go, so time was on our side.

Most of them, as it turned out, were on the shores of various lakes.  And oddly, it seemed like we were the only ones enjoying the scenery that day.

But the trip was still going by way too fast.  To slow things down a bit, we even stopped for lunch.  I know!  This was turning out to be a three-meal day!  I hear many bikers regularly travel this way, but it was a completely new experience for me.

By the middle of the afternoon, there was only one more obstacle between us and the coast - Oregon's capital city, Salem.  Now, it's really not a large city, and not that difficult to navigate through.  But, we still had plenty of time, so I suggested we take the southern bypass - which includes a ferry ride!

I'd told Jonathan it was free, but upon our arrival, the sign above proved me wrong.  "Motorcycles - $2.00."  It wasn't going to break the bank, however, so we waited for our ride to motor back from the other side of the Willamette River.

Highway ferries are quite common in Washington state and British Columbia, but not so much in Oregon.  Not anymore, that is.  Back in the day, bridges were very scarce.  In fact, as you drive across some Oregon bridges, you can still see what's left of a few ferry boats, rusting on the riverbank below.

There's just something about riding your motorcycle onto a ferry.  Fellow passengers usually offer to take your picture, for one thing.  And it just seems more adventurous, more exotic, than crossing a bridge.  Unlike me, Jonathan has been around ferries all his life, and even he thought it was somehow a fitting end to a long, at times difficult, journey.

The first town we came to on the west side of the Coast Range mountains was Hebo - a place I've passed through hundreds of times, but never stopped.  There's a quaint little store there that has always called to me, but it's so close to home that the timing was never right - until today!

The older woman at the counter was very pleasant, and eager to hear where we'd been.  We purchased a root beer and an orange soda, and enjoyed our last riding break on the store's long and shady front porch.

Returning our empty bottles and walking back to the bikes, I couldn't help but notice the taping job on the KLR's speedometer cable.  We'd done that just a few miles north of this spot, on the first day of our three-state, 1200-mile trip.  And it had held firmly the entire way - even through all those water crossings!

Editor's Note:  It was over a month later that I finally got it fixed.  Cable could not be salvaged, and I had to order a new one from Kawasaki.  Works great now - but the odometer is about 1500 miles behind the bike's actual mileage!  Don't tell the DMV.

We pulled in to Tillamook, just in time to catch my wife getting off work.  She took this final triumphant photo in the parking lot out back.

Our four-day ride had checked all the boxes:

Successful crossing of the infamous Black Rock Desert.

One more (last?) true adventure for the old KLR.

First true, break-in adventure for the new KTM.

Confidence booster for middle-aged riders - early middle-age, that is.

Ideal utilization of a summer's last days.

Reunification, after far too long, of a great adventuring duo!

Many thanks to Jonathan for his knowing, yet willful denial of reality in agreeing to go on my 'easy little trip,' to our wives for their 'reluctant support,' and to all of you, for giving me an excuse to write it all down.

Black Rock Desert: Civilization

Well, the euphoria of escaping from High Rock Canyon didn't last all that long.  Just as the warm sun was getting us all dried off, we were faced with yet another water crossing.  This was a kinder, gentler sort, however.  The bottom was lined with a waffle-like plastic mat, evidently designed to keep the sediment from washing away, and perhaps to provide a little traction.  I'd never seen anything like it before.  Just don't let the toe of your boot get stuck in one of the holes!

After the crossing, there was a fork in the road.  Both ways seemed equally well-used, and my map didn't help much.  I knew we were close to Stevens Camp.  We'd actually spotted a structure up on the hill, from far below, but you couldn't see if from the junction.

Jonathan took the left fork, which appeared to follow the stream, and I took the right, up a steep hill.

Within minutes, I arrived at this galvanized steel cabin.  A nice-looking gentleman sat on the tailgate of his truck, as if he was waiting for me to arrive.

Turns out, he was waiting, though not for me.  He'd left the ranch before breakfast, and taken the long way around, sticking to more well established roads.  He was with the group in the side-by-sides that had let us go first.  He'd brought their overnight gear, and had the cabin all ready for them.

When I asked about the best route to pavement, he brought out his own map, and began to thoroughly confuse me!  Just then, Jonathan pulled up and snapped this photo.  His fork of the road had ended quickly, at a well-used camp site.

The kind stranger had been to this area many times before, but not very recently.  He said the quickest route to civilization (Cedarville, CA) was to take a fork in the trail, a mile back the way we'd come.  It would lead us south to the main county road he'd come up on, and we could take that north, back to the pavement.

But, according to everything I'd read on the Internet, and a BLM guy I'd contacted via e-mail, we were very close to a well maintained BLM road, which would get us to Cedarville along a much more direct route - and we wouldn't have to backtrack down any of that rough trail!

The problem here was that GPSs and even maps are not very good at telling you what shape the roads are in - especially in wild country, where conditions can change dramatically with each passing season.  Hard as it was to go against the advice of someone who'd been there before, there were just too many pieces of information that pointed the other way.  And I REALLY didn't want to go backwards - not even for just one mile.

Within 100 yards of parting, but just out of sight over the hill, we found ourselves on a nicely graded gravel road!  It was even signed with the BLM number on my map.  We were absolutely elated!  I didn't even care at that point, if it did take us longer to get to Cedarville than going the southern route.  There was no more brushy, bouldery, watery, Jeep trail!

I didn't write it down, but I think it was about six or eight miles of that beautiful winding road, before we turned west onto this wider and straighter county road.  The weather up here was perfect - much cooler than down in the canyon.  We were averaging around 40 miles per hour, slowing for occasional sections of deep, loose gravel, and speeding up to 50 for the well-packed parts.  Let me tell you, after an entire day of never getting out of first gear, 50 feels like flying!

Eventually, we came upon this very official-looking green sign.  Twenty miles to Cedarville, it read.  In the distance, we could see the intersection with a paved highway!  As thrilling as riding gravel can be, it's always a relief for me to get back to a reliably firm surface.

We made it!

But we hadn't!

What looked like blacktop in the distance, had just been a darker shade of gravel.  This called for one final rest stop.  We broke out the snacks again, and refocused on 20 more miles of off-pavement riding.  Cookies and granola bars are nice, but a real lunch - hours ago - would have been better.

Still, spirits were high.  The confidence (and adrenaline) boost from making it out of High Rock with both bikes and bodies, properly assembled, would not wear off for quite some time.  Shadows were getting long, but many hours of daylight remained.  We'd get there, when we got there.

But this time, for a change, things got better even quicker than expected.  The gravel ended only ten miles from that last junction - right at the California state line.

I got my camera out just in time to catch Jonathan riding onto the pavement  - as a dust devil spun towards him from the north!

Moments later, the whirlwind crossed the road right in front of me, and it was my turn to exit the wilds for civilization once again!

We thought we remembered at least one place to eat in Cedarville, but when we pulled in to the gas station at the far side of town, we still hadn't spotted one.  Jonathan asked a local at the pumps what he recommended we do.  "Keep going to Alturas," was the answer. 

About 30 minutes farther west, Alturas has five times the population of the 500 souls who reside in Cedarville - and it was right on our planned route home.  We'd made it this far past lunch time, what's another half-hour?

Jonathan's good Samaritan had even given us a name - the 'Wagon Wheel Restaurant.'  And that's where we finally removed our helmets to reveal our haggard countenances to the outside world.

You can just make out the front end of the KTM in the window.  We'd parked around back to lubricate the chains before coming in - and add a little more oil to the smaller bike.  Now, they were both ready for the long ride home.  It was finally our turn for some TLC.  Where are those menus?

Oh my!  Meatloaf and mashed potatoes, smothered in dark gravy - with a side of chicken noodle soup.  If this doesn't revive me for the last push of the day, nothing would.  Jonathan's choice of spaghetti looked somewhat less satisfying, but he said the Texas toast rounded it out nicely.  And I gave him some of my meatloaf.

It was Jonathan's turn to book us a hotel, and he'd done that from the Wagon Wheel.  And so, 100 miles after our late lunch, we pulled up into the loading zone of the Klamath Falls, OR Shilo Inn - just as darkness was falling.  A beautiful ride through northern California's Modoc National Forest had brought us, at last, to the end of an incredible day of riding - with perfect timing.

And it's always fun to park filthy, fully loaded bikes in front of a nice hotel, and tramp into the lobby with all your gear on.  Don't know why exactly, it just is - something to do with the juxtaposition of rough and refined, clean and dirty, hardship and comfort.  Or maybe it's the outwardly condescending, but inwardly jealous stares from men in business suits. 

Good choice, Jonathan.

Once we'd lugged all our gear into the elevator and into our room, we could finally begin to peal off the layers.  I immediately recognized the potential for the little sink by the coffee maker.  Both my boots fit perfectly inside, and I left them there to drain all night.  It's like the room was designed specifically for water-logged adventure cyclists!

Well within one day's range of home, we slept quite soundly that night.  And neither one of us had even mentioned finding a place for supper.







 

Black Rock Desert: Escape!

Looking out from Thomas Fox's garage, the outside world seemed harsh and unforgiving.  I'm sure he felt that way more than once, while homesteading this land in the early 1900's.  There are no traces left of the house.  So, evidently, he put more stock into protecting his wheels - his means of escape!  I can understand that.

According my most detailed map, Jonathan and I had about five miles left to make our own escape from High Rock Canyon.  After battling through the deep water, sand, and silt, we were pretty exhausted.  The short break here had done us good, though, and we were as ready as we were going to get to tackle whatever obstacles were left on the trail.

Saddle up!

Walking around my bike to get back on, I noticed this, hanging from the rear of the right side pannier - my luggage keys!  I hadn't gotten into the box all day, so they'd been there since leaving the ranch - 15 extremely rough miles ago!  I do have an extra set, zipped up in my jacket, so losing the keys would not be a major issue.  The scary part was that I'd never turned the lock.  For that whole time, the lid was not secured to the box, and the box itself was not secured to the bike!  I can't believe the whole thing didn't bounce off somewhere, or get ripped off by the brush.

That would have been a hard-learned lesson.

After we left the garage, the path was firm and easy for about a quarter-mile.  Then, I abruptly found myself stalled out, and pointed the wrong direction - perpendicular to the trail!

I'd begun traversing yet another loose cobble section, when my rear tire overturned a particularly large one that threw the back end of the bike wildly to the left.  Fortunately, the trail here was unusually wide and level, and I had little trouble getting pointed in the correct direction again.

Next, it was Jonathan's turn to have a bit of trouble.  But, as is often the case, the scariest-looking parts don't end up on 'film'.  You're too focused on just getting through!

It began with a matter-of-fact announcement over my in-helmet com. system, "I'm down."  I sped up immediately to make time on the straight, then slowed way down for a blind corner, not knowing exactly where I'd catch up with my friend.

Just before I spotted him, he'd already followed up with, "OK, I'm up again."  That made me feel much better, of course.  He was about 100 feet up a rock-strewn hill, standing by the bike, holding it up.  Parking the KTM at the bottom, I walked up and grabbed the KLR, as there was no way to put the kickstand down in the severely rutted portion of trail.  That gave Jonathan a chance to finish his personal damage assessment, while I began looking over my side of the bike.

Jonathan seemed whole, and there were no levers missing, and no obviously bent steel.  In fact, the bike (and rider) had not really gone over very far.  They were chugging along the right side wall of a deeply entrenched section, when the rear wheel 'skipped out' to the left.  Sound familiar? The duo was tossed only a few degrees from vertical, over onto the rather soft bank - and the motor never stalled.

Everything looked good to go, but there was only one way to find out.  I offered to ride the KLR to the top of the hill, and tossed my leg over the seat.  Once I got it moving again, and through the largest boulders, it was clear that no serious damage had been done.  I parked it as soon as the terrain leveled off, and walked back towards the KTM.

Now it was the big bike's turn.  The spot that had fouled Jonathan was pretty technical.  You had to thread your way between a large boulder on the left, and a nasty ditch on the right.

I decided to avoid the entire situation, by taking to the air!!

No, not really.  That's a professional rider at my bike's official press launch.  I could do that if I wanted to, though.  If I didn't care about the landing.

But back to our story.

With the benefit of learning from Jonathan's mistake, I was able get past his trouble spot - a whole 10 feet past it.  Somehow, I ended up with my rear wheel on top of a different boulder, perched above the ditch, mentioned earlier.  I had not kept up enough momentum during my climb, and was balancing at a stand-still, with no way of reaching ground with either foot.  This could last only another second at best, before gravity took over and brought man and machine crashing to earth.

My only hope was to hit the throttle, jump off the rock, and stick the landing.

It worked!

I killed the motor in the process, but was able to get a foot down, and take a breather before continuing up the hill.

But the photo above is not from that story.  On this one, I chickened out and called for reinforcements.  Jonathan had made it safely through this obstacle, a 6-foot deep v-shaped rut, with a tree reaching out over the trail.  In the process though, he'd knocked a soccer ball-sized rock into the bottom of the 'V', which I saw no way around.  The trench was so narrow I couldn't get the stand down, either, so it was my turn to call for help on the com.  So glad I brought him along!

It took a few minutes for Jonathan to find a parking spot himself, then walk back down to me.  Once on site, he handled the rock with little problem, and I ducked behind my windscreen and blasted through the tree.

It was my turn to lead, so he waited where he'd stopped, and let me pass.

In truth, I didn't know how many more of these loose, rocky climbs I could handle.  We paused to catch our breath at the bottom and top of each one, but every time, the recovery period took longer.

We were wearing out fast.

How much longer could this go on?

And then, just as the canyon walls disappeared, I caught a green flash out of the corner of my eye. 

It was a gate!  An open gate, half hidden in the brush, but painted bright green, just like the one at the entrance to the trail.  We'd made it out!

The route immediately got better, though not much wider.  It was another mile before we passed this sign, identical to the one now far below us.  It was official.  We'd survived High Rock Canyon!

We still had over 20 miles to get back to the pavement, but the worst was obviously behind us.  The combination of jubilant triumph, satisfaction, and relief is hard to adequately explain.  But it was sufficient - for me, anyway - to immediately justify all the angst, suffering, and brief moments of terror.

I'm sure Jonathan felt the same way - pretty sure.  I'll find out next year, when I ask him to go to Utah with me.  For now though, let's just keep those plans under wraps - until the time is right.

Black Rock Desert: High Rock Canyon

Our decision to take the right fork, back on the flats, appeared to be the correct one.  It brought us closer to the mountains, and into some more interesting terrain.

According to the map, we must be entering Fly Canyon.  It should take us down into another large valley, where we would skirt the north edge of High Rock Lake.  So far, so good.

At the bottom of this last steady grade, we crossed a broad, flat area, that had obviously been wet in the winter.  We could just see a large empty expanse to the south.  Assuming that to be the now dry lake, we figured we were on the right track.  These 'two-track' roads were fast going and loads of fun - as long as we spotted the loose sand traps soon enough to slow down for them.

To help with that, the in-helmet communicators were really nice to have.  We took turns in the lead, calling out the bad spots to the rider behind.  That way we didn't both have to be quite so focused 100% of the time.  If you were following, you could relax a bit, and look around at the ruggedly beautiful surroundings.

But then we came to another unmarked junction.  This time, the most well traveled track appeared to be heading south.  Now, I knew there was a major county road in that direction, but that our chosen path was generally northwest.  Why take the easy route?  Defying the GPS's protestations, we kept to the right.  We also relied here on a bit of information we gleaned back at breakfast, "When you get to the lake, head for the mouth of the canyon.  You can see it from there."

Sure enough, in a couple of miles we spotted an open steel gate and a nice full-color sign!  High Rock Canyon is managed by the BLM and closes for a few months each spring to protect nesting raptors and big horn sheep - hence, the gate.

Originally an Indian trail, in the 1850's the Applegate brothers led immigrants to Oregon this way.  It was also a route that gold prospectors took to California.

I'd stumbled upon reports about this remote Jeep trail years ago, and it's been on my list ever since.  I passed fairly close to the north end of it once, on a trip to the east coast, thinking it might be a nice diversion from the pavement.  On the morning I could have gone, however, I decided I'd better make time and stay on the pavement.

I could already tell that skipping it that day was the right choice.  Unless things drastically improved, this was going to be slow going!

The path was very narrow, with tall, stiff sage brush on each side.  Because of the deep loose silt, we pretty much had to stay in the bottom of either the left or right wheel track.  That meant scratching up my beautiful new aluminum panniers. [Gentle Sobbing]  But part of the reason for this trip was to break in the new bike.  I'd been far too concerned with keeping it pristine up in Canada - one of the factors which eventually led to my turning back.

But the surface did get a little better, once we started climbing out of the valley.  Traction here was good, and we could relax and speed up a bit.  I came around the corner and saw Jonathan taking this photo of me.  But why had he stopped?

Ah yes - to take a picture of what lay ahead!  This is similar to one of the shots I'd seen online, that got me interested in this trail in the first place.  It was pretty exciting to finally be here!

But that excitement soon turned into, "What have we gotten ourselves into?"  As is always the case, this rocky hill was a LOT worse in reality than it looks like on 'film'.  Sure, on a light-weight 250 cc dirt bike, it would be a ton of easy fun!  But our bikes, designed to work well on the street, and still be somewhat competent in the dirt - are far from light-weights.

Enough fretting.  Here we go!!

I don't remember who went first on that one, but somehow we both made it up to the top!  There, we found a rare wide spot in the trail - big enough to safely park the bikes, get off, and take a well-deserved break.

The day was warming up a bit by this time - no more worry about rain.  But hopefully we'd brought enough water!

After a drink and a snack, we surveyed our surroundings.  That vertical gap in the rock wall up ahead looked interesting.  Though we were generally heading up-canyon towards higher ground in California, we'd obviously be going down through that first.  And often, down is trickier on a bike than up.  Better get going.

Well, before we had to deal with any loose, steep downhill, we found ourselves confronted with something even worse!  At the base of that shear rock wall we'd noticed from the hilltop was a spring that had completely flooded the road.

What wasn't water was strewn with huge boulders - there was no way around.  I dismounted and waded through the entire length of the obstacle to try and find the best route through.  It was bad.  Some parts were nearly as deep as my knees, but the shallower areas were hiding a jumble of loose, slippery rocks.

This was going to be tough.

What we'd thought was the "big water crossing" we were warned about at the ranch, had just been the opening act.  This must surely be the main event.

Back on the bike, I still didn't really have a plan.  I sat there for a minute, thinking this might be the last moment of unblemished perfection the mighty 1290 would ever know.  Deep breath.  Exhale slowwwly.  And let out the clutch.

It wasn't pretty.  I frantically thrust my foot into the water more than once, but I made it without dropping and submerging my rather expensive new bike.

Watching me struggle from behind, Jonathan decided he'd rather not be the one to put an abrupt end to my much older bike's illustrious career.  "And besides," he pointed out, "Now that you've done it once, the smaller bike will be a piece of cake!" - or something to that effect.

I trudged back through the muck once more and threw a leg over the KLR.  This time, I did it a bit differently, starting on the same side, but then switching to the left mid stream - to avoid the deepest hole.  The transition over the hump in the middle was difficult, but once across, the going was better.

With all four of us safely through, we knew two things for certain.  One, waterproof boots are not at all effective, once you enter water above their top edge.  And two, come what may up ahead on the trail, we were NOT going back the way we came!

Oh, and one more.  We knew at least the water crossings were behind us now.

But they weren't.

Only minutes later, we came upon this little gem, at the bottom of a steep, loose hill.  Stopping here, at the top, we walked down to check it out.  At the water's edge, the road dropped vertically about a foot, but the other side appeared to be OK.  It looked VERY deep.  You couldn't see the bottom anywhere.

Yet again, I plunged in and made my way across on foot.  Unlike the last one, there were no hidden boulders, but instead the bottom consisted of several inches of mucky silt.  And the water was even deeper!  On the plus side, the hole wasn't as long, and beneath the silt layer, there seemed to be a firmer foundation.

So the plan here was simple.  Drop carefully into the water, then hit the gas and power through to the other side.  Without the rocks, finesse would not be necessary, but momentum to get through the mud certainly would be.

This time, execution went more according to plan.  When the bikes dropped into the deepest hole, however, the few inches of mud seemed to increase dramatically, and even more throttle was desperately applied - but we made it!

Shortly after that, the canyon opened up, and we spotted a historic stone structure.  It was the Fox Homestead garage!  According to the map, that meant we were about two thirds of the way up the 16-mile trail.  I don't know why we were so excited, but we obviously were.  Maybe it was just that we'd passed the half-way point, or the feeling that surely if a Model T Ford had made it down the canyon this far in 1916, we could make it out in 2018!

I'd hoped to be all the way to Cedarville, CA by now.  It was just past mid-day.  We were only averaging about 3 miles per hour.

But in the cool shade of the 102 year old stone building, all was well.  We drank up, and even finished off the cookies my wife had baked for us before we left.

I knew it was very likely there would still be some challenging sections left.  A lot can happen in five miles of rough trail.  But the tops of the canyon walls looked so close!  Surely the worst was behind us.

Black Rock Desert: Soldier Meadows

For such a critical day, I slept in a bit longer than I might have, for two reasons.  Breakfast was not served until 8:00, and every time I drifted off in the night, I was soon awakened again - more on that later.

Even so, we were still up in plenty of time to load the bikes before eating.  But first thing is always to ensure that all tires are still inflated - check!

As we were prepping the bikes, a fellow visitor came over and inquired about our planned route for the day.  "We're heading out through High Rock Canyon," I replied, trying to sound confident - for my own sake.  "We're going that way too," he revealed.  "We're in side-by-sides and a Hummer.  We'll let you get out first, and come up behind - in case you have any trouble."

That sounded like a great plan to me and Jonathan.  First, we certainly didn't want to eat their dust for miles and miles.  Second, even though we'd packed about everything we would likely need in a trail-side emergency scenario, one of our bikes was still largely untested in the rough stuff, and the other was ten years old, with rather high mileage.  Now we had a back-up plan!

We chatted a bit longer about the trail itself.  Evidently, there was a water crossing that was quite deep for another group of travelers, just a couple of weeks ago, after the last rain.  It was hard to imagine there being any water at all in this desert, at the end of a long, dry summer.  But one person's idea of deep is not necessarily the same as another's.  We'd find out, soon enough.

The blue, dune buggy looking vehicle above is what's known as a side-by-side.  Behind it, you can see the Hummer.  Their group stayed in that separate white building, and had their own supper last night.  They would all be joining us for breakfast, though.

Another prominent structure on the property was this old rock house.  Unfortunately, I forgot to ask about it specifically, but I know the ranch began as a military fort back in 1865 - to manage relations between pioneers, traveling on the Applegate Cutoff wagon road, and the Paiute Indians.  At its height, there were 176 men stationed here, with 100 horses!

Making my way back to the bikes, I noticed this small shed, with some rather large storage tanks behind it - and what appeared to be a power line running out of it.

That explains it.  This is what kept waking me up all through the night - a diesel powered generator.  The ranch was completely 'off the grid' and so produced their own electricity.  If we spent one more night, I'd probably get used to it, and have little trouble sleeping with the noise.  But it was a small price to pay, to visit such a remote and unique place.

They probably could have fed most of those 176 soldiers with the food our hosts set out for breakfast that day.  It was an incredible spread.  You may have noticed that I didn't take pictures of any of the food at the ranch - got to leave some things for the imagination.  Or, you'll just have to visit yourself!

We departed right after eating, and backtracked over the mile we had covered the night before - to the junction with the sign for High Rock Lake.

As soon as we left the gravel road for the two-track dirt one, the surface actually improved!  Though narrow, it was hard-packed and fairly smooth.  Jonathan was excited.  I was still a little concerned about the clouds, but the clear blue band in the distance was encouraging.  And besides, I'm always concerned about something.

And then we spotted it - the water crossing.  I dismounted and walked into it a ways.  There was a layer of soft silt on the bottom, but it seemed to be firm underneath that.  It had been over a decade since my friend had ridden through water off-road, so I offered to go first.

It wasn't too bad.  Sure I got a little wet, but that's what water-proof gear is for.  Jonathan followed, when he saw that I was clear - and made it look like he was a pro.

It was a real confidence booster - for both of us.  We'd conquered the water crossing, the first obstacle.  Our skills and the bikes' competence had prevailed!  The sky was even clearing.  What's next?

"Two roads diverged in a yellowish desert."  My apologies to Robert Frost.  Our new friends had been this way before.  "Just follow the main route," they said.  "You can't miss it," they said.

Whenever someone says, "You can't miss it," that should be a red flag warning.  What they probably mean is "I missed it, but I don't want to admit it; because after I lost hours going the wrong way and finally made it back, it was then really obvious what I had done wrong."

But we weren't completely unprepared for this scenario.  I had no less than three maps of the area, each at a different scale, and showing differing details.  I always bring a compass as well, which has helped me on more than one occasion in the past.  On this trip, however, we had yet another tool to consult - Jonathan's GPS.

I know, "But Troy, you don't believe in using GPS on your bike.  You're 'old school.'  You'd rather figure it out with pen and paper, or perhaps a willow divining rod."

But it wasn't my GPS, and it wasn't on my bike.  OK yes, technically the KLR was my bike, but that's not the point.  The truth is that even with satellite assistance, the correct path was not 100 percent apparent.  We knew where we were, and we knew where we wanted to go, but the best route to get from A to B was still unclear.  We finally made what seemed to be a reasonable decision, utilizing all available resources.  I walked back to the KTM and snapped this photo, before we took off, down our chosen route.

I didn't notice it at the time - until I uploaded my photos to the big screen at home.  But can you see it?  It's dangling from the center of my right pannier box.  It might help to compare it with the box on the left.  Now you see it.

Not good.