Black Rock Desert: Back in the Saddle

If you heard about my last major trip, you know it didn't go all that well.  No, I didn't wreck, or get lost, or brake down in the middle of nowhere - all things that have happened before.  But I ended up 'pulling the plug' and turning around only half-way to my Arctic destination.  And that was a completely new experience for me.  I vowed to do some things differently next time, and to take a few extra steps throughout the year, before attempting another 5,000+ mile ride.

This is the story of one of those intermediate steps - as well as checking off a mid-distance destination that's been on my list for years.

This first photo was taken in my garage, with both of my bikes fully prepped, loaded, and ready to depart.  That's Jonathan on the right, a good friend of 15 years.  We'd met in South America and traveled together with our wives in Bolivia, Peru, and Chile.  He and I had also wandered the Andes Mountains and Amazon basin on motorcycles, and most recently the alligator infested swamps of Florida, en route to the jaw-dropping Overseas Highway out to Key West.

We'd been trying to arrange another moto adventure together for the past six years, but with Jonathan living six hours away and currently bike-less, it just never worked out.

Until now!

Part of the problem was my reluctance to take the aging KLR650, the green one, more than 50 miles from home.  In its prime, I'd ridden it as far east as eastern South Dakota, and as far north as Canada's Northwest Territories.  But since I'd gotten my first KTM, the smaller bike has served primarily as my commuter vehicle, getting me to and from work, year round, in all kinds of Northwest weather, for over 10 years now.

But there it was, nosed-in to the curb in Sisters, OR - already nearly 200 miles from anyone who would be willing to load it into their truck, and take it back to the safety of my garage.

And so... you're already beginning to see the flaw in this plan to regain my confidence on long bike trips.  I brought along an experienced friend, to reduce my anxiety about dealing with any problem that might arise.  But then I also brought along an old dirt bike with 70,000 miles, doubling the chances of a problem arising in the first place!

But once our food came, those fears began to fade.  It was hot out, but under the shade of a big umbrella, and the cooling effect of a slight breeze, our outdoor table was the perfect place for a siesta.

Besides, we'd already conquered the first issue.  Guess, I skipped that part.  Twenty minutes out of town, Jonathan's voice came over my helmet intercom, "Should the radiator cooling fan be on?"  It was still in the 50's... so no.  But the temp. gauge was reading normal, so it surely wasn't the fan.  We pulled over, and I took the 'Green Machine' for a short spin up the road.  At about 30 miles per hour, a horrendous screeching noise began abruptly that was annoyingly loud, even through my helmet and ear plugs.  I recognized it immediately.  It was the speedometer cable.

I'd replaced it earlier in the year, then had to take it off twice more for additional lubrication before it finally quieted down.  I hadn't heard a peep out of it for months - until now.

The fix was easy though, I'd done it before.  Taking my multi-tool from its pocket in my tank bag, I unscrewed the bottom end of the cable from its housing on the front wheel axle.  Then I taped it securely to the right fork leg, so it wouldn't get caught in the spokes - that would be very bad.  I also taped up the open hole, so no crud would fall in and grind up the gear in there.  He'd have to pace off of me to avoid speeding; and we'd always fill up together, so I'd know how far he'd gone on each tank of gas.  No problem.

Why not just take off the cable entirely, you ask?  Well, to do that, you have to remove the front fairing - which is quite a job.  This would work - as long as the tape held.

After lunch, we made it through Bend, OR, then down Highway 31 to Summer Lake.  I'd made reservations for us at 'The Lodge,' the only place in town; and we arrived around 5:30, after clocking just over 300 miles for the day.

That's another new thing I was trying on this trip - shorter days in the saddle.  I commented to Jonathan that for the first time I can remember, I made it all the way to my day's destination without needing to take off my sun glasses!

Our room was behind the main building, motel style - which is great, because you can park right outside your window!  Bringing in all our luggage was super easy.  Now, the website said something about a fishing pond out back...

Oh yes!  A little dock jutted out over the water, with a low mountain as scenic backdrop.  There was a green chair - for Kawasaki riders, obviously, an orange chair - for KTM riders, a blue one for Yamaha or Suzuki - they couldn't make up their minds in the 80's, and a purple one for... I have no idea.

We sat and chatted about the ride so far, and even delved into religion and politics.  Now that's a good friend!  As the light faded, our stomachs directed us back to the main lodge, and one of the main reasons for picking this spot for the night.

On-site restaurant!  We both ordered burgers, and quickly decided they would be the first and last burgers we would have for the entire four-day trip.  They were amazing!  There was no way a subsequent one could measure up.  No reason to set yourself up for disappointment. 

Before bed, the KLR took a little oil - OK, quite a bit of oil!  It's always been a burner, but it had definitely gotten worse over the years.  I'd packed a full quart for it, but it was now obvious, we'd be needing more before the 11 hundred-mile ride was over.  The chains on both bikes were still well lubed and adjusted, though.  Being brand new helps a lot with that.  In fact, besides the chain and sprockets, I'd also given the KLR two new tires, a new air filter, spark plug, clutch cable, and front brake line.  It was in better shape than it had been in a long time. 

What I hadn't updated, however, was the somewhat tired suspension.  To mitigate that, I was packing nearly all the tools, liquids, and spare parts for both of us.  Jonathan had his personal gear in a tank bag, and his clothing in a waterproof stuff sack on the luggage rack, but was able to keep it pretty light.  We'd also decided not to camp, which makes a huge difference.

Why all the concern for supplies, new tires, and weight?  The answer to that now lay only a couple hundred miles to the south, in the wilds of northern Nevada.  There was a reason we weren't riding big, comfortable Gold Wings.  And that reason had a name...

The Black Rock Desert!

Joshua Tree: Racing the Sun

Box Canyon Road threw me back and forth between barren rock walls for 10 miles or more, before spitting me out, right at the southern entrance to Joshua Tree National Park.  Unlike most of my 'shortcuts' it seemed this one actually saved time!

One of the last federal parks on my bucket list, I was going to catch it on my way to Mexico someday, but when I found out we were going to be in San Diego for a week, I decided it couldn't wait any longer.

This section is called the Pinto Basin.  It was fairly straight and flat, and nothing got in the way of distant mountain views in every direction - not even the park's namesake Joshua trees.  Where were they?

The pavement was in great shape though, and as I continued north, I got closer to the hills, and farther from the desert heat.

Around this hilltop bend, I spotted the Cholla Cactus Garden.  No, they're not Joshua trees, but they do have their own catchy common name - teddy bear cholla!

A little disappointed, I turned onto Big Horn Pass road, which was to be my only foray off the pavement.  Surely I'll find some Joshua trees here.

And I didn't have to go far!  Nicely photographic specimens were scattered all across the landscape.  A few even cast a bit of cool shade across the road - like any self respecting tree would do.

But technically speaking, trees they are not.  Yucca brevifolia are just high-achieving plants.  But I didn't mention that in their presence.  Like a hill that's just a few feet short of official mountain status, it can't be easy for them to hear.

The rock and sand trail rose over a low summit, before dropping again to rejoin the main park road.  Most of it was pretty solid, but a few spots had developed fairly deep and loose washboards.  As you can see in the previous photo, the street tires supplied on my rental were not ideal.  I kept it slow.

Back on the pavement, I entered the closest thing to a Joshua tree forest I'd seen yet.  The route got a little more interesting from a curves standpoint as well, but keeping it down anywhere near the extra low park speed limit was difficult.

Here the trees lined the road, like they were planted there, and stood out nicely against the red rock background.  As you can see, traffic on this Tuesday afternoon was very light, but I did find a park ranger to follow for a while.  He was having trouble sticking to the posted limits as well!

Exiting the park's north side at the town of Joshua Tree, I turned south to begin my return to the coast.  This included a 13-mile stint of Interstate 10, headed east, with L.A. at my back.  Not only is leaving L.A. always better than entering, but on this day, I was pushed along by one of the strongest winds I have ever experienced on a motorcycle.  Sitting straight and tall in the saddle, I used my back as a sail, and the motor barely had to work at all!

I left the freeway and passed through the city of Palm Desert, a suburb, of sorts, to the better known Palm Springs.  The picture above was taken there, as the temperature rose to its highest level of my trip - 95 degrees!

Fortunately, I didn't have to endure that for very long.  Right on the edge of town, Highway 74 began to climb immediately into the San Bernadino National Forest.

The most incredible road of the day, it zigzagged up the mountain, the air getting cooler with each switchback.

The views were not half bad either, but pull-outs for scenic stops were few.

Topping out over 3,000 feet, I entered somewhat of an agricultural region.  The curves here were not as extreme, but still thoroughly enjoyable.  And the weather was perfect!

You'll notice I got my finger in this shot.  As you might imagine, taking photos at speed is somewhat difficult.  A lot of riders these days mount a camera with electronic image stabilization onto their handle bars - or helmet.  But most of you know, by this time, that I don't readily adopt new technology.  Perhaps someday.

In the meantime, I'll capture moments like this as best as I can.  After back roads 371, 79, 76, 78, and 67, I crested this hill on the Scripps Poway Parkway, and caught the sun, just as it sank completely below the horizon.

From here it was all downhill to the Pacific, Interstates 15 and 8, and the airport region of San Diego.

I wanted to make it back before it got pitch dark.  I'd told Philipp 9:00 at the latest, but that I'd try hard for eight or eight thirty.  He had to prepare for a tour he was guiding later in the week, so he'd offered to stay late.  It was 8:15 when I pulled up to his storage locker.  Not bad.

By the bike's trip meter, I'd gone 455 miles in just under 11 hours.  I took my helmet off for only the third time all day.  Pretty much brand new when I'd packed it in its own carry-on for the flight to California, I guess it was broke in now!