Author: Bobbie Surber

Sonora, Mexico

By Bobbie Surber

When is the perfect time to ride Sonora, Mexico? Any chance you get!

Fresh off a ride in Ecuador, I was itching to hop back on my Triumph Tiger GT Pro 900, fondly named Tippi, when my pal Destini (an ace adventure rider) suggested we hit up a rider’s event in Banamichi, Mexico. I did not hesitate for a second.  Hell yeah, I’m in!

The first stop on our adventure was a pre-trip visit to Destini’s home in Bisbee, Arizona, an old mining town. Tombstone, a nearby a wine district, and plenty of riding were nearby to keep us busy.  Our plan included riding to Agua Prieta, a quick ride from Bisbee, to sort out the next day’s border crossing. With our paperwork ready, we were back on the road aiming for the best tacos in Bisbee!

After enjoying a delicious meal of epic tacos, we gathered in front of the impressive motorcycle shrine at Destini’s (and her husband Jim’s) Moto Chapel.  We officially christened Tippi by adding her name to the tank. The Moto Chapel, a vision brought to life by Jim, never fails to catch the attention of visitors. It is a small garage with a pitched roof, complete with air conditioning and even a bathroom. It’s a true paradise for gearheads and motorcycle enthusiasts alike.

On the road again, with Destini leading the charge on her GS 800 named Gracie, we breezed towards the border. Or should I say, Destini and Gracie breezed through, leaving Tippi and me oblivious to the inspection signal, which led to a comical episode of me doing my best to charm the officers while trying to avoid a bureaucratic whirlwind between the US and Mexico. With a little acting (okay, a touch of exaggerated age and frailty), we were back on the road and free as the wind.

We savored every moment— zooming down the desert open roads of Mexico’s Highway 17, enjoying the breathtaking mountain vistas and sweet tight twisties along Sonora Highway 89.  That is, until we faced a water crossing. Destini, cool as ever, told me to keep my eyes up and just go for it. Turns out it was a breeze, but then she casually dropped a story about moss and a rider wipeout on a previous ride! Thanks for the heads-up, Destini…you did well telling me afterward!

Our destination was Banamichi, a charming town steeped in Opata indigenous culture and Spanish colonial history. Banamichi was a bustling trading hub, attracting merchants from far and wide.  We strolled through its charming streets, greeted by well-preserved adobe houses adorned with vibrant colors and traditional architectural elements. The town’s rich cultural is evident in its festivals, art exhibitions, and handicrafts that highlight its residents’ talent and creativity.

We settled in at the Los Arcos Hotel, hosted by Tom and his lovely wife Linda.   Their hospitality matched the hotel’s enchanting courtyard and old-world charm. The weekend whisked by in a blur of exhilarating rider tales, mingling with the aroma of delectable food and more than a few Mexican beers to ease the heat. The morning included a tour by the mayor, including the town square’s church.

Lunch that day included a visit to a small local ranchero for Bacanora tasting.  Bacanora is akin to Mezcal, a beverage to enjoy while being careful about how much you are willing to partake! The tasting and lunch were a leisurely affair. We savored the flavors of this year’s Bacanora harvest while enjoying a laid-back lunch with regional dishes that appeared abundantly and effortlessly.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, evenings were a symphony of vibrant hues, margaritas, and captivating rhythms of Folklorico dance.  Each of the dancers’s steps told a story—a mesmerizing tribute to Sonora’s rich cultural tapestry.

And as the second night ended, my mind buzzed with the tales of fellow riders and the warmth of the Bacanora nestled in my belly. The air hummed with laughter and camaraderie, each story adding another layer of adventure to the weekend’s memories.

Sunday morning heralded a poignant end to our short escapade—a bike blessing conducted by a local priest. It felt like a closing ceremony, encapsulating the spirit of our epic weekend. As we bid farewell to fellow riders, we reluctantly rode out of Banamichi.  Its charms lingered, a reminder of the joy found exploring quaint towns. It was a weekend filled with epic riding, new friendships, and a gentle nudge to continue seeking such delightful adventures.

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Bisbee, Arizona: The Southwest’s Hidden Gem

 By Bobbie Surber

Nestled in southeastern Arizona, Bisbee offers a blend of history, natural beauty, and a spirited Wild West vibe along the Mexico border. My visit uncovered Bisbee’s charms and attractions, showcasing its unique character.  It is one of my favorite motorcycle destinations.

Journeying from Sedona on my trusty Triumph Tiger 900 GT Pro (lovingly named Tippi), the route initially seemed uneventful. However, upon meeting up with Destini and Jim, ardent adventure riding enthusiasts and Bisbee locals, the town’s captivating charm began to unfurl. Wandering the streets, I was enchanted by the town’s distinctive ambiance—a delightful testament to its rich mining heritage interwoven with a vibrant, slightly hippie-ish community. Their adorable bungalow, nestled along the main street with its newfound motorcycle haven christened “Moto Chapel” provided a fitting sanctuary for our bikes.

Our foray into the local culinary scene led us to the Taqueria Outlaw, a haven for taco lovers. With serious discernment for authentic flavors, I reveled in the experience.  It was a perfect harmony of a Mezcal Margarita complementing the tantalizing al pastor tacos, affirming Destini’s advice on the ultimate Bisbee taco spot. Slightly euphoric from our second Mezcal Margarita, we made our way along the main street, taking in the historic buildings constructed during the late 19th and early 20th centuries.  This era was the town’s mining boom, and it resulted in construction of numerous buildings in the styles popular during that period:  Victorian, Art Deco, and Craftsman. These gems have transformed Bisbee over the years into a destination with lodging, eateries, bars, art galleries, and shops.

I was reminded why I visit Bisbee often.  The food and local architecture, the local history, and Bisbee’s proximity to other significant attractions make this a wonderful place to visit.  Iconic and nearby Tombstone invites history buffs to take in legendary Wild West ambiance. For those who enjoy local wineries and tasting rooms, Arizona’s nearby wine district offers an opportunity to savor the region’s flavors. At the same time, the majestic Chiricahua Mountains’ breathtaking vistas and invigorating hikes entice visitors.

What sets Bisbee apart (beyond its history, the shops, and the food scene) is its extensive network of trails crisscrossing the area. Adventure enthusiasts will find their niche here, whether it be hiking, horseback riding, motorcycling, or mountain biking. Bisbee’s diverse terrain and surroundings cater to various skill levels, offering trails that promise memorable experiences amidst Arizona’s beautiful landscapes.

Whether a leisurely main street stroll or an exciting off-road expedition, Bisbee offers a range of adventures that leave a lasting mark on those exploring its diverse terrain.

If you are headed to Bisbee, here are a few of my favorite things:

Lodging

      • Jonquil Motel: Owned by adventure riders, this is a favorite place for both riders and non-riders. It’s my favorite for sure!
      • Bisbee Grand Hotel: Old west lodging at its finest!

Grub

      • Bisbee Breakfast Club: Hometown cooking with a diverse menu from biscuits and gravy to huevos rancheros.
      • The Copper Pig: One of Bisbee’s hidden dining gems.
      • The aforementioned, Taqueria Outlaw

Favorite Walk

      • The 1000 stair stroll. You will both feel the burn from all those steps and get a chance to meander through the historic neighborhoods!

Favorite Wineries

      • Dos Cabezas
      • Flying Leap
      • Arizona Hops and Vines

Favorite Motorcycle Rides

      • Dragoon Mountain
      • Chiricahua Mountains
      • Carr Canyon

For more on Bisbee from Motorcycle Classics magazine!

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Four National Parks, One Inspiring Ride, and Fuel for the Open Road

By Bobbie Surber

Embarking on a spontaneous journey this past October to explore multiple national parks, my dependable Triumph Tiger 900 GT Pro (Tippi), and I escaped from an approaching winter. The objective? An inspiring tour encompassing White Sands, Carlsbad Caverns, Guadalupe, and the Petrified Forest National Parks. With an insatiable love for national parks, these scenic wonders often become a focal point during my motorcycle travels. Spending around 60-70 percent of my time on the road, I am drawn to these incredible natural havens.

Starting from Sedona on a crisp fall afternoon, I cruised through Oak Creek Canyon, reveling in the solitary road and the vibrant autumn leaves adorning the red rock landscape. Petrified Forest National Park is a familiar stop with ancient petrified logs and captivating vistas.

I continued through the desolate upper desert plains, making my way to Springerville, Arizona, before the next leg of my adventure.

The next morning’s journey steered me toward Faywood Hot Springs in New Mexico, but boy, was it a wild ride! Wrestling with savage winds that rivaled a cyclone, I stumbled upon a rider down on the road.  As we righted his bike, we ascertained the downed rider was scraped and bruised but fine. My nerves shot, I sought respite from the tempestuous gusts and made a beeline for Alpine, where winds had gone rogue, hitting outrageous gusts of 80 miles per hour. Amid what seemed to be tornado-like chaos, I found solace in the embrace of snug and hospitable Alpine, Arizona.

Rolling into Faywood Hot Springs in New Mexico a day late due to the windstorms, I was greeted by humble cabins and campsites stretching across the desert with views of distant foothills. As Tippi’s tires crunched on the gravel, I found myself in a moment straight out of a motorcycle comedy flick. Decked out head to toe in my riding gear, I sfound myself in a nudist colony!  Out of nowhere two mostly naked gents emerged, strutting towards me to help park my bike. Picture this: two bare souls, one bike, and a dangerous scenario brewing. They helped with the genuine enthusiasm of a nudist biker pit crew, and I could not help but nervously accept. However, my mind raced faster than Tippi’s engine, worrying about potential mishaps—my bike toppling over one of them or an accidental heat encounter with certain sensitive areas. The stakes were high, at least for them, and my concern was off the charts!

With Tippi safely parked (and the naked pit crew miraculously unscathed), I swiftly ditched my gear and clothing for the remainder of the day, joining the affable and entertaining guests at the bathing suit optional pools. Trust me, regaling the encounter turned into a comedic highlight of my adventure, spinning a tale of the night’s shenanigans that truly supported my aforementioned moto flick!

Eager to witness the sunrise and embark on my ride, I packed Tippi.  I anticipated a solar eclipse, but not before a detour to the City of Rocks State Park (a hidden gem a few miles away). Although time allowed only a brief hike and a few photographs, the park’s charm put it on my must-return list.

Continuing my journey, a stop at Hatch, New Mexico, promised a feast of authentic Mexican cuisine renowned for its chili.  It lived up to its reputation as I dove into a plate of green chili smothered enchiladas. But before my feast the anticipation of the eclipse lingered as I parked by the roadside with Tippi and a few fellow travelers, hoping for an unobstructed view. Unfortunately, a thin veil of clouds dampened our expectations, casting a shadow over the anticipated celestial spectacle, although the shifting light added its own atmospheric drama.

The adventure continued as I resumed my ride, following I-25 to I-70 for a two-hour journey leading me to White Sands National Park. Here, nature unveiled a captivating spectacle as I ventured deeper into the park. The landscape transformed into a mesmerizing sand festival, each mile revealing taller and more majestic sand dunes that stretched endlessly to the horizon. The park’s beauty and ethereal ambiance made my farewell bittersweet.

Leaving enchanting White Sands behind, I ventured onward, headed for Cloudcroft, New Mexico, where a charming hostel awaited.  This oasis in the mountains promised a restful evening, a sanctuary after a day filled with unexpected turns and nature’s breathtaking displays. I am a huge fan of hostels while traveling solo, not only for the inexpensive lodging but also for the opportunity to meet with fellow adventurers. Cloudcroft Hostel did not disappoint!  It is labor of love by a transplant named Stephanie, a fellow rider from Germany. The night’s stay even included a house concert with a traveling performer. I drifted off to sleep that night with the thought of returning to this delightful place.

Bright and early the following morning, I embarked on a dual adventure to Carlsbad Caverns and Guadalupe National Park. My first stop was in Carlsbad, where I had a planned visit with a fellow rider.  Parker and I arranged to meet at a historic restaurant.  Meeting this captivating rider in person matched the fascination I felt from afar. Our interaction was brief as I had to rush to make my 1:00 p.m. to the caverns. Negotiating the winding roads with enthusiasm, I navigated to the visitor center while maneuvering through the curves, passing slower vehicles, and arriving on time. The caverns exceeded expectations, and I leisurely explored the most picturesque chambers.

Daylight was fleeing, and I knew I had to rush to Guadalupe National Park before sunset. To my delight, a pleasant surprise awaited me as Parker joined me. Guadalupe, an unassuming jewel of a desert park boasting Texas’s highest peak, instantly captured my heart with its desert sunset over the rugged peaks. The night flew by quickly as I prodded Parker for more tales of his exhilarating riding adventures.  It made this stop an unforgettable highlight.

The following morning greeted me with thoughts swirling about the completion of my four-park tour and the route home. In a moment of whimsy, I yearned to revisit Cloudcroft for another night.  Such impulses are the joys of traveling by bike…logic takes a backseat to wanderlust! Retracing the previous day’s path, I arrived in the afternoon, affording me a chance to explore the historic downtown area.

In a move that defied logic (as is the norm in my travels), I reasoned that it made perfect sense to detour back home through Mesa, Arizona, for my bike’s much-needed service. The return ride, riddled with its own set of challenges, became a tale, featuring unexpected twists and yet another memorable encounter at a unique hot spring.  It’s a story for another time!

As I reflect on my incredible journey filled with unexpected encounters, stunning landscapes, and fellow riders’ camaraderie, the allure of the open road and unpredictability of travel are the true treasures of my motorcycle expeditions. Each detour, unplanned stop, and quirky encounter combined to create a tapestry of unforgettable experiences.  It is what fuels my passion for exploration and two wheel travel. Until the next adventure beckons, I will carry these memories as fuel for the road ahead.

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Break-Up Bikes (my journey to a Yamaha TW 200)

By Bobbie Surber

Can we talk about an important matter that has been on my mind?

Do women who ride motorcycles handle breakups differently compared to women who don’t rider?

It’s a thought that tickles the imagination of everyone at some point, right? Well, maybe not everyone, but hey, this is my little tale, so here we go. Picture this: it was summer, I had just experienced a breakup that left my heart in pieces, and an opportunity for a soul-searching solo ride presented itself. In that moment of contemplation, I assessed my true desires in life, and you know what came to mind? Dirt and sand riding. Yeah, I’m talking about that exhilarating feeling of kicking up dust and cruising through sandy terrain. Don’t get me wrong, my beloved Triumph Tiger 900 (affectionately named Tippi) will always hold the top spot in my heart. But hey, a girl needs a little something on the side, a petite and playful companion for short rides. You catch my drift, right? I know some of you guys can relate! Ha!

Fast forward through the summer months and as August approached a dear friend (who also happens to be an extraordinary adventure rider) reached out to me. By then, I had been on my solo riding journey for over two months, feeling both physically drained and financially pinched. And then, like a shining beacon, my friend, let’s call her Destini, introduced me to the elusive TW 200—the side cheating bike of my dreams. This unicorn of a motorcycle was up for sale in Southern California, and armed with a few snapshots and a contact number, I was ready to make my move.

Now, you won’t believe the audacity I had, claiming to be financially constrained but wasting no time in contacting Eric, the seller. He was enjoying a leisurely dinner with friends on a perfect summer evening when I burst into his life with overwhelming excitement. I must have been yapping like a caffeinated squirrel, leaving him wondering if I was either on some mind-altering substance or going through a manic phase. But can you blame me? I had set my heart on that bike! It wasn’t just a want—it was a dire post-breakup remedy! A 2015 Yamaha TW 200 with a mere 800 miles on it listed for only $4000. Surprise, surprise, Eric turned out to be a gem of a person and agreed to a small Venmo deposit to secure the deal.

Now, here’s where the plot thickens. I was miles away in the Olympic peninsula of Washington while the prized possession awaited me in sunny southern California. One could say I needed a trusty sidekick, and luckily, a kind friend volunteered to inspect and purchase the bike on my behalf.

Before I knew it I was the proud owner of a TW 200. Come September, picture me cruising through the neighborhood on a splendid Sunday afternoon, giggling like a mischievous child. That little bike felt so lightweight and petite.  Its chunky rear tire was the only contrasting feature. And would you believe it? My shattered heart seemed to magically mend, thanks to a mere $4000 and the promise of thrilling rides in Baja and my enchanting town of Sedona, conquering as much dirt as possible! Love was in the air once again, and my mind was filled with visions of the adventures that lay ahead.

And thus, my riding comrades, this is the tale of how I acquired my very own break-up bike!

The Yamaha TW 200 is a unique dual-sport motorcycle known for its distinctive features and versatility. Here are some key details about the Yamaha TW 200:

    • Engine. It’s powered by a 196cc, single-cylinder, air-cooled four-stroke engine, designed for reliability and easy maintenance.
    • Fat Tires. One of its most recognizable features is its oversized tires—both front and rear are unusually wide for a motorcycle of its size. The fat tires, with dimensions of 130/80-18 rear and 130/80-18 front, contribute to its off-road capabilities and stability on various terrains.
    • Low Seat Height. The TW 200 boasts a low seat height, making it accessible and comfortable for riders of varying heights and skill levels. This characteristic also aids in maneuverability, especially off-road.
    • Suspension. It’s equipped with long-travel telescopic front forks and a rear mono-shock suspension, providing decent travel for off-road adventures while maintaining comfort on the road.
    • Utility and Design. Its design combines elements of a traditional dirt bike and a street motorcycle. It features a high-mounted exhaust, a large, round headlight, a rear rack for cargo, and a simple, utilitarian appearance.
    • Availability. While production and availability may vary by region and year, the TW 200 has gained popularity for its unique design and capabilities, which contributes to its demand in the used market.

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My Solo Motorcycle Journey from Sedona to Canada: Part V

By Bobbie Surber

Embarking on the final stretch of my epic 11-week solo motorcycle journey on Tippi, my trusted Triumph Tiger 900 GT Pro, evoked a whirlwind of emotions. From Sedona, Arizona, through the diverse terrains of Utah, Nevada, California, and Oregon, each mile etched an unforgettable mark on my soul. Navigating the enchanting trails of the Olympic Peninsula on my slow crawl to Canada, every road whispered tales of resilience, liberation, and the joy of exploration. Each mile felt like a chapter—a blend of nostalgic past adventures and an eager anticipation for the unknown ahead. This last leg wasn’t just a ride; it was a transformative passage that shaped me, kindling a sense of wonder, fortitude, and an unyielding thirst for the uncharted.

After crossing the Astoria Bridge into Washington, a short ride brought me to my niece’s home in Westport. Nestled in a community rich in fishing heritage and coastline, Michelle, Mike, and their kids embodied a close-knit family life filled with outdoor adventures. What began as a brief stop extended to a 3-night stay, finding solace by the captivating shoreline. Continuing the journey with Mike leading the way, we explored scenic backroads and Highway 101, culminating in my first ferry trip aboard Tippi to Edmond, Washington.

We quickly stopped for some incredible tacos before continuing to see my adventurous 90+-year-old mother, just back from an epic cruise to Alaska. She regaled us with tales of her thrilling zip line adventure—so high and long that my sister opted for the gondola ride, watching our daring mother zoom by! Our time together, though brief, was filled with laughter and stories of adventure before I hit the road again, heading towards more family just a few hours away.

My ride to visit my sister and her husband at their enchanting cabin east of Granite Falls was swift. The primary purpose of this visit, alongside my travels through multiple states, was to gather and honor the memory of my beloved nephew, Brandon. A decade has passed since his tragic loss to brain cancer, leaving an irreplaceable void in our lives. The remembrance brought together both family and friends, a day spent in heartfelt reminiscence and reconnection. My sister, Deb, and her husband, Jim, seasoned sailors, spun tales that seemed to fill more than a lifetime’s worth of adventures. The days melted away as we relaxed in the tranquility of their picturesque cabin by the river.

After luxuriating for four nights, Tippi and I reluctantly bid farewell to embark on our journey to North Cascades National Park via the captivating routes of Highways 530 and 20. The morning air was crisp and invigorating, paired with the delightful twists and turns that entertained both me and Tippi. The park’s cloudless skies gifted us a rare visual feast. At the same time, the scarcity of traffic afforded precious moments to drink in the awe-inspiring panoramic views, such as the breathtaking Diablo Lake.

Further along our route, multiple pit stops and a restful night in the quaint western town of Winthrop, Washington, brought us tantalizingly close to the Canadian border. The journey along Highway 20 and the extended loop through Kettle Springs via Highway 395 bestowed upon me splendid views of the majestic Columbia River and the winding Kettle River before my solitary crossing into Canada at the serene expanse of Christina Lake.

Christina Lake’s allure was magnetic—a vast expanse fed by hot springs boasting the warmest waters in British Columbia, offering a tranquil respite. Energized and eager, I embarked on my next destination, Nakusp, for a riders’ gathering with Horizons Unlimited. A weekend of camaraderie and epic tales of global adventures awaited, including the awe-inspiring journey of a dear friend, Wayne Kouf, as he traveled from Canada to the tip of South America.

As was one of the main themes of my journey, I was once again saying my farewells to newfound friends as I pulled out of the campground to embark on the exploration of Banff, the Ice Fields, and Jasper. Despite planning a direct route on Highways 2 and 1, fellow riders advocated a detour closer to the border. The diversion led me towards Highway 31A to Balfour, where the longest free ferry ride in Canada awaited—a journey meandering alongside a lake to Creston, ending at the home of a riding comrade, Jody.

After an enchanting evening with Jody and his wife, savoring local wines and their tales of adventures, we reluctantly bid each other goodnight. Jody led the way on his BMW the next morning, guiding us through superior back routes toward Banff. As foreboding clouds gathered, he wisely turned back, leaving me to face an imminent storm that unleashed torrents of rain, hail, and fog upon my journey.

At last, I arrived in Banff under clear skies! A delightful two-night stay at Two Jack Campground unfolded with wildlife encounters, mesmerizing sunsets, and a lighthearted exchange with a Ranger regarding bear spray—affirming the amiable demeanor of Canadian bears.

The subsequent days were a whirlwind, exploring the lakes, trails, and the majestic Lake Louise before venturing along the Icefields Parkway in Alberta—a challenging yet breathtaking 144-mile scenic route through Banff and Jasper National Parks. A pause at a remote, off-grid hostel allowed both the physical and emotional respite I needed! I slept with peace despite a room full of men.  I spent the days filled with wildlife observation, the magic of Athabasca Falls and thoughtful planning for the journey ahead.

Reluctantly leaving the hostel, I caught a glimpse of Jasper before setting my sights on Mt. Robson, the towering pinnacle in the heart of the Canadian Rockies. From there, my journey through the mountains made its way towards Kamloops, a historic river ferry delivering me to the abode of Melanie, a truly exceptional rider. Gathered around for dinner were local riders, their camaraderie transforming the evening into a truly memorable encounter.

The next morning, Melanie and I embarked on a thrilling ride towards Whistler via the legendary Highway 99, a route destined to etch itself into my memory. Reluctantly bidding farewell to Melanie, I found a respite at a hostel nestled on the outskirts of Whistler, immersing myself in the awe-inspiring vistas. The following day, I embarked on the Sea to Sky Highway, Highway 99, enroute to the home of newfound friends I’d met during my time in Nakusp.

A brief stopover in Vancouver included a heartfelt reunion with a friend from Sedona and an embrace of warm hospitality from new acquaintances, setting the stage for a chilly, rain-soaked morning journey to the ferry terminal. This ferry would lead me to Pender Island and the sanctuary of Karen and Wayne’s idyllic home, perched above stunning views of the sound amid a serene fruit orchard.

I was enfolded by their sanctuary for three nights before hopping onto ferries, journeying to Salt Spring Island for a short but sweet visit with friends. Eventually, my path led me to Nanaimo on Vancouver Island, where I sought rest for the night. The following morning, we rode to Tofino, immersing myself in the town’s essence for several nights, exploring every nook and cranny, from the bustling streets to the expansive Long Beach. Subsequently, I found solace in camping at Ucluelet for two nights, discovering the untamed and authentic allure of the rugged west coast of Vancouver Island.

Spending five captivating nights absorbed in the wild embrace of the untamed West Coast reluctantly gave way to a journey along the backroads, savoring every moment by Cowichan Lake and basking in the sheer picturesque beauty of Port Renfrew. The coastal ride on Road 14 leading into Victoria was a spectacle to behold, painting a stunning portrait of nature’s allure. However, despite an entire week on Vancouver Island, it felt like I’d barely scratched the surface of its boundless treasures. This experience fueled a resolute determination to return, armed with Tippi, and unearth more of the island’s hidden gems waiting to be discovered.

A ferry ride from Victoria to Port Angeles led me to family friends who are seasoned globe-trotters and avid sailors. Their tales of adventures on the high seas enthralled me, offering a glimpse into their adventurous lives. Their home, a serene haven, was difficult to leave behind after two lovely nights.

Crossing that final ferry from Kingston into Edmonds, Washington, marked the poignant end of our remarkable 6700-mile journey. As Tippi’s three-cylinder engine hummed for the last time, an array of emotions swept over me—an amalgamation of triumph, nostalgia, and bittersweet closure.

This journey wasn’t merely a travelogue; it unfolded as an epic tale of self-discovery, resilience, and unspoken connections. It bestowed upon me the confidence to traverse vast distances riding solo, fostering encounters that enriched the very essence of my being. Amidst nature’s awe-inspiring grandeur and tempestuous weather, I forged deep bonds with fellow riders, weaving together memories that now compose the tapestry of cherished moments. My heart took this journey bruised and found solace and renewal in the liberating embrace of the open road. It transcended beyond a physical expedition—it became a profound emotional odyssey. Tippi and the open road weren’t simply an escape; they provided a sanctuary for introspection, solace, and rediscovery.

In this odyssey, Tippi evolved beyond a mere motorcycle; she transformed into an unwavering companion, accompanying me through every peak and valley, guiding me along uncharted paths as a steadfast confidante, offering unspoken reassurance and understanding. She remained my constant, always propelling me further.

My solo adventure reaffirmed a timeless truth: life’s most defining chapters often unfold in uncharted territories, far from the familiar comforts. It underscored that the most impactful moments, those that shape us profoundly, emerge when we embrace the unknown with open arms, daringly venturing beyond the confines of what we know.

By the Numbers:

    • 6700 +/- miles
    • 2 Countries /2 Provence’s /6 States
    • 2 Bike Drops
    • 3 wicked Hangovers
    • 3 Islands
    • 6 Canadian National Parks
    • 14 US National Parks
    • 9 Ferry Rides
    • 54 nights camping
    • 1000 amazing memories!

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My Solo Motorcycle Journey from Sedona to Canada: Part IV

By Bobbie Surber

A quick recap: In Part One, I kicked off this solo motorcycle journey on my trusty Triumph Tiger 900 GT Pro, lovingly christened Tippi. As I bid farewell to Sedona, the road promised a majestic odyssey. From the winding bends of the Colorado River to the breathtaking grandeur of Lees Ferry, Marble Canyon, Jacobs Lake, North Grand Canyon National Park, and Zion National Park, each mile etched indelible memories on my soul.   Part Two unveiled the treasures of Bryce Canyon, Capitol Reef, and Great Basin National Parks, along with the legendary Loneliest Highway in America, Highway 50. The roads led me to Lake Tahoe, where I encountered unique wonders and overcame challenges that enriched my adventure.  In Part Three, I entered the landscapes of Yosemite, Kings Canyon, Sequoia, and Lassen Volcanic National Parks. I visited the town of Bigfoot and the Lost Coast. Amidst these joys, there was a bittersweet encounter with my boyfriend, Mike, marking the end of a significant chapter in my life.  Now, let’s continue the ride through northern California and the Oregon coast.

In the embrace of an early summer morning, I stood alone, a solitary figure beside my trusted motorcycle, Tippi. The sun painted the horizon in hues of gold and pink, casting a spell of serenity. This was the moment of bidding farewell to Greg, a friend whose hospitality touched my soul.  The road stretched before me, an endless promise. As I eased Tippi out of Greg’s driveway, it felt as if the entire world held its breath, echoing the emotions that propelled me into this adventure. This journey, forged from the ashes of heartbreak and kindled by an insatiable wanderlust, was poised to unfold a voyage of self-discovery and emotional renewal.

Just the night before, I had embraced a decision steeped in emotional turbulence — a poignant farewell to my boyfriend, Mike. It was a decision marinated in profound sadness and the weight of loss. Despite the heaviness in my heart, I clung to the belief that the open road cradled an undiscovered trove of experiences, encounters, and life lessons. Each mile seemed to hold the promise of a fresh beginning, and as I departed McKinleyville, California on that Sunday morning, the marine mist hung in the air like a wispy veil.  It created a backdrop to my reflections on the past and the enigma of the future. The chill in the air mirrored the swirling mix of emotions within me, signifying the dawn of a new chapter in my solitary adventure.

Surrounded by towering redwoods and glimpsing fleeting vistas of the boundless Pacific Ocean as the last remnants of marine fog dissipated, the morning unfurled in all the splendor I yearned for. We journeyed up the coast, passing through the awe-inspiring realm of Redwood National Park. This marked my tenth rendezvous with a national park in just a month of travel. Each park visit hammered home the vital importance of preserving our public lands, and standing amidst these colossal arboreal titans served as a perpetual reminder of their awe-inspiring grandeur.

Reluctantly, I bid adieu to the towering redwoods as Highway 101 gently steered me slightly inland, ushering me towards Elk Meadow. Here, nature unfolded a spectacle that stole my breath — an assembly of elk, the largest gathering I had ever witnessed. I yielded to the irresistible urge to halt and pay homage to their beauty, immortalizing the moment through the lens of my camera.

After our parting with the majestic elk, I made a brief sojourn in Crescent City, a pause to refuel Tippi and replenish my spirits with a cup of coffee. It was in this picturesque spot that I stumbled upon kindred spirits — two gentlemen on Ducati motorcycles. We shared a common destiny: Canada. While a twinge of envy for their sleek machines grazed my heart, I cherished the chance to engage in a brief yet warm-hearted conversation with fellow travelers.

With renewed zeal, Tippi and I resumed our journey on Highway 101, eager to cross into Oregon, the fifth state to embrace our adventure. We traversed familiar terrain, including the enchanting Harris Beach State Park and Whaleshead Beach in Brookings. While my original goal was Bandon, the unyielding coastal winds encouraged me to pursue the unknown paths that Oregon had hidden.

Coos Bay welcomed us with an uproarious windstorm, a tempestuous force of nature that consistently left me feeling exposed and vulnerable. After a hasty search on Rec.gov, I secured a campsite on the north side of Coos Bay. However, our path to the campground presented a challenge—an encounter with a bridge at the northern edge. Anxiety surged within me as a flashing warning sign taunted me with its “High Wind Alert” and “Overturned Vehicle” messages.

I wish I could recount the crossing of that bridge with calm and composure, but the truth was far from it. My grip on the handlebars was vice-like, my white knuckles bearing testimony to my sheer terror. My aversion to fierce winds reached its zenith, and adrenaline coursed through my veins as I navigated to the other side. Upon reaching the campground, my heart sank as I discovered an RV occupying the very spot I had reserved. The encounter with the RV owner left me frustrated and disheartened, an unfortunate epilogue to the nerve-wracking bridge escapade.

Thankfully, a benevolent camp host emerged as my savior, guiding me to an alternative sanctuary shielded from the relentless wind. After a modest dinner, I indulged in a generous pour of Irish whiskey, surrendering to the soothing embrace of slumber, grateful for the tranquility of the night.

As the sun greeted me with a gentle caress, I found myself back in the saddle on Tippi. An early morning ride past Florence unfolded, each curve of the road a thrilling waltz with the remnants of marine fog. This was my sanctuary — a joyful communion with the open road and splendid vistas without a hint of traffic. All too soon, Tippi beckoned me onwards, leading to Yachats, Oregon, a captivating seaside village promising both coffee and a well-deserved breakfast.

On a whim, I reached out to an old friend from Sedona, Elaine, her presence a comforting tether to the past. Hoping she and her gracious husband could join me for an impromptu cup of coffee, I was delighted when they not only accepted my invitation but also extended a generous offer for me to spend the night. It was the 4th of July, and their cottage, adorned with breathtaking views of the bay, surpassed all expectations.

I soon found myself immersed in the heartwarming tapestry of small-town America, a 4th of July parade, and savoring dinner with their friends by the bay (a diverse ensemble of souls who graciously embraced me). The day culminated in a spectacular sunset and an awe-inspiring fireworks extravaganza over the ocean (as you can see in the photo at the top of this blog).

Early the following morning, as I reassured my friends of my competence on a substantial bike, I negotiated their lengthy gravel driveway. But I inadvertently tipped Tippi over. My pride was slightly bruised, but with concerted effort, we righted Tippi, and my journey continued. The weather was perfect as the road led me along the rest of the Oregon coast, passing through my beloved coastal havens like Cannon Beach and Surf Pines before culminating in Astoria.

My journey reached a momentous juncture as I approached the Astoria-Megler Bridge, an imposing truss bridge spanning an astonishing 4.6 miles, suspended 192 feet above the majestic Columbia River. This crossing marked my entry into Washington State, and contrary to the daunting tales of ferocious winds, I was pleasantly greeted by a smooth and rewarding journey. I took a moment to document my arrival in my sixth state in just over five weeks on the road. With newfound enthusiasm, I revved up Tippi and continued my pilgrimage to the charming village of Westport, Washington, where my family eagerly awaited my arrival.

What an extraordinary adventure it has been, with the promise of even more to come. Along the way, I have cast aside heartache, embraced the highs and lows of the road, and found solace in the arms of independence, the kind of independence that comes from conquering challenges that nudge us beyond our comfort zones. I wholeheartedly embrace my addiction to solo motorcycle travel, cherishing the serendipitous encounters with strangers who become cherished friends, and savoring the freedom of the open road.

Stay tuned for the forthcoming chapter, where I will unveil my family adventures in Washington and the epic odyssey through Canada. I extend my heartfelt gratitude to you for joining me on this narrative journey. Your comments, suggestions, and unwavering support are a source of immense inspiration. Until then, whether you embark on a bike, in a car, on a bicycle, or simply with your own two feet, I implore you to heed the call of your own epic adventure. Safe travels, fellow adventurers!

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My Solo Motorcycle Journey from Sedona to Canada: Part III

By Bobbie Surber

My solo motorcycle journey of joy from Sedona, Arizona, to Canada continues.  This is an epic journey and it holds a special place in my heart. I can revisit fleeting moments of pure joy, rekindle the emotions, and extract lessons learned along the way. As a woman riding solo, I am part of a remarkable and tight-knit sisterhood that inspires me, challenges me, and provides me with extraordinary kinship. With their spirit in mind, I’m excited to dive into the next chapter of my unforgettable summer ride.

In Part I, I embarked on my trusty Triumph Tiger 900 GT Pro, affectionately named Tippi, leaving Sedona behind. Our journey took us through landscapes of the Colorado River, Lees Ferry, Marble Canyon, Jacobs Lake, North Grand Canyon National Park, and Zion National Park. It was a breathtaking start to an indelible adventure.

Part II chronicled our exploration of Bryce Canyon, Capitol Reef, and Great Basin as well as Highway 50 (the Loneliest Highway in America) and our arrival in Lake Tahoe. Each destination brought its own magic and challenges, enriching the tapestry of this incredible journey.  Leaving Lake Tahoe after a full week of exploration was bittersweet. I savored every moment but the open road called, promising new horizons and cherished old favorites. This part of my journey led me to Roseville, California, where I had to part ways with Tippi temporarily for a well-deserved tune-up and a new chain. Joining forces with a fellow rider and friend Mike (whose BMW was waiting for a harness from Germany), we hatched a plan over drinks and a shared meal. Our first destination: Majestic Yosemite National Park.

We took a brief detour to pick up another adventurous soul, Dan, who would follow us as we made our way to a campsite outside the park. While the campsite may not have been the most scenic, the camaraderie more than compensated for it.  We enjoyed a hearty campfire dinner, and Dan and Mike one-upped each other with travel tales of daring escapades. It was a night filled with laughter.

The following morning marked our entry into Yosemite National Park. For me, it held a special significance. It was here that I had embarked on my solo hike along the John Muir Trail, starting from this very valley floor. The memories flooded back, stirring emotions and a sense of longing that I can’t put into words.

We secured a campsite within the park and spent two days immersing ourselves in Yosemite. We hiked amidst the awe-inspiring vistas, capturing the record-breaking snow melt that transformed the waterfalls into powerful cascades painted by breathtaking sunsets. As if retracing my steps, I followed a small section of the John Muir Trail, a nostalgic journey that filled me with joy. Those two magical days, spent with my riding buddies, nourished my soul and dispelled the occasional loneliness that accompanies solo motorcycle adventures. The camaraderie and shared experiences reminded me of the beauty of both solitary and shared journeys.

With a fond farewell to our friend Dan, we resumed our journey, eager to immerse ourselves in the natural wonders of Kings Canyon and Sequoia National Parks. Nestled within the Sierra Nevada, this region is a testament to Mother Nature’s diversity—flaunting thickly forested mountains in the north and the awe-inspiring austerity of the south, adorned with numerous 12-thousand-plus-foot granite passes. Each pass unveiled mesmerizing views of ancient tarns and the vast valley floor, a breathtaking vista to behold.

Walking among the giant Sequoias shrouded in mist left an indelible mark on our souls. It was a humbling and awe-inspiring, a stark reminder of the profound importance of our National Parks. They are not merely places of natural beauty; they are sacred sanctuaries that merit steadfast dedication and protection.

Leaving the majestic Sierras behind, we set our course for Roseville, where I was joyfully reunited with my beloved Tippi. After proper cleaning and the installation of a new chain, I mounted Tippi and instantly felt the familiar embrace of returning home as we navigated through the city. Our next destination was my ninth National Park on this epic journey: Lassen Volcanic National Park, a place I had never explored before.  It’s the photo you see at the top of this blog.

Battling the sweltering heat, I was eager to escape the valley floor and ascend once more into the cool embrace of the mountains. Not even the looming threat of rain could diminish my excitement. Mike, still patiently traveling by car and awaiting his parts from Germany, made the most of vehicle camping.  We embarked on an exploration of this new park, from leisurely walks around the serene lakes to gazing upon the painted desert from the viewpoint of an 800-foot-high cinder mountain. Two days sped by, leaving us reluctantly parting ways as we set our course for Bigfoot Country!

After a long day’s ride, we arrived in Redding, California, and were greeted by the majestic sight of Shasta Lake, with Mount Shasta occasionally revealing her beauty through the clouds. Continuing our journey, we soon reached our night’s destination, Willow Creek. This quaint town is adorned with numerous signs and wood carvings of Bigfoot, famously known for a rare sighting of the mythical creature. Adding to the allure, Highway 299 proved to be an underrated gem, offering exhilarating stretches of mountains and tight, winding roads, although the return of record-breaking temperatures reminded us of the heat.

Despite a warm night of camping, the anticipation of exploration tugged at our hearts, leading us to visit our friend Greg in McKinleyville, California. Leaving the majestic mountains behind for the refreshing embrace of the Pacific Ocean, I was up early and invigorated, eager to hit the beach!

Our long-awaited visit to the Lost Coast was the next thrilling chapter in our journey. Traveling through the towering giants of the redwoods and then navigating the winding, narrow roads flanked by quaint ranches and farms we finally arrived at our destination. Securing one of the thirteen coveted camp spots nestled against the picturesque sand dunes felt like a small victory. The beach, with its wild and rugged beauty, was a sight to behold. Our joy was multiplied when we invited an adventure rider from Croatia who had no place to camp to join us. We met two hikers planning to embark on the famous Lost Coast Trail the following day. With our newfound temporary traveling family, we combined our meager food supplies, beer, and the last of my Irish whiskey to set the mood for another unforgettable night of sharing grand tales beneath the starlit sky.

The following morning, we returned to visit Greg and his girlfriend K, soaking in his warm hospitality and exploring a delightful local wine-tasting room. The lazy Sunday was bathed in the glow of friendship as I leisurely embraced the day. That evening, I bid a heartfelt farewell to Mike for the last time. Our 4.5 years of shared adventures had gifted us with countless stories and unforgettable moments. With a heavy heart I knew I would miss our adventures together. The next morning found me back on Tippi’s saddle; after a fond goodbye to a casual friend who I knew would become a lifelong friend, I pulled out of Greg’s driveway and embarked on the northern coast journey along the famous Hwy 101.

I knew the days ahead would be filled with breathtaking views of the Pacific Ocean as I ventured into Oregon easing the bittersweetness of a wounded heart, but also an opportunity for reflection, healing, and embracing the boundless possibilities that lie ahead. I was on my bike heading wherever my heart desired and I planned on embracing each moment of my onward solo journey north.

Solo traveling is where my heart finds its purest joy, and venturing forth with my steadfast companion Tippi elevates this experience to unparalleled heights. While the presence of a cherished companion adds a unique dimension to our journey, the profound beauty of solo exploration lies in its ability to unveil the depths of our own capabilities. It’s about embracing the allure of the unknown and relishing the boundless possibilities of tomorrow.

As I eagerly dive into the upcoming chapters of my journey in Part IV, I promise to infuse these tales with the rich tapestry of emotions that solo travel and the open road have given me. I’ll unveil more stories of Oregon and Washington, and who knows, I might even tantalize your sense of adventure with a glimpse of enchanting Canada. The adventure continues, the road beckons, and the world awaits with open arms, ready to share its secrets and wonders with a wandering soul.

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My Solo Motorcycle Journey from Sedona to Canada: Part II

By Bobbie Surber

Welcome back to the next chapter of my solo motorcycle journey from my hometown of Sedona, Arizona, to the captivating landscapes of Canada. In Part One, I shared the exhilarating start of my adventure, from Sedona to the awe-inspiring beauty of the Grand Canyon and the mesmerizing Zion National Park. Now, as I continue northward on my trusty Triumph Tiger 900 GT Pro, lovingly named Tippi, join me in experiencing the next leg of this epic ride.

As I left the captivating beauty of Zion National Park behind, I couldn’t help but marvel at the magic of solo travel. The open road stretched out before me, promising new adventures and the opportunity to connect with the world in ways that only solo exploration allows. My heart swelled with anticipation as I headed north into Utah, a state known for its stunning natural landscapes.

A Return to Bryce Canyon

My next destination was my beloved Bryce Canyon National Park. The ride to Bryce Canyon was a scenic marvel in itself. Utah’s highway 89 to Route 12 made its way through crimson canyons, past towering rock formations, and into high-altitude forests. Every twist and turn of the road revealed a new panorama of breathtaking beauty.

Arriving at Bryce Canyon, I was greeted by a surreal landscape of hoodoos—towering, otherworldly rock spires that seemed to defy gravity. I hiked once again the trails that wound through the park, taking in the views from vantage points like Sunrise Point and Inspiration Point. Wall Street trail was closed for repairs, but trusty old favorites satisfied my need for a day of hiking. My camp spot at Sunset Campground gave me the chance at an early morning sunrise the next morning. A predawn wakeup found me walking to the rims edge to watch the sun slowly rise below the horizon, the hoodoos took on a fiery glow, casting long, dramatic shadows that danced across the amphitheater-like terrain. Bryce Canyon’s mystical allure left an indelible mark on my soul, reminding me why I embarked on this journey in the first place. After a second night at Bryce, I was ready to tackle another epic day of riding Route 12 through Escalante to the sweetest underrated Capital Reef National Park.

Exploring Route 12 and Capitol Reef

Continuing my adventure, the following morning, I eagerly resumed my route on Highway 12, heading towards my favorite section of the road, high above the captivating Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument. This expansive and remote region boasts rugged canyons, vibrant cliffs, and extraordinary geological formations. The landscape, with its impossible rock formations, treated me to endless twisties, creating a sense of otherworldliness. My Tiger 900 was as happy as I was as I relaxed into the ride and allowed her to remind me again what her three cylinders can do. Both of us were in sync as we leaned into curve after curve as we blasted down to the bottom of the canyon.

As I reluctantly approached the tiny town of Boulder, Utah, I realized I had made short order through the endless twisties of this section of Route 12. However, I was unexpectedly greeted by an old-school cattle round-up, complete with cowgirls and boys herding a large herd down Highway 12! After a brief turnaround, I found solace in my favorite restaurant, the Burr Trail Grill. Their farm-fresh ingredients delighted my taste buds, whether it was their fresh arugula salad topped with local goat cheese or their beastly-sized burgers that proved a challenge to conquer.

Resuming my journey on Highway 12, I found myself in an unexpected predicament. The cattle herd’s progress was slow, and I crawled along, clutching endlessly as I felt my left hand about to begin a serious complaint! Amidst the frustration, two memorable moments emerged. Firstly, a passerby exclaimed, “Dude, you have the sweetest bike and setup!” We shared a laugh as he realized I was indeed “dudeless.” Secondly, after navigating my way to the front of the line, I convinced the lead cowboy to move the herd slightly to the right, allowing me to pass. Maneuvering my bike through the cows became a comical adventure, with prayers that the sound of my motor wouldn’t startle them. Experiencing this traditional cattle drive in 2023 felt like a slice of Americana and added yet another reason to love Utah.

Leaving the cattle behind, I ascended Boulder Mountain, where endless views revealed the backside of Capitol Reef on the right and scenic meadows with clusters of aspen, fir, and spruce trees on the left. Surprisingly, the mountain still boasted more snow than expected for June. Camping, fishing, and wildlife viewing opportunities abound in this mountainous region, with numerous campgrounds and dispersed campsites available. I’ve personally spent nights here, savoring the breathtaking vista overlooking Capitol Reef and the sprawling valley floor. Soon enough I was descending Boulder Mountain and into the small town of Torrey, UT, and just a short few miles away from Capitol Reef National Park for two more nights of camping. A quick setup of my camp, and I was off to town for a much-needed shower and a cold beer! Later that day, a lovely couple I met in Zion joined me at my campsite and I was treated to a homecooked Korean chicken dinner, which was a far cry from the instant ramen I was planning for dinner. A lovely couple who reminded me that the gift of travel is the unexpected friends we make along the way.

The next morning found me out on the trail a hump up to the top of the mesa for a panoramic view of the park. The air was crisp with hints of the heat to follow. The trail descends into a slot canyon then an arroyo wash to the other side of the park and beyond. Reluctantly heading back, I got on Tippi and explored the nearby petroglyphs. All in all, my short stay was a rewarding two nights and now headed to the not-so-famous outside of crazy riders who seek out remote roads Highway 50, billed as the loneliest highway in America!

Highway 50: The Loneliest Highway with a Detour to Great Basin National Park

I made a short order of breaking camp, and in no time Tippi and I were on highway 24 with the goal of making it to my 5th National Park, Great Basin. Following Route 24 goes through a rural farming section of the state with many small Mormon communities and opportunity for a breaks, food, and gas. I was eager to blow through this well-familiar route to get to Highway 50 and cut my teeth on a section of road I had been warned NOT to ride.

As I picked up Highway 50 off Interstate 15, I soon hit the famous first road sign and stopped to document my ride on her with a pic. With once again threatening storms, I glanced at the mountain ahead and thought how bad could it be? It was bad, I was wrong once again guessing the threat of a storm. A short very wet ride later, I left behind Highway 50 for a few days to visit the park. As a first timer to Great Basin NP, I was truly blown away! You enter the tiny town of Baker on the desert floor then 20 minutes later you are in the mountains with thick forest and views overlooking the high desert plains that seem to go on forever. Not to be missed is a guided tour of Lehman Caves. Truly the highlight of my stay. I selected one of the higher small campgrounds and was rewarded with a huge site surrounded by trees and brush with the river roaring behind me.

Reluctantly bidding farewell to Baker, I rejoined Highway 50, heading towards my next destination, South Lake Tahoe. Contrary to the dire warnings of scarce gas stations, I discovered that this notion was unfounded. Approximately 70 miles down the road, I arrived at Ely, another small mining town with plenty of services. After a quick refuel, I resumed my journey, realizing that the otherwise flat stretches of road were intermittently punctuated by mountain passes exceeding 7000 feet in elevation. These segments offered breathtaking vistas and enough twists and turns to satisfy both Tippi and me.

My first mountain pass, before descending into Ely, Nevada, presented an exhilarating ordeal with rain, lightning, and a brief ten-minute ride through hail. Eighty miles further, I found myself in the town of Eureka, where the threatening skies curtailed my exploration time. Nevertheless, I managed to visit a few must-see attractions, including the Opera House, built in 1879, the still-functional Courthouse of the same vintage, and a brief excursion to the town’s cemetery, where a variety of burial sites represented different social organizations, religious groups, and ethnicities. This walk-through history provided a fascinating glimpse into the town’s past.

Continuing on Highway 50, with the ominous skies in my rearview mirrors, I was reminded of the urgency to press on towards my next stop—Austin, Nevada. This old mining camp retains its rustic charm and has evolved into a haven for camping, hiking, and mountain biking, thanks to its proximity to the towering Toiyabe Mountains. During a pit stop, I encountered a large group of riders following the Pony Express Trail, who praised my adventure, while I vowed to return in the near future to explore that historic route.

Reluctantly bidding farewell to this enchanting mountain town, I embarked on another 112-mile stretch to Fallon, Nevada. This promised a well-deserved lunch break and refueling opportunity before the final leg of my journey to Lake Tahoe. As hunger pangs intensified, I hurriedly pulled into the first gas station I encountered. Curiously, the ground appeared slanted, making it impossible to safely park my bike with its kickstand without an extreme lean. Oddly, as my kickstand tends to be a bit high, I often worry about Tippi toppling over. Trying another station, I realized that my kickstand was not misaligned but broken—a sudden and unfortunate realization. With every ounce of strength, I fought to prevent Tippi’s full weight from pinning me between the gas pump curb and the engine crash bar. As I cried out for help, a kind soul named Caleb rushed to my aid, assisting me in righting Tippi. Examining the kickstand, I conceded that my lunch break was a lost cause. I refueled while seated on my bike and came to terms with the fact that I would have to ride the rest of the way without lunch and with a dangling kickstand, just inches off the ground.

Continuing Towards Lake Tahoe

Arriving in Lake Tahoe was like reaching an oasis after a day filled with challenges and stunning scenery. The sight of the crystal-clear waters surrounded by towering pine trees was simply breathtaking. I met up with Mike Huber, a fellow adventure rider, as we eagerly exchanged stories of our respective journeys over drinks and pizza. Mike is a seasoned rider with an incredible collection of travel stories and insights, and this blog, which is a treasure trove of motorcycle adventures.

We decided to make the most of our time in Lake Tahoe by exploring the area together and spending time with our dear friend Yvette who had left Sedona for the mountains and lakes surrounding Tahoe. Two up on Tippi, our first stop was a visit to Emerald Bay State Park, a gem nestled on the lake’s southwest shore. A short hike up a roadside trail took us to a stunning vista overlooking Emerald Bay below. The clear blue waters and Fannette Island in the middle of the bay made for a postcard-perfect scene. At sunset we were even rewarded with a surprise pop up of a brown bear who a few feet away provided us with a pose straight up worthy of National Geographic!

Lake Tahoe, with its stunning shoreline, pristine waters, and surrounding mountains, offers many outdoor activities. We decided to spend the next afternoon cruising around the lake, taking in the panoramic views and stopping at scenic overlooks. Riding around Lake Tahoe was a highlight of my journey, and I couldn’t have asked for better company.

Conclusions

As I reflect on the second part of my solo motorcycle journey from Sedona to Canada, I’m filled with deep gratitude for the experiences and sights that have unfolded before me. From the awe-inspiring beauty of Bryce Canyon to the challenging twisties of Route 12, from the serene landscapes of Great Basin, this adventure has been a testament to the power of the open road and the indomitable spirit of solo travel.

Every mile has been a lesson in self-discovery, a reminder of the world’s beauty, and a celebration of the freedom that comes with embracing the unknown. The road has been my companion, and the landscapes have been my muse. And as I continue to ride north into Canada, I know the journey is far from over. There are more roads to explore, adventures to embrace, and stories to tell.

Stay tuned for the next chapter of this solo ride from Sedona to Canada. The open road beckons, and I’m eager to see where it will lead me on this journey of a lifetime.

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My Solo Motorcycle Journey from Sedona to Canada: Part I

By Bobbie Surber

As a passionate female solo rider, I often find myself facing a barrage of incredulous looks and questions from both strangers and friends. They ask the usual list of queries: “Is it safe?” “Where will you stay?” “What if your bike drops?” It’s become almost customary to respond by sharing my blog or articles that capture the essence of the joy I find in solo travel, whether by foot or by bike. This brings me to my latest and most epic solo adventure – a motorcycle journey from my home in the enchanting town of Sedona, Arizona, all the way up to the stunning landscapes of Canada. Covering over 6,700 miles of magical terrain, this journey was a test of my spirit and a celebration of my love for long distance motorcycle travel.

It all began last fall when the idea of a ride to Canada took hold of me. I knew that this was the journey I was meant to embark upon. I was determined to take my time, to savor the journey, and to visit as many National Parks as possible along the way. My plan was simple yet liberating: I would make up my route no more than a week in advance, pack light, and camp as much as possible off my trusty motorcycle, a three-cylinder Triumph Tiger 900 GT Pro, lovingly named Tippi.

On the crisp morning of June 2nd, with the sun just beginning to warm the high desert of Sedona, I geared up for my adventure little did I know then that I would be gone for 11 plus weeks. The air carried an unusual coolness, a welcome departure from the scorching desert temperatures. My first stop was an obligatory one – Flagstaff, Arizona, just a short 30-mile ride from Sedona. The journey up Oak Creek Canyon was a visual feast, with Red Rock views and sinuous twists and turns that are a motorcyclist’s dream. I found myself at a Starbucks in Flagstaff, sipping on a well-deserved Americano, wondering what the day had in store for me as I charted my course towards North Grand Canyon National Park.

Leaving the comfort of Flagstaff behind, I embarked on Highway 89-A, leaving the tall pines of the city in my rearview mirror. The road led me to Lees Ferry, a spot where I could steal a quick moment with the majestic Colorado River. Riding through this part of Arizona on 89A felt like transitioning to another world. The landscape shifted from rugged mountains to a breathtaking desert expanse. Sandy plains, cacti, and the awe-inspiring sight of the Colorado River slicing through towering cliffs and canyons greeted me. Every time I ride through this area, I feel like I’m letting go of the worries of the world and immersing myself in the raw beauty of nature.

Arriving at Lee’s Ferry, I gazed in wonder at the grandeur of the Colorado River. Red Rock bluffs reached skyward, casting their reflections onto the water’s surface. A few photos captured the essence of the moment, and then I was back on the road, with Tippi carrying me across the vastness of the desert landscape with mountains looming in the distance with turbulent looking skies, laden with the threat of rain seemingly daring me to press onward.

Press on I did, and by the time I arrived at Jacob Lake, I was soaked to the bone. The reward, though, was immediate and satisfying. The general store at Jacob Lake had the antidote to my damp spirits – a hot cup of coffee and the most heavenly homemade cookies I’ve ever tasted in Arizona. While I warmed up and indulged my taste buds, I chatted with fellow riders who regaled me with tales of epic early June snowstorms they’d encountered that day while riding back from the Grand Canyon. It’s moments like these, swapping stories with fellow riders, that make a solo journey so enriching.

A swift pit stop at Jacob Lake was followed by the task of setting up my tent, which proved to be a bit of a challenge in the rain. But that’s the essence of adventure riding, isn’t it? You adapt, you overcome, and you keep moving forward. With my campsite established, I wasted no time and headed to North Grand Canyon. Fortunately, I was spared the snow, but a wicked hailstorm tested my resolve as I carefully made my way further up the rim.

By the time I reached the park, the weather gods seemed to have taken pity on me. Dry weather prevailed, and I was treated to the most dramatic skies one could hope for when visiting the North Grand Canyon. As I stood there, gazing out into the vast expanse of this natural wonder, I couldn’t help but feel humbled by the forces of nature and the grandeur of the world we live in. It was a moment of pure serenity amidst the chaos of my journey.

The following morning, I bid farewell to North Grand Canyon, heading down into Kanab for a quick gas and coffee break before completing the remainder of my ride on Highway 89A, with Zion National Park as my next destination. With two days and one night to immerse myself in the beauty of Zion, I was eager to experience the park in all its glory.

Entering Zion National Park on a motorcycle is a unique adventure. The winding roads and the freedom to embrace the open road add an extra layer of exhilaration to the journey. Plus, if you time it right, like I did, arriving early can help you avoid the epic traffic jams that can plague this popular destination.

Setting up camp as quickly as possible, I wasted no time in hopping onto a shuttle ride to the park’s lodge. From there, I embarked on a day of hiking, exploring several of Zion’s shorter trails. I couldn’t resist attempting to secure a permit for Angel’s Landing, a trail known for its breathtaking, albeit nerve-wracking, vistas. Alas, the permit eluded me, but that didn’t dampen my spirits. Zion offered me an array of other trails and sights to explore, and I reveled in every step I took.

Zion’s rugged beauty is a testament to the power of nature’s sculpting hand. Towering sandstone cliffs, cascading waterfalls, and the vibrant colors of the Virgin River create a landscape that feels otherworldly. With my camera in hand, I captured every nuance of this remarkable place. Hiking a portion of the Narrows, with water rushing around me, was a highlight I’ll carry with me forever. Zion National Park, with its mesmerizing mix of desert and oasis, and once again confirming why I love this park so much.

As I lay in my tent that night, listening to the sounds of the wilderness around me, I couldn’t help but reflect on the incredible journey I’d embarked upon. From the stunning landscapes of my hometown of Sedona to the awe-inspiring grandeur of the Grand Canyon and the mesmerizing beauty of Zion, my solo motorcycle ride to Canada had already been a whirlwind of experiences. And this was just the beginning.

My journey would continue northward, taking me through more National Parks, enchanting towns, and breathtaking vistas, mountains, desolate beaches, and new friends I’d yet to meet. Each twist and turn of the road held the promise of new adventures and the opportunity to connect with the world in a way that only solo travel can offer. The open road called me, and I was more than ready to answer its invitation.

In the world of solo travel, there’s a unique freedom and self-discovery. It is a chance to test your limits, embrace the unknown, and find solace in the beauty of the world. My motorcycle journey from Sedona to Canada was not just a ride; it was a pilgrimage of the soul, an exploration of the heart, and a celebration of the indomitable spirit of the open road. As I drifted into sleep under the starry Utah sky, I couldn’t wait to see where the road would lead me next on this remarkable adventure.

My fellow adventurers, I invite you to stay tuned for the next captivating chapter of this solo ride from Sedona to Canada. The open road stretches before us, brimming with the promise of extraordinary experiences and inspiring tales yet to be written. With each twist of the throttle I embrace the unknown, and I can’t wait to share the unfolding journey of a lifetime with you.

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The Wayback Machine: A Walk Across Spain (Part 1)

By Bobbie Surber

The Camino de Santiago, also known as the Way of St. James, is a network of pilgrimage routes that lead to the shrine of the apostle Saint James the Great in the cathedral of Santiago de Compostela in Galicia, Spain. The Camino has been a popular destination for Christian pilgrims for more than a thousand years, and it is now visited by people of all faiths and backgrounds from around the world.

There are several routes of the Camino de Santiago, including the Camino Frances (French Way), which is the most popular, and the Camino Portugués (Portuguese Way), which starts in Lisbon or begins in Porto for a two-week shorter Camino. The Camino de Santiago is a long-distance walk or hike that typically takes 30-40 days to complete, depending on the route and the pace of the individual pilgrim.

Along the way, pilgrims stay in Albergues (pilgrim hostels) or other types of accommodation and follow the yellow arrows and shells which mark the way. The Camino de Santiago offers a unique opportunity to experience the beauty of the Spanish landscape and culture and to challenge oneself physically and spiritually.

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I walked seven different Camino Routes with my first Camino in 2012 and the last in September 2021. My last walk found me starting in Pamplona, Spain, a vibrant city never lacking a reason for a fiesta, a city known worldwide for the Running of the Bulls every July.  I ended my journey in Leon, Spain. With my added side trips, I walked over 300 miles, experiencing high desert plateaus, the Rioja wine region, the blissful Logrono’s tapas, the magnificent Burgos Cathedral, the Meseta’s emptiness, and the joy of Leon.

I was on a multi-month motorcycle/camping trip through Arizona, Utah, Colorado, Wyoming, and Montana. When riding, there are times when every part of your brain is laser-focused on the road ahead of you and who might try to run you over from the back or side, but every now and then, the ride is so peaceful that you have time to turn a portion of your brain to the gift of “I wonder.” This led me to reminisce over my six prior walks along different Camino routes in Spain, Portugal, and France. Once released, an avalanche of memories and images flowed to the point that I knew I would be booking my flight to Europe as soon as I stopped my ride for the day.

A quick Google Flights search gave me what I needed, and I soon had a ticket. This was another solo walk, my favorite way for most hikes. My arrival in Pamplona was early enough that I decided to start my Camino right from the Pamplona Airport, bypassing one of my favorite cities in Spain.

The morning had the hope of the fall weather yet to come as I headed slowly up the first of several foothills with the goal of a 10-mile walk for my first day. The gravel crunched satisfactorily underfoot as I quickly adjusted my backstraps to climb up to an iconic ridge that all pilgrims look forward to, the Alto del Perdón, a mountain pass in the province of Navarra in northern Spain, about 12 miles outside of Pamplona. I had returned to the Camino Frances trail after nine-year of absence, taking in beautiful views of the surrounding landscape and a chance to rest and recharge. The mountain pass is named after a sculpture of the Virgin Mary and the phrases “Señora del Camino” (Lady of the Way) and “Perdón” (Forgiveness), which are inscribed on the base of the sculpture. The windswept ridge and the massive wind turbines in the background contrast the sculptures that represent a pilgrimage from the Middle Ages. I took my first full breath after 18 hours of travel and an excellent 8-mile walk to this point. I thought about my intentions for this walk, what I hoped to gain and whom I would miss in the coming weeks of a long walk across most of Spain.

Reluctantly leaving the ridge late afternoon, I knew it would be challenging to reach my Albergue for the night. The steep loose gravel trail reminds me that my knees are not what they used to be, and motorcycle riding for the prior months did little to prepare me for the rigors of this walk. Soon the village of Uterga appeared with another climb up to her main street. My arrival timed perfectly to watch the evening stroll of the locals begin, kids running in the square, little old ladies with perfectly quaffed hair and well-put-together outfits ambling in deep conversations. Adults were sitting in outdoor cafes having a drink, visiting each other, and enjoying the last dregs of daylight. I wanted to plop my disheveled self within their mist and order my first long-awaited glass of Vino Tinto, but I pulled myself together and made the last of my walk to my Albergue in short order.

This first night’s stay found me in a dorm room in a private Albergue with its small restaurant and bar. After showing my pilgrims pass (issued to show you are walking the Camino) and paying 12 Euros for my place in the dorm room, I quickly dumped my backpack on my bed, looked in the mirror, confirmed I looked like a wreck, dashed for the bar, and ordered my first of many good Rioja wines. Settling in, I met my first group of fellow pilgrims. A portly German fellow in his mid-fifties that I would painfully learn would serenade us throughout the night with his epic snoring. Also, a group of Italian bicycle riders. They were loud, and all were talking at once with what would become the usual question:  Why is an American woman walking the Camino alone?  Well, that’s a question for another day! I order my second glass of wine and move into the restaurant for the start of the evening’s Pilgrim meal, an inexpensive three-course meal with portions that could feed a small family, and your choice of bottled water or a bottle of wine, Good God, man, why would you order the water?  I certainly did not.

I had equal feelings of contentment and joy seeping in as German, Italian, and Spanish conversations swirled around me—fellow pilgrims sharing their day’s success and physical hardships. Many of the pilgrims had started 60 miles back on the French side of the Pyrenees, had survived the celebrations of Pamplona, and were still in high spirits so early in their walk. I listened to their stories and their countless toasts made in several languages. I left the room while the wave of conversation and laughter reminded me of how lucky I was to be on this walk for a 7th time. This surely was the beginning of an epic adventure and the hope of what Spain had in store for me.

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