Mike Huber

Moto Fishing

By Mike Huber

Having grown up in Maine, I used to love fishing. I lived just off the Kennebec River, so it was only a short walk through some pines to Maine’s largest river where I had miles of it to myself. After leaving Maine for the Army, my fishing fell by the wayside. Until recently, that is.

Last month in Sedona I met a friend of a friend and invited him to go camping with us along a lake in southern Arizona. Even though he was from the east coast he brought his fishing gear and purchased a 1-day license. One of his objectives is to fish in every state in the USA, a pretty formidable goal in my opinion. Almost as soon as I processed his story it hit me: Why am I not fishing as I camp throughout the United States on my BMW GS1200? The next day I made a trip to Walmart (which I rarely do) and bought a $10 collapsible fishing rod (one that fits in my BMW’s panniers), swivels, and a few lures (including a red and white Daredevil). The Daredevil always worked for me as a kid.

Due to an unusually wet winter in Arizona, the lakes are above their normal capacity. This made the Daredevil more of a hindrance as it kept getting caught on the weeds just under water. After losing four lures I blasted to a local supply store and picked up a couple of spinners that would stay on top of the water and prevent (or at least minimize) my losses. I was now four deep in lost lures and was starting to feel like I do during my golf game in terms of losing balls in the water hazards. Maybe having a new angle with this top floating lure would renew my confidence and allow me to catch something (or at least not lose another $5 lure).

As sunset approached, I thought it was about time for a beer. A nice cold IPA would surely ease the frustration of losing lures earlier in the evening. Well, the IPA must have drawn the fish because within 15 minutes I caught a solid 18-inch striped bass. With this being the first fish I caught in several decades I wanted to tell you about what a fight it put up and all the time and effort it took to land this beast, but I won’t embellish my fish story. The scene did, however, turn comical as another fishing boat approached. They had been out all day and they had only caught one fish. When they asked how long mine took, I picked up my half-empty IPA and said, “almost one beer. We all laughed. Beer usually isn’t a time metric.

After cleaning the fish I realized that catching a fish wasn’t really part of my plan. I was just passing the time. I now had to come up with a way to cook this monster. Luckily, I was in a campground and earlier in the day had chatted up the hosts. It turned out they were from Maine, not too far from where I grew up. They happily let me borrow some aluminum foil. I figured this would be all I would need to cook over the grill. Pouring the remainder of my beer into the foil and over the fish made for great flavoring. Once having the fish “properly seasoned” I threw it on the grill for about 5 minutes per side, removed it from the fire, and enjoyed it along with a pack of spicey Shin Ramen. This was the perfect meal to enjoy while sitting around a glowing campfire and taking in the sun’s final rays over the Four Peaks Mountains.

The past two weekends I have returned to moto camp and fish with similar results. This summer I will travel the west coast and spend time motorcycling, camping, and fishing as I meander up to British Columbia. This renewed hobby will greatly compliment my finely honed skills of laying in my hammock, messing around with the campfire, and drinking cold beer in each region I travel though. There are few activities that can get your adrenaline rushing in an instant; the jolt from a fish on the line is one. I look forward to that rush as frequently as possible in my future travels.

Arizona Moto Camping

By Mike Huber

One of the advantages of living in Arizona most of the year is that you can ride every day, comfortably (I added “comfortably” because I know there is some guy or gal in Maine riding year-round in sub-arctic temps with snow). We in Arizona can enjoy our passion for camping in all four seasons because of the extreme elevation changes, which allow moving to different climates with a one or two hour drive.

Arizona has an endless amount of camping areas, both dispersed and in formal campgrounds. I thought highlighting two ends of the spectrum in would be a great way to convey the vast diversity Arizona offers.

Forest Road 300: Mogollon Rim

Forest Road 300 begins in the west off Arizona State Road 260 and ends 42 miles later near Payson’s Arizona State Road 87. The Mogollon Rim is home to the largest ponderosa forest on earth. Although there are maintained campgrounds along this road, I prefer to disperse camp. This provides one with the rare opportunity of awaking to an overlook in which you can see for over a hundred miles. This spectacular view is something that a formal campsite cannot provide. The road for the most part is in decent shape (excessive rains this year may have changed this however) and can be completed without a 4-wheel drive vehicle.

When traversing the 7,000+ ft elevation of the Mogollon Rim I will usually just ride down the many side roads until I come upon a campsite that isn’t too crowded or exposed, which I can then call home for the evening. One of the main risks as you are indeed so exposed is that of lightning strike. You may be able to find a perfect cliffside dispersed campsite but be aware that weather changes frequently and it is never okay to set up camp outside the tree line in this area. In fact, as you scout out your site it is wise to look up at the trees. If you see many that have been damaged from previous lightning strikes, this is not a location in which you want to camp.

Another benefit to this area is the cooler weather at these elevations, which makes for a perfect Arizona summer trip. The temperatures can be easily 20 degrees cooler than it is in Payson, which sits at 5,000 feet. The refreshing temperatures and light breezes in the summer make this a perfect location for spending an evening around a campfire with friends while you enjoy the endless views.

Lake Roosevelt: Cholla Campground

I was hesitant to write about this location as it is my go-to happy place in winter and probably one of my favorite campgrounds in the southwest. In winter it can be a cold drive if you are in northern Arizona until you drop into Payson, where the temperatures quickly gain 15 to 20 degrees and provide reassurance you’ll experience a perfect lakeside camping night (lakeside camping is a rare treat in Arizona).

Cholla Campground is part of the National Park Service so if you have a Senior or Veterans pass the fee is only $12 ($24 without the pass). The site provides water, showers, toilets, and a beautiful lakeside view with an abundance of wildlife. Having an elevation of just over 2,000 feet assures that on most nights, even in winter, it doesn’t get uncomfortably cold.

Another advantage to this campground is there are “tent only” loops so you can distance yourself from those noisy generators and the RV crowd if you choose to. Choosing these loops provides a quiet night as you watch eagles fly by in the evening with their dinner in their talons while you cook a steak over hot coals while having a 360-degree view of the best sunsets.

Arizona is a much more diverse region than most people think it is. This unique state isn’t all cactus and barren desert, and the above two locations highlight this diversity. Motorcycle camping in Arizona can be a year-round pastime without being smothered in heat or waking up with a frozen water bottle (both still seem to happen to me all too frequently).

What are your favorite camp locations in your home state?

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Gibraltar

By Mike Huber

Needing another vacation and a break from the day-to-day boring humdrum of life (I usually ensure that doesn’t go on for very long) my girlfriend and I decided to head to Portugal and Spain. It was coming up on my 50^th birthday and wanted to do something unique to celebrate this milestone. As we traversed and meandered through both countries I was still trying to come up with that unique idea when a friend had texted me to go to Gibraltar and summit the rock. That was an outstanding idea. Next stop: Gibraltar!

I Know What I Don’t Know

I only knew two things about Gibraltar: It was an island between Spain and Morocco, and they drive on the opposite side of the road since it is a Territory of Britain. Both these things I “knew” were incorrect. Gibraltar is a peninsula, not an island, and although it is indeed a British Territory they do not drive on the opposite side of the road as in other British Territories. The peninsula is just 3 miles long and not even 1 mile wide and most of the peninsula consisted of the giant Gibraltar rock with a lot of narrow winding roads that meander as far as they can go up around that Gibraltar Rock. Which had me wondering why there was a Ferrari dealership on the peninsula (I am certain it has to do with less taxes there than in their England motherland).

Entering The Territory

Crossing into Gibraltar from Spain was more of a formality and simply consisted of showing our passports at the border, a quick stamp by the immigration officer, and walking into the Territory. Once leaving immigration we walked across the Gibraltar Airport tarmac. It felt like we were trespassing, other than the traffic lights to alert you when a plane was taking off or landing. Those were not traffic lights you’d want to run.

Once across the tarmac it was a short quarter mile walk to our AirBnB, which happened to be a 30-foot boat in the Gibraltar Marina. I thought this would be a distinctive place to stay instead of some high-rise hotel where you would be disconnected from the heartbeat of the Territory. This choice turned out to be perfect and we slept great that night with the boat rocking us to sleep in the gentle marina waters.

The Rock

The next day we made our way towards the base of the Gibraltar Rock. Sadly, you cannot climb to the top of it as it is a military installation. Disappointed, we took the gondola instead of hiking to the highest point we were allowed to go.

I had read there were some monkeys that lived up on top of the rock that made their way from Morocco via a network of underground caves that went under the Strait of Gibraltar. We were told not to pet or touch them as they are wild animals. Of course, me being one to always follow rules it took under two minutes to befriend one of these little guys and I walked around with him on my shoulder on the observation deck. Clearly, my maturity hadn’t caught up with my now being 50 years old. It didn’t take long before one of the rangers scolded me and stated that they would bite me. Why would he bite me? We were friends. Ugh. People are always trying to ruin my fun.

We opted to walk down the path instead of taking the gondola back. This was a wise choice as there were a lot of hidden bunkers from WWI along the way and a really interesting stop called St. Michael’s Cave. This is a huge, impressive cave that ultimately led down to the Strait. We only walked in the upper portion of this maze for about 20-minutes since the longer tunnels are closed to the public. As we toured the cave there was a light and sound show to provide more entertainment and the history of this hidden gem. It was a fun detour to take.

Once we wrapped up the cave experience, we continued down the two-mile path looking over magnificent views as monkeys leaped from trees onto the tops of passing cars to hitch a free ride. Every time one leaped it would create the loudest “boom” as they carelessly but somehow successfully landed on a car’s roof. This made for great entertainment for us, but I can’t imagine what the people inside the vehicles thought hearing that noise. Once back at the marina we were hungry and it wasn’t difficult to find a waterside restaurant, an order of fish n’ chips, and a cold beer to wrap the day up in style.

Overall Gibraltar was worth going to visit as we were in the neighborhood. The territory is more of a winter getaway for the British than a destination one would otherwise visit. This Territory did indeed make for a fun two days, a unique experience, and a few entertaining stories that I am happy to be sharing with you.

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Wildlife in The Southwest: Javelina

By Mike Huber

Having grown up in Maine I spent most of my childhood experiencing life up close with nature. I have always been drawn to the unique wildlife in different regions of our country. In the Southwest this is especially true as the terrain is so different than Maine, or really anywhere else I have traveled. Many people think desert and cactus, sand, maybe an old cow skull on a fence post and envision a region void of life. This couldn’t be further from the truth. Once you get out exploring this fragile ecosystem it’s easy to see and hear how much life there is in this harsh environment.

One of the coolest animals I have seen along my travels is the javelina. These beady eyed little critters look very similar to boars or wild pigs but are actually in the rodent family. If you are in the desert during a full moon and the wind is just right, and if you are lucky, you can hear a pack of these little guys chomping up prickly pear cactus and tearing up people’s lawns. They are a little local gang of hoodlums causing mischief throughout the neighborhood and then disappearing into the thick desert underbrush as quickly as they appeared from it.

The first time I saw javelina was while camping along the Arizona and Mexican border. Sleeping in a tiny one-man tent I woke up to what I thought were wild horses munching on some leaves. The sound got louder and closer as whatever it was moved in on my position. I wasn’t quite sure what to do but wanted to be certain I wasn’t trampled by horses in my tent (that’s one way to end the story). I popped out of my tent and flicked my flashlight on. What I saw was about 10 pairs of beady little eyes staring back at me and snouts wiggling in all directions. Not having any idea what these things were and not being armed I began shouting at them “Quit screwing around!” Little did I know that is the exact command they understood and followed. After a few moments of a harrowing standoff, they took the hint and went around my tent without missing one leaf. The strange-looking beasts made their way into the rugged desert terrain as I stood outside my tent still trying to figure out what had just marched through my campsite.

Frequently wintering in the southwest I am now very accustomed to these little troublemakers, and it always brings me great joy in seeing them marching across the street like the Beatles on the Abbey Road Album cover. On more then one occasion when I see them in the backyard, I will close the gate and jokingly say “We got us a petting zoo!” In my experience the javelina are pretty focused on obtaining food and don’t pay much attention to us humans being near them. except if you move quickly, make loud noises, or they have babies in their herd.

So, whether these little Star Wars looking creatures are hanging out around my campsite in the middle of the desert or foraging through the neighbors’ yards, they are a pleasant reminder that the environments I travel through change in many ways. The javelina are a vital part of the desert’s fragile ecosystem that we are guests in to enjoy and embrace.

Disclaimer: Opening a javelina petting zoo is a foolish thing to do. Do not attempt to pet, embrace, or feed them either as they can turn on you and attack.

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Three Steps to Ease into Moto Camping

By Mike Huber

I know many people on this page camp and ride, but some have yet to dive into mixing these two great passions. My objective in this article is to help you bridge riding and camping, alleviate any concerns on this topic, and build a foundation of knowledge for those new to motorcycle camping. In doing so you will discover a deeper level of motorcycling that many riders experience.

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Start with Less

With all the social media posts of riders from around the world sharing their epic adventures and providing reviews of the gear they use can cause anxiety. Intimidation from the expense and amount of equipment people use for moto camping can become overwhelming when starting this hobby. I’m not saying any of these riders are wrong in the gear (or the amount) they use, but my philosophy while motorcycle camping is less gear is much more efficient and cheaper. My first time moto camping I had nothing other than a one-person Kelty tent (which I still use), a sleeping bag, and a small personal hygiene kit. I planned to give moto camping a shot and figured I could survive one night out on Washington’s Olympic peninsula even if I was a bit uncomfortable.

I wasn’t uncomfortable at all. In fact, other than adding a 6-pack of beer and a crushed Subway sandwich my gear didn’t grow or change for the next 8 more years (even after “maturing” from a Ducati Monster M1100 to a BMW GS1200). Would I have been more comfortable with a sleeping pad, cooking set up, and maybe even a chair? Yes, but that came years later after learning from others (I am a bit set in my ways even if they force me to be uncomfortable). Starting from such a minimalist perspective and adding gear slowly allowed me to tailor my equipment perfectly. You will find everyone has a “better” way of doing things; you might want to learn what works best for you and expand slowly.

Start in a Familiar Location

Roaring through the dense rainforest of the Olympic Peninsula on my Ducati Monster I was excited to be camping with my motorcycle for the first time. In hindsight this choice was probably a further and more isolated location than I should have started with, but it worked for the most part. I had ridden the road several times, I was comfortable with the distance, and I was aware of the ever-changing weather conditions. Being new to this I didn’t pack rain gear and of course it rained heavily that night (I was forced into my tent by the weather by 7:00 p.m.). You must pack raingear if you want to ensure it never rains on your moto camping trip. But even with the weather not cooperating it was a fun first night and it was enough to get me hooked on the lifestyle.

Looking back, a more comfortable way to experience my first moto camping adventure would have been a more controlled environment. Even for those well-seasoned campers, testing new gear in your home or backyard to learn how to set up, adjust, and break down the equipment makes for a less stressful time in a real-world environment. Purchasing lots of expensive gear, not testing it, and going on a multi-state tour can be a painful way to learn the gear isn’t right for you or the climate. Another way to learn your equipment and build experience is at a state park close to your home or a KOA. Even if you have to retreat to the KOA store or end up back inside your house, don’t be discouraged. That’s what this step is for. Take notes on what worked and what didn’t, and build off that until you are comfortable with the next step, which can be dispersed camping or a longer distance ride. It is better to learn in this semi-controlled environment than to have a horrific night with improper gear in poor weather and become completely deterred from ever moto camping again.

Learn From Experience

Having completed a successful test runs with your gear it is now time to begin learning how to increase your confidence in harsher and more remote environments. This point in your experience level is also the perfect time to make gear adjustments based on your notes. With a few nights camping under your belt you can seek advice and learn from others, including their set up tricks and in what type of climate they moto camp. In doing so you will fine tune your camping outfit so that it is perfect for you, your motorcycle, and the climate.

During this phase it is important to remain open minded. Everyone has a method that works best for them. For some it is a half shelter at a roadside pullout, for others it can be as elaborate as a 6-man tent with copious gear that requires 2 hours to pack. Normally when I travel and moto camp it isn’t for just one night. I’m on the road for two to three months at a time with Airbnbs or hotels as resting points or for working. Even though I am comfortable with my moto camping equipment it’s always fun to chat up other motorcyclists. In most cases, even if their set up is completely different there is usually one or two takeaways I learn from conversing with them.

Conclusions

Moto camping is an easy and inexpensive way to escape the rat race with less effort than many would think. These experiences and the people I meet along the journey are some of the most best I have had. Being so removed from everything as you sit relaxing in the glow of a warm campfire reflecting off your moto is a fulfilling feeling that few venture to achieve.

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Paddleboarding Horseshoe Bend

By Mike Huber

Since my last story was on paddleboarding I thought sticking with the topic would be a great opportunity to share a unique and exciting experience. Camping off a paddleboard at the base of Horseshoe Bend in Page, Arizona. This was to be a 2-day, 15-mile trip down the Colorado River from Glenn Canyon Dam to Lee’s Ferry and would include one night of camping off our paddleboards. As an avid motorcycle camper, I thought camping off a paddleboard would be right up my alley as the amount of gear from a moto to a paddleboard was relatively the same. This adventure would bring us to one of the most hostile environments in the United States, all while living it from a new perspective, being on top of the frigid waters of the Colorado River.

The adventure began with camping near Page, Arizona, and a day of light paddleboarding on Lake Powell to gain more familiarity and confidence on the board. This was more for myself, as the two friends I was traveling with were both very experienced paddlers. My paddling to this date was limited to a couple of 8-mile runs on the Salt River near Phoenix and a horrible windy day off the Colorado River where we launched from Hoover Dam. The Salt River had portions of minor rapids, but the environment was much tamer than we would experience along the Colorado River.

The Colorado River water is extremely cold even during the spring. Contrasting the freezing water was the ambient air temperatures, which reached the high 90s (with no place to find shade or relief from the sun above the golden canyon walls that surrounded us). Adding to the natural environmental threats there can be winds that blow up the river so strongly that you cannot paddle against them, even when going down river. A year prior we were supposed to do a camping trip and ended up having to do an 18-mile paddle in heavy winds; on that trip, we were not able to camp as the winds were forecast to be worse the next day. I didn’t want to put myself through that again. That night we made our way to Horseshoe Bend in our car to watch the sunset and look down over the edge to see where we would camp the next evening.

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The day we were set to launch the winds were calm. At 8:00 a.m. we loaded our watercraft onto a powerboat at Lee’s Ferry that would deliver us to the base of Glen Dam. It was a cold ride in the boat to our drop off location as the sun was still hidden behind the massive walls that went straight up nearly a thousand feet. Every bend we went around I was in constant awe. It was as if every element that you can face in nature was in full view for us to admire, respect, and fear. Once dropped off we unloaded the paddleboards, our gear, and took a few minutes to gain our composure before starting our 15-mile journey down river.

Pushing our boards off the shoreline, it was still cold and between the 40-degree water and 50-degree air none of us wanted to stand up on the boards. Making a small error that could cause us to capsize during this delicate time would result in hypothermia with little hope of warming up until the sun crested above the canyon walls more than two hours later. The winds were absent and with an occasional dam release we just coasted down the river effortlessly. Having no headwinds was so much more pleasant than our previous time on this fully exposed river when we spent the day battling a constant headwind.

When the sun finally glimpsed above the canyon walls they instantly lit up. Just a beautiful golden prison we were trapped in with neon aqua waters so clear you can see fish swimming 20 feet below your board. We had dispersed the weight of our gear between the three boards and then balanced them out as best we could. We even had a bundle of firewood secured with Rok Straps for what we hoped would be a magical night under the stars. Along the way we stopped occasionally for a snack, a beer, or a short hike. There are some hidden petroglyphs along the river where you can disembark from your board and hike in to view them. This made for a perfect slow-paced and enjoyable day that we all fully embraced.

It was still early, yet due to the lack of headwinds and numerous dam releases we were already arriving at our camp at Mile 9. Mile 9 camp is at the turn of Horseshoe Bend. What made this really cool wasn’t the view (it all looked really the same with giant canyon walls on both sides of you). What made this special was that when you looked up the thousand-foot walls you could see hundreds of tourists looking down at you and waving. I felt like we were in a zoo exhibit. We set up camp and spent a relaxing afternoon swimming, chatting with other boaters (mostly kayakers and fellow paddlers), and just enjoying the fact we weren’t battling winds. This was quite a rewarding day.

After a perfect day of mild paddling, relaxing and gazing off into this beautiful yet intimidating environment, the day slowly turned into evening. It wasn’t long before we started a campfire. Sitting around a campfire with new friends, cold beers from our Ice Mule Cooler, and exchanging stories is always the high point in my day. I wandered off to use the bathroom when I noticed flashing from above. At first, I thought it was the stars beginning to peer from above the cliffs, but it wasn’t. The flashes I saw were the tourists above using their phones and flashlights to signal “hello” down to us. As I zipped my pants up, I already had the “It was the cold water that caused shrinkage” or the “You’re 1,000 feet away…of course it looks smaller” thoughts. For some reason my new friends around the campfire didn’t understand my humor and the stories continued until the flashes from the tourists above faded about the same time we did.

Having slept great that night at the base of one of the most iconic photo spots in the United States it was now time to pack up. Winds always seemed to gain intensity as the day wears on, so we wanted an early start to avoid this threat, but there were no winds on this day, either. It was almost as if the river was rewarding us for having passed its initiation from that previous windy trip that didn’t allow camping. The river was so calm we were able to even lay down on our paddleboards and allow the current and dam releases to carry us the remaining 6 miles downriver without any effort. This is how paddleboarding should be, but I knew this was an anomaly on the Colorado River. In my experience tailwinds are like unicorns. They really don’t exist, yet somehow this trip we were surrounded by a herd of unicorns.

It wasn’t long before we could see Lee’s Ferry ahead of us on the right. We made it to shore and began the process of packing our gear up to return to Lake Powell for one more night of camping before returning to southern Arizona. Since paddleboarding Horseshoe Bend, anytime I see pictures of this location I zoom in and can often see paddleboards, kayaks, and tents at the beach when everyone else just is looking at the full view of the photo. I absolutely prefer my new perspective of this part of Glenn Canyon National Recreation Area, that being through the eyes of a paddleboarder.

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Charlie Don’t Paddleboard: A Baja New Year’s Story

By Mike Huber

There was no better way to ring in 2023 than camping off our motorcycles on a beautiful beach in Bahia Conception in Baja, Mexico. The only thing that made the moment more special was sharing cigars, Tecates, and Tequila with our new friends in the palapas to our left and right while sitting around a fire. Somehow, I managed to make it until 10 p.m., which is equal to a Boston New Year, and I surpassed my previous Baja New Year by 1 hour. I was pretty proud of myself.

Groggily awaking the next morning to the sunrise peering over the mountains across the bay was a serene way to start the new year. Once we had a coffee (or three) in us we decided to pack up and make our way back north. The plan was originally to hotel in Guerrero Negro for the night, but we had made such incredible time riding that we arrived in town by 11:30, and it seemed too early to stop for the day. The biggest problem with this is once you leave Guerrero Negro there isn’t much (really anything) until you arrive in Gonzaga Bay, which is another 4+ hours of riding and the possibility of bad winds. We rolled the dice and decided to attempt the ride to Gonzaga confident we would arrive just before sunset, which I had confirmed was at 16:49 PST.

The ride up was rather uneventful and even the winds seemed to be cooperating with us on the last leg of this ride. In pulling up to the Rancho Grande Tienda to reserve our campsite, refuel the bikes, and load up on firewood we were starting to feel the 320 miles we had just completed. One of the cool things about camping in this location is the rather long bundle of firewood they provide. Every time I load the wood on the moto it looks like some type of biplane. What completes the biplane feeling is riding to the palapas on the bay you are parallel with an airstrip, so you actually feel like you are about to take off. Just as we hit the 1-kilometer dirt road the winds began to increase heavily. This was the norm for this part of Baja and wasn’t too alarming for us.

Thankfully the palapa provided us with some protection from the swirling gusts, but not from the roaring freight train sounds that would keep us awake through the night as a demoralizing reminder that we’ll have to ride in them the following day.

After setting up our home for the evening it was time for a cold Tecate beer to unwind and enjoy the gorgeous views of the bay and the mountains that surround it. As I sat in my chair, I noticed a lone paddleboarder in the bay and became a bit alarmed with his lack of movement while he struggled to fight the wind to return to shore. He was quite a ways out and it was obvious the wind was physically and mentally wearing him down from this difficult battle. I could see him stand up to paddle ferociously for a few moments and then he would lay on the board, clearly to rest. This went on for about one more Tecate when I noticed it was 15:45. People were beginning to gather on the shore to watch his valiant yet seemingly unsuccessful attempt to return to his camp, but he wasn’t getting any closer. It was time for me to walk the beach and see who this person was with, gain insight on his experience level, how long he was out for, and determine next steps (if any were needed).

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After a few minutes I found his wife who didn’t seem to be concerned until I mentioned that sunset would be in an hour. At that moment the full weight of the situation set in, and she became frantic. Being one to always travel with a SpotGen 3 GPS emergency beacon I powered it on, gave her a brief tutorial on how to activate the SOS button, handed it to her and said, “If I am not back in 15 minutes you push the SOS button.” I then directed her to drive the bay in search of a fisherman or boater that could possibly assist. While she was working the problem from that angle, I fired up the BMW GS1200 and returned to the tienda to see if I could find a local that could assist in what clearly was becoming a rescue operation.

The locals in the tienda didn’t seem to know anyone that could help. This was not what I expected, and my brain was scrambling for any other ideas to save this person. As I exited the store the man’s wife came flying into the parking lot creating a mini dust storm from her sprinter van. She was even more panicked then earlier. Just as I was about to take the GPS beacon, return to the location of the paddleboarder and press SOS we saw a 1960s VW van with some surfers with their boards on the roof. After explaining the situation, they fully agreed to help, and we all raced back to the beach. We had 40 minutes of sun left before it disappeared over the desert mountains behind us. Once our rescue caravan arrived one of the surfers quickly dawned his wetsuit, grabbed his board, and was off into the cold, windy waters. Fortunately, it didn’t take him very long to reach the distressed paddler, secure his paddleboard to his surfboard and tow him back in. Everyone was safe and back on shore with 10 minutes of sunlight remaining.

The rescue operation was a success. The hero surfers made a hasty exit just as the last rays of light from the sun began to fade into the lonely desert. An hour later the family came over to our palapa to gift us with a couple bottles of wine as a thank you for assisting in the rescue mission. Of course, we invited them to share our campfire. Chatting with the paddleboarder, we learned this was his first paddleboarding experience. Together we relived the moments of the day from each of our perspectives while drinking the wine and enjoying the glow of the fire. What could have been a much worse ending was nothing more then a valuable lesson for him. The true heroes were the surfers, and I never even got their names before they rolled back down the dusty road and into the Baja desert.

Toad Rock Campground, British Columbia

By Mike Huber

When traveling I keep a loose schedule. I talk to people along my journey and gain insight on what is best to see, and just as importantly, what is best to avoid. In 2017 while sitting outside Starbucks somewhere in Washington state a couple asked where I was headed (I ride a GS1200; frequenting Starbucks is an ownership obligation). I didn’t have much of a destination in mind and the couple asked if I had my passport, which I did. They recommended visiting Toad Rock Campground in British Columbia. Just like that, Toad Rock Campground became my weekend destination.

I entered Canada through Idaho. It always seems once crossing the border everything just becomes more magnificent. Trees are larger, there is more wildlife, the mountains are higher, the water is bluer, you get the point. I crossed the Canadian border at Rykerts, B.C. This was a bit out of the way but it was what the couple had recommended. The main reason (besides 3A being a phenomenal road) was that I would take the World’s Longest Free Ferry across Kootenay Lake to Balfour. Once I disembarked the ferry in Balfour it was just a short hop to Toad Rock. It turns out taking the longer route was absolutely the right call.

Arriving at Toad Rock, I dismounted from the GS and went to check in. The lady running the camp stated it was full, but I could find a patch of grass in the back and set up camp. I signed in and paid (I want to say $10 CDN but don’t fully remember). She then looked at me, pointed and said, “If you’re an asshole I will throw your ass OUT!” To which I swiftly replied “Yes, Ma’am.” Later I found out she even makes motorcycle clubs remove their vests and colors to avoid any friction within the camp. This was all fine with me.

I rode to the back forty to find my piece of lawn, which was located well outside the wooded main area. The camp looked really cool with lights hung all through it to include a central gazebo with a stage, bar, and a very large refrigerator which was firmly held closed by a bungy cord. I asked someone what the deal was with this cord. They replied that there was a large pig that wandered the campground to scare the bears away and if you don’t bungy the refrigerator, the pig will open the door and drink all your beer. Interesting indeed.

My camp was set up by 13:00 and I discovered a local loop for an afternoon blast around southern B.C. The loop entailed riding Route.31 around to Route 6. From Route 6 I dropped down into Nelson, B.C. Nelson would make a great stopping point for a late lunch and has a quaint downtown area to walk around and stretch. The roads were in great shape and outside the mountain views being minimized from several wildfires it was a perfect June day to enjoy this part of the province. What made the day even better was stopping twice to jump into an ice-cold mountain stream that hugged the road to cool off. The streams were cold and refreshing, especially after riding in full gear during the peak of the day.

Upon leaving the streams my entire body would be tingling (like I just ate a piece of peppermint gum) from the extreme change in temperature it had just experienced. Having been fully refreshed from my swims it was time to eat. My stomach was growling for a burger just as I entered the town of Nelson. While eating a giant bacon burger and enjoying a cold Kokanee beer I suddenly heard a loud chopping through the air. I recognized that sound from years before. It was a Chinook helicopter coming to refill its water bucket in the lake to continue fighting the wildfires. Once that show was over and my burger was finished it was time to head back to Toad Rock and see what was going on at camp for entertainment. I would not be disappointed.

As I arrived at camp around 17:00 the pavilion in the middle was just getting warmed up and people were piling in serving drinks from the BYOB bar, retrieving beers from the refrigerator (and remembering to secure the beers from the thirsty pig), and talking with others. It wasn’t long before riders were randomly grabbing instruments to play music. Everyone was welcoming as they took turns sharing their motorcycle adventure stories.

At this point I realized we all were in the middle of a great motorcycle story just living in the present here. The festivities continued late into the night. As the night wore on and people slowly began to drift off to their campsites, I decided it was time to return to my tent as well. The only problem was I couldn’t find my campsite. I knew it was in the lawn section but that seemed impossible to find as I went by the same tents a few times as I wearily followed the colored lights strung throughout the trees. I began to worry that I’d have to locate the owner to ground guide me back to my campsite. Does meandering the campground hopelessly lost constitute being an asshole? It was at this moment I saw a familiar landmark that marked my tent location and I haphazardly slid into my home for the evening. This was a day that fully encompassed what being a motorcyclist is all about: Living in the present, embracing each moment, and bonding with fellow riders.

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Racing the Sun

By Mike Huber

Finding myself in Arizona in the winter months has become my norm. Arizona provides one of the better climates for riding and camping, and I can camp there without waking up next to a frozen Gatorade bottle in my tent (which happens way too often to me).

Over the past three years wintering here I had missed one of the more moving Veterans Day memorials, the Anthem Veterans Memorial in Anthem, Arizona. This fascinating tribute to our country’s Soldiers, Airmen, Marines, Sailors, and Coast Guard (no Space Force yet) is located just two minutes off Interstate 17.

I visited the Veterans Memorial on several occasions while stopping at the Starbucks in Anthem (insert BMW GS joke here) before riding to work in Phoenix or Tucson. What makes the Anthem Veterans Memorial so special is that on November 11^th at 11:11, the sun aligns with the Memorial and shines directly through its five pillars (each pillar represents a branch of the military). That lights the Great Seal of the United States of America. The pillar heights correspond with the number of people in each branch (Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines, and Coast Guard).

This year when I rode my GS to Phoenix for routine maintenance, I saw the sign on I-17 for the Memorial. I looked down and it was 11:08. I had a chance to make it! Pulling in my clutch and clicking down two gears brought me to this new destination. It was exhilarating. I was literally racing the sun to be where I needed to be at 11:11.

I didn’t make it in time. Only five minutes or so had passed, but the eclipse of the Great Seal was not in totality anymore. That is how accurate this modern-day sun dial is. The radiant glow from it was still vibrant and even though it wasn’t in full on totality it was still very impressive.

Many people surrounded the Memorial this day; more than a few rode motorcycles here as a Veterans Day Pilgrimage. It is always a great day whenever I chat with Veterans, especially at such an impressive monument on Veterans Day.

Having been so close to seeing this Memorial at its peak has placed it on my 2023 list. I will join other Veterans riding to the Memorial and the festivities on this special day, and Starbucks will be part of the experience to meet my BMW GS ownership obligations.

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Charlie Don’t Wheelie – A Vietnam Motorcycle Adventure: Part 7

By Mike Huber

With Mai Chau being in our rear view mirrors, we just had one challenge left to overcome as riders in Vietnam: The chaotic traffic in the massive capital city of Hanoi. This was something we were both mentally prepared for and we had watched videos to somewhat provide us an idea on what to expect, but it would take more than me honking my little pink horn to navigate through this massive Asian city. As we rolled down the CT08 Highway into Hanoi the road didn’t seem too hectic, although I bounced off a car once or twice due to the limited real estate on the road.

Exiting the highway and entering surface streets the traffic increased exponentially, and we were separated several times. This was exactly why we had brought the Sena headsets, whereas in America we would never have even thought of using these devices. The road was about four American lanes wide, but it was easily fitting 8 to 12 vehicles on average. The vehicles ranged from Terminators, to cars, to little motos like ours, and everyone was cutting in and out constantly.

Another valuable driving lesson we learned was don’t drive defensively, but instead drive with purpose and intent. In doing so you will fit into the chaos and become part of the herd. Any second guessing yourself, braking, or quick acceleration will cause a ripple effect. That action will initiate others to stutter step and will most likely result in an accident; this was something we would rather avoid. Having mounts for our phones was another tip that proved invaluable. We could simply set our directions into it and place the phone in airplane mode to preserve the battery. Google Maps would remain on and guide us through these crowded streets filled with threats and obstacles.

Even with the GPS reliably guiding us through the madness we were rerouted several times due to the amount of traffic, getting split up, or having to focus on the many distractions that came in every form from every angle. Negotiating the rotaries was like entering a swarm of bees and trying to fit into our own little pocket without disrupting thousands of others that were searching for the same sanctuary in the lunacy. Upon arriving safely at our rental moto return point, we dismounted from our reliable steeds. They had been our life preservers over the past three weeks and 1,000+ miles through the concrete and plant jungles of this magnificent country.

Reflections

This journey through Vietnam, as with most journeys, was challenging mentally, physically, and especially emotionally. Vietnam reassured our feelings that the division between cultures and former enemies can be cured. Time provides a buffer between the anger and hatred and former times. One given about traveling is at times it can appear as though you go backward or forward in time. At that moment when Bobbie held the lady’s head and helped her in her final moments that lesson took hold in me. Helping a North Vietnamese would have been considered treason 70 years ago, but now it was not only the right thing to do but it a welcome gesture. Hours after the accident and thinking through it gave me hope that the political division in our country will be repaired. We are one people and our minor differences are indeed that: Minor. We sometimes tend to focus on the differences when we should be focused on the similarities.

Take the Iwo Jima photo above. We were riding by and a lady waved us down. They were planting a tree and were stuck, so I ran over without even taking off my helmet as it started to fall. We fixed it. A tree grows in Vietnam, and we helped.

I hope all of you reading this series enjoyed the read and were able to take something positive away from our experiences in Vietnam. I appreciate your support and you reading my writing. Thank you and be safe.