Motorcycle Adventure Ride – Page 3 – The ExhaustNotes Blog

Scenic Byway 163 (Arizona to Utah): Part 1

By Mike Huber

Arizona Highway 163 is one of the most iconic roads in the United States. This is the road through Monument Valley. From Easy Rider to Forest Gump to numerous westerns, when you ride this road you are in a magical place (especially on a motorcycle). It’s a big reason why I chose it as the cover for my book (and that’s cheap plug for A Trip Into The Moment). I’ve ridden Highway 163 many times on my BMW GS1200. Most times it was uneventful, but as with most things in life, as soon as you relax and feel comfortable Mother Nature will find a way to remind you exactly how small you are.

One of my last trips on Highway 163, I stopped in Kayenta to fuel up and reload on water. It was late September, and the weather was perfect. I had a 45-mile drive to Mexican Hat, where I would grab firewood and camp in the Valley of the Gods. I never listen to music but felt The Band’s song, The Weight, was warranted to just set the tone and add more color to this final stretch. I was the Easy Rider!

As I tore out of Kayenta everything was just coming together perfectly. This was to be the coolest ride I’d ever done. With the music screaming throughout my helmet I eased into the moment and just embraced it. That was until I looked to the left and saw a sheet of brown coming at me. It was a sandstorm. Without missing a beat I pulled in my clutch, clicked down two gears and took off. I had about 30 miles to go and felt confident I could make it to safety in Mexican Hat. Safety would only be a gas station awning, but that would be enough to protect me from the stinging sands.

I made it as the sandstorm changed direction and went due south; however, I wasn’t out of the woods yet as a downpour began. I loaded up on a few snacks and water, and was waiting the storm out when a Harley rumbled up to join me under the awning. The two-up Harley riders had just come down Moki Dugway and were soaked and shaken. Fair enough. Even on my BMW GS1200 I would not want to attempt that, especially going down those hairpin dirt roads with no guardrails and nothing but a sheer vertical drop if you were to slide. It’s very unforgiving.

We chatted for the better part of an hour on our riding experience as the rain came down around us. When asked how long I was out riding, the guy almost fell off his bike with my reply: I think I have been out for four years or so. As the rain let up, we said our farewells. They went south and I went west toward Valley of the Gods to set up camp.

I think the best part about this story is a year later learning how small the world actually is. I had been helping a friend who I didn’t know too well navigate working remotely. I gave him a lot of ideas and tips and offered to assist if he needed anything else. I hadn’t heard from him for almost two years when I received an email. He had been hiking in Colorado and sat on an overlook to take in the views when a couple joined him and they began chatting about life and travel (the usual overlook conversations). The conversation then turned to people they had met and the couple mentioned this long-haired guy on a BMW with a stuffed animal they had met on Highway 163. My friend replied that he knew me; he had helped me get off the ground working remotely. They all had a good laugh and continued their hikes. These coincidences in meeting others who had met me probably could be its own blog, but I felt this story fits nicely here.

Returning now to that beautiful September day: Upon leaving the gas station in Mexican Hat the sky began to darken yet again. A new adjustment had to be made to avoid another storm. This one looked worse than both the sandstorm and the thunderstorm I had dodged. I was pretty confident my luck had run out in terms of staying dry at this point. Being familiar with the area there I knew there was one alternative that could protect me from the storm, but would I make it before the sky opened up?

More Huber? Check out A Trip Into The Moment.

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The Road to Pai, Thailand

By Mike Huber

After spending a couple months freezing in Nepal I was more than ready for a restful month (or three, as it turned out). I was craving warmth, a steak, and some scuba diving, and southern Thailand quenched my thirst for all three.

After a month or two in southern Thailand spending the days scuba diving and embracing the sun it was time to head north. The previous year when I was in Chaing Mai I got sick off eating elephant poop, not intentionally but it had me leashed to a toilet for four or five days and ruined my entire itinerary. It was now time to return to Chaing Mai and steer clear of the elephants.

Everywhere in Thailand there are a ton of Temples to visit and northern Thailand was no different. After a few tours and meeting a ton of new friends the road to Pai kept coming up as one of the best roads to motorcycle in Asia. I located a rental shop in Chaing Mai and rented a bike for seven days. This was a rather long time as the road to Pai roundtrip only took two or three days. I figured with the added days I may do a layover day somewhere and just blast around the northern tip of Thailand to some less frequented parts of the country and have some shorter days on the bike.

My trip to Pai ended up being delayed two days as there was a massive monsoon that blew through and needless to say it wasn’t good riding weather. Once the storm cleared I left on a Honda 500cc motorcycle ready to tear these roads up. Although it rained usually once a day at one time or another it was tolerable and outside some wet roads my first few days were going well. The roads were incredible and it was quite similar to motorcycling in Vermont, outside of driving on the left hand side of the road. There were beautiful twisties and colorful canopies of vegetation that provided a kaleidoscope of colors when the sun made it through the foliage.

As I stated most the times the roads were wet and I adjusted my speed with the ever-changing road conditions. What I didn’t factor in was an oil spill on one of the corners as I approached Pai. All I remember is “boy that slid out from under me really smoothly” and the next moment I was floating through the air. Prior to being a paratrooper is I am very proficient at playing patty cake with the earth. I executed the perfect PLF (parachute landing fall) and as I slid down the road after that execution I couldn’t stop laughing as the bike was spinning like a 600-pound fidget spinner and went off the road and settled into the grass.

As I stood up I performed a self-assessment of the damage to myself. I was very fortunate. Just a few scrapes and bruises. My shirt and pants were pretty tore up I noticed a very sharp pain in my ribs. I definitely cracked, broke, or fractured a rib. I picked up the bike and noticed one mirror was destroyed and my right foot peg was snapped off. Also my front brake handle outside of a 2-inch piece was snapped off. I had about four days left with the motorcycle so I would just use one finger on the front brake and move my leg from the rear peg to tap the rear brake as needed for the remainder of my trip. My tourism layover days were now replaced with staying in bed to nurse my injuries with Chang beers.

I ended up completing all the roads I had planned on and it was now time to return the motorcycle to Chang Mai and continue to rest the cracked rib. I am certain if this accident had happened in the United States the bill to the damaged motorcycle would have been over 1,000USD, but in Thailand it was under 100USD and I threw in a few Chang beers for a tip. The road to Pai is really one of the better roads I have ridden on, outside of the oil slick of course. Still, it was a great way to explore northern Thailand.

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Minnesota’s Split Rock Lighthouse

By Joe Berk

When driving around Lake Superior (and all the Great Lakes), the waters appear to be calm. At least they do to me, and it feels kind of odd, because each of the Great Lakes are so big you can’t see the other side. In other words, from the shore they appear to be as big as the ocean, except there are no waves. But that’s not always the case. In stormy weather, the Great Lakes can get rough. In 1905, just one storm damaged 29 vessels. You might wonder: Is there that much shipping on the Great Lakes? The short answer is yes, and in particular, a lot of iron ore mined in Minnesota went by ship to Wisconsin and other locations. U.S. Steel alone had 112 ore-carrying ships in 1901.

Split Rock’s location along Lake Superior. We rode there from Duluth.

The U.S. Steel president lobbied Washington for a lighthouse along Minnesota’s rocky shoreline, and in 1907 Congress allocated $75,000 to build one. It became known as the Split Rock Lighthouse because the huge rock upon which it sits has a large vertical cleave.

A view of the Lake Superior shoreline from atop Split Rock.

Construction started in 1907 and finished in 1910, when the lighthouse was commissioned. The U.S. Lighthouse Service operated it until 1939, when all U.S. lighthouses came under U.S. Coast Guard. The Coast Guard is responsible for all lighthouses, but that no longer includes Split Rock. Split Rock shut down as a navigational aid in 1969. Other navigation systems such as Long Range Navigation (LORAN) and the Global Positioning System (GPS) now meet that role. Only five staffed U.S. lighthouses remain in service today; all others have been decommissioned or operate under automated control.

Looking up at the lighthouse tower from its base. I was armed only with my D3300 Nikon and a 35mm 1.8 prime lens. It’s a system you zoom with your feet (i.e., moving closer to or away from the subject). Sometimes there’s not enough room to move around.

Foghorns atop the foghorn building. When they were operational, they sounded a 2-second blast every 18 seconds. They went out of service in the 1960s. The horns are activated once a year now.

The foghorns were initially powered by two compressors driven by internal combustion engines. Cooling water for the engines was drawn from Lake Superior.

The site transferred to the State of Minnesota in 1971, and in 1976 control shifted to the Minnesota Historical Society. In 2011, it was designated a National Historic Landmark.

Susie had Betty’s fish and chips; I opted for the caribou chicken pasty. Both were excellent.

We split a slice of Betty’s toffee cream pie for dessert. It was awesome.

The ride out to the lighthouse from Duluth (where we stayed for a couple of days) was beautiful. We followed Minnesota 61 north for 47 miles. It was a beautiful ride along the Lake Superior shoreline. On the trip north, we notice Betty’s Pies (a restaurant), and we stopped there for dinner on the way back. There was an hour wait to get in, but it was worth it.

After our dinner, there was a young couple parked next to us on a pair of sports bikes. The gal was on a nondescript Japanese bike; the guy was on a Triumph Speed Triple (and that definitely caught my attention). We followed them back along Minnesota Highway 61, and after a few miles they veered left on Scenic Drive (which follows the Lake Superior shoreline much more closely). That is an appropriate name. Scenic Drive took us directly into Duluth and our hotel. It was a fun day.

Looking for a great place to ride? Hey, that’s our specialty. I write about great Destinations regularly for Motorcycle Classics magazine. You can read about my favorites here:

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Phavorite Photos: Utah Highway 12

By Joe Berk

When good buddy Baja John and yours truly ran the mother of all publicity stunts (the CSC Motorcycles Western America Adventure Ride) through the western United States, I had the easy part. I simply rode at the head of the formation of our dozen or so Chinese, Colombian, and US riders. Baja John did all the heavy lifting: Selecting our routes, mapping out the course, and handling all the hotel reservations. John did a hell of a job, finding roads that were scenic, twisty, and representative of the best riding America has to offer. Of all the roads we rode, one in particular stands out: Utah’s Highway 12.

Utah Highway 12 runs from just east of Bryce Canyon National Park to Capitol Reef National Park, and it something out of a psychedelic mapmaker’s mind with the vibrance turned up. Way up. The road winds its way through by bright pink and white sandstone cliffs, with its black tarmac and yellow lines piercing a path through a dramatic landscape. It is fine motorcycling; the stuff of dreams and brilliant memories. If you’ve never ridden Utah, trust me on this: You need to.

I enjoyed that stretch of Utah so much that a year or two later Susie and I repeated the trip, and it was along Utah Highway 12 that I stopped and grabbed the photo you see above. Sometimes these photos are a little tricky to capture while standing in the road, focusing on composition, angling the polarizer for the best saturation and reflection elimination, holding the camera steady, and grabbing the best possible photograph, all the while listening intently for any traffic barreling up the road behind me. The trick is to not get run over while seeking the perfect picture. So far, I’ve been lucky.

I used my Old Faithful combo (my Nikon D810 camera and 24-120 lens) for the above photo. I used to think prime lenses (i.e., lenses of the non-zoom variety) provided the sharpest images, but the Nikon 24-120 lens changed my mind. It’s as sharp a lens as any of the several I’ve used. I did not use a tripod. The Nikon 24-120 has a built-in vibration reduction feature, so on a bright and sunny day there’s really no need for a tripod. Hand-held is good enough.

There’s a bit more to the story, and that’s another story. I pitched this stretch of road as a “Destinations” piece for Motorcycle Classics magazine, and they bought it. You can read that article here, and you can read a few of my other destinations pieces here. If you are not a Motorcycle Classics subscriber, you should be. It’s one of the few remaining motorcycle print publications, and it has always been one of the best. And if you want to read more about our trek across the western US, get yourself a copy of 5000 Miles at 8000 RPM.

Earlier Phavorite Photos? You bet! Click on each to get their story.

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Magnificent Motoliterature!

By Joe Berk

It had to happen: Good buddy and frequent ExNotes blogger Mike Huber wrote a book! Mike’s book is A Trip Into The Moment, published by Native Book Publishing. You should buy it now from Amazon. Here’s the back cover blurb:

We are a literary bunch, us ExNotes writers. Joe Gresh and I published a collection of our favorite stories not too long ago, and I’ve penned (or keyboarded) a few myself. Here’s a link to the Gresh and yours truly book, A Cup O’ Joes:

Want to lose weight, ride faster, and impress your friends? Add our books to your library and drop a Huber, Gresh, or Berk quote from time to time. Better yet, buy a copy of each of our books and post this blog’s link on your social media (it will help with sales)!

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Yuma Territorial Prison State Park

By Joe Berk

There were four territorial prisons in the early western United States: Wyoming, Montana, Idaho, and Yuma. I’ve been to two of them. Sue and I visited the Old Idaho State Penitentiary last year (it was awesome), and most recently, the Yuma Territorial Prison tucked away in the southwestern corner of Arizona. Years ago, I’d been to the Yuma Territorial Prison on a motorcycle ride with good buddy Dick Scott. It was way more primitive then; it wasn’t much more than a few remains of the original prison with not much identified. That’s not the case today.

After catching up with John at dinner over fish tacos the night before, we had a nice breakfast the next day at the Yuma Denny’s (don’t laugh, it’s my favorite place for breakfast when I’m on the road). After that, it was on to the Yuma prison.

On this trip, Sue and I were on our way home after visiting the Buddy Stubbs Motorcycle Museum in Phoenix (it was awesome) and we decided to divert down to Yuma to visit with my motorcycle riding and hunting buddy, Baja John. It was a good visit.

Yuma often sees temperatures over 110 degrees, and sometimes 120 degrees, during the summer months. It must have been brutal being incarcerated there.

Bleak. Desolate. Dehumanizing. I see nothing wrong here.

If you were an inmate, you’d be home now…

Six to a cell. Impressive. High density housing.

The Yuma Prison apparently had some interesting houseguests.

As soon as you enter the Yuma Territorial Prison State Park, there’s a very nice museum. One of the displays that immediately caught my eye was a Gatling Gun.

I like Gatling guns. You should, too, and as I always say, don’t way for the movie. Buy the book…

As mentioned above, Yuma is located in the southwestern corner of Arizona directly across the Colorado River from California. It was an interesting and vital stop for many ’49ers who entered California seeking gold. There are scenic overlooks that allow a clear Colorado River view.

That’s the Colorado River, and just across it lies California, the home of high gas prices and left-wing lunacy.

We had a good time at the Yuma Prison State Park. John is still there, hoping to get out soon based on good behavior. We’ll see.

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The Buddy Stubbs Motorcycle Museum

By Joe Berk

The alarm rang early last week, and Sue and I were on the road at 5:00 a.m., pointed east on the 210 for the 5 1/2 hour trek to Phoenix and the Buddy Stubbs Motorcycle Museum. It was worth the drive out there.

There are more than a few dealers who have a handful of bikes tucked into a corner of their showrooms they call a museum. Not so with the Buddy Stubbs Motorcycle Museum in Phoenix, Arizona. It’s the largest motorcycle museum in the American Southwest, and it’s one of the best motorcycle museums of the many I’ve visited over the last 30 or 40 years. I don’t say that lightly. This place is spectacular.

Many marques are well represented. This colors on this early ’60 Noron twin work for me.

Sue and I visited the Buddy Stubbs Museum recently for an upcoming issue of Motorcycle Classics magazine, and I sure was glad we did. The Museum has 137 bikes (with 124 on display). You might think they’d all be Harleys, but you’d be wrong. All the cool stuff is there, and it’s all vintage. Harleys, Triumphs, BSAs, Vincents, BMWs, Excelsiors, Indians, and a bunch more. It seems like every motorcycle in the Museum has a story.

The 1913 Indian Buddy commuted on between dealership locations.

One of the stories is about the 1913 Indian in its original unrestored glory. You might recall that about 25 years ago Harley made their dealers build new and modern showrooms. Buddy Stubbs was one of those dealerships, and while the new location was under construction, Buddy rode between the old and new locations daily on that 1913 Indian. That’s cool.

Buddy’s Cannonball Excelsior. All the spares rode in the sidecar and there was no chase vehicle.

Another bike with a story is the 1915 Excelsior, with sidecar, that Buddy rode in the 2010 cross country Cannonball Run. Okay, you might be thinking a lot of guys did that. Yeah, but…and the “yeah, but” in his case is that a 70-year old Buddy Stubbs made the ride with no chase vehicle. He carried all the parts he thought he might need in the sidecar. Wow.

Yes, it’s the actual Electra-Glide in Blue. The real one that we all saw in the movie.

Remember the 1973 Electra-Glide in Blue movie? Buddy taught Robert Blake how to ride a motorcycle for that movie, and the motorcycle that Blake’s felonious motor officer buddy bought with stolen money (in the movie, not in real life) currently sits in the Buddy Stubbs showroom. Blake went on to a successful TV series (Baretta), and then he fell from grace when he murdered his wife (which he got away with in the criminal trial, although he was later found financially liable in a subsequent civil case). It’s tough to convict a movie star here in the Golden State.

The black T-Bird (second from right) was The Wild Ones backup bike.

Speaking of motorcycle movies, the grand-daddy of them all has to be Marlon Brando’s The Wild One. You will recall that Brando rode a Triumph Thunderbird in that movie. The producers kept a spare Triumph Thunderbird on set during the production. You know, just in case. That spare T-Bird is in the Buddy Stubbs Museum.

A four-cylinder Nimbus. It might have made it into our ¿Quantos Pistones? series had I seen it sooner.

There’s a whole section here on ExNotes focused on our dream bikes. Satisfyingly, several of those are in the Buddy Stubbs Museum, including lots of Triumph Bonnevilles, Harley Cafe Racers, and the Harley XR1000.

By any measure, Buddy Stubbs (who at age 85 is still with us) is an amazing man. You can even buy a book about Mr. Stubbs, which I did while visiting the dealership. I have a signed copy.

Hey, one more thing that I’d be remiss to not mention in this blog. Stop for lunch at the Tamale Factory, which is just 8/10ths of a mile up North Cave Creek Road from the dealership. I had the chile relleno tamale and Sue had the chicken version. Both were fantastic.

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¿Quantos Pistones? (The Fours)

By Joe Berk

Fours? I’ve owned a few, and Lord knows I’ve sure seen a bunch of them. For starters, there’s the 1931 Excelsior-Henderson at the top of this blog (a photo that graces every one of our ¿Quantos Pistones? blogs). It’s not mine and I didn’t ride it. I was so interested in photographing that motorcycle, I didn’t realize I was standing next to Jay Leno until he took his helmet off. I’ve written about that encounter before.

Honda CB 750

When the Honda CB 750 Four came on the scene in 1969, it turned the motorcycle world upside down. I thought the bike was interesting before I saw one, but I also thought I was a 650 twin kind of guy (you know, Triumphs and BSAs). The first 750 Four I ever saw accelerated past my house when I was way younger. It was a gloriously visceral and symphonic four. To a guy used to lopey Harleys and throaty Triumphs, the CB 750 sounded like an Indy Offenhauser. When I heard that high performance four-cylinder yowl, it was like walking through the jungle on a moonless night and having an unseen leopard suddenly scream a short distance away. It reached deep, took hold, and shook me mightily. I remember it like it happened yesterday. At that instant, I knew I would own a 750 Four someday soon. And I did.

Yours truly in the 1970s. Hard to believe it was more than 50 years ago. I loved that motorcycle.

Our family bought our motorcycles from Cooper’s Cycle Ranch in Hamilton, New Jersey. The CB 750 was $1539 out the door (I can’t remember what I had for lunch earlier today, but I remember that number), and my 750 was the color I wanted. Honda offered the 750 Four in four colors in 1971 (brown, green, gold, and candy apple red). I wanted a red one, and Sherm Cooper made it happen. It was a glorious bike. I rode it to Canada with a fellow Rutgers student (Keith Hediger, who had a white Kawasaki 500cc triple). That was my first international motorcycle trip. I rode it a lot of other places, too. It was a wonderful motorcycle. I wish I still had it.

Honda CB 500

I owned two Honda CB 500 Fours. I bought one from good buddy John who was a high school and college classmate. I only put a few miles on before putting it on my front lawn with a for sale sign. It sold quickly. I liked the bike (it was very smooth), but I needed the cash for something else (I can’t remember what).

Good buddy John and the CB 500 I bought from him.

A similar opportunity popped up decades later when a guy at work had a metalflake orange CB500 for sale at Sargent Fletcher (an aerospace plant I ran in the 1990s). Metalflake orange was a factory color on the CB 500 Honda. At $500, I figured I could take a chance. I bought it, rode it a little bit, never registered the bike, and sold it with a Cycle Trade ad a couple of weeks later.

Suzuki Katana

This was a bike way ahead of its time. Wow, was it ever fast. In 1982, the performance was incredible. It would probably be tame by today’s hyperbikes, but back in the early ’80s, it was something else.

Me and my Katana. I still had some hair in the 1980s. Not much, but some.

Take a good look at that photo. The ’82 Katana you see above is the only vehicle (car or motorcycle) for which I ever paid over list price. When it first came out, it was pure unobtanium. Suzuki only made 500 initially. I think mine was No. 241. I paid $5500 for it, which was way over list price in 1982, and I had to go all the way to Victorville to find one.

I thought I had something special, but that only lasted a month or two. After the initial limited release, Suzuki made another 500, bringing the total number to 1,000. I found that troubling, and I felt cheated. Those sold quickly, too, so Suzuki went ahead and produced yet another 500. Those last 500 didn’t sell well at all (Suzuki had reached all the fools like me by then and the market for a bike like the Katana had been saturated). Suzuki had to discount the remaining bikes heavily to move them. That really pissed me off. It would be another 15 years before I would buy another Suzuki (that was my ’97 TL1000S). The way I was buying and selling bikes in those days, that was a long time.

The Katana was my first ever superbike. It was scary fast in 1982, and it would probably still be scary fast today. Thanks to Joan Claybrook and Jiminy Carter (remember those two?), the speedo maxed out at 85 mph (as if that would somehow slow anyone down).

The pipes were one of the coolest things on the Katana. They were what Suzuki called black chrome and they looked great. The instrument pod was cool, too. The tach and speedo needles moved in opposite directions, which made it seemed like the two needles were unwinding as you rowed through the gears. This was my first ever bike with low bars. I didn’t like them, but the rest of the bike was very, very cool. I sold the Katana when my first daughter was born. A fat lady knocked it over in a shopping mall pulling her car out of its parking space. I took that as an omen. Time to step away from riding for a bit. I wish I still had that motorcycle.

Suzuki went on to use the Katana name (a Katana is a Japanese Samurai sword) on other models, but they were never the same at that first 1982 Katana.

Triumph 1200 Daytona

This was a fun machine. I bought when it was still brand new (but already 7 years old) on Ebay, thanks to an alert from my buddy Marty. It was $7,000. As soon as I won the auction, the next highest bidder contacted me and offered to buy it, but I turned it down.

The Locomotive. This was one of the best motorcycles I ever owned.

I’ve written about the Daytona before, and rather than reinvent the wheel, I invite you to read the more complete Daytona story here.

Honda Gold Wing

Back in the day, the initial Honda Gold Wing was a four, as they continued to be for several years. I thought I wanted one when the Gold Wing was first introduced (I was in Korea at the time and I saw the new Gold Wing in a Cycle World magazine). But I never acted on the urge to buy one and that was a good thing. I rode a friend’s a few years later and the bike had no soul whatsoever. It was boring beyond belief; I would not have thought any motorcycle could be that boring. But it was and it made me glad I never bought one.

Somewhere in Arizona on a road trip in the ’90s. That’s my CBX (to be covered in a later ¿Quantos Pistones? blog), my buddy Louis V (who went into the witness protection program), and Louis’s Honda Gold Wing (the most boring motorcycle I ever rode). All the gear, all the time was definitely not Lou’s motto.

Guys who have Gold Wings seem to love them. Emilio Scotto rode one around the world and wrote a great book about it. Today, of course, Gold Wings are sixes. I’ve read that the handling on the new ones is great for a big bike. But they’re not my cup of tea. You may feel different about Wings, and that’s okay.

So there you go: My experiences with four-cylinder motorcycles. The configuration makes sense from a lot of perspectives. They can be powerful and they are an almost universal configuration on Japanese motorcycles. But they’ve grown too big for my liking. I know there have been smaller fours out there (the Honda CB350 Four comes to mind), but as I’ve matured (read: become a geezer), I like smaller bikes better. As always, your mileage may vary.

Missed our earlier ¿Quantos Pistones? stories on the Singles, the Twins, and the Triples? Hey, no problemo! Here they are:

¿Quantos Pistones? (The Triples)
¿Quantos Pistones? (The Twins)
¿Quantos Pistones? (The Singles)

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A Summer Road Trip: Part II

By Bobbie Surber

I think the lucky amongst us are born with a lust for nature and a deep-seated bug to get to as many National Parks as possible. Out of 63 National Parks, I’ve been to 41 so I’ve still got some work to do. I’m not helping with this road trip as it is a return to some of my favorites.

In Part I, we visited Mesa Verde National Park then made our way to Ouray, Colorado. That’s where I will pick up my story.

Tom is a late riser; I’m up before sunrise whether I’ve gone to bed with the sunset or stayed up past midnight. This morning was no different, and yet it was. Right before dawn, I awoke to a single gunshot, adrenaline pumping, I waited for another shot or noise from the distant camper. Drifting back to sleep I wondered what had warranted the single shot? Mystery solved, a camper nearby forgot and left out his cooler, along comes mama bear with two cubs in tow. Let me tell you, once a bear is in your cooler they are not leaving until they have finished with everything you got! Well, a good story for the camper and a reminder that a bear that interacts with humans is often a dead bear so keep your campsite tight!

Finally crawling out of the tent just as the sky started to lighten, I brewed a cup of coffee with my AeroPress and built my last fire in Colorado. Taking some time to watch the sun start to light up the tips of the peaks above our steep and narrow valley floor, thinking about the day to come.

Coffee consumed and the fire dying down I got to work packing up the camp, leaving only the tent with a lightly snoring man to complete the breakdown. Tom eventually made it out of the tent with the promise of hot coffee and cold juice to get his day rolling.

While a bit sad to leave the alpine world of Ouray, we had the promise of a hotel room to wash off the stench of five nights camping and hiking to keep us motivated to knock out this day of driving to Utah. We drove out of Ouray on the last of the Million Dollar Highway, Route 550 towards Ridgway picking, up Route 50 through Fruita and on to Route 139 to our destination of Vernal, Utah.

A shower along with another fine dinner of enchiladas and the most powerful margarita I’ve ever had, made for a great evening in this little town. If you ever find yourself in Vernal, well I assume you are lost or really like dinosaur tracks but hey, if you do stay there the nicest staff is at the Wyndham Micro Hotel and if you love authentic Mexican food, then I highly recommend a visit to Plaza Mexicana on Main Street. Don’t forget to take your picture with the giant pink dinosaur before leaving town!

After a restful night and a full stomach, we continued north toward Pinedale, Wyoming, planning to camp before hitting the Tetons. This would set us up for an early arrival to Grand Tetons the next morning, allowing an extra few hours in the day to explore the park.

We pulled into Pinedale, stopping to restock our wine supply and invest in a decent bottle of single malt Scotch with the good luck of having a ranger station next door. The first ranger, an older woman, said no way will we find a campsite, but a younger gal told us to ride up the road to Lake Fremont Campground.

Score! This place has earned a spot on my list to return to. Perched in a shaded camp spot overlooking the lake we had a lazy afternoon watching the clouds move across the foothills, threatening a rain that never came.
With the Tetons looming ahead and Yellowstone just a drive away, we settled in for the night—excited for what the next day would reveal. More on that in Part III.

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A Summer Road Trip: Part I

By Bobbie Surber

For as long as I can remember I have loved summer road trips and a chance to camp. My mom tells me (with a bit of frustration in her voice) “you are just like your dad!” True enough, I am that indeed. My dad, being disabled, had restricted mobility but driving, camping, and fishing he could do. I learned at an early age that the mountains meant freedom, that a campfire and a rustic meal cooked over an open flame with my gateway to a good life!
Add to that, Arizona in August is no fun with daily temperatures reaching 100+ degrees and after 10 weeks laying low while Tom recovered from his motorcycle accident we were ready to roll! So, when friends invited us up to Yellowstone we jumped at the chance!

Pulling out of Sedona August 6th for a two-week road trip, car loaded with camping gear, our first stop was Mesa Verde National Park in Colorado. The ancient stone homes you see in the photo at the top of this blog are in Mesa Verde.

As lead-foot Tom tore up Oak Creek Canyon from Sedona to Flagstaff, Arizona we realized if we detoured a half hour we could go to Genaro’s Café, a local favorite for New Mexican food. Easy decision, in three hours I would have a plate of the best enchiladas and tamal in front of me covered with true red chili sauce, not that crap they call enchilada sauce! Try their stuffed Sopapilla if you dare as well as their green chili. God, I want to drive back for another plate just writing about the place.

A full belly, we pulled out of Gallup heading for Shiprock and on to Colorado. Eventually the western town of Cortez that I know so well came into view. Soon we would arrive at our night’s destination.

Mesa Verde National Park is a favorite stop of mine, I’ve camped here countless times on my motorcycles and always feels like coming home. Morefield Campground is spacious, clean and sets you up for visiting the ruins the next day. The highlights of this park are the ranger led tours, four tour options with my favorite being the Balcony House Tour – The most adventurous for sure and involves climbing a 32-foot ladder, crawling through a narrow tunnel, and climbing stone steps with handholds. A one-hour tour focused on how Ancestral Pueblo people lived.

After our adventure back in time we took off for cooler ground, driving along RT 145 from Cortez to Telluride then joining the famous Million Dollar Highway, an epic road filled with tight sweeps and stunning views. Just don’t take your eyes off the road as guard rails can be few and far between!

With a few stops for fuel and campfire wood we made it to our destination for the next three nights camping above one of my favorite towns, Ouray, CO, a turn-of-the-century gold and silver mining town. The area is nicknamed “Switzerland of America” due to its dramatic Alpine setting, complete with restored Victorian homes and hot springs aplenty. We found a sweet remote campsite off Yankee Boy Basin and set up home for the next three nights.

We spent the following days and nights indulging in cold nights around a campfire, hitting our Jamison Whiskey to help with the adjustment to tent camping and hiking some of my favorite trails between Ouray and Silverton.
When you visit, I highly recommend a dip in the hot springs and several waterfall hikes that never disappoint. My favorite being Ice Lake Falls. My last tip is stopping at Ouray Grocery Store, going back to their meat counter, picking up a grass raised hunk of beef and burning that baby on your campfire to a perfect medium rare, serve with a side of potatoes and a nice Malbac and I guarantee you are going to have a great night.