Adaptive Curmudgeon

Photos from my trip (in no particular order). The rock star of my cheap dual sport luggage, a Tusk Tank Bag:

New handguards. Cheaper than a visit to the ER for a wrist x-ray if I drop the bike.

Studly and expensive tent:

Tools and parts which were left with the truck:

Waterproof saddlebag draped over a 1 gallon Rotopax filled with unleaded, with a tool tube tucked inboard of the bracketry.

Sheepskin. Probably the most essential of all equipment.

Cheap-ass offroad lights. I planned absolutely zero riding after dark but things never go according to plan. These dumb $35 lights were a Godsend!

When nature is administering an ass whooping, I usually deliberately slow down. If you’re soaking wet, or cold, or lost, or twisted an ankle, or it’s dark when you planned on being in camp by sunset… you’ve already made one or more “mistakes”. Slow down and exercise caution lest you compound your stupidity. It’s generally not the first mistake that’ll kill ya’, it’s the second or third cascading out of control.

So, did I stick with my experience? Nope! Having gotten absolutely pummeled by thunderstorm a wise man will carefully unpack his bags, get out dry clothes, and get warm and comfy. Do that right away. If you’re super wet you might need to start a fire. If nature has absolutely curb stomped you, you might wind up spending the night right there! I had all my gear with me. The only thing at town was maybe a warm place to sit while eating a hamburger. Alas, I decided to “soldier on” rather than risk letting my dry stuff get wet too. One must make choices. I did.

What I didn’t realize was that the cold was seeping into my joints. I was already sore but now I was slowly “seizing up”. I didn’t recognize the effect on myself.

Oh well.

Strike 0 was the storm. Got caught out in the open and drenched.

Strike 1: the trail turned to thick sticky mud. My front tire tread was completely gummed up. It was hard to steer.

Strike 2: It was going to be dark soon.

Steady. Don’t panic. Tortoise wins, hair loses.

I broke out onto a gravel road. I gained a little speed and flung the mud off the front tire. Nice! It was lightly raining.

The bike went on reserve. Is that strike 3? I’d burned all the fuel in my “main tank” and now was running on the limited portion left. Meh, it’s probably no big deal. I had a gallon of “spare” fuel. Deploying it would be a hassle. I elected to keep running on reserve while the sun was up. If I had to fiddle with straps and stuff, I would do it after the fleeting sun was gone.

I took a turn. Oddly the canyon I hoped for kept not showing up. Was that Strike 3?

I stopped to reconcile my paper map to a digital map on my cell (out of service but the GPS works off grid). I’d jumped off the trail. The BDR meandered into a canyon which surely looked gorgeous but would be a pain in the ass in the dark. The turn I took was shooting straight toward my planned destination of Ten Sleep. Nice. I stuck with my impromptu shortcut. I didn’t want to miss scenery but I’d had enough fun for one day.

The road was cut into a steep hillside; steep wall on one side, drop off on the other. Three mule deer crashed down from the wall… there must be a path up there somewhere. They charged across in front of my bike and leapt down from the road. There must be a trail there too… but for all I know they needed parachutes to land.

The deer were a good omen. I’d be in a warm tavern soon!

Nope. The road was blocked.

Damn!

There’s “tree across the road” and there’s “TREE ACROSS THE ROAD”. This was a beast of a tree, clearly toppled during the windstorm just an hour earlier. It blocked the road perfectly. I couldn’t go off the road to get around it on either the uphill or downhill side. It was way too big to move with one guy’s strength.

I usually carry a little folding saw. It’s something like 6″. It wouldn’t help with this mess and I didn’t have it with me anyway.

I don’t know how many strikes I had against me but was time to regroup and adapt. No more “fleeing to warmth”. I dug through my bags and put on the “base” I’d paid so much for at REI (can you believe it was just a day ago!). I added dry socks and a dry t-shirt. My sweatshirt might never be dry again, but I had a ratty old blaze orange fleece as backup. I swapped from my soaked motorcycle gloves to a backup set. I felt a lot better.

I consulted the map, if I backtracked and then maneuvered through the canyon it would kill maybe 2+ hours just to get a couple miles from where I was standing. After that I’d still have 20 miles of riding left (mostly on pavement). I was tired of riding and elected to not backtrack.

There was no point in hiking out on foot. It was a good 15+ miles from any services. Best to wait and see what happens next. The road could serve as a flat spot should I elect to setup a tent. There was ample firewood… though soaked and low quality.

Camping on the road because it’s blocked is almost a cliché. That was my official “backup plan”. I could whip out my JetBoil and make a warm meal… maybe some hot cocoa.

If nobody showed up by morning I’d build a debris ramp to get up and over the log. As for the evening, the day was officially shot and using a makeshift ramp solo is a “do it in the sunlight” sort of thing. My target of a campground in Ten Sleep and a hamburger served in a warm tavern faded into impossibility.

A few deer hunters showed up on the opposite side of the tree. They piled out of a fairly shiny and new truck. It had no winch. They were polite and very nice.

We chatted. I assured them I was OK. In fact I was considering making cocoa. They asked about mule deer. I’d seen three… very close to my side of the log. They pondered this. They had less than an hour of shooting light and people don’t like to abandon their vehicle. They weren’t willing to hike on my side of the log. They backed up, turned around, and left.

Once again I was alone.

Having seen a truck in only half an hour of waiting, I figured more would come. This was good and bad news. Good news is sooner or later someone would have a winch and a chainsaw. Bad news is that setting up a tent in the road could bite me in the ass. (There was nowhere to camp that was off the road.) After the hassle of setting up a tent I might fall asleep only to have someone show up, clear the log, and roust me out of bed. The minute the log was moved everyone would want the weirdo and his tent out of the way!

I waited a bit more. Another truck showed up. This was bear hunters. The fun kind that drink… lots. Real nice people.

I was offered a Coors Light. Then another Coors Light. I was just warming up and didn’t want ice cold piss water beer, but it couldn’t be avoided. Every time someone saw I had two empty hands they assumed a beer needed to be in one. I accepted a can just to be sociable.

“You’re traveling alone?”

“Yep.”

“You’re nuts.”

“Feels like it right now.”

“What were you going to do if we didn’t show up?”

“Start a small warming fire and setup my tent. I can whip up dinner on my JetBoil and maybe some hot cocoa. I’ve got a cigar so I might enjoy that too.”

They nodded like I was mad. Redneck bear hunters travel in packs and (I guess) never leave the truck. A goofball camping solo by his little bike just doesn’t compute.

They assessed the log and left. They returned ten minutes later with someone in a UTV and the same truck… and more beer. The guy in the UTV seemed a respected elder?

They had redneck labor, a truck, a UTV, beer, and a friendly dog. Did they have a winch? Nope. Did they have a chainsaw? Nope. Eventually someone produced the world’s most tattered rope. Finally! I knew the log would be cleared eventually.

The truck owner, maybe the only sober one in the group, didn’t like the idea of tearing up his truck pulling the giant log. I didn’t blame him. With this labor force I could stack debris to make a ramp up and over in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. I suggested that.

They decided ramps were lame. They’d just dead lift the whole bike over the log… which is a good way for a buzzed redneck to drop a Yamaha from waist high onto his foot. I said “lets see if the truck can move the log first”. That slowed their chaos before things got out of hand.

Meanwhile the dog and the UTV operator were thinking. The UTV guy picked a branch near a break in the half rotten log and said “pull this one”. He’d found a key point of weakness. Well done! The dog concurred by peeing on the branch. The truck operator shrugged and started stringing his frayed old rope.

Voila!

The log pivoted, broke, and a 3′ long hunk was dragged backwards to be kicked into the ditch by helpful observers. Go team redneck!

They were setting up for a second pull but I asked them to pause and let me scoot past. I crushed my empty can of swill and strapped it to the bike, thanked everyone profusely, pet the dog, and zipped away.

They’d been a fun bunch.

Half an hour later I popped out on pavement in the pitch dark. My off road lights worked well. I’d hoped to never need them. Here I was; dependent on them in one day!

Pavement was a twisty canyon; not the short hop I expected. I’m sure it was beautiful. In the dark all I saw was signs warning me of one hairpin turn after the other. It was steep enough that my TW200 rolled down at “traffic speed”. I wasn’t holding anyone up and in fact I never saw anyone. I couldn’t have managed those tight turns any faster in a Lamborghini anyway.

I pulled into Ten Sleep at 8:45 pm. The town, including dogs and cats, goes to bed by 9:00 pm. I had no idea where the brewery was but I’d been assured by the bear hunters it would be closed at this hour. The brewery was associated with the campground. So the campground would be unattended too; even if I could find it.

I saw a hotel. The owner greeted me like a man who holds all the cards. He was closing at 9:00 pm. Did I want a room or not? Hastily, I paid full rate (it wasn’t cheap).

The only place still open for food was a hippie burger place called “One Cow”. Theoretically, they were already closed but they were super nice and made me a burger. The food was excellent but seating was pavilions; outside in the misting rain. So much for a warm dry dinner.

At the hotel I spread my stuff out to dry, took Ibuprofen, called home so people knew I was alive, and collapsed in bed. I was super, extra, mega sore. I couldn’t fall asleep until midnight.

I’d had a stupidly huge portion of “adventure” in just the first day! I hoped the next would be far less dramatic.

I can’t say I didn’t have ample warning. This particular engine of mayhem spent hours building up in the distance; only to steamroll me when the time was right.

Bad luck, the only rock shelter overlooked a small canyon and faced the storm. It would focus the wind and blast me.

Very pretty though.

This “tree” was pathetic shelter… but it was better than the “nothing” that was my other option.

After the brunt of the storm passed, there was a brief period of blue sky and mild showers. I rode through that and slowly dried out.

The air might have been dry-ish but the road surface wasn’t. I dropped from a high area where the trail was wet sand to a slightly different area where the trail was wet mud and sticky cowshit. My front knobby tire packed solid and steering went from “soft” to “practically uncontrollable”.

There was a rainbow. I caught only a sliver of it though.

Sunset looms. Behind “schedule” indeed!

The mystery and joy of “adventures” is that time becomes malleable. It was mid-afternoon and I’d already lived a year’s fun. I’d been through regret and uncertainty as my little bike struggled over a high altitude pass on smooth pavement. I’d been justly pleased with my choices as the rugged little bike climbed over a remote pass on its native habitat of dirt. And now I had settled into a deep feeling of contentment. All concerns of the outside world were irrelevant.

Eating beef jerky and drinking lukewarm water at the more or less unpopulated and completely service free “town” of Hyattville might have been the most mellow moment I’d had in months. All was well with the world.

But of course, that was just part of the story. The rest of the story is that a dark cloud was rumbling in the distance, I was behind “schedule”, and my leg was aching something fierce.

The leg wasn’t a mystery. Normally I swing my leg over the bike like a cowboy getting into a saddle but now that I’d loaded the rear of the bike with all sorts of bulky shit I had to “high kick” to get my right leg over the seat. It was an unnatural use of muscles long neglected. Each time I winced a bit.

As for being behind schedule, I shrugged. There was a campsite at Ten Sleep (and a microbrew with good food it was said). If I got there a little after dark so be it.

As for the cloud, it was what it was. Hopefully I’d make the canyon. Beyond that I had no plans.

The route climbed up onto a long desert flat. From there it looked like it dove into a canyon, squiggled around in the canyon for a while, and then popped out on pavement a scant few miles from Ten Sleep.

I rolled out of town, got up on the exposed flat and happily puttered through the desert. The cloud chased me alarmingly. Nothing I could do about it though. I hoped to get to the canyon before the storm hit. I wasn’t too worried because this isn’t my first rodeo (at least with deserts). In a deep canyon I could hunker down in some nook or cranny. I’d munch on snacks, wait out the storm, and then emerge a little muddy. No big deal.

WRONG!

The empty flat desert got higher, flatter, more exposed, and sandy. It became the textbook definition of a place you don’t want to be when a storm hits and there was nothing I could do about it. The trail’s twists and turns meandered in the general direction but didn’t seem to make much progress. You can’t go faster than you can go and this trail wasn’t smooth enough to let me “hustle”.

The front edge of the storm hit with gusts of wind. Dust devils sprang up at random intervals. The trail wound back and forth. Sometimes I was cross to the wind. Other times I was parallel and it was at my back. Crosswind was hard work but manageable. A gritty stream blasted across my view so intensely I wondered if it would sandblast the paint right off my bike! That seemed unlikely but you had to be there. Even so I could keep the stout little bike upright and chugging along. Whenever I was parallel to the wind it was much worse. Airborne dirt had a chance to build up and it went full “white out”. Maybe that’s the wrong word. I’m a northern guy and “white out” is when blowing snow obscures all vision. I’ve no idea what a “dirt out” is called.

I sought in vain for shelter. Anything, even a rock where I could huddle in the lee away from the wind, would be better than exposed. But there was nothing. Finally the white out completely obscured all vision and there was nothing left to do. I was near a shabby pine. It was bent and scraggly and about as tall as a Christmas tree. That would have to do.

I put down the kickstand right there in the middle of the trail. If a truck came by it might flatten my bike… but I couldn’t see to do anything else. Most likely any truck would be blinded and stopped by the storm too. Plus I had seen a grand total of two motorcycles all day anyway.

I staggered off the bike, pulling my “high kick” muscles mightily in the effort, and stumbled into the tree. Literally… I fell into it’s branches. I have an Aerostich jacket and pants. They’re tough like a fireman’s jacket. I zipped every pocket and closure tight. I left on my helmet. I sat on the dirt.

All hell broke loose!

The leading edge winds had been intense, the ensuing rain was far worse. It was a maelstrom.

Rain fell hard. Giant icy drops the size of marbles. The wind hit like a train and grew with intensity at every gust. The rain landed like shotgun blasts. The planet’s atmosphere seemed focused on my little piece of desert; concentrated into a great flood tide rolling over the human gnat caught in the endless plain!

I expected my Aerostich jacket to handle the rain. It didn’t. It was instantly soaked through. My gloves turned to mush. I was chilled to the bone. The only part of me that stayed dry was the back of my head, where my helmet (which I hadn’t removed) bore the brunt. My face was soaked and windburned.

Well… shit!

I wanted to grab a tarp to wrap around me. Unfortunately, I’d made a mistake when packing. I had a small tarp that packs to about the size of a sandwich. In order to “lighten the load” I’d left it behind. My tent had a suitable ground tarp (that for marketing purposes also has SOS printed on one side… better not let that side show!) but it was rolled with the tent itself. If I opened the tent bag my tent would be instantly soaked. Better to preserve the dryness… that’s where I was going to sleep in a few hours!

Shivering, I thought about the warmer clothes I’d packed. However, I decided to NOT open my waterproof saddlebags. If I opened them while getting blasted by God’s pressure washer, all the contents would be soaked. My sweatshirt, tied to the outside of the mess, was a sponge.

I hunkered down, jerking involuntarily every time lightning struck, and waited. It was a longer wait than I expected. And colder and more miserable too. But it was what it was.

I thought about modern humans. So very few of us have ever been anywhere in nature. Of those that have, most travel in cars or trucks. I thought about sitting in the cab of a Toyota; heater on, windshield taking blasts instead of my face, maybe the radio burbling in the background. Sitting in a chair… with a roof. Damn that sounded nice.

Not for me. I was getting an experience entirely unlike that. Maybe most modern people have no experience with what I endured. To them, it’s a cartoonish camping trip. To me, with the bike almost invisible not 10 feet away, my clothes soaked, my body cold, and no shelter… I fretted that I should have made better choices. I might as well be a caveman shivering under a pelt. Except a caveman would probably be smart enough to arrange shelter better than I had.

But… did I die?

Nah. I ate shit for a while and then the rain let up. Am I not a strong tough biker dude? Is not suffering, at least a little, good for you? As my Grandma used to say “you’re not going to melt!”

Though beaten, demoralized, and soaked, I was still there after the storm. I stood up, shook it off, and high kicked my ass back onto my soaking motorcycle. I was still a long way from town.

Adventure indeed!

After the cattle drive I had to make the first decision of the trip. The path splits in two. There’s an “alternative” (or “advanced”) option and there’s what I can’t help but call the “lame ass wimp” option.

Here I was; looking at the fork in the road. I knew this moment would come. I’d given myself a stern talking to. Here’s my internal rant I gave to myself:

The goal of this trip is to succeed; not to flame out in a blaze of awesome. I’m starting five hundred miles past my comfort zone, each mile hits the afterburner, and despite willingness to do risky shit, I’m still mortal. Having never done anything like this before and given the fact that I’m doing it solo and I chose to employ a “toy” motorcycle… I solemnly promise my future self that I will select every “wimp” chance I get.

Easy peasy right? Wrong! Past Curmudgeon had already rehearsed the right choice at this juncture. Future Curmudgeon really didn’t want to wind up in the ER with a twisted ankle. But Now Curmudgeon… that bastard is fearless!

I sat there like an idiot, astride my cheap little farm bike battling my inner Don Quixote. There’s windmills to tilt! Just you and me Rocinante! Shall we drop the clutch and go for it?

No.

This is not a fucking poem and just being here means I’m on “the road less travelled”. So take a chill pill and go easy on yourself like a rational adult.

I did not take the turn to the East to what the map called “Alt Harder Woodchuck Pass”. I stayed on pavement.

Damn, it’s weird how much I hate leaving a challenge “un-accepted”!

What’s worse is that I was still on pavement and it was silky smooth but it was the absolute worst habitat for me and this particular bike. My TW200 (Honey Badger) has the heart of a lion but the lungs of a chipmunk. The road was a long smooth steady climb and there’s just not enough oxygen up there. The single piston 200cc carbureted lawnmower-ish engine was struggling. I gave it absolutely every bit of throttle and downshifted. We crawled higher and higher.

The TW200 is a brick shithouse of a machine. I’m not sure what it would take to melt the poor air cooled beast into slag… but I’m sure I was pushing it. Flat out giving it all she got we kept climbing. I downshifted again. The engine didn’t seem hot but it was clearly struggling. How long could this continue?

I feared my equipment was going molten not 10 miles out. And that’s just from rolling on smooth pavement! What did the “expert” section hold? Dragons?

I started to have doubts. I have a Honda PC800 and a Honda Shadow 1100 and both have gobs of spare power. Both would blast up this hill like it wasn’t there… and with liquid cooling, they’d do it without stress.

Maybe I took the wrong bike. Maybe this is all a mistake.

At the peak I stopped and let the suffering bike cool.

I paced about calming myself. It’s just altitude… at some point there’s no more altitude left. This is your first “adventure ride” but not your first mountain campout. Chill out!

And I did. As soon as the pass was over we plunged thousands of feet into Shell Canyon. The bike coasted happily, barely over idle. I still felt stupid. I was coming out of the clouds at a relaxing 50 MPH, which is stupidly slow. The pavement was smooth and orderly; perfect for canyon cruising! I’d brought a toy where a street bike belonged.

At Shell Canyon I crossed into dirt… finally! From there everything brightened. Instead of feeling stupid at 50 MPH on a ribbon of pavement I was a happy camper at 40 MPH on a mellow dirt road.

I no longer longed for my pavement bound bikes… I was finally in the right world! The dirt road was unremarkable, just dirt. I began to have heretical thoughts about scooters. Would an Honda ADV 160, a scooter with a tiny 160cc powerplant but with fuel injection, serve better than my archaic “farmbike”?

As if in answer, the road started climbing.

No big deal to Honey Badger. The climb on dirt was less steep and slowed by rocks and gravel. It was starting to look like terrain a scooter might not like.

A few miles later I broke into “private road”.

Private roads (at least ranch roads) are a little less maintained than Forest Service roads. It wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle, but it was enough to get my attention. I was thoroughly enjoying myself.

The scenery… it was gorgeous. Miles and miles of sky and mountain… with cows here and there. It was glorious. For the first time, I hit my groove. I’d done well. It was a good place to be.

Did I mention the road kept climbing? Soon it was back on Forest Service maintenance but it was still quite remote.

I topped out somewhere around 8,600′ and finally went back down. Somewhere around there my GPS battery died and it’s not like the “pass” had a sign. So I’m not 100% sure where the pass was.

No matter, I’d planned for things like that and frankly I prefer paper maps anyway. It was still a surprise that the damn GPS conked halfway into day 1. I put my GoPro on the handlebars and the GPS wound up wasting space in my saddlebags.

I think, but don’t know, that this photo is from Snowshoe Pass. See that tiny little dirt road… is there anything more inviting than that? And yes, that’s where I was headed.

I was happy to drop down in elevation. The day warmed up. My sweatshirt, which had been essential, was now dead weight. I strapped it to my gear, where it gathered dust like my own personal Swiffer.

I’d meant to ride without it but just didn’t trust the thermal underclothes I’d bought. I’d paid top dollar for a thermal top and bottom at an REI with a 94 degree parking lot just the day before. I was still smarting from the elitist burn of doing business with snobs. What cretins like me call “thermal underwear” is “base layer” to REI staff… and then shortened to “base” in some sort of anti-deplorable signaling. Whatever the case may be that meant I had a floppy sweatshirt in an environment where I shouldn’t have used it in the first place. Oh well.

The ride got prettier and prettier. I stopped to hydrate and eat a snack. The ride was a workout. It would be easy to get dehydrated!

All this time I’d seen nobody.

I thought I might find “civilization” at a place called Paintrock Lodge. I might be able to get a cold coke and a hamburger. When I passed it I was too happy riding to stop.

A few miles later I wound up lost in Medicine Lodge Lake campground. It was the first place I’d met anyone. I think people accessed that area from the other side and I’d come in from the “mountains” side. I wound up chatting with a nice older fella camping there. He pointed me to the “trail”.

Boy did the “trail” change! It went from “road you could take a basic F150 on without fretting” to “maybe a lifted Toyota if you know what you’re doing”. This was the first section that was more like an ATV trail.

The photo doesn’t do it justice.

Then again, my bike isn’t a wimpy bike and I’m not a complete wuss. We climbed though a couple miles of that and burst into yet a totally different environment.

Just look at it! It’s called Bighorn’s Viewpoint. GLORIOUS!

As I was gazing at eternity two motorcycles rolled up. They were dual sport riders from far away. They were outfitted like absolute pros. The two of them had done three BDRs counting this one. They were almost done, I was just starting (remember I chose to do the trail “backwards”).

We chatted a bit and then they saddled up and zoomed off. I felt pretty inadequate. They had better gear, better skills, and excellent hair. I was just a dusty guy on his first real ride.

Highlight of our discussion; “Traveling alone eh?” Raised eyebrow. “That certainly adds to the challenge.”

I’m not good at speaking human. I’d like to think he was impressed but I’m guessing he was calculating the odds I’d be vulture meat within the week.

Having dragged myself away from the viewpoint, the trail turned back into a road.. though a steep and messy one. As usual, the camera makes a steep decline look flat. Trust me on this, it wasn’t.

Soon I broke out of the trees and into the arid, sagebrush of a long steep steady decline back into what one might call “civilization”.

You might think this was boring, but it wasn’t. Not to me. I’m not a “technical” rider nor a “speed” guy. I like ambling… and this was perfect.

Somewhere around there my GoPro battery died. Honestly I’ve never looked at my GoPro files. I was there, I wanted to avoid getting swept up in “documenting it”. The GoPro rode the rest of the day on my handlebar deader than a doornail.

Eventually I popped out at what the map calls “Hyattville (No Gas)”. I’d already had a hell of an adventure. Views to last a lifetime! I sat on a log next to a bar that was out of business, drank a ton of water, and ate snacks. What a perfect day!

But the day wasn’t even close to over! Stay tuned because what I thought would be a mellow cruise to my evening destination of Ten Sleep was absolutely not mellow. So much “stuff” got crammed in my first day!

I try to avoid personal details in my blog. I know that anonymity and blogging are pretty much polar opposites but I give it a shot. One effect of that is that when folks make a donation they don’t always get feedback. (I try to send a personal thank you note each time but I’m not very disciplined and sometimes forget.)

Anyway, here’s two peeks behind the curtain.

The much appreciated chainsaw repair:

A handful of folks signed up to support me on Patreon. They may be forgiven for thinking I don’t notice but I do. Each month Patreon ships me a few bucks from my handful of fans. Also an occasional one time donation floats in from Patreon or “Buy Me A Coffee”. The links are on the right side of the page.

The funds sit in a PayPal account. They are not forgotten, they are stored.

Last week I tried to cut firewood but my chainsaw was obstreperous. The damn thing just didn’t want to start.

I don’t blame the saw. I use it pretty hard and it’s not new. All things require maintenance.

On the other hand, I keep that saw in top notch condition and I kinda’ freaked out it was dead. I want to always have a saw that starts. It’s gotta’ start every time! First of all, I might need it in an emergency. The second reason is pure utility. When a saw balks at starting it’s easy to lame your arms out yanking on the starter cord. If it doesn’t start right away I wear myself out with the saw and then (once it sputters to life) I can’t get enough work done with the remainder of my strength.

So… dead saw. Shit happens. Possibly it’s an easy fix but winter is coming and I don’t have a lot of time. I chucked the saw in my pickup and hauled ass to the saw repair guy. I got there just before he closed and dropped off my Stihl at what I’m calling “the saw spa”.

In unrelated news I’ve had cascading household expenses this month. Don’t fret. I’ll recover in due time, but at the moment it has overwhelmed my resources. I’m totally tapped out. When the saw guy called “come pick up your saw” I had no cash to buy it out of hock. Dammit!

After a few minutes I realized I could tap PayPal, scoot it to the saw guy, and get back in the firewood business. The saw guy was a little skeptical. I live in the hinterland. Some weirdo trying to pay with PayPal is a lot like if I showed up with some junk silver or tried to barter with a few bottles of top end whiskey.

But… the transfer worked. To his surprise and my delight he got paid and I got my saw back.

Thanks!

The sleeping bag of happiness:

I link to Amazon from time to time. I don’t wish to “monetize” my site so much as when I buy a thing and it’s cool or works well I’d happily spare other people the need to “reinvent the wheel”. I know I like recommendations when I see them on other blogs.

Anyway, if you click the link on my blog and buy anything, I get a small kickback. It doesn’t have to be the thing I’m talking about. Suppose I really like my little Red Camp portable wood stove and link to it. Suppose you click the link, think the stove is for dorks, and buy a nuclear powered Russian icebreaker instead. Amazon is perfectly happy sending me a kickback on the icebreaker. (Also if someone reading this buys a Russian icebreaker. Please for the love of God let me take a ride! And why the hell was it for sale on Amazon?)

Anyway the kickbacks take the form of a small trickle of Amazon gift certificates. It’s highly variable. Some months I’ll get nothing. Some months it’s a pittance. (This month I’m sitting at a little over $2.50) The entirety of last year I only got $30 (for the whole damn year!). But other times I recommend something that resonates and several people buy it. Or someone clicks the link and then buys something expensive. (Once a person bought a hot water heater! It was like a party to me!) This July, for no reason I can tell, people bought lots of little stuff and I “earned” over $100! Wow!

All these gift certificates sit unused, sometimes for years. Until I need them. You know how I bought a sleeping bag and saddlebags for my most recent adventure? Well those were partially covered with Amazon gift cards. (Not entirely, but every bit helps.)

So there ya’ go. Y’all bought Amazon stuff that y’all wanted, and that led to me getting the saddlebags and sleeping bag I desperately needed for my recent adventure. I think of it as a cycle of good vibes. Yah, I sounded like a nerd when I typed that sentence. What do the kid’s say? Cringe?

Whatever, they’re just kids. Cringe or not, I very much appreciate my gear staying dry and my body not freezing on my last adventure.

Thanks!

Leaving Lovell WY.

No further pictures from the climb up route 14A. This was taken after all the exciting parts were done and I pried my hands off the steering wheel.

Bear Lodge is a little rundown but it’s also a perfect wilderness lodge. It has everything you need; food, beer, fuel, lodging, camping, etc… I liked it there.

Camping the night before the big adventure.

My bike before I start strapping shit to it.

Add water and gas (1 gallon each) using Rotopax.

Add saddlebags and the very handy tank bag.

Then… all hell breaks loose and you hope the RokStraps will save you.

[When I left this story I was in my Dodge blasting down the highway with a motorcycle on a trailer and some camping gear in the back seat. I was heading south out of Montana; muttering under my breath “me and my fuckin’ adventures”.

The Cliffs Notes recap is that I intended to ride the very remote thousand mile long Wyoming Backcountry Discovery Route (WYBDR) on a diminutive little Yamaha TW200. I didn’t have enough time to do the whole thing so I had a half-assed plan to do half the trip and then bail out to a U-Haul to get back to my truck. I would be doing my “half BDR” solo and “backwards”. Because of course I was.]

I needed (chose) to start at Burgess Junction WY. That’s waaaaaaay up in the Bighorn Mountains. (You might think Wyoming has only one mountain range and that’s the Rockies but such notions are oversimplifying. The Bighorns aren’t exactly small.) I could come to Burgess Junction from the east on a mountain pass that showed up as a squiggly mess on the map (route 14). Or I could come from the west following a slightly less squiggly line (route 14A).

I chose the western access, last fueling up at Lovell WY. You don’t know what you don’t know and the less squiggly road was far more um… interesting. The climb from Lovell to Burgess Junction was long, steep, and impressive. I’d just serviced my truck and I was damn glad I’d done so! Route 14A is closed in winters and I know why!

Wikipedia tells me that my truck and I climbed over a pass at 9,430′. I personally estimate it at 50,000′ but I’m biased. Once I got “over the hump” things leveled out (sorta) at a great beautiful high mountain prairie. With great relief I let the truck’s engine cool down and practically idled into Burgess Junction.

I didn’t expect many services but thought Burgess Junction WY might be a small village. It’s not. There is damn near nothing up there except the Bear Lodge Resort. (There might be other resorts a few miles away hidden in the National Forest. I didn’t explore the area.)

Luckily I’d planned to launch from Bear Lodge Resort anyway. I’d made arrangements to leave my truck there during my ride. (This was more like “yah’ whatever, park it where you want” than a formal secure lot.) I had reservations (which were unnecessary this late in the season) and camped in their expansive though shabby campground. I ate at the completely adequate restaurant and found myself reluctant to let go of the Lodge’s Wifi. There’s no cell service up there and it felt like I had a million loose ends to tie up… which was more stress than reality.

It was my first night in my new tent and the first real test of my camping gear on site. I’d bought a Lone Rider ADV tent and will forever fret that I spent oodles of money on it. (The acquisition of the tent is a story in itself.) Anyway, I’d set it up once to make sure I had all the parts and this was only my second use of it. The same is true of my Big Agnes Diamond Park 15 Degree bag. I’d originally intended to carry lighter cheaper gear but now I was in the end of the season and weather conditions could get crazy fast. So, I’d bought “the best”. My air mattress (which is NOT optional for these kinds of sleeping bags) is a Therm-a-Rest NeoAir Topo (which I inflated with a Giga Pump 2.0). I even had a pillow: the Nemo Fillo.

I spent years honing my “truck camping system” to deploy fast, fast, fast. This smaller, lighter, more complex gear takes longer to deploy. This frustrates me but I wanted the right level of comfort (in part as a safety thing) and had sacrificed the simplicity of “I tossed a tarp on the ground and slept there like a dog”. Choices must be made.

Nearby free range cows were making a racket. Other than that it was dark and quiet. At first I thought my fancy sleeping bag was a stupid affectation. Later, as the air cooled I zipped up and snuggled in. By dawn I’d decided every penny spent was worth it!

I’d slept OK but the high elevation wore on me. Bear Lodge is at about 8,300′.

Back at the Bear Lodge’s restaurant I practically crawled into my cup of coffee trying to wake up. I clung to wifi like a urban wimp. I decided to treat myself to the last shower I’d have in a while. This cost $3. Then I had to “rent” a towel for an additional $3. I didn’t like the idea of “renting” a towel and further the towel was literally threadbare. But, hygiene is good.

Plus, I was procrastinating.

I had all my motorcycle gear carefully planned out but it still took a while to strap up my Nelson Riggs Hurricane Dual Sport Saddlebags. They work great but there’s a spiderweb of straps that must be managed. I had wanted soft bags rather than heavier (and expensive) hard bags but I cursed under my breath over the hassle. It took a while to take down my tent and roll up my sleeping pad and stuff sack my sleeping bag. More frustration came when I tried to put it all on my bike. I obviously had too much shit.

I’d carefully planned everything I’d take. But I’d been too optimistic. In a fit of realism I chucked about a third of my stuff. My nicely programmed Baeofeng HAM handheld? Gone! Extra snacks… reduced! Etc…

Finally, in the most manly “equipment lightening” manner I took my clothes sack and reduced my count of clean underwear by half. That was brutal! But you gotta’ do what you gotta’ do.

It was not the early morning start I’d hoped for, but I’m only human.

I rolled out on my heavily laden little motorcycle late, nervous, and wondering if I was totally out of my league.

This is the whole point. I have a comfort zone, and it’s a pretty damn expansive one, but I was well and truly out of it now.

The first part of my trip was on pavement, which was disappointing. Immediately, I rode smack dab into the middle of a cattle drive! How cool is that?

I worried my lame little bike with it’s lawnmower engine whine might spook the cows more than their usual audio environment of Ford F150s. So I idled by with maximum caution. Now I knew why the cows had been uneasy last night. They, like me, were “in transit”.

I estimated 200 cows and counted 7 cowboys. These were real cowboys. Men on horseback with non-ironic chaps and giant hats that somehow held tight enough to not blow away in the mountain wind. They had grim faces and were working hard. They were accompanied by working dogs, equally busy with the task at hand.

I idled quietly on the opposite side of the pavement. A meek tourist watching a trainload of steak shuffle past; skillfully escorted by horse mounted testosterone and some smart dogs.

I took no pictures. I was there. I saw it. That’s all I need.

I was only 5 miles past where I’d setup my tent. What an excellent greeting to the trail!

Of course there’s more! Stay tuned!

I finally did “tame” motocamping on my tame bike. It was everything I wanted it to be!

The Honda Pacific Coast 800 has a huge bedonkadonk. S0me folks love it, some folks hate it, the motorcycle buyer’s market of the 1990’s rejected it, but I love it. Without spending a lot of effort optimizing gear I just stuffed a bunch of camping shit in the bedonkadonk. The only thing that didn’t fit was my tent and sleeping bag. Those rode well on the pillion. (“Pillion” is the passenger’s seat.) By comparison, back when I did trips on my cruiser (with normal saddlebags), I had to have an unwieldy backpack (albeit one meant for motorcycles) strapped to the sissy bar.

On the PC800, everything rode super smooth. No bullshit straps or bags flapping in the wind.

Behold the wonder and glory as I open the bedonkadonk to grab my sunglasses without unstrapping the crap on top. Very handy!

The campground was glorious and empty. There was nary a sound but the leaves rustling. I would expect the same spot to be a zoo in mid summer.

The area has had a few hard frosts, so the bugs are mostly gone. Autumn is truly the best season.I don’t care what anyone says, it’s a sweet looking bike.

For the WYBDR I bought (at great expense and with no small amount of consternation) a Lone Rider ADV tent. (I’ll discuss the tent in detail later.) It’s made specifically for motorcycle riders. It only makes sense to buy such a special tent if you’re batshit crazy enough to try your hand at a remote solo crossing of Wyoming mountains and deserts. However, now that I own it, there’s no reason I shouldn’t enjoy it even on tame campgrounds.

Before you Google the tent, I warn you that it’s stupidly expensive. When you see the price, it may cause organ failure. It nearly killed me. But it is a pretty good tent and ideally designed to fill the niche in which I’m using it. It rolls up small but not too small.

It’s a stout short tent. It looks a little floppy but don’t let that fool you. It sheds the wind like a boss. I started calling it “turtle tent”. (If you ride solo enough you’ll start naming things weirdly just like I do.)

I had to buy firewood and then strap it on my bike. I much prefer bringing my own, but that’s only possible when camping by Dodge. I feel like those little wood bundles are unfairly too small.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I couldn’t help but take too many photos of my bike.

A campfire is the cure to almost any mental stress.

Dawn was as gorgeous as I could hope for.

I chose to carry my JetBoil (with French press accessory) instead of my percolator.

The coffee was just as good.

I brought my shortwave. I like to listen to the universe during the night. When you camp solo it’s wise to allocate some space in your gear for “toys”.

If you’re in a situation where you can, get out there and enjoy autumn. It’s fleeting. Migrating birds won’t be in the sky forever.

What a delightful turn of events! I had a great adventure on the WYBDR and have been dutifully writing up the whole thing. It really was a heck of an experience. But now I’ve happily interrupted my own blogging.

I left the situation on Friday’s post with a “cliffhanger”. I was somewhat adequately equipped, had a half assed (likely unworkable) plan, and was a few hour’s drive from my chosen trailhead. Would I persevere or get trampled by elk? Over the weekend I’d write more.

Except I was derailed by reality. I was messing with my new tent (purchased for the WYBDR) with the intention to “air it out” and shake off the desert dust. I hate doing “maintenance” on camping gear but it’s a thing that must be done.

The weather was glorious. Why putter around in the basement with tents? Isn’t the best way to air out equipment from one adventure by taking it on the next? Hadn’t I bought a PC800 (Marshmallow Fluff) specifically with the intention of lazy campground trips? Isn’t life fleeting? Why was I not camping in the sunny autumn air?

Why not indeed?!?

An hour later I was on the road. Some of the same gear that had soldiered through the aggressive WYBDR strapped to a hungry little dirtbike was now strapped to the tame and pavement oriented motorcycle I purchased (used) last year. The sun was shining, the skies clear, why not carpe the hell out of the diem? I took my bad ass tent and hard core sleeping bag to a mellow campground. I camped there like a plain old square. Good for me!

There were some hiccups. I misjudged distance and wound up riding much further than intended. I had in mind an area that has gorgeous trees. I figured the autumn colors would be at or near peak. Not everyone will ride from one climactic zone to another to see a pretty leaf. I will. Luckily, it was on smooth pavement and the PC800 was made to eat miles like a boss. I did get my tent up before sunset but wound up cooking a Mountain House dinner in the dark.

The Honda PC800, with it’s huge storage compartments (I call it “bedonkadonk”) seems to hold roughly the same volume as a smallish/medium camper’s backpack. For a quick overnight that’s plenty. I did have to strap the tent and sleeping bag on the rear pillion. The rest was stashed in internal compartments; air mattress, food, Jetboil, a small folding chair, my shortwave radio, some clothes, a camp pillow, coffee, and the Neo2 on which I’m typing this post. The two things strapped externally worked well with my dusty and well used RokStraps. They rode like they were welded in place.

I took pictures on my cell phone until the battery died. (I recharged it with my Noco GB20 but clearly I need to get serious about “gadget management.) I never turned on my SpotX, though I brought it. Tragically, I forgot to bring liquor. Then my flashlight died… which is ok (I ain’t afraid of the dark and the GB20 functions as a light if needed).

I sat by the fire (in a much smaller chair than a carry on my truck camping trips) and enjoyed the dark (sober for once). It was just as relaxing as always. The campground was basically abandoned; perhaps 3 units occupied out of dozens.

So if you’re wondering why I delayed the write up of doing the WYBDR with a Yamaha TW200 it’s because I was motocamping with a Honda PC800. Good excuse eh?

I’ll post this as soon as I get back “on grid”. Pictures will probably follow. (Note: the next day I had my camera charged up but I was lazy and only took a few photos. I’ve been taking fewer photos and spending more time “in the now”.)

Camping was a good idea. We live in a toxic society. One must be based as hell or they’ll get swept away in the chaos. I implore you to all take care of yourselves. Media is bitching and moaning about politics and it’s doing nobody any good. I think we can safely say that no matter what happens it’ll be stupid and emotionally incontinent. Given that truth, have you availed yourself of the healing power of nature? You should. In a world gone mad, never hesitate to turn off the TV (or cell phone) and go look at the night sky.

I did. It was glorious. Happy camping y’all!