WYBDR: Seeking The Groove

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!