Adaptive Curmudgeon

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!

[Note: I’m using real map data so you can follow along on Google Maps or the WYBDR page, should you care to do so.]

“You can’t always get what you want. But if you try sometimes, well you just might find, you get what you need.”

The WYBDR is 8 sections and a little under a thousand miles; starting at the southern border of Wyoming (adjacent to Colorado) and ending at the northern (literally dead ending at the Montana line on a remote dirt road). A section a day is (presumably) a mellow conservative rate of travel; exceeded by many but probably valid for a solo geezer riding carefully on a slow bike. So that’s 8 days.

You can do it faster (and many do) but I didn’t want to lock myself into rosy assumptions. A mechanical malfunction, running out of fuel, a twisted ankle, a bout of food poisoning, heavy rain… virtually anything can cause a delay and undoubtedly something will. I started by counting on 8 days of plodding to include some cushion for “shit happens”.

Meanwhile, the big honkin’ limitation to a dual sport (unlike an ADV) had me completely baffled. I needed to trailer my bike to the trail-head and at the end of the WYBDR somehow get back from the trail’s end to where I left the truck & trailer. I don’t know about you, but I lack the ability to teleport.

It wouldn’t be a short distance either. Being conservative; the time needed to grind my little dual sport across the state is “I’m not fuckin’ doing it”. I’d need a vehicle suitable for not just pavement but interstate highways. Even if I “assume I can somehow pull a Toyota Camry out of my ass” it would take 1-2 days to get back to the truck. What I needed is a one way rental between wherever I end up (where there is no car rental service… because Wyoming) and where I parked my truck & trailer (which also lacks car rental service… because Wyoming). I contacted car rental places all over the state. I got quoted prices between “insane” and “what in God’s name are they thinking”.

I also contacted a few “outfitters”. There are people that rent bikes for the BDR! I had no idea. Then again renting a bike would cost as much as airfare to Paris. (I’m just spitballing here, the point it’s not cheap.) Even if it was free, using a rental would put me on a bike with which I’m not familiar. Yours truly, a solo geezer, did not want additional uncertainties in the equation. Also, my plucky little TW200 would surely hear about it and shiv me in my garage if I left it behind. (A note about the outfitter, he tried really hard to figure out a solution to my dilemma it’s just that there wasn’t one in my budget level. Also, he was very encouraging. “On a TW you’ll make it but you’ll earn it.” He was a really great guy!)

To make matters worse, my calendar had a great big steel anchor holding it back! I had to be in a place at a time and there was no escaping it. That place was not in Colorado, near the start, but Montana, near the end. Which made it doubly impossible because I’d need to ride the dual sport 8 days heading north, sacrifice a goat to spontaneously generate a street car rental, only to need at least a day to cross back to my abandoned truck way down south near Colorado, and then I’d have to turn back north again! (And it depended on making the rental magically disappear.) Nobody wants to drive across Wyoming four times (once on a dual sport). That last drive north with the empty trailer, hoping to find my bike locked to a fencepost or some shit, load up, and then somehow get to my hard deadline up north would probably kill me.

I was screwed!

I could wait until after the deadline. But summer is fleeting. At 9;000’ elevation snow could happen any time.

I made a compromise. I’d go before the deadline of doom but split the difference on the BDR. I planned to do only ½ the WYBDR. For that, I won’t apologize or mope. Life is short and it’s better to do something that’s half-awesome than do nothing at all. By the way, great herds of people fall into the trap of doing nothing because the ideal is impossible. Don’t be like that. “I’ll do that cool thing when I’ve got more money, or when I’m retired, or after I accomplish this or that career milestone.” Fuck that! Do what you can. Do it when you can.

“The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation.”

I finally worked out a complex schedule. It was a dumb plan but it was the only thing I could come up with. The only thing going for it was that it was at least theoretically possible.

Here goes:

I’d park on the north end of section 7 (Burgess Junction, WY). Section 8 (which dead ends and basically loops back to Burgess Junction) could be (reluctantly) ignored.

From there I’d head south (“backwards on the map”) through three sections. I’d camp at Ten Sleep, then at Shoshoni, then at Atlantic City. That’s 3 of 8 sections.

The next section seems to have the reputation as the biggest, hardest, longest section. That would be (viewed backwards) Atlantic City to Alcova. There are several places where there’s “optional” parts of the trail. Atlantic City to Alcova has an “expert” option (which is printed on the map) and a “new” section (which was on my GPS units). I planned to avoid the expert portion, then somewhere in the middle of section 4 turn completely off the BDR entirely.

This is where my plan got fuzzy. I’d skip around Alcova and take a line I’d found on a map called Poision Spider Road. It’s a dirt road, which (on the map at least) led straight into Casper. There are no services anywhere out there. (And I’d heard that Atlantic City didn’t have much.)

I’d just have to find someplace and camp… I guess. I gave myself 2 days to get from Atlantic City to Casper… with no real idea how that 2 days would work. I figured I had gear and food and (hopefully?) enough gas. Somehow it would happen.

At Casper I’d rent a one way U-Haul. (And I made reservations well in advance.)

I’d drive it to Sheridan with the bike in the back. I might sleep one night in the U-Haul or avail myself of a hotel. (I’m only human.)

Dropping the U-Haul at Sheridan still put me and my dual sport well away from my truck still parked at Burgess Junction. The main paved pass from Sheridan at low elevation to the high elevation pass would leave my little bike gasping for air and crawling. I’d have a line of pissed off people with real modern cars behind me. I’d probably get flattened by a Freightliner.

The alternative were some Forest Service roads that cut cross county to Burgess Junction. It looked like one very fun adventure day’s ride to close the gap. Obviously I was geared up for it. Would I have the time?

After getting to Burgess Junction (assuming I didn’t melt the TW200 grinding up the pass), I’d load on a trailer, catch a night’s sleep, and then get back to “civilization” with my Dodge. I wanted to arrive for my “deadline of doom” appointment no later than the evening before. That way I could go to a hotel, get a real night’s sleep, and take a shower in the morning. My goal being to look less like a madman than I really am.

Well that’s what I had come up with. It was a plan. It was not a good plan. It was a bad plan. Maybe it was a “plan”. Life is like that.

With a lot of trepidation I turned south from I-90 at Billings (stopping at REI for last minute gear). I remember mumbling under my breath “me and my fuckin’ adventures”.

You know the plan is doomed. You’ll have to keep reading to see how…

I don’t like when “adventures” involve shopping. However, sometimes you need good gear. Luckily, my bike didn’t need much. The essentials remain totally stock and all I added was small details. I’m as impressed as anyone that it worked. I ran that poor beast to somewhere around 9,500’ elevation on a bone stock carburetor! Honey Badger is tough as nails and didn’t give a shit. So long as I kept it in a low gear she’d climb to the moon… at the speed of patience.

Before departure I paid a shop to install handguards. They look cool. I probably overpaid but I like the idea of not breaking fingers or bending levers if I dump the bike. I did an oil change too. I wanted handlebar risers but parts weren’t in stock locally and I had no time to wait. I wanted to change the chain but ran out of time.

I’d been fiddling with cheap aftermarket lights ($35!!!) but hadn’t installed them. In 2023 I wired switches but I hadn’t figured out the light mounts. In desperation, I paid a welder to solve all my problems. I was as surprised as anyone when I flipped switches that have been wired but unused all this time and everything functioned. This was done 3 days before departure.

I’d also wired a super heavy duty cigarette lighter. This was meant to power my air compressor. This would go with the new patch kit I’d acquired. I also bought new tubes. Unfortunately, the tubes were too big to carry. They remained behind in my truck.

I installed a plug so I can use my Noco GB20 to jump start the bike directly. That eliminated carrying jumper clips. During the ride I depleted my GB20 trying to keep my cell phone charged. Good thing I didn’t need a jump (and I can bump start).

I installed a sheepskin. The OEM seat sucks. It’s not a perfect solution but it’s DEFINITELY an improvement.

I bought a Tusk Olympus (Large) tank bag, which was the thing I used most (aside from the lights which were life savers).

My bike has Milwaukee Packouts that stack on the Cycleracks back rack. (Note: I get a small kickback from Amazon if you buy anything. I have no association with Cycleracks at all.) It also has Rotopax containers on hard racks; 1 gallon Rotopax gas can on one side, 1 gallon Rotopax water can on the other side. They’re overkill but I used them anyway. No point in going “light” on water and gas, at least until I’d seen a BDR myself.

The Packouts are glorious for afternoon fun rides but didn’t work well for the heavier packing of multiple days. That frustrated me! With the clock ticking, I purchased Nelson Riggs Hurricane Dual Sport Saddlebags. When the saddlebags didn’t fit over the very wide ass of a TW200 with 2 Rotopax, I called them. They recommended a Velcro extension. I ordered it right away and it did exactly what I needed.

I have a tool tube but didn’t like the high mounting I’d used for years. I paid the welder to weld a mounting plate to one of the Rotopax brackets. This moved it lower and it rode flawlessly.

In something not quite panic but approaching one, I purchased a shitload of tools, components, replacement bits, and other emergency errata. I’ll describe it all some other time. I crammed all that stuff onto my heavily loaded bike. It rode well but I needed almost none of it. Does that mean it was dumb? I don’t think so.

I bought a Zdrag. I didn’t use that either. It felt like overkill but then again I only have to need it once.

Also, solo. Solo changes things.

I tested out my existing tent and it wasn’t going to work. I bought a new tent; that’s a story for another day. I tested a cool sleeping solution that sounded great but it wasn’t good either. I whimpered about the cost but bought a new sleeping bag. The tent and bag were big ticket items for this trip but they did indeed serve me well.

At the last minute I picked up an overpriced REI compression sack. It turned out to be worth it’s weight in gold. I got some thermal underwear too. The elite douchebag at REI insisted on calling it “base” (as if “base layer” is too many letters for the truly enlightened). Also they wouldn’t give me a bag to carry my purchases because Greta Thumberg would cry or something. I put up with their shit when I need the very best gear but I dislike REI in general. The store reminds me of the person who hangs an Ansel Adams calendar on their cubicle and then lectures me (who really goes out in the shit) about “mother nature”.

Buying fancy camping gear was particularly nerve wracking. But it had to be done. If “a million miles from nowhere in Wyoming” isn’t a time for good gear what is?

Mrs. Curmudgeon helped by insisting I get whatever I felt necessary. I think she wants me to live. That’s so hot!

I programmed my Baeofeng handheld (HAM radio) with NOAA weather channels and all the WY repeaters… then left it behind. Not enough room. I loaded navigation gadgets with GPS waypoints. I charged everything that needed charging.

I did absolutely nothing about my riding clothes. I have an Aerostich suit, a cheap but full face helmet, adequate boots, and two pairs of gloves (one nibbled on by mice). That’s what I’d wear to cruise the interstate and it’s what I’d use on a BDR. It’s what I own. It was a bit bulky but otherwise OK.

My truck decided it wanted in on the fun. I dropped a shitload of cash rectifying deferred maintenance for the Dodge. This included a rear brake job. A few days after that “annoying” expense I was rolling down a steep Wyoming mountain pass at 9% grade for miles. The brakes functioned like a boss. Money well spent!

Finally the day came. There was no more I could do in the time allotted. I climbed in my Dodge and rolled out with my TW200 “Honey Badger” perched on the trailer.

I breathed a deep breath. I was more nervous than I’ve been in years. Which was the whole point.

You’re never quite as ready as you’d like.

Once mentally committed to the WYBDR, it’s “most remote” warning became the most important fact. Combine that with “solo” and I was no longer screwing around. It was time to exercise care. The first step in preparation was to make sure my camping/motorcycle gear is top notch. It wasn’t. I threw money at the problem (actually a lot less than you’d think) and that seemed to help. Then I obsessed over my motorcycle.

My motorcycle choice is “unorthodox” (and I’m sure many people I met on the trail silently muttered “lame” when they saw it). The Yamaha TW200 looks oddly toy-ish but it is an unkillable spud of a bike and has the heart of a lion. Yamaha launched it in 1987 as an “ATV Killer”. (It failed. Look how many ATVs are around!) It’s crude and obsolete and silly and slow. It’s more suited to hauling a bucket of feed to your cattle than grand adventures. It costs about 1/3 what the cheapest ADV costs and has 1/50th the cool factor. (Many, perhaps most(?) of the riders I actually met on the BDR spent more on their hard bags than I did on my whole motorcycle!)

Suffice to say, a TW200 is NOT well suited to State spanning distances. Only a loon would try.

Then again maybe the world needs more loons? As far as I’m concerned there’s a true thing that we should never overlook:

“The best motorcycle for a trip is the one you have.”

Also, I trust my little death turtle. That’s huge! Even if I could afford a new or used “Adventure bike” (ADV), it would add uncertainty to my calculations. I’ve flogged my uncomplaining TW200 like a rented mule. It just keeps going. It has done anything I’ve ever gotten into my fool head. I bought that dumb little brick because I always want to get home… if slowly.

When you’re solo and remote it’s time to distrust technology and avoid things like a high center of gravity. ADV bikes look super cool but they’re technological wonders. For example, they have anti-lock brakes, which is almost a necessity to handle their mass on rough ground. The TW200 is so lame it has a drum brake on the back! Then again it’s so small and slow that the drum and the front disk are sufficient. (I said sufficient, not impressive.) The overlooked advantage is there are no sensors, circuits, or gadgets to break. The brakes are sufficient but also hard to break.

The TW200 is squat and not super comfortable. ADVs are tall and have excellent suspension, in part because you need it to handle an ADV crunching over rocks. The TW200’s short dumb suspension beats the hell out of the rider but it too has little to break. And it’s so short, the ground ain’t far away if you dump it.

I theorize the whole ADV idea (which is super popular) is necessarily a series of compromises. Excellence on roads is gained in exchange for “tall but pretty OK” on dirt. For most people, that’s a good trade off. Not for me. For one thing, I’m as short and stout as the TW200. I can’t flat foot a bike with a 34” seat height and there’s no point in wishing otherwise. For another, I insist on doing stupid shit that includes words like “remote” and “solo”.

As “research”, I slavishly watched many BDR Youtube videos (there are thousands and they’re a hoot to watch!). I expected the videos to chill me out. Instead, they threw up red flags. I saw far more drama than I expected. A lot of nice people wound up mildly battered and occasionally seriously injured. More than a few groups of 3-5 lost a few members to “minor setbacks” during a week long BDR! Yikes!

The proximate cause was rarely related to the environment itself. I would expect and hardly notice a few examples of heat exhaustion or mechanical failure or something funky like being trampled by a buffalo. Yet, most “drama” involved a big ADV falling over, and as it does so pushing some body part in one or more unpleasant directions. Eeek!

A minority of the videos showed smaller dual sports. This doesn’t confer immunity to mishap but the dual sport riders really did seem to motor along with less drama. This was an informal YouTube sample. It could have been through chance or bias of videographers. Maybe dual sport riders bite it just as hard but carry fewer cameras due to limited carrying capacity? All I can say is what I noticed.

Also, nobody videoed themselves on a BDR with the odd duck TW200. That made me nervous.

This bothered me. Finally I found external validation. I watched Yammie Noob’s “Adventure Motorcycles Through the Eyes of a Sportbike Guy”. It was a well meaning romp on bikes and meant in fun. But at 10:05 he dropped a truth bomb I’d been sensing:

“The average aging father really can’t buy a BMW GS, add $4,000 in accessories, and expect to go tackle a BDR.”

Bam! That’s it right there!

I’m probably not an “average” aging father. In fact, who knows what that “average” means? But I was going solo and I’m no spring chicken. Solo ventures merit caution!

Before I skate too far on thin ice let me say that ADVs look cool and Yammie Noob likes exaggerating for humor. (I still laugh myself silly at his description of “Wilbur” in The 7 ADV Riders You Will Meet (Thermonuclear Edition). I am not Wilbur but someday I might be!) Also, lots of people take their bike choices personally and it’s none of my business. Nor does my (or Yammie’s) logic comport with popularity. About 80% of the bikes I saw on the BDR itself were ADVs. None were splayed on the ground or parked at an ER and they universally looked super cool. So I could be full of shit.

(Actually I saw very few bikes on the trail at all. Most were parked at gas stops and whatnot in the very infrequent towns. Even parked, you could tell they were outfitted for the trail and yes, they look cool as hell… even when parked! You know what, I’m mis-stating the thing; on the trail itself I saw very few humans of any sort. I saw perhaps a few BDR groups, a picturesque group of horse mounted non-ironic real life cowboys, one road grader that seemed to hate me, and a smattering of dented ranch trucks.)

The remaining 20% of bikes I saw on or near the trail were smaller (but still kitted out) dual sports. I don’t know why, but dual sports just don’t look as cool. (Side note: sometime folks will refer to an “Enduro” motorcycle. That means roughly the same thing as “dual sport”; a dirt biki-ish thing that is street legal and a little less awesome at dirt but more practical. Also, most articles on the subject say something like “ten best bikes to buy in 2024” and they utterly ignore the obsolete and weird TW200.)

For my entire trip, the only idiot on a TW200 was me. I’m sure it happens but I never saw another one!

I saw one Royal Enfield Himalayan. It was kitted out nicely but parked haundreds of miles from the trailhead at an REI store. I’d scoff but I was at the REI store too. I stopped at for last minute gear and my TW200 was perched on a trailer. So what do I know?

I’m not saying you can’t complete a BDR on a heavy ADV, it happens all the time. I merely theorize it’s riskier and more physically challenging. Also, most people consider a BDR a “group effort” thing. Every video of an ADV dumped on a BDR showed a handful of men working hard together lifting it. Fred dumps his ADV. Mike, Ralph, and Barney leap off their bikes and hustle to help Fred. In exchange, Fred hustles to help his friends when they dump. A circle of goodwill unavailable to the solo rider!

A solo guy like me will never ever have a single foot pound of force granted by charity. Part of why I chose a cheesy, little, small, stupid, crude, and slow machine is that I can always pick it up! Also I like its performance in the rough stuff. It favors traction over speed. Most dirt machines zip along using speed and excellent suspencion. TW200’s tractor along slow and steady; like mules.

As for my experience (I have returned after all) the TW200 excelled at the worst parts of the trail. The tougher the trail the more I liked it. It’s not very photogenic or exciting because it chugs along rather than flinging great rooster tails of dirt, but it’s damn good at simply getting through.

I paid for it for performance though. The TW200 has shitty ergonomics. It beat my ass and was very wearying on any long sections.

I should also mention, I was the only solo rider I met. That surprised me, but it’s true.

Stay tuned for more…

[Note: After I returned from my adventure, I sat down to write about it. I’m not done yet. (Writing takes time and none of us have extra time.) Rather than make y’all wait, I posted what I’d typed. Almost immediately a few “coffee donations” came through. THANKS! I’d still do stupid adventures even if nobody cared, but the donations make writing it up seem like I’m not just pissing into the wind. That’s a big deal to me.]

The BDR website for the Wyoming route says “[t]he Wyoming Backcountry Discovery Route is a multi-day off-pavement ride for dual-sport and adventure motorcycles through the most dramatic and rugged landscapes in Wyoming.” They weren’t exaggerating. It was all the dramatic and rugged I could handle.

(Note: The BDR people pair the state’s abbreviation with the suffix BDR. Thus, the Wyoming BDR is WYBDR. Colorado is COBDR. Etc…)

I had this weird idea that Wyoming is somehow tamer than Utah or some shit. Why? I dunno, I’ve been to most western states and they’ve all got plenty of opportunities and challenges. Yet, for some indefinable reason, Wyoming always seemed more approachable. It fits me. Of course, I can’t stand a few corners of the state. All states have “lost territories” like that. Jackson Hole has the snobbery of Vail Colorado and resides (like Vail) on my list of pretty places too infected with rich dweebs to enjoy. Also, as much as I like Yellowstone National Park, I wasn’t eager for anything “off road” in that locale. I don’t know if there are dirt roads near Yellowstone but if they did exist the Park Service would pile on rules until it was intolerable anyway. Luckily, WYBDR completely ignores Jackson Hole and Yellowstone. (It’s impressive that Wyoming has room for a multi-day “discovery route” totally independent of the huge and beautiful National Park.)

I laid the map on my table and pondered. “What am I getting myself into?” Challenges and logistical details weighed on my mind. The FAQ listed the mileage as 950 miles!

Nine hundred fifty miles. Great gibbering goose grease! I did not have time for a thousand miles of dirt… especially if I’d be doing it on a Yamaha TW200, which is a slow bike. I’d have to work on that.

Quoth the website: “[t]his is the most remote BDR, so plan ahead and be prepared to have a true backcountry adventure.”

OK, so now we’re looking at not only a thousand miles but tracks that happen to be “the most remote”. Talk about a wicked combination!

It’s hard to underestimate this; there’s “the middle of nowhere” and there’s “the middle of nowhere in Wyoming”. I would have to take that into account.

Most people, indeed great swaths of humanity, have never been in truly remote situations. Thus, they don’t have a good picture of how bad things can get and how quickly. There are people from Narobi Kenya who haven’t experienced Wyoming emptiness. Most residents of Paris or Manhattan or Los Angeles would cease to exist if teleported even for a single minute to Wyoming’s desolation. Never underestimate the desert!

The route’s logistics aren’t “twenty miles to the next Starbucks” it’s “how much spare gas do you have, and did you pack a tent”. There are less people in Wyoming than any other state. Including Rhode Island, which is about the size of one lawn in Wyoming. I think some of the BDRs will land you in a decent sized town most nights and some BDR riders plan for hotels. (I’m new at this so I’m not sure.) Such a thing is totally off the table on the WYBDR.

Next item up for analysis? I’d be going solo. This exponentially increases the importance of “remote”.

It’d be just me. Not me and five friends. Most (almost all!) riders travel BDRs with a gaggle of like minded people, meaning they have all the backup one could want, including multiple functioning motorcycles should one break. Not me. There would be no buddies to pick up a bike if I drop it. Nobody to help me up I break a leg. Not even a spare person to take a picture of me as I lay there dying.

Soloing 950 miles of “most remote” is serious.

That’s the best part!

Stay tuned for more…

I started my last post trying to extol the virtues of adventure. It veered off into a rant. So be it. I posted it anyway.

Whether my ramblings struck a chord or not, I needed adventure. I needed it now! I needed to get my ass out there and do something. I needed it done before the next election and more importantly I needed to get it done before winter clips my wings. All my favorite adventures happen outdoors.

In the midst of a very busy period of time I picked my adventure. I did so in haste, because it’s easy to wait too long for the right time. Doing cool shit is always inconvenient. It’s always over budget. It’s always something you can delay because you’ve got other things to do.

I dropped everything and deliberately elected to do my own thing. I encourage you to do the same. It’s not as easy as it sounds.

Part of the price to pay is that I haven’t mowed the lawn. Do I really care? Not really. It’s a fuckin’ lawn. Who cares about fuckin’ lawns?

I decided to go because I must. I decided to go on an arbitrary looming date because it wasn’t going to happen without an immediate urgent crash project to make it so.

The good news is my chosen adventure was just right. Well outside my comfort zone. At the edge of my physical capacity. Some of my gear was inadequate. There were unknowns. There were risks. It was an all around pain in the ass that disrupted my daily chores; which was exactly the purpose. Also it was a challenge that I could do. If you don’t have the body or finances to summit Everest, don’t wither away regretting your limitations… climb something smaller. Dream but don’t be a dumbass. Keep your feet planted.

My two likely options were ventures on my little homemade sailboat and ventures on my little dirt bike. Arbitrarily, I chose the Yamaha. (It’s not that I dislike my sailboat, it’s just that I only had time for one “thing” and the bike won.) Note that last year I bought an excellent 1989 Honda Pacific Coast 800 for “road trips” but this year, when the time came, it didn’t make the cut. I’d planned for a road trip but exploring pavement is too solidly in my comfort zone. I’ve done it before; many times. This year everything seems so artificially dire that my heart rejects small efforts. That’s another way of saying I needed to do something “new”.

I found an outfit with the somewhat marketer-iffic name of Backcountry Discovery Routes (BDR). They explore areas, concoct extended routes by piecing together bits of trail, map it, and promote it (as well as try to inspire off road motorcycle trips in general). (There are many such outfits. They all have pros and cons. My selection doesn’t mean the others are bad, only different.)

BDR has dozens of paths already mapped. No need to reinvent the wheel! That convenience is part of why the boat sits forlorn in the yard while the bike is happily covered with a patina of desert grime.

According to their web site: “Backcountry Discovery Routes® is a non-profit organization that creates off-highway routes for adventure and dual-sport motorcycle travel.” I suspect they were created to either juice or harvest the booming ADV motorcycle market (or perhaps the associated motocamping accessory market). I’m perfectly happy with that.

Roughly speaking, each “BDR” crosses a state. There are ten western states with a BDR. There are two multi-state BDRs in New England, which makes sense if you look at a map of New England. California’s BDR is split in two, north and south, which makes sense if you look at a map of California. There’s a couple smaller one or two day loops, called BDR-X; which is nice because crossing a whole State is a big bite of a huge sandwich.

The point is, these folks map out the trail and become cheerleaders for it; which makes it easier for those that follow. I salute them! Starting from scratch would have been a nearly insurmountable task. Crossing great swaths of nature on obscure trails known mostly to locals would be pretty sketchy!

BDR maps kindly break routes into digestible bites called “sections”. Sections don’t necessarily match a “day’s ride” but they can. They also mark important things, like gas stops and campsites (or hotels, if any can be found).

BDR maps assume you’re traveling the route in a specific direction (i.e. from south to north). Barring weird local anomalies, there’s no reason whatsoever you must travel a route in any particular direction. I didn’t.

They picked routes based on motorcycles but you don’t have to do a BDR with a motorcycle. I met a nice young couple following BDR waypoints in a Toyota. More power to ‘em! One limit is that sometimes the routes interact with main paved roads. Whatever you drive ought to have a license plate. This is a shame because doing a BDR with an ATV sounds pretty fun to me.

If you need an adventure, have a bike that can do dirt, and don’t feel like starting from scratch, I heartily recommend Backcountry Discovery Routes. I loved my trip.

The maps cost $20 and they’re high quality. It’s money well spent. They’re cheap considering you’re financing a shitload of research. A professional guide would burn two orders of magnitude more money. You don’t have to buy the map. You can download their GPS data, which is free. (I downloaded it myself on two digital navigation gadgets.) However, I bought a map because sometimes paper is better and also I appreciate all their efforts. Incidentally, I was out of cell phone range most of my trip. Another reason to have paper as a backup.

Now that I’m back home, I’ll probably buy a sticker, because why not? I’m grateful the BDR people had much of the complex shit figured out in advance. And my bike has earned a farkle!

I’ve been dancing around the details. I’m a pretty private guy and you don’t need to know where I’ve been. But this time I’ll spill the beans. My hope is that a few people who “need” adventures get a little inspiration from my story, regardless of whether it’s a BDR or something totally different.

The BDR I picked, was Wyoming.

More to come.