LEAVING BURNING MAN

Most people leave Monday morning. My original plan had been to help with the communal clean-up effort on Monday, then head due east on dirt roads Tuesday morning, visiting ghost towns along the way to Utah. Instead I would be leaving Monday, riding to Reno to visit Charles at the hospital and bring him some of his personal belongings. As I brought down my tent and gathered my stuff, it actually felt sad to pack and leave. Lissa and Eric were right, if you go to Burning Man, arrive as early as you can. I was there for three and half days, and I think that was an absolute minimum so that you can become part of the Burning Man environment before the weekend when the tourist/partyer/spectator folks start arriving. There was a tremendous traffic jam leaving Black Rock City (a good reason to stick around till Tuesday morn), but the Burning Man experience continued as I chatted with various cagers and a dude on a Harley as we crawled along in line funneling towards the exit. If only traffic jams in the real world could be such a social event...

Riding down NV447 towards Reno, I was disheartened to find places where bags of garbage were rudely left along the highway. All it takes is a 0.05% addition of assholes to make the whole event look bad. The organizers and volunteers of Burning Man would wind up having to clean this up so that we might get another BLM permit next year.

Back in Reno I visited with Charles and brought him some pulp novels and magazines including a Rolling Stone with a sexy young lady gracing the cover and Weekly World News predicting a cataclysmic asteroid in the year 2000. There's not exactly a wide choice of intellectual reading material found in Reno grocery stores on a Memorial Day evening. But we agree it's better than what's on the television.

I snagged a motel room in Sparks and made a bee-line to the Great Basin Brewery where I was looking forward to a dinner and Ichy (their India Pale Ale). I got there at 8:30 and found they had just closed at 8:00. What kind of brew-pub closes at 8pm?!?! #*&@$ Memorial Day! Now I was both hungry and irritated, an unpleasant combination for anyone around me, but fortunately for them I was alone. I was not in the mood for a mediocre meal with bad American beer in one of those surreal casino buffets. But just try finding normal restaurants in a gambling town. Fortunately I found a "Higgy's", an ex-Shakey's franchise with newspaper articles on the wall proudly explaining their independence from the corporate giant. There I found decent beer and a chicken pizza which was quite tasty, and all was right with the world again.

After four nights camping in the Black Rock Desert, the hot shower and warm dry bed were heavenly. It was 11am, this Tuesday morning, before I finished breakfast and left Reno.

My preferred way to traverse Nevada is to take gravel Lucky Boy Pass into Hawthorne, take US95 into Tonopah where you can get a room and superb steak dinner for a song, and then 6, 375 "the Extraterrestrial Highway", and 93 till just past Panaca, where you can take a dirt road across the border to Enterprise, Utah.

But I was in Sparks, not Bridgeport, so I took US50. The Nevada tourism department likes to call this the Loneliest Road in America. I suppose they might fool the RV-bound, but they don't fool me. Between Fallon, Austin, Eureka, and Ely, there's more gas stations and cafe's (and billboard's proclaiming you're on the Loneliest Road) than you can shake a stick at. But it had been a few years since I'd last taken this route, and it does have its good points. One of those is 60 miles of a twisty paved secondary road paralleling US50 just west of Austin. NV722 winds over Carroll Summit and Railroad Pass, showing you more of the real Nevada up close than US50 ever will.

The weather became cooler as I got closer to Utah with occasional sprinkles of rain. My original plan was to get new tires at Salt Lake City BMW in the morning. Having left Reno so late and needing to make time, I discovered that above 90mph the carbs starve for fuel unless I open both petcocks. If you've ever drained a fuel tank and seen how fast it flows out an open petcock, you have some idea what 25mpg at 95mph looks like inside a fuel line. At this altitude I couldn't get much more than an indicated 100mph out of the bike. Later measurements showed that at 70 and 90 mph, my Motometer speedo is several mph pessimistic. So I figure it was topping out at a little over DoD- nominal (that's one-oh-five to you DoD newbies ;-).

In spite of my BMW land speed trials, it was dark before I got to Delta, Utah; so I decided to call it a night.

The forecast for today and tomorrow included flash flood warnings, with it expected to clear Friday. I didn't want to be on the White Rim trail during a flash flood, so I decided to postpone entering the canyons and spend an extra day in central Utah. I spent this gray drizzly day wandering the farmland and forest roads in this area of the state which I hadn't explored before. It started out very mellow and relaxing, taking routes like the gravel road which goes by the Clear Lake Water Fowl Refuge. My maps showed a gravel road through the Manti-La Sal National Forest which took you from Mayfield to Ferron across the Wasatch Plateau. Normally my rule in a National Forest is to never leave the pavement without a forest service map. But this graded gravel road was a though route on the state map. How hard could it be to navigate?

Well... though the weather continued unsettled, the gravel-embedded dirt road provided good traction, and I reached the summit intersection still knowing exactly where I was. My road continuing east was marked with a hand-painted Road Closed, Use at Own Risk, 4WD Only, Mud, Rocks, You Have Been Warned sign. I looked at this road and it appeared no different from what I'd been riding on, so I decided to give it a try. 100 yards into this, the front and back ends are slithering around every which way. Though this was the same sort of wet dirt I'd been riding, the embedded gravel was not covering the surface, but was as base about a half inch below the clay. While the tires weren't sinking in, the AM24 treads were clogging up with sticky mud. Fortunately I now have a high fender, and the stamped steel fender brace did a perfect job of shearing the mud off the front tire while allowing it to continue turning. A slimy clay tire turning over a slimy clay road doesn't provide much traction, but it's better than the ski you get with a low front fender. I carefully turn around and begin a delicate descent back to the intersection. Traction was so low that I failed to keep the tires tracking over a slight camber in the surface, and *splat* down I went in the mud, still 70 yards from the intersection. With my feet and tires slipping in the mud, my first attempt to lift the bike was futile. So I unloaded most of my gear and then barely managed to get my boots planted well enough to lift the bike. Starting the bike up, the engine seemed to crank kind of slow; odd since I was always keeping it above 2500rpm even when slowly cruising on the dirt. I reached behind the fairing and yanked off the headlamp connector to relieve the alternator. As difficult as this road had become, I decided to duck walk the bike the rest of the way unloaded. Then I had to walk two round trips to fetch the tank bag, etc. that I'd left behind sitting in the mud.

Some guys in a Suzuki Samurai come down this road with no problem and stop to chat. They inform me there is an alternate route to Ferron which wraps south around the mountain as opposed to the one shown on my state map which goes over it. "Easy graded gravel" they say. I should have known better but I followed their instructions and tried it. This road was rougher than the stretch I had taken from Mayfield, and it seemed to just be going on forever with no other traffic. Worse, the surface was getting slippery as the intermittent showers continued and I was getting low on fuel. Unsure if I'm even on the right road, I turn around and head back while I still have the gas for that option. I realize that the road isn't getting worse due to location, but due to the continued showers. Tricky sections which just required some extra attention 20 minutes ago, were now a challenge to traverse upright. I lose control in a few places but somehow manage to save it each time until I got sloppy and *plop* I'm horizontal in the mud again. Unload, lift, repack the bike, and take off again. I'm now carefully scanning the surface ahead of me trying to read where the traction is and where it isn't. I misread a corner that was slippery enough to require neutral throttle: gently accelerating through it, the rear forms a suddenly strong attraction to the outside and the bike slams down hard on the right side. This time I've damaged one of the hard bags. <mumble Unload, lift, repack the bike. The engine cranks really slowly this time, and I feel lucky it started at all. I can tell from the headlamp when I rev the engine that the alternator's working, so I know that I can ride out of here if I just keep the bike upright and the engine running. Now I've _got_ to be more careful. Riding slowly, I finally get back to the summit without further incident, and then retreat along the easy gravel road back down to Mayfield.

With muddy boots, I was very happy to have my new G/S steel-cleated foot pegs installed. I even prefer the additional grip on the street. I've noticed no additional vibration whether wearing DP boots or sneakers. The 1/2" loss of leg room due to their different position doesn't bother me, so as far as I'm concerned the rubber street pegs fitted to the US-bound R100GS offer no advantage at all.

I fuel up at the Gunnison (UT!) Amoco and they generously let me use their hose to wash off the ten pounds of clay which cover the bike. I was most concerned about getting most of the dirt off the wheels since Salt Lake BMW would be mounting new tires in the morning. The bike started up again okay, so I reconnected the headlamp but figured I'd better let Salt Lake inspect the battery and charging system anyway.

After dinner in Salt Lake City, it required push starting in spite of the two hours of freeway charging it just got. In my motel room, I manage to form my damaged bag back into shape with a combination of a 10" crescent wrench to make sharp bends, and bare hands to make shallow bends. Once convinced it's again as water tight has it ever was, I get some sleep.

Thursday morning the battery's so dead that the push starting assistance from a patient stranger is for naught. The kind fellow also offers jumper cables, and I finally make it to the BMW dealer 45 minutes after opening, missing my chance to get in the garage first.

Hanging around the waiting room I read some of the BMW club newsletters. For whatever reasons, I've always felt some repulsion from BMW clubs, so I don't ordinarily see these publications. I think it was the slicker of the two, from MOA I believe, that I read the most inane material. The two funniest things were somebody who felt personally offended by the term "airhead", as though he hadn't figured out it was a term of endearment used to refer to the classic engine, not a personal put-down about the rider! Another fellow was praising the innovation at BMW, declaring that _nobody_ had ever made a cruiser that handled well until BMW introduced the R1200C. I guess neither he nor the editor had ever stuck their head out of the gray-carpeted BMW showrooms long enough to notice the Moto Guzzi Californias riding by. Heck, even the more commonplace Yamaha XV750 and XV1100s (not to mention the Euro-XV920!) are known for their decent handling. Since my motorcycle appreciation extends far beyond the BMW propeller, I'll just let these BMW clubs keep their view of the Legendary Motorcycles of Germany unspoiled.

With fresh AM24s and a new battery, I was finally out of there. The one that died was genuine BMW and only two years old. Disappointing especially considering that the 6.5 year old battery that originally came with my GS was still happily cranking my Guzzi 1000S up until last month.

After working my way past all the freeway closures, it was 3pm before I finally escaped Salt Lake City. I stopped for a burger, and upon reconnecting my headlamp discover that the physical shock of pulling the connector from a hot bulb has broken the filament. Fortunately it requires not a single tool to replace the H4 bulb on a 1991+ R100GS, so I didn't have to unload the bike to reach the tool box.

It's not far from SLC, but still it was dusk by the time I reached Moab via the main highways. I found a pleasant old motel just off Main St. downtown within stumbling distance of Eddie McStiffs where I enjoyed dinner and a couple pints of their fine home-brew. The evening is clear and pleasant, and I'm anticipating seeing the Canyonlands again. It had been several years since I'd ridden the White Rim Trail.

I got the room for two nights so I could ride sans panniers. I lowered my tire pressures a few pounds and was fed and headed out of Moab by 8:30am Friday morning. The unpaved part of White Rim begins with Mineral Rd which takes you along flat sagebrush country to the edge of the canyon where its steep switchbacks down to the Green River. Halfway along this first flat section it starts raining. The coarser tread on the rear Gripster remains clean, but the front tread is clogging up and sliding in the red clay by the time I reach the switchbacks. After 20 minutes of pacing around cursing the skies, I decided White Rim would just have to wait another year. I rode into the park proper and spent some time in the visitors station. Even the paved exploration was largely disappointing as overlooks showed nothing but fog. I returned to the motel where I dried off and ate the sandwich that I was supposed to be having along the middle of the White Rim Trail.

The weather still sucked, and I was still damp, but I spent the afternoon riding anyway. First stopping by to meet Fred Hinks and see his motorcycle shop just SE of Moab, then riding some scenic, if occasionally foggy, paved roads through Manti La Sal. The weather continued to tease me. Rounding one curve, the combination of sun and clouds made for a beautiful sight. But in the two minutes it took to stop and get my camera out, the shadows had shifted and it looked ordinary again. It looked like it was sunny further north around Arches national park, but by the time I got there it was raining there too. I gave up and watched TV in my room until dinner time.

It was still raining when I walked to McStiff's, so there was no reason not to have another stout and listen to the girl playing Neil Young on her guitar. I was further rewarded with a dry evening's walk back to my motel.

Saturday brings another gray morning, very uncharacteristic of Moab, but at least it's not raining now. Just as my bags are packed and I'm ready to load the bike, the downpour starts. The parking lot and streets start flooding, so there's nothing to do but sit on the bed and wait it out. Once the rain let up enough to load the bike, I rode to breakfast and got a paper. The forecast suggested my best chance to find dry weather was to head due east. Crouching in the rain, I filled my tires back to normal street pressures, and then headed out of Utah on 46 via La Sal. It continues drizzling, but I'm actually beginning to accept this damp gloom as my normal environment.

At the Colorado border the rain turned to occasional sprinkles. But the muddy washes still flowing across the pavement on hwy 90 give evidence there's been heavy rain here too. The showers continue all the way to Ouray, which I reach at 3pm. None of my friends had checked into the cottage yet, so I had lunch and then rode up and down the Million Dollar Highway as it poured on me. I was pretty well soaked when I got back to the cottage, where fortunately Mike Sturdevant and Steve S. had just arrived. Soon other Moab veterans, Victor Johnson and Chris McBeth also appeared, and finally organizer Jeff Deeney with a brand new catalytic converter on the van towing The Trailer of the Apocalypse.

In the morning I lower my tires to 28F/32R PSI, and walked into town to find some better maps than the USFS ones I had brought. Trails Illustrated makes a very nice waterproof map of the Silverton/Ouray/Telluride/LakeCity area. And Backcountry Travelers publishes some strip-maps of popular back road routes. Much more than just a dry roll-chart, historical points of interest are described along the way. Highly recommended.

I rode with the Hard Core Dirt Bikers as far as Animas Forks. We started off on the road just south of Ouray which leads to Poughkepsie Gulch (no, I never did Poughkepsie Gulch). This was fairly steep and rocky. While I didn't have too much problem with it, I didn't have my "dirt legs" yet. So I was pretty beat when I got to the intersection with Poughkepsie Gulch, and was concerned what the real _passes_ were like. As it turns out, that's not the normal way they advise jeeps to do the Alpine Loop, so I'd begun my morning with one of the most technical sections of the day. I was getting warm so I opened my tailpack to stow my jacket liner. I discovered that my tube of 3M weatherstrip adhesive (which I acquired in Salt Lake City to fix a slipping handgrip) had busted open and made a bit of a mess. Deeney was suitably amused.

Animas Forks is a reasonably complete ghost town. While most of the small artifacts and fittings have long since been taken, many of the structures are still standing and can still be explored. Afterwards, HCDB took off to ride the Continental Divide single track, and I headed off on my own to ride the Alpine Loop. Cinnamon Pass turned out to be pretty tame; a carefully ridden R80ST could easily do it at a fair pace. This takes you east to Lake City, for lunch of course.

Back west via Engineer Pass starts as trivial gravel, but eventually gets a little more technical than Cinnamon. Reaching 11600', somebody has built for sale a solitary luxury cabin complete with solar electricity and satellite TV, surrounded by five acres, a suspension bridge, and an iron fence. Summer access by 4WD and winter access by snowmobile or skis. And it can be yours for $469,000.

Around the next turn I hear somebody yell "hey, Dave!", and I find GSer Chuck Brown who's on a DR350 which is giving him some mechanical trouble. You should have ridden your GS, Chuck! He's got several friends with him and they seem to have the situation well in hand so I continue west up the pass. Engineer Pass itself is a little odd, because after reaching the 12800' pass, you then continue to climb higher. The reason is that the original route which continues NW from there is now a hiking trail. The road climbs SW from Engineer Pass, takes you by the 360 degree panoramic view at Oh! Point, and then drops back down into Animas Forks completing the Alpine Loop.

From there, the urge to explore more roads overruled my interest in riding down that rocky road to Ouray again now that I had my "dirt legs". So from Animas Forks, I headed due west out California Gulch and over California Pass, then Hurricane Pass, and finally Corkscrew Gulch/Pass. Of the five passes, Corkscrew was the most technical, and presented the most intimidating drop-off views of the day. Lots of fun, and about the limit of what I'd care to ride alone. I was glad to have 50 lbs of gear sitting in a cabin and not strapped to the bike.

HCDBer Chris McBeth taught me a new term for describing dirt roads/trails: "exposure". Exposure is a product of the likeliness that a mistake might cause you to leave the road, and the number of feet you'll free-fall before you go splat at the bottom. I think anybody riding the Colorado passes considers their exposure, and having somewhat of an aversion-to-edges/fear-of-heights myself, it was a mental challenge to not let the exposure psyche me out. Corkscrew provided me with plenty, so I knew that Black Bear Pass would not be for me.

The next day Victor and Chris left for home, and the rest of HCDB decided to ride a mellow (for them) DP day with me. Occasionally Jeff would find an off-shoot trail to explore. Jeff, Mike, and Steve would take off on their dirt bikes and I'd plod behind on my GS until it got too technical for me, then I'd turn around and wait for them at the main 4WD road. It worked out well, and I was glad to have some other people to ride dirt with. Since I was unhappy with my performance on the rocks yesterday morning, as practice we started out with a steep rocky dead- end jeep trail which led to a mine just over Ouray. Much better, I _do_ remember how to ride. Then it was Ophir Pass into the resort town of Telluride. Ophir is one of the more scenic passes, while being of a moderate Engineer-like difficulty. Most impressive are the places where avalanches have taken out a path of trees as if they were toothpicks.

After a fine lunch at the Floradora in Telluride, we rode up Black Bear as far as the old Tesla power plant where the infamous one-way section begins. As the HCDB played on the one-way section (the wrong way, naughty!) I took my time putting down towards Telluride and waited for them to catch up with me. It was about to become an even trade...

I knew Imogene was likely to be the toughest pass I'd do during my stay in Ouray. It met my expectations, but fortunately none of the steep stair-steps were as nasty as I heard them described. Much of this was credited to having my HCDB friends riding just ahead of me. Unlike the other passes I'd ridden the past couple days, Imogene often splits and rejoins providing multiple options for getting over the pass. The first really nasty switchback I encountered, I didn't realize this yet. I still figure I _could've_ ridden it, but since I couldn't see the exit line from where I was, I lost my nerve and stopped. That's usually a mistake on a steep loose rocky section.

The other guys then pointed out the relatively easy path just behind me to my left. So with some help I slowly backed down and continued on. Only to have to turn around and do it again... Mike who had just helped me get my GS turned around now had his gear change lever strip its splines. He installed a spare he carried, and we move on. Well almost. Pulling out of the turnout area where I'd parked (really a glorified pile of big loose rocks), I didn't get momentum quickly enough and dropped the GS. This was surprisingly my only drop during two days of dirt riding around Ouray. For the rest of the non-obvious line choices, whoever was just ahead of me would briefly stop and point out the easy line to me. This kept my pace up and there were only a couple sections where I still felt the need to stop and examine it before riding it.

Imogene is not one-way, but the NE direction is recommended so that you do the steeper section going down. While psychologically I'm more intimidated by steep downhills, rationally I know it's easier than going up because you have the traction of two wheels instead of just one (assuming you're not riding a Rokon!) The steepest sections all had enough runout at the bottom, that I actually preferred going down them. In fact, there was plenty of traction available even with my AM24 tires at near street pressures, so I never needed to actually use any of that runout.

My favorite riding part of Imogene were the parts where the road was just the surface of a massive rock formation. Traction is excellent and riding down their steep slopes reminded me of riding my Beta trials bike on the boulders at Donner ski ranch.

On the way back Steve found an old mine shaft for us to explore, and then we stopped to hike/visit Box Canyon Falls. Box Canyon feels a bit "touristy" after a day of exploring ghost towns and mines along 4WD roads, but it's still worth seeing. It's just southeast of Ouray. The clouds had been threatening since we started up Imogene, but we make back to the cabin before the evening showers start.

Tuesday morning Team HCDB headed NE to do some riding at Tincup, and I headed for a southern Indian reservation loop to possibly meet them in Tincup in the evening. Bypassing much of the "Million Dollar Highway", I took paved, gravel, and dirt backroads to Dulce, NM, where I figured I'd get lunch. Dulce was disappointing, depressing even. It's a ghost town except for one Indian casino and lots of mobile homes. There was evidence of a few cafes, but now they were all boarded up. Oh well, so much for my brief visit in New Mexico. I headed up to Pagosa Springs through the construction on US84 (wondering why it is flagmen, er mostly flagwomen now, wave to motorcycles but not cars) and found some tasty catfish and hushpuppies in a little Cajun-style restaurant.

It was getting well into the afternoon, so I hustled up US160 and CO149 crisscrossing the continental divide. 149 is a fun secondary highway with lots of scenery. But between having the sun in my eyes and riding though thick clouds of gnats, it was becoming difficult to appreciate. I pressed on at 80mph, and made it to Gunnison just before it got completely dark. I quickly gave up any idea of continuing to Tincup, and instead decided it was time to have some clean clothes again. So dinner was a deli sandwich outside the laundromat while I waited for the spin cycle to finish. The night is noticeably warm and clear, in sharp contrast to the weather cycles around Ouray.

My motel guide boasts of being "American Owned and Family Operated". I wonder if Gunnison has a problem with motels owned by Japanese conglomerates and managed by confirmed bachelors?

Burning Man / Steamboat trip 4000 miles Sept 3rd-21st 1998

Yes, again Utah was to be gray clouds and intermittent drizzle. But I tried to make the best of it and took the half-paved, half gravel, UT35 over Wolf Creek Summit.

Before joining up with I-80 to drone west, I briefly stopped by Park City. Since the condo developers in Steamboat have made this year's motorcycle week the last one there, AHRMA is considering moving the event to Park City. It might be an okay location, but given its proximity to Salt Lake City, I wonder if their evenings' beer, food, and music choices will be as good.

The rain chased me on the interstate from Utah into Nevada. Monday morning in Elko it was pouring. I tried to find a weather forecast before I left my motel room, but every channel on the TV had our Commander In Chief talking about the legal terms for sticking objects in rude places. I was concerned about what conditions might await me on Donner Pass, but I'd have to just wait and see when I got there. The wet weather didn't quit until I was within a few hours of Reno. In the clearer skies I took time for a small diversion, NV400 which starts paved from Mill City and then leads to a dirt road pass which returns to I-80 again at Oreana. A worthwhile little DP bypass if you find yourself out there with a little extra time to spare.

By the California border, things were sunny again. (of course) So Donner Pass wasn't going to be a problem, or at least its weather wouldn't be a problem. Winding my way through the sweepers I started to get a little sloppy in my riding technique, and found the bars increasing in oscillation as I was exiting a bend at about 90mph. Neither being light on the bars nor attempting to hold them centered was getting me any further from the impending full-on tank slapper. Fortunately, I was exiting the corner so I could straighten up. Riders on high-powered race bikes can often wheelie the front wheel up to stop the oscillation by breaking the feedback path, but that's not an option for a GS that's flying just 20mph short of flat-out top speed. So I sharply chopped the throttle. The weight transfer resulting from the deceleration and me sliding forward, pushed the front end down, gave the steering less caster, and the wobble quickly stopped. But not before giving me a hell of a scare. I scolded myself for allowing me to lazily ride those sweepers with my butt towards the back on an already heavily tail-loaded GS. Again making a conscious effort to keep myself crouched towards the front when cornering, it handled all the remaining sweepers from Donner summit at up to triple digit speeds without any further head shaking.

I'd successfully planned a relaxing (except for the rain), if direct, route home from Steamboat. And by plan I arrived in Davis with plenty of time for a steak dinner and fresh pilsner at Sudwerks. Furthermore, since I was returning late evening on a weeknight rather than Sunday, bay area traffic was light. With few cars around me, I could even fully enjoy the Benicia crosswinds on I-680, watching my low beam's cut-off line tilt against the pavement ahead as though it was an artificial horizon display.

I should've installed those steel G/S pegs years ago. I wonder what kind of sensitive feet the Germans figure we must have which would warrant equipping only the US-bound R100GS with big fat rubber street- bike footpegs?

I'm now spoiled by having waterproof boots (must be my dainty American feet). My Gore-Tex Frey Daytonas performed flawlessly. And my Darien overpants kept my legs acceptably dry even after extended periods of rain.

I still need to find waterproof gloves, which provide the protection and freedom of movement of a road-racing glove. In an age of Gore-Tex, I don't understand why we should have to wear bulky winter gloves in order to get a waterproof glove.

If I lived somewhere like Colorado where afternoons can keep alternating between sun and rain, I'd definitely get something like a Darien jacket. But usually where I ride the weather is more decisive. So occasionally slipping on a rain jacket over my favored Dakar leather jacket works fine most of the time.

The Oregon Research nylon waterproof sacks are easier to pack, and grip more securely when strapped to the bike, yet keep my gear just as dry as those bulky rubberized river bags.