piratemonkey

Day 1: San Diego, CA to Blythe, CA After almost a year of preparing for the TAT, we finally left San Diego on September 9 at 2:00 pm. We had hoped to get out a little earlier, but the massive blackout in the SD-Mexico-Arizona area the day before postponed the final tasks to departure day. The crew right before departure: We figured that since we had half a day, getting to Blythe would be a good stopping point. We wouldn't do dirt on the first day, but we'd compromise by staying on as many backroads as possible. San Diego had just wrapped up a heatwave and the weather was perfect when we left. I don't why, but I was deluded into thinking that just because the heatwave broke in San Diego, the desert region must've also benefitted somehow. I'm an idiot. As we made our way past Ocotillo Wells, the heat was painful. I reached my hand around through the side window I had cut into the backpack and poked Simon. He moved, which meant he was still alive. At least the trip was not off to a tragic start! We stopped at Salton Sea to get gas (does that area ever not smell like spoiled clam chowder?). This should convey how I felt. This stretch was through Box Canyon. See those clouds in the distance? They become more meaningful shortly. When we finally hit the 10, we had about another 50 miles of freeway before getting to Blythe. No big deal -- the DRZs were running great and we had worked out my nasty front-end weave so going over 70 was tolerable. Much to my dismay, as the sun went away, it was getting hotter. Yes, it was because we were going deeper into the desert, but c'mon, shouldn't trading the sun for the moon buy you a little love on the thermometer? And what's up with those clouds spreading all over? Making our way east, we could see lightning flashing in the distance. As we neared Blythe, we were hit by strong wind gusts that moved us all over the lane. At times visibility would drop dramatically. It didn't help that although the sun had set, I still had my sunglasses on -- when you're slabbing and trying to make time it's hard to pull over for any reason, even mild blindness. It looked like we were passing through patches of dense fog, but it turned out to be sand. I felt like I was one wind gust away from getting mowed over by a semi, so I tore past Wayne and took the next available exit, forcing him to follow. Fortunately, it happened to be the first Blythe exit so we made our way to the campground via surface streets. Little did I know my night was only beginning. We got the tent set up, took our showers, cooked dinner, and hit the sack. Wayne was passed out in about two minutes while Simon took an additional one minute. I was tired but the stifling heat of the tent was driving me insane. The wind that was kicking us all over the road only an hour before was now completely gone. I got out of the tent and wandered around. I tried taking photos of clouds lit by the moon and amassed an impressive catalog of fuzzy night photos. I tried a second round inside the tent and managed to drift off for a few minutes before waking up startled by the sensation of being suffocated. I jumped out of the tent, taking my mat with me so I could try sleeping anywhere except inside the slow cooker. I put my mat on the picnic table and closed my eyes for a while. Sleep still wasn't possible but at least I could feel the occasional refreshing breeze. Normally I despise noisy people at campgrounds, but there was something comforting about the people over in the RV section who continued to hoot and holler and clink bottles all night long (we were the only tent campers and had our side of the park all to ourselves). Staring at the night sky from a picnic table at 3:00 am is a lot less lonely when there's a party, even if only your ears are in attendance. I eventually slept an hour or two. I was never so glad to have morning come so I could leave somewhere. I could only hope that the next sleeping arrangement would be more agreeable than this: ------------ Day 1 overview: 246 miles

DAY 1 - JULY 4 - THURSDAY San Diego, CA to Petaluma, CA We had a mild dread of riding our DRZ400s on pavement for 1,600 miles but other than paying $2k to rent a one-way U-haul, that was our only option. Even as terrible as it sounded, we had perspective on our side: Wayne owned a KTM 530EXC and I had a Husqvarna TE450 and those bikes vibrated like crazy at freeway speeds. In comparison, the DRZs hum like touring bikes. That perspective — and fistsful of ibuprofen — would get us to Canada. We wanted to get knobbies at a shop near the border, but the leading candidate in Kalispell was closed on Monday, the day we'd be passing through so we strapped our tires on the bikes. It didn't seem like a big deal since we were mainly driving straight lines on paved roads. The ride was uneventful until we hit a traffic jam in Orange County due to a crash. That's when we realized how top heavy the bikes were with the tires. If we braked too hard we'd have to totter around on the balls of our feet until the bike felt balanced enough to stop. Lane splitting was out of the question — we wouldn't have gotten far before flopping onto someone's pricey rig so we crawled along with the cages. Above LA the 101 was pleasant, even cool. Just past Santa Barbara we stopped to zip up at Area 1, which is the great-grandaddy of Area 52. That box? Yes, the Truth is Out In There. The downside of travelling with a small dog is that they can walk underneath the bike. This is the first (but not the last) time that Simon took the opportunity to clean my sprocket. My digital dash quit working a few hours into the ride. Fortunately, the Garmin has a speedo so I could maintain a consistent speed. If my legs appear to be in the wrong place, that's because my ass was sore and propping my legs up on the shrouds changed the pressure points and offered temporary relief. We got to Petaluma around 8:00 and my mom had dinner waiting for us. Moms excel at dispensing food to weary travellers, somehow getting third and fourth servings into distended stomachs. All she got for Mother's Day this year was a phone call. Maybe next year I'll make the effort to send her a nifty kitchen gadget. One painfully long day of asphalt down, two more to go. 586 miles, 10.9 hours moving time

RIP Lola. You rocked the Doggles like no other.

Wayne and I were mountain biking out at Corral Canyon today (Yes, for the record: The uphills suck without a motor. What were we thinking?!). We came across a guy on a loaded BMW GS1200 staring at the sign at Four Corners. We learned that he's from France and has been on the road for a few years (!). He's on his way to Mexico and will then be heading down to South America. He'd like to take a set of used tires with him when he heads down. Anybody out there happen to have a used set collecting dust (that's not too trashed)? Probably a long shot, but thought I'd check. I think the tires are 110/19 and 150/17. We invited him to stay at our house tonight so he'll be here until sometime tomorrow.

Hey guys, thanks for your responses. Mat researched some options in Mexico and decided to take his chances with finding a set down there that won't cost a fortune. Not surprisingly, he had some interesting stories. He said his least favorite country was Pakistan because the roads were crappy and an armed escort was required from border to border...I suppose chuckles were few and far between. In Oregon, he found free lodging at a commune. One of the residents noticed him working on his bike and offered to give him some cash in exchange for work on some junky vehicles. That led to additional employment trimming buds on the local cash crop. Being on a very tight budget, he welcomed the work. He pointed something out that I hadn't thought about while camping in bear country: Keep a knife handy in case you have to slice open a wall to escape. This, of course, presumes that the initial attack on the tent doesn't have you instantly rolled up like a nylon burrito.

Randy, best of luck on the surgery. Did you check to make sure your ortho didn't get Ds in med school?

If by "performance" you mean its willingness to keep going without blowing up or falling apart, then yes, we're in love with the performance of our bikes. If you're referring to its ability to please via power and suspension, then "like" would be more accurate. Let's face it, nobody has ever lusted after a DRZ. It's a jack of all trades, master of none. Wayne has done a good job maintaining them and giving them the recommended upgrades and at this point I'd trust those bikes to take us anywhere. Even if something happened, they're such a popular bike that getting parts for them while on the road would probably not be too problematic.

Here are the unedited CD tracks for anyone who'd like to use them. With regards to the TAT, it would've been a nice journey if we carried little on the DRZs, but there were many miles which were not fun on a loaded bike. I'm not sure if I crashed/dropped the bike every single day on the trip, but it sure felt like it. My TAT in a nutshell: If you'd like to do a long ride with lots of nice scenery, both the TAT and CD provide that. If you're riding with someone who is closer to beginner than intermediate, or who mentally implodes when things aren't going well, I can't recommend the TAT (other TAT riders may feel differently). Riding with a whiner is no fun (haven't we all?...) and I'm pretty sure the TAT would crank that whining right up to 11! Another thing to consider on a trip that lasts more than a week: If you have a disc problem in your neck, having the helmet on all day, day after day, may cause problems. I had forgotten about the pain that woke me up every night on the TAT. A few days into the CD, the same thing started happening. Without fail, every night around 3 to 4 am it felt like a python was wrapped around my arm, trying to squeeze it off. I'd have to sit up and try to crack my neck in a way that alleviated the pain. A few days after the CD was over, the pain never got to that level again.

DAY 18 - JULY 21 - SUNDAY Lordsburg, NM to San Diego, CA We part ways with Alex and Lola, our compadres with whom we've had great times under various levels of duress. They say that if you really want to know if you'd get along with someone you should go on a road trip with him or her. I'd bump the test up a level by adding unpaved roads, mechanical issues, lots of mosquitoes, and the lack of walls to take care of basic needs. The first couple of hours out of Lordsburg is pleasant, but as we get closer to Arizona, the heat and humidity begins to climb. Monsoonal weather is blanketing the southwest and as we drop in altitude the air grows stifling. Combined with the buzzing and buffetting from goading the DRZs into giving us 75 mph, it makes for a headache-inducing ride. There are no toll roads between New Mexico and home, but make no mistake, we are paying. One reason for leaving the dog at home: You can avail yourself to the luxury that is air conditioning. Instead, we find the wall that has shade and then sit our ass down and eat our lunch while our Klim pants feel like crockpots stewing our legs. Many roads are washed out. The arid desert has its moments when it's anything but. Even the normally sun-worshipping Simon has had enough and seeks refuge in the shade of the DRZ. As we approach Yuma the rain starts coming down but it offers little cooling. Instead of being hot and humid, it is now hot and clammy. The rain stops so we get a refreshing ice cream cone. Nothing says "Living the scrappy life" better than downing it near the dumpsters. Grinding out the miles towards El Centro, CA. Looks like California won't be cutting us any slack weatherwise. After weeks spent at anywhere from 4,000 to 11,000 feet, we're back to sea level...lower in some spots. We're crazy rich with oxygen! Soon after cresting I-8 from the desert floor, my DRZ starts to sputter and then dies so I coast onto the shoulder of the freeway. At least the I-8 near Jacumba is lightly travelled so it's not a stressful place to crap out. I also feel like I'm finally on home turf and could probably drum up a truck ride home from a friend if needed. Did I run out of gas? I look down and there's at least a third of a tank remaining. I'd experienced this problem before in another rain storm and the culprit was a blocked fuel vent hose. I yank the hose off the cap and the bike fires right back up. Phew! I catch back up to Wayne, who's waiting on the side of the freeway. On the I-15 an old yellow VW bug in front of us blows its motor and coats us with oil. I don't dare touch my visor even though I'm having a hard time seeing. The oil alone wouldn't be so bad, but it's raining and I feel like I'm looking through dirty gauze. Soooo close to home but at the same time so far, thanks to this latest development. (I don't have a photo for this moment, but it deserves memorialization.) And just like that, it's all over. Good night, faithful DRZs...until next time. 588 miles, 9:03 hours moving time

DAY 20 - JULY 20 - SATURDAY Silver City, NM to Antelope Wells, NM While eating our nutritionally suspect fast food breakfast, a woman stops and says "I recognize you!" As a Facebook friend of Pie-O-Neer (in Pie Town), she saw the photo of us that was posted. We felt like rock stars! We cruise the 30 miles of pavement out of Silver City to our dirt turnoff. Wayne and I wait for a while but Alex doesn't show up. We know that on pavement the DRZs are gazelles while the Ural is a musk ox, but we also know it shouldn't take our heavyweight comrade that long to arrive. We head back up the road and eventually find Alex. He had swapped out a flat and is packing up just as we arrive. Another 30 miles of dirt gets us down to I-10. This is officially the last dirt we'll do on our trip and it's a beautiful day for it. This is also the last Continental Divide sign we'll see. It's becoming a day of finalities. *Sigh.* Representative of Hachita: The better days have been left somewhere far, far behind. This is one of two (TWO!) gas stations no longer in service. V is for Victory, as the border is nigh. We make a brief stop so Alex can fuel his thirsty musk ox. It begins to as the border comes into sight. But minutes after it starts, it stops and we're back to clear skies. It's a final cosmic message that we hadn't been challenged enough on this journey so this little dose of rain should remind us of our overall good fortune. We pull over just shy of the actual border crossing. Between the gun and the dogs, we don't want to get trapped in an International Zone of Misunderstanding and Incarceration. This sign is far enough away from the men in uniform so we pose for a photo. But leave it to the freakishly ebullient Wayne to wander over to the office to see what's up. He returns to tell us that the border agents are cool and that they have a water fountain if we want to fill our bottles. The Antelope Wells border crossing is a whole lot less sexy than the one at Roosville. There is nothing here but the offices on both side, a large inspection building on the US side, and a smattering of structures where some of the workers stay. Now that we're fairly confident we won't become victims of extraordinary rendition, we take another photo at the official line between Mexico and USA. We don't look like terrorists, but the cream of the jihadist crop can come in many forms. Lola could very well be a 20 pound Miniature Pinscher wearing a fat suit made of C4. Danger is everywhere. On our way back north we pass the Welcome to New Mexico sign. Their slogan is a little inaccurate so I fixed it for them. The customs agent told us there's a wall where cyclists who finish the CDT sign their names. While we go in search of it (we never found it) Alex takes off ahead of us. When we finally start down the road we see this big ol' wall of rain...is Alex getting hammered? We get a light smattering from the edge of the mass but most of the rain, in fact, was generously unloaded on Alex. When we reach the I-10 we stop to put the spare gas into our tanks before the final leg into Lordsburg, where we'll stay for the night. While we're hanging out, a Border Patrol truck pulls up and the agent starts talking to us about riding since he is also a dirtbiker. He tells us about riding along the border and how even though he's an agent, he wasn't immune from getting hassled by The Man. The customs agent at the border didn't want his picture taken so I assume this BP agent is also photo-averse. I settle on a shot of his truck pulling away. A train on the I-10 guides us towards Lordsburg. Our official Continental Divide ride is over. Since leaving San Diego Wayne, Simon and I have gone 4,400 miles, 2,700 of it from Canada down to Mexico. We couldn't have had better travelling companions than Alex and Lola. Baja Mexico next...? 234 miles, 4:52 hours moving time

DAY 16 - JULY 19 - FRIDAY Pie Town, NM to Silver City, NM The morning starts with Alex capturing a feeble kitten he had seen the night before. I dip my pinky in water and try to get it to drink but it does nothing; even when I push my finger between its lips it doesn't react. The kitten is perilously close to departing for the spirit world. It won't stop shaking so we put it in the microwave. Don't worry, we use the defrost setting — it's half the power!* Nita, the homeowner, stops by so we implore her to take the kitten. Her boyfriends works at an animal rescue shelter so even if it's a dog-only shelter, maybe he'll know what to do with it. Nita takes a pic of us in front of the Toaster House before we head over to the Good Pie cafe. This is where Alex almost goes apeshit: The Good Pie doesn't open until 10:00 on Fridays. Nita knows the owners so she asks if they'll make an exception and open early for us. Sadly, they can't because their Friday night dinner is popular and they use the morning to do all the prep work. There is an upside, though: It just so happens that a woman from the cafe (owner?) wanted a cat so the helpless little mewler with the unfortunate Hitler moustache now has a home. All is not lost on the pie front. Nita likes to bake pies and she happens to have a blueberry one at home. We break out the Jetboil to heat water for our instant coffee and in minutes she's back with a whole pie. Riding the Good Pie's propane bomb, Dr. Strangelove style. The kids will look back on this and smile. I don't think I would've even noticed this windmill museum had Nita not told us it was right along the road. It just looks like the property of another urban escapee convinced that contrails are actually chemtrails. This Very Long Baseline Array in Pie Town is one of ten radio telescopes in the US. The ten antennas simultaneously collect faint radio signals from objects in space. We're going to find out if aliens prefer talk radio or album-oriented rock. Your broken record moment: The road between Pie Town and Highway 12 is...easy. We regroup at the highway and start thinking about our gas options. There's no fuel between here and Mimbres, which is a long ways off.** This is when we realize that from Pie Town we were supposed to head west to Quemada to fill up and then backtrack to Pie Town to begin our journey south. The town of Reserve is about 30 miles southwest of us so we head there for gas. But not until we make friends with these beasts of burden. Lola is very good and doesn't bark. Simon, on the other hand, has a Napoleonic Complex and will not shut up. We can get gas in Reserve, but if we want to complain that'll require a lot more riding. Turns out that Reserve is the county seat of Catron County, the largest county (by area) in New Mexico. Amazingly, there is not a single stop light in the entire county. Rather than backtracking to where we turned onto Highway 12, we cut down Forest Road 94 to hook back up with the tracks. Should you forget to go to Quemado like we did, this is a nice alternative. Not as fancy as other Continental Divide signs we've taken pictures of, but still just as special. Not sure what type of rock litters the road. Quartz? This part of New Mexico is all about . You don't want to be too tired here or you can easily overshoot your turn and create additional work of having to drag your bike back up the hillside. After hours of climbing up and down mountains and working switchbacks, we're ready for a break. Lower Black Canyon Campground is nearby and I'd love to call it a day, but it's still a little too early for that. As we get closer to Silver City we come upon Chino, one of the oldest and largest open-pit copper mines. I'll pass on drinking any well water in this area. We go through Fort Bayard to get back into the Gila National Forest so we can find a free camping spot for the night. Although the place looks abandoned, it's now Fort Bayard Medical Center, administered by the New Mexico Department of Health as a long-term care nursing facility that also has a drug rehab center. We find a relatively private camping spot...until a truck parks not too far from us. The boys are looking at it, wondering what's going on. After a short while the truck leaves. (The following morning on our way out I see a used condom near where the truck was parked — that's what was going on.) This scene of turmoil is not too far from where we pitched camp. There's no evidence of a homocide so we don't feel a need to pack up and leave. However, I doubt Alex is going to leave his gun in the Ural's trunk and I'm sure not leaving my bear spray on the DRZ. I'm really not kidding when I say that all Simon thinks about is food. I'd like to say that I want his single-minded simplicity, but since all I care about is getting on two wheels I guess he and I are not so different after all. 218 miles, 6:05 hours moving time ----------------------- *Yes, this is a joke. Everybody knows you boil a cat to warm it up. **We went into Mimbres to get gas, but the station was out of business.

Other than a few sections that can be easily bypassed, this trip is beginner friendly. The hard part would be to get enough time off to do it, and to get the bikes to the start of the ride and then back home. Actually, if you had tons of time, there are plenty of dirt roads to do on the way to the start at Roosville. I think Kug-man worked in dirt on the way to the start of the CDT ride with his friend, Matt. I'll be making our tracks available for anybody interested in doing it...no need to live vicariously.

DAY 15 - JULY 18 - THURSDAY Cuba, NM to Pie Town, NM Rise and shine, campers! Wayne is a man on a mission: Get decent cell coverage so he can call the credit bureaus and regain control of his purloined identity. After wolfing down a fast food breakfast, Wayne wanders off to a quiet spot (which didn't really look all that quiet) to make his phone calls to the major credit bureaus to inform them that not all people are honest. The first one he calls says they'll alert the other two agencies which is good since that one call takes about 20 minutes. Oh, to have a job where you get to work with dogs and people who can't talk back. A guy who's familiar with New Mexico sheds some light on the areas we're about to travel. Nothing ahead of us sounds problematic. Into the wide open high desert we go. We are extremely lucky that the temps are in the 80s. Early on in the trip we were wondering if the New Mexico portion would have to be abandoned due to excessive heat. Both dogs are senior citizens but they still have the constitution for adventure as long as it doesn't include seizure-inducing heat. The monsoonal weather has created the occasional . The ranchers have done their share of skirting so it's not hard to find their tracks to follow. We must be crossing through mostly private property since there are a lot of gates we have to open and close. Amazingly, this Western Diamondback is the only snake we've seen on the entire trip. We frequently see rattlers when we mountain bike in San Diego so their paucity across so many miles of prime snake territory is surprising. This part of New Mexico is . A heavy afternoon storm could easily halt forward progress — if one arroyo isn't rendered impassable, there are many others ready to step up. While it's not hot by desert standards, it's still hot, especially when you're not moving. We find the only shade for miles around under these mesquite trees. Apparently the cows also like this place since it's littered with patties. The warm, humid smell has a way of dulling one's palate. After we get gas in Grant we have about 60 miles of pavement to cover before returning to dirt. As Alex takes off down the road I think he gives us the universal sign for "See you stiffs in Pie Town!" Pie Town gets its name from a 1920s bakery that made dried-apple pies (unless the internet lied to me). There are two pie joints in town and the one we head to this afternoon is Pie-O-Neer (we plan to have breakfast at the other one tomorrow). We squeak into Pie-O-Neer just before they close. This is important because Alex is a pie freak and if he could do one thing in life it would be to write a coffee table book about motorcycling and pies. Had they been closed, that picnic table would've been overturned and a few windows would've been smashed. The pie selection was light since it was the end of the day, but Alex still got ahold of two solid slices. Our night's accommodations are at the Toaster House, so named for the toasters that festoon the entrance. It's a place where Continental Divide bicyclists, hikers, motorcyclists, etc. can stay for free. The owner, Nita, lives in another house not too far from this one. Unless I completely misheard the story, I think the first toaster that appeared had something to do with a long-ago divorce whereby a toaster was unceremoniously returned by being hung on the gate. The kitchen is stocked with food and cooking utensils. I pull a frozen pizza from the refrigerator out on the back porch but I couldn't figure out how to work the stove. Where are the knobs? Say what?! A wood burning stove? Absolutely barbaric. Thankfully, the pizza isn't full sized so it fits in the toaster oven. There were several bedrooms (complete with mattresses and bedding), including a sizeable loft above the kitchen. Funky stuff could be found throughout the property, including this gem. Simon wants to make a call to the SPCA about his sub-par travelling conditions but he doesn't have pockets to carry the coins needed for the call. If you're doing the Divide, you should spend a night at the Toaster House (34.300315,-108.138573). Donations keep the house up and running. 202 miles, 5:36 hours moving time

At first I wasn't too impressed by New Mexico, but then it really grew on me. I don't think I'd want to live there but I'd go back to visit. The owner of the Frosty Cow, who lived in SD, said the political and cultural situation was not a good one.

DAY 14 - JULY 17 - WEDNESDAY Chama, NM to Cuba, NM Sit up for one second and He Who Covets Pillows slides right on in. A picnic table at a camp site is a bonus; a covered one is a luxury. I think Twin Rivers refers to Rio Chama (a major tributary of Rio Grande), and Rio Chamita (a tributary of Rio Chama) since the RV park is sandwiched between the two. Rio Chamita has been in the EPA's crosshairs for high levels of phosphorous, ammonia and fecal coliform. Thankfully for the tourist-dependent Chama, people come to ride the historic steam-driven train and not frolic in their waters. While we're waiting to get through a stretch of road construction, Alex the Dog Whispering Biscuit Peddler once again demonstrates why the bitches love him. The first thing I notice about New Mexico's dirt roads is that someone siphoned off all the funds earmarked for their maintenance. If you like it rough, make this your next vacation destination. we'd been anticipating. There isn't much for me to do but keep the gas steady and try not to fight the bike. If you watch the video you can see Wayne's DRZ jerking around; having Simon attached to him must've made the ride a lot harder. Simon is pretty good about sitting still, but when he starts shifting around his weight becomes even more noticeable. Alex is stopped on the hill waiting for his clutch to cool down. The space between him and the tree would be ample if it weren't for all the bouncing around. As I approach him he very wisely pulls in his leg. With the rocks behind us, we take a breather at the top. Hey, I guess not all of New Mexico's dirt roads have gone to seed. The grasshoppers are thick in parts. Whoever's in the lead scares them up so they pelt the person behind. , but you get the idea (probably most obvious at around 40 seconds). Not unlike the grasshoppers, the cows sometimes get spooked and take off. but can't seem to shake the large thing behind it. When we get to the pavement we wait to regroup with Alex. So how does Simon spend his moment of freedom?... ...He finds a soft cow patty and grinds himself into it. Arrrrgh! Simon is angling to be the only dog in all of northern New Mexico to be put on a leash. We noticed there were no gas waypoints for Vallecitos, but we're hoping we might find a place for lunch. Man, I do hereby apologize to Chama for calling it an armpit. Vallecitos is the true axilla of New Mexico, if not the unwashed perineum. With no other town nearby, we stop and dig through our bags for a suitable lunch. We also take this opportunity to evaluate an upcoming section, which has several waypoints for steep rocky hills. Seeing how Alex's clutch took a beating on the hill this morning, we decide to do a reroute. Although we don't know the quality of the roads on the reroute, we do know they're at least not dotted lines in the DeLorme Atlas. The roads also stay close to the Continental Divide (cross it even?) so we stay true to the journey. Simon is interested in helping; Lola less so. We stop in Abiquiu to get gas and food for dinner. Always on the lookout for our daily ice cream fix, The Frosty Cow is a beautiful site. It should also be the backdrop for Wes Anderson's (the color-obsessed director) next movie. Lola thinks keeping ice cream just out of Simon's reach is as funny as I do. After Abiquiu we're on pavement until we hit County Road 217, where our reroute begins. And are we ever pleased to encounter a Ural friendly surface! At a T in the road we check to make sure we're turning onto Forest Road 103. There was some snafu while loading my tracks so I don't have them — I'm relying on the boys to lead the way. Teakettle rock looks like it was dropped there from outer space. There are no other rock formations in the area (at least that we could see). I can no longer accuse New Mexico of having bad roads — this is some serious high-speed hardpack. Bonus: None of that gravel that I deeply despise. With the sun getting low, we find a camping spot near an overlook. It looks like a peaceful meal, and it is if you don't include Wayne's brain spinning a mile a minute. A few days ago he got an email from a major retailer thanking him for taking a survey he didn't take. As I was pitching the tent he checked his voicemail and learned that someone tried opening a credit card account in his name. He talked to his current credit card company and someone tried charging $550 at Bloomingdales.com and $2500 at Sears.com on his card (the charges were not approved). Having someone trying to steal your identity while you're on vacation and in the middle of nowhere is a huge buzz kill. I look out and see a sunset. Wayne looks out and sees a world where somebody is running around trying to pretend he's him. Simon is thinking about the same thing he thinks about 24/7. 178 miles, 5:58 hours moving time

DAY 13 - JULY 16 - TUESDAY Salida, CO to Chama, NM It was such a hard night of partying for Lola that her soul fled through her eyes so it could get some rest in a quiet corner before re-entering that burly body for another long day of riding shotgun. This couple stared at us all yesterday afternoon as we unpacked, and they're back this morning to pick up where they left off. Don't they know how to work a TV? They are travelling with someone related to them, as a loud command to get their asses in gear is delivered by a woman whose nerves seem frayed by the responsibility of caring for aging parents (whose only pastime is staring at strangers). Alex and Wayne chat about whatever it is dudes like to chat about (pick one: vehicles, weapons, team sports, action movies, or mammalian milk-delivery devices.) Wayne's concentration is not 100% there because he's been complaining all morning about how his boots seemed to have shrunk as a result of the previous day's rains. Apparently, they are so tight they're causing a bit of pain. Wayne looks at the line between pavement and dirt while Simon looks at whatever dogs with cataracts think they're looking at (pick one: food or food). The rains from the previous day make this stretch of road perfect. There's no dust and the traction combined with moderate surface imperfections makes it a blast to ride. I give it a thumbs up. Marshall Pass is at 10,842 feet so Simon puts on his hangdog "I've got altitude sickness so how about a medicinal biscuit?" face. It's a fine day to cruise into the Rio Grande National Forest. Once we're back on pavement we wait to regroup with Alex. Wayne still cannot believe how much his boots have shrunk and how hard it is to shift. Just standing there makes his feet throb. He asks me how my boots feel. I tell him they feel great — spacious, even. Hmmm... ...we realize at the same moment we must've swapped boots! None of our riding gear is identical except for the boots and all this time Wayne had his size 10.5 feet jammed into my 7.5 boots. When I am done crying and snorting and slapping my thigh — it's hilarious when you're not on the suffering end of it! — we have a boot repatriation ceremony. Only after my boots are back on my feet do I realize how (deliciously) sloppy Wayne's boots were. I feel like I'm going from a full-size sedan back to a compact. It's lunch time at La Garita, a single-business kinda town. Although La Garita is in the middle of nowhere, they've still got what really matters. After lunch we hit some fun two-track that has a TAT flavor. There are plenty of puddles from the rain and for my street friends who have never ridden through mud, of how it can send your bike in a random direction. Anybody notice I haven't crashed on this trip yet? Well, that lucky streak ends here and now. We made a brief stop and upon resuming I wipe the camera cover and focus on Alex and Wayne to try to get some nice footage. I'm not paying enough attention to the terrain and that slaps me into the dirt. I'm on a slight bank so there's hope I can pick up the bike without destroying my spine and every muscle attached to it. I put my back to the bike, grab the handlebar and the rear rack, and dead lift the pig for all I'm worth. I'm surprised I get it righted (minor back soreness the next day) and catch up to Wayne who's waiting for me. Wayne is probably telling me how much better his feet feel right now. A lot of bicyclists must've been wandering onto the airport property because there were many of these signs to keep them on the proper path. Del Norte has a grocery store so we grab some items for dinner. Wayne and Simon look away as if they don't know each other: Wayne is ashamed of having a puny, girly dog and Simon is ashamed of being seen with the filthy homeless-looking dude. You can buy buffalo meat online from a company in Del Norte — these must be the blissfully ignorant steaks-to-be. South of Del Norte are miles and miles of switchbacks that wind up and down around several mountains. It's such physical riding I'm not able to take my hand off the bar to do my one-handed shots. I try to take video but the battery in my action cam is dead. For those who know the true value of a squiggly line on a map, I'm sure you can appreciate this bit of twisted intestine. After that long stretch, we need a break. While we're hanging out, a camp host working in the area ask if we'll deliver a message to the campers at Spectacle Lake (it's just far enough away he doesn't want to make the round trip). Colorado recently had several large wildfires so a campfire restriction was in place. Thanks to the heavy rains of late, that restriction has been lifted and he wants us to tell the campers at Spectacle Lake. We tell him we will pass on the news. Wayne finds the few campers and spreads the word. I wonder how people didn't believe him and stuck with their plans of making smores over the Coleman stove. By the time we get to Chama, NM it's around 7:00. Chama is a bit of an armpit, but we're so tired we're willing to find a place in town. Twin River Trailer Park is where we decide to lay our heads tonight. But not until we wolf down another big pot of Alex's Taco Soup. It's the dinner of elite athletes and adventure riders. 251 miles, 7:19 hours moving time

Working on the next entry...only a few days left to write up. Must. Keep. Focused. As for Wayne: Yeah, he's a talker, not a typer. Anybody who has ever struck up a conversation with Wayne will wonder what happened to the last few hours or his or her life.

DAY 12 - JULY 15 - MONDAY Kremmling, CO to Salida, CO Simon usually sits right next to one of the bikes, convinced that we'll try to ditch him, but for some reason he's taking a chance this morning and sitting in the road. That's an impressive shadow for a dog of exceedlingly small stature. My GPS has two sizeable blotches that grew from two small lines. They aren't a big deal but every time I glance down I think they're waypoints for water crossings. It's a fast road into Kremmling that's also light on dust due to the recent rains. I can sense a Kum & Go waiting for us just miles away. This couple "skiing" down the road is moving along with decent speed. It would appear that she's parapalegic while he's an amputee. She's a fair way in the lead, which is surprising given the guns on the guy. Maybe she's the mechanic and he got the wheels with square bearings. Dillon Reservoir is the largest water storage facility owned and operated by Denver Water. If you're angry at someone in Denver, you know where to pee. In Breckenridge, these two gents show interest in the Ural. They walk part way across the parking lot and stop, asking questions about the rig across a DMZ they won't cross. As another man — not sporting full-body orange — approaches their truck, the two dutifully retreat, showing us the SUMMIT COUNTY JAIL stamped across their backs. What I learn today: Dudes who run afoul of the law dig Urals more than DRZs. Can't blame them, especially since the camo paint job is the antithesis of their screaming orange togs. The post-lunch scenery is excellent for digestion. Boreas Pass reaches 11,481 feet. Wayne gives a thumbs up for the DRZs that keep on chugging despite the thin air. We've seen a lot of cows so far, but these are our first Texas Longhorns. This one looks self-assured enough that I snap the pic as quickly as possible so I can get both hands back on the bars. They might be extremely docile, but I still would never turn my back on anything with two bayonets glued to their heads. And hey, doesn't the sky look a little dark?... ...Oh, that's because it freaking is. The rain begins gradually but reaches full annoyance before too long. An ordinarily easy road is now soft with mud and the DRZs are tracking wherever the mud wants it to track. I can't speak for Wayne, but I think this is the hardest riding yet. Actually, there's no real riding involved — I'm just applying the gas and accepting whatever comes. We make it into Hartsel, which is a little drier than where we were at. We're not feeling optimistic about the weather clearing up so Wayne calls the Super 8 in Salida and reserves a room (it looks like he's giving himself a "time out" in the process). We make the decision to bypass a dirt section into Salida since it's marked with a water crossing. A recent storm has caused flash flooding through parts of Colorado (along with a rare funnel cloud on Pikes Peak) so that crossing is probably anything but a crossing at the moment. The rain has backed off but it's still not a Kodak-moment type of afternoon. We finally knock out the pavement miles and arrive at the Salida Super 8 where our own Hot Tub Time Machine awaits us. 1986, take us away! 183 miles, 4:29 hours moving time

It's been fun sharing the ride, even though there's been no high drama of getting the tent slashed open by a bear. Paul, nice photoshopping...and the only way anybody would know it's photoshopped is because the Ural is simply unable to move that fast (doesn't matter what shutter speed is used...). Might be a few days before I can get another entry up. Gotta head up to the Bay Area. Everybody, keep practicing your squats. When the armageddon is upon us and all the furniture has been destroyed, you will be delighted to have this skill.

DAY 11 - JULY 14 - SUNDAY Rawlins, WY to Kremmling, CO Goodbye Rawlins, we hardly knew ye. At the least, we do know that you are situated near some mighty wide roads. If these dirt roads don't normally have a dotted line or anything else to indicate where the center is, why are these traffic barrels needed during repairs? Road workers must be terrible drivers! I'd ask someone but it's Sunday and no one is on site. These ambassadors of Colorado line the road and welcome us to their state, where you can now legally spark up a fat one. Mile high? Now it is. Other than the dualsporters we saw at the gas stop in Montana, we haven't seen any other motorcyclists so it's not hard for them to stand out. Anybody reading this recognize themselves? I am jealous of your ample windscreens. We're back on the pavement as we cruise into Steamboat Springs. The traffic heading into town is tedious, as vehicles towing recreational items barely meet the speed limit. I can't decide what's more frustrating: urban commuter traffic or rural traffic on an impassible two-lane road. We eventually get into town and pull into a gas station. The pumps aren't working properly so we give up and opt to have lunch at the Mexican place right next to the pumps. Our burritos are awesome. This and the sandwich in Butte have been the culinary standouts of the trip (I realize that's not hard when most meals have been coming out of cans and wrappers, but this is still a tremendous burrito). We chat with Kent, the owner, who lived in San Diego for a while. Kent is looking like a KTM rep in this photo. Kent is into experimentation and he tells us about a dish he created featuring chorrizo, pistacios and macaroni and cheese. We aren't making particularly supportive comments about the blend so he insists we try it. It was, in fact, peculiar in concept but delicious in reality. If you stop at Taco Cabo in Steamboat Springs, tell Kent that Zina sent you. He will either look at you blankly or smile and slap you on the back. If he's concocting something new maybe he'll give you a sample. It could be that Alex, Wayne and I have the emotional age of 17-year-olds, but we snort every time we pull into a Kum & Go. According to Wikipedia: It was a play on the phrase "come and go" using the initials of founders Krause and Gentle. Sales of Kum & Go-branded merchandise increased after Johnny Knoxville was seen wearing a Kum & Go t-shirt during a scene in the 2006 movie Jackass Number Two. Kum & Go + Jackass = Destiny. And while we're on the subject of gasoline, something was up with Montana's petrol blend. I found it hard to ride behind Wayne because the exhaust stunk like dirty diesel. After we departed Montana and started using Idaho's gas, the smell stopped (and never came back in any other state). What are they putting in that Big Sky mix? The usual afternoon build-up of clouds is taking place as we leave Steamboat Springs. Will we be heading into rain? This fox with a fresh kill has a fluffy tail but otherwise seems low on fur. As I was fumbling with my camera it ran off so I only have a video of it. As we're nearing the waypoint of a deep water crossing, we come across two riders. They warn us that another rider had tried crossing it the day before and sunk his bike in waist-deep water and it wouldn't start again. They found a way around the water but it sounded like a nasty slog that took them a couple of hours. They tell us we can easily bypass the water by taking the highway for a short stretch. We don't need any convincing. Here's a photo from a trip to Utah where Wayne misjudged the water level. It took a couple of hours of draining and drying before the bike would run again. So thank you coarsegoldkid (advrider) and friend for saving us from ourselves because if we rode up to it, we'd probably have risen to the aquatic challenge, only to fail spectacularly. While we're on the highway looking for the dirt turnoff it starts to rain. We're having a hard time finding the correct turnoff and end up riding back and forth a few times. We eventually decide a road we had previously started down must be the correct one so we continue on. Thankfully, the rain lets up before the trail gets sloppy. It's late afternoon and we're about to descend into the valley. Time to start thinking about a camping spot somewhere down there. About 10 miles from Kremmling we settle in for the night at Pumphouse Campground. It's a beautiful spot along the Colorado River, but what I like the most about it is the lack of insects, particularly mosquitoes. I am still scratching the bites I have until they're bloody. A dog from a neighboring campground comes to visit. Alex is a Dog Whisperer and they are instinctively drawn to his primal magnetism. That and his endless supply of treats. Since we've got some daylight remaining, we give the Ural a test drive. It's fun to drive, but I can only say that because I never took it out of first gear. I can see all the body English Alex puts into turning the rig at high speeds and it looks like a lot of work. Alex treats me to what he calls "flying the chair," where he gets the sidecar into the air by tilting the Ural onto the motorcycle's two wheels ). I feel like I'm on a Disneyland e-ticket ride! And finally, no day can end without the requisite sock washing. In Asian culture, the feet are the key energy centers and need to be kept clean or the chi will be blocked, resulting in a whole host of illnesses. Last time I didn't wash my feet I passed out and rode into a barbed wire fence.* 208 miles, 6:03 hours moving time ------------------------ *I made this up. There just wasn't enough drama on today's ride. You gotta admit that this piqued your interest, no?

You're practicing because deep in your heart you know it's the most awesome way to sit.

DAY 10 - JULY 13 - SATURDAY Pinedale, WY to Rawlins, WY The sun rises around 6:00, and we usually roll out of our tents soon after. Today, however, is special. It's Great Divide Basin day, where we will have our longest stretch without gas. We will be riding through a high desert full of nothing. There's also a section near the start where Big Dog entered the waypoint "Bad Hill — Washed Out." Not knowing how bad it would be, Alex wanted to strike out early so he'd have extra time to struggle through whatever lay ahead. On our way out of Pinedale I see something unusual in the back of a truck. I can't really tell what it is, but I'm pretty sure antlers are involved. Not until I look at the photo much later do I realize this American treasure is a floor lamp. If it's not a family heirloom, it should be. Not too far out of Pinedale the dirt begins. This is the first gate we've encountered on the entire trip. The road is also taking on a more TAT-like quality. We arrive at Big Dog's bad hill and are relieved not to find Alex upside-down or otherwise incapacitated. Wayne goes up first, stops halfway for reasons unknown, and then continues on. I don't like the fact that he had to stop so I wait for his signal. He returns to the place he stopped and waves me up. I rumble until I crest the first hill and drop into a sandy spot. Wayne wanted to make sure I didn't come into it too fast and tuck the front. The rest of the way is steep, but it looks doable so I continue on. I make it to the top without dropping the bike and that always deserves a fist bump. (Footage of the hill ride is ). Lander Cutoff was one of the first federally sponsored roads in the west. It was good for the emigrants and even better for CDT riders because... ...this road was so creamy and smooth they should've named it Ice Cream Cutoff. We happen to be passing through the historic site of South Pass City on Gold Rush Days, where visitors could enjoy such activities as gold panning and anvil blasting (I didn't even know that existed — apparently it's brilliant entertainment if you've got a spare anvil and surplus gunpowder). It is mildly surreal to be in the middle of nowhere yet have vehicles continually stream by. With South Pass City and Atlantic City behind us, we're heading into the heart of the Big Empty. From here to Rawlins it's a heaping plateful of NOTHING. That's why it's so very disconcerting to see Alex pointing in the wrong direction. The Ural disapproved of the washboard surface and made this clear by spitting out its differential dipstick/plug. Alex backtracked in search of the plug but had no luck. While Alex and Wayne work on a solution, I backtrack the rest of the washboard section in hopes of finding the plug. I return empty handed, but the boys have figured out a temporary solution with a hose slipped over a smaller bolt. Once again the Ural is cleared for flight. Wayne and Simon have disappeared somewhere way ahead of me (Alex and Lola are even farther down the road). The dark grey skies over empty desert create a post-apocalyptic landscape that makes me feel like the last person on earth. There's lightning in the distance and, ya know, I'm feeling a little lonely right now... everybody's got a dog but me. That's why I'm so excited to see this man-made oasis; it's a place to hide from the incoming weather. And being one to anthropomorphize everything, the slow movement of the pumpjack makes me feel like I've now got a mechanical pet to keep me company. Problem is, Wayne might get 50 miles down the road before he knows I've stopped. And there's the chance that a storm won't materialize so hunkering down would be a waste of time. I sigh and move on. At least I didn't hang around long enough to give the pumpjack a name and make leaving even harder. I eventually catch up to Wayne, who has stopped to put on his rain gear. I do the same. When we regroup with Alex about an hour later the storm has backed off — temporarily — and we strip back down for the heat. Not even this wonky terrain will stop Alex and Lola from getting to Rawlins! When we finally get to I-80 the eastbound lanes are closed so we're forced to share the westbound lanes. I-80 is a trucking corridor and the semis are all around us. The ones passing us in the other direction create wind blasts that push the DRZ around. The semi behind me is parked on my ass but I've got nowhere to go. Suddenly Wayne throws an arm up and veers off the freeway into the dirt median. I do the same and since we're travelling at 70 mph I'm hoping it's a smooth transition because if it's not this is going to hurt, especially if I spin back into traffic and that tail-gating semi runs me over. I mentioned earlier that this was the longest stretch without gas, and Wayne's DRZ picked an uncomfortable place to underline that fact. Wayne pulls off the Rotopax and fills his tank. Although I haven't run out of gas and we're only a few miles from Rawlins, I demand that he also fill my tank because I do not want to go through that high speed freeway-departing maneuver again. In Rawlins we look for a campground while Alex goes in search of a bolt to replace the one the Ural ejected. We pay for a spot at Western Hills Campground and while we're deciding in which spot to camp, that storm we had been eyeing throughout the basin now unloads on us with violent winds and thunder and lightning. We take shelter but we're still getting thrashed by the weather-gone-sideways. Simon looks like he's napping but he's actually shaking and quietly praying to his doggy god to make it stop. If this weather can blow a bike over, a tent won't stand a chance. I go into the campground office and beg to have the charge cancelled. Thankfully, the woman at the counter lets us off the hook. We're delighted to get a place at the Super 8 for the night and order Chinese food to be delivered to our room in celebration. Mongolian beef all around! 236 miles, 6:28 hours moving time

Bear spray or taser: Which would you like to experience less?

DAY 9 - JULY 12 - FRIDAY Henrys Fork, ID to Pinedale, WY The bikes, wet from morning dew, dry in the sun. Although the cabin is small, three adults, two dogs, and a lot of dirty gear successfully co-existed for one night. Wayne successfully goads Alex into a squat! If only Alex could get the right heel on the ground he'd be given a set of imitation gold-plated chopsticks by the Community of Asiatic Bros. We've got a solid stretch of pavement this morning so we use this opportunity to shoot footage of Alex giving Simon an in-flight treat. As Wayne says before we take off, "This might be a really cool shot or a really killer crash!" Alex does a test-handoff to Simon before we start moving. Simon looks like a turtle cautiously coming out of his shell... even Lola watches with concern. Rough road? These civil engineers should take a tour of the TAT. Grassy Lake reservoir is about 80% full. Seeing how the water is just about even with the road, I'd like to know what happens at 100% capacity. As I'm taking pictures of these flattened lodgepole pines a ranger rolls up and looks into the distance, wondering why I'm interested in something so uninteresting. I ask him about the trees and he says it's a byproduct of a fire in the 80s. The trees, however, aren't charred so I can't reconcile what he's saying with what I'm seeing. If someone can explain to me why unburnt trees fall over like this, please do (yes, I googled it, without success). That's the Teton range behind Wayne. Unlike Mt. Whitney, there's no simple hiking route to the top of Grand Teton (13,775 feet), but you can reach the peak if you can handle 5.4 climbing. Tourists are the downside of any national park in summer. The Cruise America RVs are thick as the mosquitoes we encountered at Clark Canyon Reservoir. This traffic jam in the middle of nowhere is courtesy of the brown blob in the next photo. What is that brown blob you ask? It's a grizzly cub with its face in the grass, indifferent to the people who would run up and cuddle it were it not for the park volunteers keeping gawkers at a distance. Isn't anybody the least bit worried mama bear is somewhere near? Wayne should be since something's up with his can of bear spray...but we'll get to that later... All the inattentive drivers have worked up a fierce hunger in us. We stop at Buffalo Valley Cafe, which has a dog-friendly outside deck. I'm not one to get excited about flowers, but I do notice that the meadows in Wyoming have the most beautiful wildflowers. It's probably a post-lunch high that's affecting me. It might be summer, but it's chilly when you're moving at 9,584 ft. I need to put on another layer while Alex needs to see if anything else has tried to rattle off. We've got about a 30 mile section of Highway 287 before we're back on dirt. Plenty of nice scenery in this stretch. Southern California is bone dry this time of the year so I never stop marvelling at how the landscape is so green. Green is also my favorite color so it's hard to get too much of it. One of the many beautiful meandering streams (or is the name in the next sign what the locals call these?). We get to Union Pass Road and decide that we have to get gas or we won't make it to Pinedale. We start heading northeast towards Highway 26 when just a half mile down the road we see this sign with that very magic word: FUEL. Sure enough, a lone pump can be found at 43.579346,-109.825323. It doesn't even show up on Google Maps yet. Future CDT riders, make note of this watering hole for your horse. This road was a refreshing change from the wide stuff we've been on. It's a little loose and lumpy; just enough to offer entertainment on a porky DRZ. Like I said before, what's fun for us isn't fun for Alex. By the time he's done with that stretch, he's beat up. Lucky for him we were close to pavement and on the day's final leg heading into Pinedale. When we get to Pinedale, the main street is lined with vendors and people are strolling all around. We stop in the grocery to pick up provisions and I see three guys dressed up in constume. Rennaisance Faire? Then I realize one of the guys is wearing a coonskin cap. Why it's the 78th Annual Green River Rendezvous Days where people get in touch with their inner squaw-stealing mountain men! We set up camp at Half Moon Lake, just outside of Pinedale. As we're unpacking, Wayne is alarmed by an unidentified substance all over the inside of his bag. Then he finds the culprit... His can of bear spray had been rubbing against something which eventually punctured the can. Knowing that he's dealing with a major irritant, he carefully pulls out the contaminated bags and washes them, avoiding contact to the best of his abilities. When the cleaning's done and his hands are washed, he can finally wipe his runny nose. He continues unpacking his gear...and minutes later the downward spiral begins... Wayne's nose is running and it won't stop. There's a discomfort that's only relieved by rubbing with a wet towel. He asks me for some Neosporin and starts rubbing it in his nose. His face is red. He's wandering around the camp mildly fluxxomed. I ask him what's wrong and he explains he thinks he's somehow gotten the bear spray into his sinuses. Tears are running down his face as the effects of the capsicum grows in intensity. He's beginning to wonder if his breathing is going to be affected and if his eyes will swell shut. I'm looking for his phone so I can get on the internet and find a remedy when Wayne says, "What does it say on the can?" I read it and it says if you get it in your eyes to flush the area for 20 minutes. Unfortunately, we're at a campground with no water, but fortunately the lake is a mere 20 feet away. Alex and I insist that he go stick his head in the lake for as long as it takes for the pain to go away. Eventually Wayne comes back from his liquid purge and feels much better. His face is still red and he still keeps blowing his nose, but the panic is gone. Thank you Half Moon Lake for saving us from a trip to the local hospital where they'd charge Wayne $1,000 for the pleasure of giving him the facial version of an enema. 262 miles, 7:15 hours moving time

I'm having a fun time with the write-up. And I'm hoping that if anybody is interested in doing this trip they'll see it's quite achievable. Yes, even a caveman could do it.