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DAY 7 - JULY 10 - WEDNESDAY

Moose Creek, MT to Clark Canyon Reservoir, MT

A woodpecker sporting a lucha libre mask serves as this morning's alarm clock. Does it know that the FDA recommended daily allowance for creosote is zero? Apparently not.

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We follow an easy forest road towards our lunch destination of Butte (has any road not been easy?). The road is mostly lined by trees so there's not much to photograph (really, it's possible to get your fill of trees when they're constantly in your face). We get to Basin on the interstate and things finally start to change up as we follow a frontage road along I-15.

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This civil engineering exercise from 1911 is a refreshing change of scenery. I'm about to make a Freudian Trip by slipping my unit into the tunnel.

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The DRZ headlight is so anemic that I'm riding through the tunnel almost blind, hoping not to hit an obstacle or drop into a hole. My video camera is running and its optic eye does a superior job of seeing in the dim light.

Alex lived in Bozeman before moving to Colorado so he's familiar with a lot of places in Montana. He guides us to an eatery called Great Harvest Bread Co. and we get the best sandwiches we'll eat on the entire trip. As is standard for dualsporters with dogs, we must dine outside. It's really not health codes that keeps dogs out of restaurants; it's their predatory glare at the food transferring from hand to mouth that requires the ban. A patron cannot dine comfortably when a dog will lunge at his or her face at any moment.

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Think I'm kidding? I've watched Lola watch Alex and I'll bet a few meals have ended with him peeling her jaws off his face. Alex actually has a cool scar along his cheek which he claims is from his childhood. I understand sometimes you have to tell white lies to cover for the bad table manners of your best friend.

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Simon is much less of a reconstructive surgery threat. He's more a a dropped-food opportunist so it's fun to see if he'll go for a piece of napkin soiled with mustard.

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Back in the dirt after lunch we encounter more heavily ladened cyclists making their way south. I see a frisky little dust cloud behind Alex — did he actually roost them?

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For now we're out of the wall-to-wall trees. We wind along hillsides where low scrub transition into meadows. Niiiice.

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Alex is taking a break and as we roll up we notice he and Lola have company. The friendly mixed-breed border collie greets Simon.

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The dog has no collar but he's in great shape. Alex offered him water but I think he said he didn't seem desperate to drink or eat — it's a good sign that he's not starving. Still, being dog lovers we're disturbed about leaving him behind. We haven't passed any homes since we left Butte so where did the dog come from? Did he bounce out of someone's truck bed? I'm an extra bit sad to leave the dog because he's similar to my late best friend, Lucky.

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When we get to Highway 43, we see Alex talking to a couple of guys. As we get near, Alex pulls back onto the road and continues on. Shortly thereafter, we pass this van.

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Turns out the guys that Alex was talking to had waved him down. They said their van had a flat and someone either needed a ride to or from the van. Alex wasn't about to boot Lola out of the sidecar so that's probably why the guys were fervently waving at us. Alex explained later that the guys were unkempt to the point of being scabby and that they didn't even have a spare with which to replace their flat tire. That explains why they were waving at us — they were probably baked to the point of cluelessness. Were they hoping to sit on our handlebars? Anyhoo, being a hippie might've been cool in the 60s, and nowadays it might even be sweet if you're a clean-ish hippie toting a guitar, but c'mon, nobody wants a dreadlocked vector for lice in their car.

We cover a lot of ground on the paved Pioneer Mountains Scenic Byway, which reaches 10,000 feet. I think I heard Alex's Ural let out an audible groan when nearing those five digits. He looks intense on the downhill side of the byway; he's taking advantage of the speed wherever he can.

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It's really too bad there's that thing called snow or else I'd consider moving to an area like this with a better bike culture. The People's Republic of Kalifornia is impressively mountain bike unfriendly, at least in the San Diego area.

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It's late afternoon and time to think about a camping spot. We stop at Bannack State Park but they want $23 for a mostly primitive campground. No point in paying for an enclosure that features a toilet, an overpowering odor, and a swarm of flies. However, in hindsight we should've enjoyed the ghost town since they got hammered by a flash flood one week after we were there and will require a lot of work to be restored. This underlines the capriciousness of weather and backroads travel: Had we departed one week later on our trip, we might've found a lot of this area a big pain in the ass to get through. Even Highway 89, some 75 miles to the east and the northern entrance to Yellowstone Park, was closed due to a landslide. But today, the weather is fine and we're on the move.

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About 20 miles southeast of Bannack we arrive at Clark Canyon Reservoir. It takes us a little while to understand why so few people are taking advantage of this beautiful waterfront spot. As it gets darker, the mosquitoes begin to congregate around our camp. By the time we're bedding down in our tents, the buzzing is so loud it feels like we've been dropped into a Hitchcock movie.

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Ever mindful of what is enabling us to see this part of the world, we lovingly put our horses in the barn for the night.

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187 miles, 5:20 hours moving time

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That Tunnel could use some grooming....

Specifically, a Brazilian wax job.

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Zena, great write up. im waiting to get to the part about the bear spray in waynes face. :dead:

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Wow, what an Epic trip. The captions, now that's some funny sh*t. Great write up, I'm inspired. :good:

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DAY 8 - JULY 11 - THURSDAY

Clark Canyon Reservoir, MT to Henrys Fork, ID

You know when the cloud of mosquitoes show up in a photo taken by a cheap Pentax, they must be thick.

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So thick, in fact, that Alex lights a morning fire to smoke them away. It just gives him another excuse to throw a match on gasoline.

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The road south passes through ranch land where several ATVs are slowly rolling through the fields. This one provides an opportunity to see its all-business set-up — at first I thought that piece behind her was a backrest, but unless I'm mistaken, that's quite the auxiliary tank.

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Cyclists have far outnumbered dualsporters on this trip so far. These gents look more like sea dogs on shore leave than CDT cyclists.

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A light rain is falling so we stop and put on rain gear. I made a cover for Simon's backpack out of waterproof nylon; there's a flap on the right side so he can still stick his head out.

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Since we're stopped, we decide to wait for Alex to catch up. We wait. And wait. He had mentioned that sometimes when it's raining hard and Lola won't take shelter in the nose of the sidecar, he'll pull over — maybe there's a cloudburst over him and he's hunkering down. Alex eventually appears as a dot in the distance and then climbs the hill towards us.

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It wasn't rain that slowed Alex down, but a broken exhaust bracket. He spun a web of wire around it but wasn't sure if it would hold. We had him go ahead of us in case he had another problem.

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Not too far down the road we find him with his tools on the ground... the wire was not up to the task. Wayne and Alex review their options.

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A local stops to see what's up. Alex asks if a nearby rancher might have a welder. The guy says it's quite likely, but that everyone is probably out in the field at the moment. He does tell us that we'll probably find someone in Lima, the very town we're headed to.

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Alex and Wayne continue cobbling until they have an architectural masterpiece of hose clamps, duct tape and zip ties.

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About a half hour later we find Alex yanking at the exhaust. The fix isn't holding and instead of risking the header getting dorked up by a flailing exhaust, he's just going to take it off. I guess the MacGyver seal of approval isn't always a guarantee of success.

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Onward to Lima, purported land of welders!

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We pull into this auto repair shop in Lima. They don't do welding, but Alex gets a lead on another place. We decide that while he takes care of the exhaust, we'll get lunch.

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We're hanging out at Mountain High Subs when Alex returns to us with a freshly welded exhaust bracket and an improved outlook. The welder had never seen a Ural before and was so stoked that he did the welding for free; however, Alex was so grateful for the work that he made the guy take his money anyways.

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This unrestrained exercise in self-expression is courtesy of the town's Crazy Old Man. According to the guy who owns the sub shop, people see the ice cream sign and go there in an attempt to satisfy their immediate needs. What they get is the equivalent of Clint Eastwood in Gran Torino telling them to get off his lawn. The sub shop owner also sells ice cream, which is probably why people end up recounting their Crazy Old Man stories to him.

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Lunch eaten? Check. Exhaust welded? Check. Time to leave Lima. The skies have made no effort to retract the gloomy pall but at least that keeps the temperature pleasant, effectively making it an ideal day for extended roadside stops where shade is non-existent.

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Alex had stopped to take some photos, giving us a chance to catch up and regroup. I'm not in the habit of looking down at people's tires but for some reason just as we're taking off I glance down at Alex's rear tire and notice it's flat. (Maybe I had been unconsciously performing courtesy checks on his bike since he caught my flat a few days before?) At least a flat is less problematic than a wagging exhaust, especially when you've got a handy center stand.

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Like I just said, it's a pleasant day for extended roadside stops. No sweating, no cursing the heat — just take in the scenery.

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So which side of the marker does someone pee on to have it flow east?

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Near the end of the day we hit a Road Closed sign. Light rain is falling so rather than head down an alternate — and unknown — dirt road* we return to the pavement in search of a good stopping point for the night.

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We pull into Sawtelle Mountain Resort, which has a little of everything: RV hookups, tent camping, cabins and motel rooms. Unfortunately, the rooms are booked up and we don't feel like pitching our tents in the rain. Can you tell I'm ready to stop for the day?

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Not too far down the road we score a cabin at Macks Inn Resort on the Snake River.

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The rain lets up but we're still glad to have a room with a shower. Alex's day isn't quite done... he decides to fix the flat since there's daylight left. Wayne tries to goad Alex into squatting but Alex doesn't take the bait. The day's been eventful enough without him popping an achilles!

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159 miles, 4:31 hours moving time

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* We're adventurers up to 4:00 pm. After that, our focus turns to making sure dinner and sleep is not jeopardized in any way.

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Thx for keeping up with this, Z. I know it takes some work & time,

Looks like you found the AAA Quad. I concur with extra gas - wow.

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Thx for keeping up with this, Z. I know it takes some work & 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. :)

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This is really fun to follow. Thanks for posting. Thinking that quad might be an agricultural spray rig.

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This is really fun to follow. Thanks for posting. Thinking that quad might be an agricultural spray rig.

That makes sense - couldn't figure the hose out..... Wonder what they're spraying out there and how does one get that job?

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Thanks for the update. I have been thinking of the CDT for my wife and I. The road seems smooth as silk so far. How do those cyclist make it without gear? Cabins, I guess? Anyone jeeping or RV'ing that trail?

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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).

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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.

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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.

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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...

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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.

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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.

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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.

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We've got about a 30 mile section of Highway 287 before we're back on dirt. Plenty of nice scenery in this stretch.

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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.

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One of the many beautiful meandering streams (or is the name in the next sign what the locals call these?).

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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!

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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...

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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.

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262 miles, 7:15 hours moving time

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Facial enema - check.

I can tell you from multiple training sessions that OC will mess you up. I'm sure others here concur.

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I can tell you from multiple training sessions that OC will mess you up. I'm sure others here concur.

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

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Taser. But unless you have the projectile type, spray is better for personal defense since you don't have to make contact.

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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.

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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.

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Not too far out of Pinedale the dirt begins.

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This is the first gate we've encountered on the entire trip. The road is also taking on a more TAT-like quality.

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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.

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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.

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I make it to the top without dropping the bike and that always deserves a fist bump. (Footage of the hill ride is

).

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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...

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...this road was so creamy and smooth they should've named it Ice Cream Cutoff.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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I eventually catch up to Wayne, who has stopped to put on his rain gear. I do the same.

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When we regroup with Alex about an hour later the storm has backed off — temporarily — and we strip back down for the heat.

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Not even this wonky terrain will stop Alex and Lola from getting to Rawlins!

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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!

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236 miles, 6:28 hours moving time

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Great reading. What an adventure. Zina you are officially nominated to the Bad-A$$ club (if there is one)...

I have been practicing...( I dont know why...) Not the achilles thats the problem, its the big gut and the tight shins and jeans. Not real comfortable.... No rice paddies locally so the garden backdrop will have to do...

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I have been practicing...( I dont know why...)

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

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It's like Christmas morning everytime I visit SDAR and see another leg of the trip report posted.......Thanks Z! :good:

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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?

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The usual afternoon build-up of clouds is taking place as we leave Steamboat Springs. Will we be heading into rain?

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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.

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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.

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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.

0714_utah.jpg

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.

0714_postrain.jpg

It's late afternoon and we're about to descend into the valley. Time to start thinking about a camping spot somewhere down there.

0714_valley.jpg

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.

0714_camp.jpg

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.

0714_dogs.jpg

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.

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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!

0714_sidecar2.jpg

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.*

0714_laundry.jpg

208 miles, 6:03 hours moving time

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------------------------

*I made this up. There just wasn't enough drama on today's ride. You gotta admit that this piqued your interest, no?

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