Day 108 to 109 – to Windermere, Canada

7 to 8 July    Kms travelled – 27,349

It was good to get back on the road following the enforced stop-over in Bozeman, even though I was now carrying a weariness with me regarding the time spent travelling.  108 days away from home, closing on 4 months, I realised was pretty much my limit in terms of time away from the most excellent Mrs Pat.  My time was running out, as were my finances, so the decision was made to skip Calgary and its world famous stampede, but to ride a more direct heading towards Alaska.  Rodeo and the stampede had been one of my ´would really like to dos´ for this trip – but they were competing against my last remaining ´must do´ - and that was get to Alaska!  So the game was on, sights were set firmly north, and we rolled out of Bozeman early on a clear and fresh Saturday morning.

The freshness remained with us for a while, but the clear skies seemed to disappear almost as soon as we left the town limits!  Taking my usual option of avoiding the interstate, we rode alongside the 90 through some small villages as the weather darkened and rain set in.  Turning north on the 287 the road was in a pretty bad state.  They called it ´chip sealed´ which I took to mean a scattering of loose chippings were bedded into the road surface by some sort of tar-based sealant.  However it looked just like loose stones on the road, and often it was just that.  Progress was slow, and I was getting increasingly unhappy about Idris´ handling... again!  I first put it down to the new rear tyre being scrubbed in on a wet day...  then I thought it might be that coupled with the patches of loose stones on the road (they were very hard to spot in advance, but easy to feel once on top of them as the bike squirmed under load).

 

But as I pulled away from a traffic light near Helena and slipped three teeth on the rear sprocket I realised there was something more fundamental adrift.  Rolling to the side of the road evidenced an extremely loose chain.  Ah, thought I, poor chain adjustment when refitting the wheel after the rear tyre change.  200 meters easy riding and I was into the small car park of a convenience store, you know... the type that sells fresh coffee all day long.  So a quick chat to the attendant and I was furnished with my breakfast (hot coffee and cereal bar) and readily given permission to turn his car park into a makeshift workshop.  Even at moments like this, I still had the feeling of the good luck on my side...  the rain had stopped and the sun was now shining.  Convenient that!

Straight to it, and on getting out my tools I quickly realised that something was amiss with the rear spindle nut – it was not showing any thread, but sitting right at the end of the bar getting ready to fall off with a few more turns!  Pulling Idris up onto its centre stand confirmed the fact that the rear wheel was well and truly loose, as it wobbled on the less than finger tight spindle.  It had also vibrated against the chain tensioners and caused them to slacken off, hence the slipping chain and sprocket.  An easy fix... and thankfully I had not lost the nut on the road somewhere – as I was not carrying anything near that size in spares (for me or the bike!).  Failing to properly tighten the rear spindle nut on replacing the rear wheel was a basic workshop error which could have gone badly wrong.  But in my heart I couldn´t feel any anger at the guys in Bozeman who bust a gut during a holiday week to get me rolling again.  I checked off the other nuts and bolts that might have been looked at during the service, and all were fine, and the adjustment of the rear wheel was also completed in time to sip from my still hot cup of coffee.  

And then some locals rolled up for supplies, so the opportunity to chat to some real characters was not to be missed.  I had a lovely sincere blessing to see me on my way from a rare old chap after an interesting conversation about Celtic music.  I´m not sure I even got his name, but he sported a most impressive beard and added something to the morning´s events...  and consequently added to the whole experience of this fab land.

And then Idris was back!!  Well, perhaps not at 100% of its previous handling, but more than enough to return some much needed confidence in its abilities to see me through to the finish line.  It is a curious way of looking at this part of the journey, when I start to talk about the finish line, but it is those exact words that I noted in my day book that day.  I was counting down the days, and on a race to the finish.

The race did, however, take us through some pretty rolling plains with grass and cereal crops abound.  This coupled with the very low levels of traffic was sufficient to take my mind away from the worries of the last few days, and to enjoy the ride as miles were racked up.

 

Rolling into the pretty town of Augusta the warmth of the day was now demanding a stop to take on fluids, and I pulled up outside a pretty wooden shop front (which was not tricky as a lot of the shops were of an oldy-worldy nature here).  And it was not long before I was invited to sit on the rocking chairs set on the front porch and shoot the breeze with its owner.  We didn´t literally shoot any breeze in Augusta, the wind of late not having given me cause to be aggravated, but if we wanted to this was the right place to be...  I had pitched up at the town´s gun shop.  A very memorable chat ensued and the time just flew by.  Nice people in Montana.  I was left with the growing conclusion that if I was ever faced with the situation that I might have to live in the US, I think Montana would be towards the top of the list (accepting that I had not seen the place mid-winter!).

Back on the road, and the day´s events had conspired to take the wind out of my sails.  It was only mid afternoon, and I had not covered my planned distance (but nothing new there!).  I was thinking about calling it a day and as I rolled through another small town and spied a campsite sign, I thought it a good moment to try and save a bit of cash and sleep under canvass before hitting bear country.  The Choteau campsite looked good, so was the price, and the long roll of thunder that sounded my arrival was all that was needed to convince me to call it a day.

I should be honest and complete though, there were a couple of other things that occurred that day before my head it the pillow.  With the storm still being a way off I headed into town and bagged myself one of the best steaks to date... followed by a damn fine black and blue pie (blackberry and blueberry).  If you are in Choteau in northern Montana check out their local grill restaurant!  Also if you are in Choteau don’t park your bike on the right side of the road on chippings with the camber running away from you...  and then try and get off the bike the wrong side because a truck was coming down the road.  You´ll probably, like me, clip the tank with your left boot and pull the bike over on top of you as you fall over.  Much to the amusement of Mr T Driver who, to his credit, did have the decency to check that I was OK before he burst out laughing.  This was the forth time Idris had been dropped on this trip, and to do so from such a basic rider error brought home to me that I was indeed in need of a well earned rest!  So I went to sleep with a smile and to the sound of rain drops, which was nice.

Even nicer was the clear deep blue sky that greeted us in the morning.  A quick pack and the road saw us again gliding swiftly through pretty rolling plains and the Blackfeet Indian reservation as we headed towards Glacier National Park, and the sight of snow for the first time in many many days.  The ride up through the park and the ´To the Sun Highway´ was well worth the slight detour west, and I would recommend its majestic peaks and stunning tree lined valleys to any biker.  I didn´t see any bears though, which I took as a mixed blessing.

Columbia Falls came and went in a bit of a tourist haze, but it seemed pretty enough, and I was then shooting up the 93 for the border.  Canada was calling, and I was about to answer.  And what an easy conversation it was at the small crossing at Roosville, a 20 minute wait in the short line of traffic, a quick passport show to the nice lady in the booth (whom I had to ask to stamp the thing) and there I was riding Idris into my last country on the list.

The scenery around Glacier National Park was wonderful and it only got better as I got a secure wheel-hold on Canadian soil.  The 93 quickly switched into the 3 and then back into the 93 as we rolled through tree lined mountainous valleys with the roads taking us on rollercoaster style dips and turns.  You could do this run really quickly, and we weren´t hanging around, but why would you not want to see all that you could see when the place offered so much.  Mountains, snow, forest, rivers and lakes.  Almost every turn of the head was an excuse to stop and fire the camera yet again.

One of the many photo stops that afternoon saw me having a great chat with a few Harley bikers from Calgary, a 60 year old chap (who could have passed for 45!) and a couple of ladies, who were very generous with their time and advice about places to see and where to stop.  Seems I´m finding that there are nice people not only in Montana, but throughout the whole of the Americas.  I moved on, and settled on a quiet motel on the side of lake Windermere in the small town of the same name.  A pretty spot and one which I welcomed for the night.  I was chasing Alaska, but now determined to absorb as much of Canada as I could along the way.

Thought for the day

My thoughts these days saw me running from concern over the bike through to wonder (again) at the people and places that I encounter in this journey.  I meet many people as I travel through and our lives touch, and I´ve been thinking on how deeply such encounters affect us.  

I know that the memory of moments meeting people outside a gun shop, or in a shop car park, will remain with me for a long time.  But will I be changed by such encounters?  I do feel changed by some of the scenes I have seen regarding children in poverty, and I know that my actions will be different as my life progresses as a result of those.  The impact of that is more immediate and more noticeably felt.  But what about encounters we have as adults with people from different background, different belief systems, different viewpoints and different conclusions to the same issues...  do we simply take those experiences and park them in our memories like holiday snapshots, to be pulled out from time to time as mementos of a wonderful time in days past.  Or do they seep into our consciousness and help mould us in new ways, perhaps into someone more tolerant and wise? 

These were my thoughts as I tucked into a most excellent oriental dinner in the quiet town of Windermere... a town comprised of different backgrounds and cultures... yet appears to succeed in harmonious beauty.   

Day 105 to 107 – to Bozeman, USA

4 to 6 July    Kms travelled – 26,270

Waking up in Bozeman with the knowledge that I was going to be here for a few days (at least) was a bit of a treat.  A long morning pottering around the hotel and helping myself to the unlimited supply of fresh pancakes was an unfamiliar but not necessarily unpleasant experience.  The sun was shining too, so it was not long before I was out walking the streets.  Well, OK, I can´t tell a lie.  It was a while before I ventured forth – mid afternoon in fact – and still pretty well stocked with the super-sized breakfast.  Eating in at hotels has not been a notable feature of this journey, so why not indulge?  It was a holiday after all – it was the Fourth of July – Independence Day.  I just hoped the locals wouldn´t view me as the bad guy in this movie, me being a Brit and all that!

Small town America is ace.  And having also had the chance to have visited a few of their larger cities, I have to say that I prefer for former.  The pace of life is more akin to that I have become accustomed to in my adopted home on the Mediterranean.  And while I enjoyed the distinct architecture and layout of such small US towns, which contrast completely with that of the Welsh valleys of my youth, or my current home in Barcelona, it is the people that live in these often bypassed places that provide the greatest attractor.

When considering the people of Montana, for example, the first thing you tend to notice is that they are generally in good shape.  More outdoorsy by nature, and not generally carrying around the surplus energy reserves that I saw much of further south (you know... fat!).  Once engaged in conversation, they also seem to have more time to listen and, then, respond with a high degree of courtesy and relevance.  I have no doubt that I have been lucky in the people I have met on the road, but it strikes me that there is less luck involved in the US when travelling through the lesser populated areas.  People genuinely seem friendlier.  Or should I say less inclined to try and impose views, and more inclined to give of their time. 

Nice people in Montana, and I noted an example of that in the service gained from the local Yamaha dealer in my last posting on this blog.  But another is on the way.  After spending the afternoon having a wander round the town taking photos and chatting to various people in various shops (and having had a little siesta – hard work this talking lark!) I headed to a local bar with an Irish theme in the evening.  The plan was to sample some of the local beers while killing the few hours that remained before the evenings fireworks display kicked off.

Bar 317 was the local of choice (called 317 as that was its address on Main Street), where I quickly fell into conversation with Shelby (and later Matt from Seattle) who were off duty firefighters.  You know, the ones that tackle those incredible wildfires out in the sticks – not of the town variety, all of which would be on duty given the nights planned pyrotechnics.  Fascinating work and great company, along with the lovely Ashley behind the bar (the place was surprisingly quiet), the hours simply flew by.  Ah, and the beers also flew down!  Montana probably hosts some of the best breweries I had encountered on the whole of the trip, and it was not long before I had settled into the challenge of sampling the whole selection supplied at the 317.  Ashley also persuaded me to engage in testing a particular cocktail comprising of Guinness, Baileys and Jameson whiskey – a surprisingly smooth (but lethal) combination... as I later discovered when my foot refused to rise sufficiently to walk up a step!

Fireworks completely forgotten, and long passed, and the firefighting lads having already retired for the evening, I asked to settle my tab (the bill for the evening´s drinks), only to discover that Shelby had already paid it in full prior to his departure.  Wonderful hospitality and without even sticking around for the opportunity to be thanked.  So I´ll take this opportunity, thank you Shelby - a great evening.  Then Ashley, seeing a man somewhat stunned by the generosity (and not the booze) kindly poured me a shot of Jameson´s on the house.  One for the road.  Thank you Ashley.  Like I said, nice people in Montana.

Needless to say the joys of my hotel were well and truly taken advantage of the next morning too.  And when I finally managed to breach the threshold sometime in the afternoon it was only for a short walk, before returning to a few hours of writing.  Luke at the bike dealers rang with the news that they felt they could refurbish the shock sufficiently to get me back on the road, and all was right with the world.  Just as well, a replacement would have had to be shipped from Europe and would have cost a bit in both time and cash, both of which I realised were starting to be in short supply as I planned my route north.  An early night!

Another sunny day in Bozeman saw me packing up and moving to a motel on the other side of town.  And for those that were thinking that I was being kicked out for guzzling all the pancakes, the move came about as they were already fully booked for the impending weekend.  So aside from the move, which took me all morning, and a few hours writing, this day was not particularly productive until...   Luke rang with the news that Idris was ready!  Yey!

A lovely stroll and an hour later and Idris and I were reunited.  Shiny clean (for the first time in weeks), serviced, sporting a new rear tyre, and not bouncing up and down like some sort of demented Zebedee (ref Magic Roundabout).  It seemed that the shock´s old oil, what was left of it, was well and truly gunked up.  It was felt that fine dust had opened up the seals and that was pretty much that.  Monument Valley, I thought, but now all was well with the world.  And after Luke had un-united me from some hard cash, we were on our way back to the motel (without a helmet, which is legal there, as I had forgotten to carry mine over!).  Appropriate, I thought, to have at least one wind in the hair, freedom on the bike type experience while in the US.  Though in reality riding even in such a quiet town without my lid felt a little uncomfortable.  Strange what you get used to.

On arrival back at the motel, now properly on two wheels, I pulled up outside my room only to spy a couple of lovely Harleys.  I had some new neighbours.  Needless to say Idris´ arrival sporting its stickers, odd number plate and battle scars sparked interest.  It wasn´t long before I was chatting to Bob, Starr, Ann and Doug a lovely couple of couples who were heading back home after their summer bike holidays.  And before I knew it, I was being handed a large pizza for dinner, gratis!   Nice people in .....  well you know the rest by now!

Thought for the day

Time off the bike and off the road provided much space for thinking, but of a different tack to that that usually filled my helmeted head.  I found my night out at Bar 317 had left me missing home and the lovely Mrs Pat all the more (I don´t think Ashley´s suitably filled Daisy Dukes helped matters!).  It was getting on for four months away, and I was starting to feel the pain.  I was also getting road weary and was thinking that I had enough of bike travel for a while.  Don´t get me wrong, I was still motivated to complete the trip.  I had one more ´must do´ to complete – and that was get to Alaska.  But I couldn´t help feel that I was ready to finish, ready to go home, and I wanted the remainder of the journey to come and go as quickly as possible.  Which was fine, as I now only had a limited amount of riding days left anyway.  I just needed to make the most of what I had left.

Day 103 to 104 – to Bozeman, USA

2 to 3 July    Kms travelled – 26,270

I was packed up and on the road (191) out of Rock Springs by 5, and boy was I glad I hit the black stuff early.  The road north was taking us up through the Wind River Valley, and with a name like that and with a landscape that was predominantly flat open scrubland, I had no doubt that this would be an uncomfortable ride once the heat of the day had stirred up the wind.  Also it was so great to feel a nip in the air, and actually to have to put on the heated grips after so long.  As we rode along at a good pace I, again, couldn´t help thinking how similar this route was to the Ruta 3 on Argentina´s Atlantic seaboard – only this stretch of the 191 did bend from time to time!  Oh, and there were wild horse herds.  I have no doubt that someone owned them, but so fantastic to see horses just doing what comes naturally in a space large enough to allow that.

Then we were closing on small town Bondurant (189) with the landscape growing greener, literally.  And then there was an elk... right in the middle of town... stood between a couple of cars in the car park!  Doing a double take, and Idris´ grumble growing closer, we gave the beast a start and off it trotted further into the residential area.  A great sight, but so bizarre... it was like a scene from Northern Lights (for those who remember that series about life in Alaska).

We were heading towards Yellowstone and as soon as we had put the town behind us the road started winding through forest countryside.  Beautiful, and with it still being pretty early, we were able to really enjoy the open road.  Dropping a gear, picking our line through the bend, leaning in, power on, and out the other side, only to repeat seconds later.  Bike riding as it should be, and despite Idris feeling a bit twitchy on the bends, I was soon into the groove... so much so that it was only after the fact did my near miss fully register.  On a blind right hand bend with a beautiful river to my right we leaned in only to have the handlebars narrowly miss a deer´s backside as it stood on the side of the road feeding on the steep grassy bank.  Idris had its usual impact, and the startled animal leaped majestically up the steep slope in my rear view mirror.  Boy that was close, and a healthy reminder of all the tales I had read about the wildlife on the road as you got further up in the world.

Jackson (89) was lovely and a great place to stop for my morning coffee... it was still only breakfast time!  The only problem was that joining the 89 meant that we had also linked up with all the tourist traffic heading to Yellowstone from the south.  But first we had to ride through the most excellent Teton National Park ($20 entry to both from the lovely lady in the booth), so that was exactly what we did.

Arriving in Yellowstone you could still see some of the fire damaged areas from this year and previous wildfires the park has had to deal with, so my initial impressions left me a little disappointed.  This was my fifth and penultimate ´must do´ for my trip, and I was hoping for more.  And, thankfully, it was more that I got.  Much, much more.  This park is spectacular, and aside from the Old Faithful Geyser feeling more like a Disney show than a natural wonder given the crowds and commercialism around that spot, it has so much to offer.  I spent a little while watching some of the other geysers in the area along the faultline, with less people and being so spread out there were some wondrous sights.

And as the heat of the afternoon sun started to seep through my bike suit, we headed on up towards the Madison camp site ($23 for the night) to kick back and relax.  The relatively short ride was through lovely hills, but by now I had stopped enjoying handling the bike.  Something was wrong.  The landscape was such that wind off the mountains was channelled through and across some valleys and the wind was causing havoc with Idris.  We´d been through worse... a lot worse.  What was the problem here?

Bison deciding to cross the road just before the campsite destracted me from my worries, and I was soon thinking more about pitching the tent as quickly as possible and wandering over to the nearby river to get some shots of the herd.  It is hard to imagine the scale of the herds that once roamed this land, but easy to understand why earlier peoples depended so heavily on that resource.  The campsite was not cheap, but fab.  Having had our compulsory ´bear briefing´ we were visited almost immediately by some of the smaller inhabitants keen to see what was going on.  

Ground squirrels I later learned, which hibernate so (much like the bears) have to eat as much as possible in the short summer season.  There must have been thousands of the beggars in the area.  Much time was spent that evening watching the lumbering bison from the safety of the other side of the small river... what a place!

The next morning I awoke to a distinct chill...  yes!  At long last it seems we had put the unseasonable heat behind us.  The early morning start saw us rolling out of the campsite with misty hills, wonderful fast flowing rivers and hot springs, but again I was not enjoying the ride.  There really was something wrong.  When loading the bike at the crack of dawn that morning I had noticed how easily Idris´ suspension was moving.  One hand was all that was needed to push the bike right down on the rear shock absorber.  And when I got on the loaded bike and the suspension grounded I knew I had lost all damping on the back.  It was not going to be a fun day, but perhaps we would make it to Calgary in Canada to get that sorted.

The ride north out of the park (89) was relatively easy, but at every imperfection on the road the bike seemed to skit and bounce.  Progress was slow as we headed into Paradise Valley and were hit by scenes on this wide green river valley that fitted exactly what I had hoped Montana would look like.  I couldn´t help stopping a few times for coffee and just take in the views.  Well, OK, not just to take in the views, but also to look the bike over... as if staring at the shock was going to convince it to give me back my much needed handling! 

I limped into Livingston and quickly found the local Yamaha dealer who, sucking his teeth, suggested it was better of I took the bike somewhere else.  Somewhere 35 miles away from him in fact.  Somewhere in Bozeman to be exact, which had a more bike oriented Yamaha dealer and a bigger workshop.  A couple of hours in the internet at a local diner, and chatting to a great bunch of old guys, I came to the same conclusion.  They furnished me with a route that would get me there without the need to ride the interstate (I was not able to get the thing up beyond 40mph without it scaring me to death).  Nice people in Montana.  And a nice ride too, which would have been well worth doing even if the bike was in good health.

Bozeman was upon us in early afternoon and I headed direct to the dealers to discuss options.  The next day was the forth of July – so it looked like this was where I would be spending the holiday.  First class service from Luke saw the bike checked in and agreement on what to do (oil and filter change, plus new rear tyre, in addition to the work on the shock).  Much research from Luke confirmed that no parts would be available from Yamaha in north America, so the first option was to see if it could be rebuilt.  That had to wait until after the hols, so he rang around local hotels and got me a good deal for a few days. And then drove me over there and made sure I was checked in safe and sound.  Nice people in Montana.

I liked Bozeman right away.  It looked just like I expected a small Montana town to look.  You had great views of nearby hills, and plenty of bars including a local brewery!  But you´ll have to wait until next time to hear about my drunken exploits in the land of the horse whisperer!

Thought for the day

Riding from Rock Springs I wasn´t able to shrug a thought from my mind, despite the growing worries over Idris´ state.  While checking out the forecast I picked up the news report of a mother who had beaten her child to death with a hammer.  What the *$%&.!!  Beat her own child...  with a hammer... to death!!  I had seen some sights in the developing nations where children were deprived of their childhood through cultural (in)difference and/or economic necessity.  But here in the wealthiest country in the world, children are still at risk.  This child had been deprived of its childhood... permanently!    I was reminded of statements issued by Unicef noting that violence against children was not the sole province of poor countries.  I also recalled reports that one fifth of children in the US are living below the poverty line.  Tough facts to take in.  And tough measures are needed to address them.  

When Unicef talks about the rights of the child, I don´t see that as overly empowering children to be able to dictate to parents what they should and should not do, but more about developing our societies across the whole of this marvellous globe in such a way that protects the basics of that childhood.  Children have the right to an upbringing that provides a safe, healthy and loving environment – where all of them have the opportunity to develop, gain an education, and reach their life potential.  A mother beating her own child to death with a hammer really hit home to me that the job is far from over, that more needs to be done, and that more needs to be done in every country of the world.  Unicef does this, so please help me help them help all of those that need it...  and think seriously about giving a small (or large) donation to take that forward.  See the links on the top right of this website for more information and how to donate.  The price of a beer or two can change a life.  Think about it... then act!

Day 100 to 102 – to Rock Springs, USA

29 June to 1 July    Kms travelled – 25,909

It was a real struggle to drag myself away from that great hole in the ground that is the Grand Canyon.  But it was not long before I realised that there were many more sights to see along the Colorado Plateau, as Idris and I enjoyed the early morning emptiness and cooler temperatures.  Heading further east along the 64 we were soon blessed with a view of the Little Colorado River Canyon and a quick chat to local Navajos as they set up their craft stands in anticipation of the day´s tourist trade. 

As the 64 turned into the 89 north, and a quick refuel, we were well and truly back in desert country, and desert temperatures to boot!  A junction and a decision ahead, saw us turning north east along the 180 towards Monument Valley.  But it was still a way off yet, with the road and countryside passing Tuba City and the Hopi Indian Reservation not offering any particular inspiration to burst into song...  or not even a quick hum of some long forgotten cowboy ditty.  But no matter, sometimes on this trip you just need to do the miles...  so it was miles that we did, with another nice interlude chatting to some local Navajos as we headed into their lands.  Sometimes difficult to understand (perhaps they thought the same about me) these fascinating people are quick to approach and engage in conversation (and bum a smoke if you have any)!  I was reliably advised that I was about to head into some the prettiest country in the US...  well they would say that wouldn´t they!

There is no doubting that some desert landscape can hold a wondrous attraction and, indeed, be breathtakingly beautiful in a way that contrasts completely with snow capped mountains.  And this was just some of that type of desert.  Those friendly first nation chaps don´t lie.  By the time I had turned into the 163 at Kayenta my eyes had feasted on the sights, and I rode with increasing anticipation of what was to come.  In no time at all I was stopping and snapping my camera at those distinctive sandstone formations so loved by the Hollywood directors of yesteryear.  But I had not yet arrived at Monument Valley.  The sights improved as the colour of the sand darkened and the temperatures increased.  And then there it was!

Riding up the short side road into the Monument Valley Park ($5 entry) visitor centre and dismounting Idris I couldn’t help feeling a bit of a John Wayne swagger fall into my step as I strode towards the purchase of some much needed cold water.  This feeling was only further exaggerated when you saw the famous promo poster of John Ford´s blockbuster Stagecoach and looked behind it to see those monuments to mother nature´s design in the flesh.  If it wasn´t for the heat and the fact that the desert breeze was flinging the finest sand I had encountered to date into my face, I could have stood and gazed for hours.  This was a similar moment to that I experienced at the Perito Moreno glacier in Argentina, and one that convinced me that the 17 mile sand and dirt road out into the park should be attempted.  I was there after all...

But my enthusiasm and lack of skill in riding soft sand (and some patches were really soft, like talcum powder) caused me to wobble to a halt after only about 500 metres.  I was riding a fully loaded bike in the heat of the early afternoon with swirling winds pushing the fine grit into every uncovered orifice.  I was also losing fluids rapidly (not only as I was figuratively peeing myself) and gasping for breath. 

Riding soft sand is hard work.  Riding soft sand takes great skill.  And riding soft sand was clearly beyond my capacity in handling this fantastic machine, as I had almost fallen on at least 5 occasions and dug in twice on this short stretch alone.  The Adventure Bike was clearly greater than this Rider.  I admitted defeat, took some shots, and wobbled my way back to the safety of the black-top visitors car park, where I had to replace the fluids I had only recently taken on! 

But was I disappointed?  Well, yes of course I was.  Just looking at that run out amongst those red hills is enough to get any ABR salivating.  But it did motivate me to take time out on my return to develop my off road riding further...  perhaps in time for a run to Morocco?  On the positive side, I did ride in a desert, but not on a horse with no name, but a bike called Idris!

Adopting a philosophical mindset, and with a quick look at Idris´ lower half (which had now taken on a good dusting of red red sand, making it look like all the metal bits had suddenly turned to rust) we hit the road north.  Mexican Hat was the next town we rode through, and I couldn´t help wondering how this remote town could have gained such a curious name when we turned a bend to be met with a bizarre rock formation on the right, which looked just like a Mexican wide brimmed Sombrero.  That would be it then!

Having sweated enough for the day, we rolled into Bluff for an early stop and some much needed air con and a shower.  It was now 45 degrees and with sand blowing everywhere my skin had taken on such a reddish tinge that it would have been a great match for my hair, if the grey had not already started to set in.  I rested.

I think the next morning I was struggling to understand exactly what the time was having crossed a number of time zones.  I said goodbye to the land of the canyons and headed towards Moab.  Each traveller is different, but for me these excessive temperatures each day were not only sucking the fluids and energy from me, but also my patience.  I had had enough of being hot and I wanted to see green again.  I needed to make progress this day.  I needed to get north.  So the 191 beckoned, and Idris responded as we ran through some wonderful rock formations, and an even deeper red in the hills around Moab. 

And more hills started to appear on the horizons as we headed towards Price... but their appearance didn´t look quite right.  They were lined with a red haze and cloud formations that looked more and more like smoke as we closed in.  Wildfires!  Much had been reported about the unseasonably dry, hot and windy weather which had resulted in some of the most serious fires across the whole of the Midwest for years.  I was avoiding western Utah just for that reason, but it seemed I would be heading into fire country anyway as the level of surrounding vegetation started to increase providing a greater source of fuel for the fires.

The 191 to Duchese took us over a high mountain on the side of the Roan Plateau, which provided the necessary altitude to offer a welcome respite from the searing heat of the day.  And also provided some more interesting road riding as Idris was allowed to clear the dust off the edges of its tyres.  Around a bend, now taking it easy as I had seen a sign about fire-fighters working in the area, and we were into a narrow V-shaped valley, with the road running along about half way up on the one side, and the other being a complete blanket of smoke and flame! 

Flagging down one of the nearby crews as soon as I could, I enquired whether it was indeed safe to continue down the valley.  I got a thumbs up, with further some hand signals indicating that the wind was blowing the flames away from my side of the road.  I also got a final shout before heading off that I shouldn´t hang around too much...  so I didn´t!   Perhaps some intrepid photo journalist would have taken the time to capture the sights of an up close raging wildfire, but I must confess my only thoughts were echos of the fire fighter´s advice – and that was to run away... and run away as quickly as I safely could.

Fortunately the run down the valley into Duchese was a nice run, and I had soon left the flames behind with the road putting a smile back on my face.  I did spot a few oil pumping stations along the base of the valley, which was a curious sight, and one that led me to think they were the reason why there were so many brave folk on the mountain trying to control events.  But that soon passed as we headed down back into the more sweaty lowlands.  The town was a pretty small affair, but they were also acting as the local base for the fire fighters drawn in to tackle the mountain blaze, and they did have a friendly hotel for the night and a local diner with a great fish and chips! 

The cooler evening was also a good time to get in some routine bike maintenance, which was also the first time I noticed an unusual feel to the rear damping on the bike´s suspension.  I needed to keep an eye on that I thought as I hit the hay for the night.  The morning´s early sunrise also brought to light the grey dusting of wildfire ash that had settled over Idris overnight, which countered the still red dust clinging to its underside.  It was probably time to start thinking about giving it a clean.

But that would wait.  We were on the road again, and setting a good pace as I wanted to get into damper country.  Before long we were climbing up through valleys with improved greener vegetation.  Then we were in a forest with a full on mountain view, and I finally let myself think we had escaped the freaky heat. 

Nope!  We were heading back down again, and the degrees seemed to pile on as each metre of decent was clocked up.  And then we were back into open flatlands with a distinctly scrub desert type view.  Unlike some of the deep south of Argentina, however, this landscape was broken up with the odd feature...  a river, a dam, the odd hills and twisty bits...  which was nice.

Then we were sent by the road up the side of a high escarpment, where the road ran along the length of its edge for miles ahead.  The wind was being channelled along the valley below, and roared its way up the side of the hill to hit the traffic atop side on.  They had built miles of wooden wind-breaks which had some limiting effect, but I couldn´t help wondering why they built the road in such a place in the first instance.  The problem I found with riding in high side winds is not so much the slower speeds that such weather demands, but the energy you expend controlling the bike over long periods. 

So it was with aching limbs and a sweaty brow that we rolled into Rock Springs to stop for the day, it was mid afternoon.  I did manage to have a little look around this interesting town, which I couldn´t help calling Rock Ridge (ref Blazing Saddles) which even came out a few times in my conversation with some locals, sparking puzzled looks.  I was tired, OK!  So after a wonderful steak (nope, not campfire beans!) I went to bed early to the sight of one of the most spectacular wildfire boosted sunsets I have ever seen.