You Can Lead a Burro to Water… But Will it Swim? (Ironwood Forest National Monument)

Per my prior kvetching, there’s not much opportunity for riding this time of year, even if the weather couldn’t be better.    I’ve been plagued with (or blessed, depending) not just with a heavy work load, but a dead battery or two here, flooded carb there, flat rear tire, insomnia… all of which have conspired to keep me from even the short rides that I wouldn’t consider newsworthy.  So the Ducati has been languishing under its cover, while the Yamaha’s wheels took up a lengthy residence in the trunk of my car.

You know, I don’t trust that Yamaha one bit. I put both wheels back on (after taking them off, of course, for some re-shoeing) and the job did not require one swear word. I was sure something must have gone terribly, terribly wrong, I just didn’t know it yet, because that simply is not the way I roll, in regards to mechanical repairs.  You haven’t finished the job if you haven’t had to throw a tool at least once.

This week I did get out a bit, and decided to give the newly-shod burro a test ride through little known and undeveloped Ironwood Forest National Monument.  There’s a 23 mile rocky, rutted, dippy turny dirt road that loops through the incredible scenery and it seemed like just the thing.  (It seemed a bit less like just the thing after three people warned me of the violent drug smuggling crime there, and that the area was sans-cell-service, so at that point I reminded myself if I had any question as to the route, or felt like I was getting in at all over my head, technically speaking, I could and would turn around sooner rather than later.  Not quite the best place to get stranded, yanno?)

Avra Valley Road, Silverbell Road, Sasco Road

But I happily putted along, at my inexperienced off-road pace, meeting my little challenges successfully and without undue concern.  A few “mogul” fields (which for me, consist of about 3), some areas rough enough for bucking burro moments, steep blind dips into dry washes lined with loose rocks…. that sort of thing.  It was beautiful and green, full of happy desert plant life, with curious mountains and rocks left and right (including a great view of Ragged Top Mountain, whose craggy jagged silhouette never fails to take my eyes off the road when it I see it from afar on I-10), yet I didn’t stop to take one photo. I just didn’t feel like it, and my current burro packing system is not at all convenient as far as accessing anything but water goes (HAH!*), so I justified my laziness by telling myself that perhaps it was best not to stop in what is considered a dangerous area, anyway (didn’t see a soul for the first 21 of  the 23 dirt miles).  It was simply one of those days when I wanted to enjoy the ride and the surroundings in a simpler fashion.

I was almost back to the safety of asphalt, in a relatively civilized area, with other travelers here and there,  when I came across an obstacle one simply doesn’t expect ‘round these parts…

The Li'l Burro meets the Mighty Santa Cruz! 

Yes! Yes I did!  And no, remarkably, I didn’t**!
Lil’ adventure for a Li’l Burro.

*Turns out my current packing system is a bad one. I was warned that luggage doesn’t stay put when riding off road, so I diligently strapped my Camelbak down, tying it directly to the grab rails, before topping it all off with a bungee net.  Guess those bucking bronco moments were enough to launch the entire reservoir out from inside of the secured pack to who-knows-where.  I’m glad I didn’t know I had lost all my water (and ability to carry it) until I was almost home. That’s scary stuff out here.  Time to buy a new reservoir, and to start appropriately outfitting “Eeyore.”

** Didn’t hurt that two Italian tourists were contemplating crossing in their little car at the same time, and when asked if they’d help me haul my bike out of the river if things went wrong replied, “Maybe.”   We saw a 4x4 plow through, so I knew, at least literally, I wouldn’t be in over my head.  The trick of it, of course, is that you can’t see and avoid any potential obstacles in your path.  And you certainly don’t want to find yourself so deep that your bike starts inhaling water instead of air.  One of the Italian tourists videotaped my success, and as always, these things always look utterly unimpressive on tape.  So I’ll leave the execution of the escapade to your imagination!  The tourists... well, they turned around.

Lunch Ride: Desert Rain Cafe, Kitt Peak, and an Aquisition

Yeah, yeah, you've heard it all before... Kitt Peak, blah blah blah.   It's my local ride of choice this time of year, it's true, so it's hardly blog worthy.  But it's been a year since I've been about 20 miles west of there, to the Desert Rain Cafe (which I told you all about here), and I almost always ride up there by myself, so... why not go out to lunch with a Suzuki riding friend?

Prickly Pear Chicken Wrap

Tepary Bean Quesadilla

 170 miles round trip, by my estimate.  This ride rarely disappoints.  I should say there was one other reason to meet up with my friend today.  She handed over the title to this bike.  It's official.  Welcome to the herd, Eeyore.  HeeeeeeHaaaawww!

Conquering Fear (Off Road on a Yamaha XT 225)

Remember my pathological fear of riding upon anything that is not smooth asphalt?

LOOK WHAT I DID!!!

Bajada Loop Drive in Saguaro National Park, Western Division

That’s right!  That’s me, fishtailing about in sand!  On purpose, even!

In a great act of generosity and trust, a local Tucson rider (who hardly knows me, even!) loaned me her mini dual sport motorcycle to drop*, errr, I mean, ride.  Perhaps it was karma for loaning my Kawasaki for off road experimentation years ago.  Make no mistake, I adore my Ducati, but there is something delightfully liberating about riding a bike you don’t mind dropping.  I mean LOOK at this thing…

You gotta love race track apparel on what I’ve been calling the “little burro,” aka “Eeyore”.

 
Who CARES if it falls?   And it’s so light, I could land it upside down in a ravine and still be able to haul it out.  (Maybe.)  This bike is everything the Ducati is not:  Ugly, utterly devoid of any power, eminently droppable and fixable with a plastic spork.  I LOVE it!

Remarkably, I would actually voluntarily repeat this activity.

So I did!  This time up Redington Pass.  No deep sand, but now a dirt road with hills and switchbacks.  I’ve often wondered the point of going off road (especially as a passenger) if there isn’t a prize at the end of the line.

How’d ya like to have Pastrami Gorgonzola sandwiches* HERE?

Tanque Verde Falls.  A cool, deep pool, smack in the middle of the 100+ degree desert.  Waterfall included at no extra charge.  That makes TWO miracles.

Now I find out this little Yamaha XT225 is mine for the buying.  I may not be able to stop myself.

I am SO ready for the Dakar.


* Make gnocchi with Gorgonzola sauce (butter, cream, and Gorgonzola of course).  Use the leftover sauce for a sandwich spread.  Genius, thank you very much.
** As of this writing, I have not (yet) dropped the bike.  No one is more surprised than I.

100 Miles* is Still Not Enough (Logan Canyon, Tony Grove, Bear Lake and Strawberry Canyon)

As promised, I did ride the Logan Canyon Scenic Byway yesterday.  I snapped a few photos for you.  Each one met the four requirements set forth in my last post.  As I was riding, I realized I should have listed one more point.  So here it is:

5.  Stopping will not cause me undue concern about being late for work.  Or endanger my ability to arrive at my  final destination before dark. (You know how I feel about riding at night.)  Because playing beat the clock (lap times not withstanding) takes some of the fun out of it.  And why partake in what is widely recognized as a fairly dangerous activity if you’re not enjoying it?

Here’s a photo of the Rick Springs Area. 




No, there is not usually water rushing over the pedestrian bridge.  It’s been an unusual year here, and Logan River has exceeded flood stage.  The daily flood warnings continue.  Areas of the road were reinforced  with temporary berms of sand and gravel to guard against the rising river.  That sand and gravel will no doubt find its way onto the roadway over the course of the summer (grumble).  But not today!   This little spot has always intrigued me, but it took a stinging insect in my sportsbra to actually get me to pull over.  What timing!

I can report that the pavement on the side road up to Tony Grove is in fine form.  Not a defect to be seen.  It's definitely not regulation width though, so I recommend a recon lap to map it out in your head before testing your limits.

Here’s a fun left hander.  Or right hander.  Depending on which way you’re going.




I thought there might be snow on the Tony Grove road, but so far, so good!



Aieeee!  The Duc stops here.




I could have managed another 50 yards or so winding my way through a clear tire track a few inches wide, but I’m glad I didn’t.  With no way to turn around, I’d just have to push the bike backwards, expensive track boots in the snow, to get back out.  I did walk the final quarter mile or so to the lake.  Slogging a half mile in snow several feet deep, wearing inappropriate footwear and thirty pounds of safety gear at 8100 feet definitely qualifies as my exercise for the day.

There’s a lake around here somewhere…




Ahh!  That’s better.  This is what I expect to see when I ride up to Tony Grove.  Like I said, it’s an unusual year here in Logan Canyon.




Archival photo graciously provided by C.S.  I do believe my only photos of this lake are from back in the days of actual film and are in a closet somewhere in Tucson.  Hard to believe.

If you can tear your eyes from the view (and even the most hopeless adrenalin junkie will have difficulty, the Bear Lake overlook is that much of a showstopper), and not let the scent of sage brush and wildflowers distract you, there are some fine fast sweeping turns to be enjoyed as you make your way down from visitor's center at the east end of the canyon into Garden City, UT.  RazzleBlueDazzle! were my words, I do believe, when I waxed poetic about Bear Lake back in 2008. It’s worth repeating.
 



For nine summers now I’ve been telling myself I’m going to spend a day photographing this lake.  The myriad brilliant blues to the south, the lesser known marshy Bear Lake National Wildlife Refuge in the north…  Still waiting on this one.

Garden City is as fine a place as any to grab an American diner style bacon cheeseburger with fries.  (If you’re looking for portabellas and Kobe beef, better to hit ZinBurger in Tucson.)  Toss in a raspberry shake, for which the area is famous, and you’ve got… a really, really full belly.  I find it worth the discomfort and usually opt for the "Home Town Drive-In", if for no other reason than their fine grassy picnic area.  I’ve also learned you can get a freshly made donut and espresso across the street at the Holey Cow.  Good to know for those morning rides.

Continue north, into Idaho, proceed through Strawberry Canyon (ID 36) and loop back down into Utah. Return home via the north end of town, where you can check a few errands off the list to tell yourself you’ve gotten something done instead of squandering your afternoon in sinful play.

Dinner that night?  A bowl of muesli.  Turns out I was late for work.

*This trip actually clocks in at 145 miles.  Add 14 miles for each additional run up and down the Tony Grove road.  (You’ll want several.)  Still, Not. E. Nough.

100 Miles is Not Enough (Hyrum Canyon)

Sometimes your day insists your ride be confined to only one tank of gas.  Regrettable, but it beats not riding at all.  Today I took my first northern Utah ride of the season, but still had to fit in quite a bit a work.  My usual first ride is to Bear Lake via Logan Canyon, but as it is Sunday, I opted for the less traveled Hyrum Canyon.  At least I call it Hyrum Canyon. Maybe it’s called Blacksmith Fork Canyon.  I do know for sure it’s a nearby 15 mile stretch of UT 101 that leads to the Hardware Ranch Wildlife Management Area.

Here’s the “bat cave:”

The bat cave!

Can you hear songbirds chirping?  Listen a little closer.  You can also hear the low rumble of a Monster 696 from within.  I’ve never had a garage before, and while I usually stay in a free student apartment each summer, this year is different. I’m renting (you’ll figure out why another time) a 1925 bungalow from a friend, complete with grass, shade trees, flowers and the Logan River in my backyard.  I gotta say, it feels pretty cool to be hiding what you like to think of as your ferocious machine in this little country shed!

Hyrum Canyon is not national park material, but it is just full of perfect little vignettes.  Like “Snowy Mountains Emerging from Canyon’s Mouth.”  Or “Magestic Tree with Rushing River and Wildflowers.”  Or “Magpie on Fence Post”.  (I didn’t bother with this one.  While I can coax a decent landscape or food shot out of my Canon G11, I find it quite worthless for anything that moves.  You know, things like people.  Or animals.  Or motorcycles.  *sigh*)

Any road has it oddities, too.  Like “Water Bubbling from Beneath the Asphalt.”  (Does this have something to do with the current flooding?) Or “Enormous Testicles of Upward Climbing Deer.”  (Seriously, they were impressive.)  And I can’t forget “Startled Sheep.”  Which perhaps could just as well be named “Startled Motorcyclist.”  (Just who startled whom?)  That one was fairly exciting, at least from my point of view.

I do have a few actual photographs to share with you.  They are not the most beautiful scenes I saw today, but each one did fit four strict requirements.

1. I thought it was pretty.
2. The lighting was decent.
3. I was not too chicken to pull off the asphalt to take the photograph (this road doesn't really have a shoulder to speak of).  I have short legs.  Anything more than .0398%* grade and at least one of my feet is not going to be able to touch the ground.  If it’s my left foot, I have to let the bike free fall to land on its side stand.  Call me crazy, but I like to know that bike it sitting safely on the stand before I let go.  If it’s my right foot, then I can’t even lift my left foot to engage the side stand.  Yes, I could free fall that perilous three inches to the right to stand on that leg, but you assume there is firm footing on which to catch 350-400 pounds of motorcycle.  You also assume I am not unreasonably concerned about this incredibly awkward scenario.  So much for feeling cool.  Now the Ducati is lower than my Kawasaki, so that’s an improvement.  Except that any courage I may have gained from this edge is overshadowed by that fact that I really, really do not want to drop my shiny, not held together with packing tape,  never been horizontal (imagined extreme lean angles not withstanding), still new to me as far as I’m concerned, motorcycle.  I freely admit I’m a fair weather photographer.  I’m not gonna risk, or even enter into a paranoid perceived risk of, to be more accurate, dropping my bike for a photograph. I’m just not.
4. There is probably an RV, farm machinery and a slow moving SUV that I can’t get around right away, so I might as well pull over anyway.    Let me tell you, if the road is free and clear (which today, it was almost the entire time) I ain’t stoppin’!

You might imagine that’s an awful lot of information to process whilst flying ‘round the bend in full sport mode.  You are correct.  It is.

Today's vignettes:

Scrumptious Looking Grass in Springtime Meadow

 

Wooden Cart-Thingy (There was a row of 16 of these carts, actually.  Weird.  Where did they come from and why?)

 

Pond: Cattails Not Shown

Ducati with Field of Wildflowers in the Distance

Funny.  Not one of those photos looks like a canyon.  Well it is.  You'll just have to trust me on that one. Probably not a coincidence that this flatter area affords me a better shot at finding a place to pull over.

Dinner tonight?  Kielbasa (which didn't seem very kielbasa-like, but still was very tasty), a salad of baby greens and crusty bread, all scored at the local farmers’ market yesterday morning.

100 miles.**  Not. E. Nough.  I think I’m getting up early tomorrow to hit Logan Canyon.

* Okay, I made that number up, but you get my point.
**Yes, I said the canyon is a nearby 15 mile stretch, but I did indeed manage to squeak in 100 miles today.   I bet you can figure it out.  ;-)