The Rogue Report

Yellowstone State Park, WY – Deadwood, SD

460 miles

Despite the cities listed above, I spent most of the day driving through the glorious Big Sky state of Montana. I woke up in my Tower Falls Campground in the Northeast Corner of Yellowstone to find less frost on my bike than the previous morning (you take the little thrills life gives you). The exit road in that section of the park is Route 212 which turns into the Beartooth Highway (more on this in sec). What surprised me most was that my last 25 miles on Yellowstone turned out to be the most beautiful of the entire park. I managed to get myself out of my cozy sleeping bag on the early side and was cruising by around 7:30am. This allowed me to capture some beautiful vistas in the morning light that you can see below.

As the park gets closer to Montana, the ground starts to rise and gives way to magnificent cliffs and canyons. This is clearly the best part of Yellowstone from a scenic perspective. Wide, spanning prairies provide excellent viewpoints to observe the herds of bison and pronghorn deer. Everyone in Yellowstone (except me) seemed to possess these massive zoom camera lenses that allowed them to spot a beauty mark on a grizzly bear’s ass. Indeed, on my way out, I stopped to witness young male buffalo hoofing the ground and locking horns with one another. The female buffalo, like their human counterparts, remained aloof and unimpressed.

Due to my early rise, I hadn’t eaten any breakfast and felt famished pulling into Cooke City, the first post-Yellowstone town I encountered. There, I walked into the Log Cabin Cafe and proceeded to have the best breakfast I’ve enjoyed in over 1,000 miles.

Fresh brook trout, lightly breaded along with two eggs over easy, and a big pile of well-done, well-seasoned hashbrowns. I should also include the homemade, award-winning pumpkin bread, grilled and buttered with a side of honey and a hot chocolate to take the chill out of the morning. Needless to say, I didn’t eat for the remainder of the day, and I noticed a discernable lag in my motorcycle’s performance (must have been the high altitude).

Leaving Cooke City put me directly on the Beartooth Highway which was the most exciting drive of the entire trip. The road is shut down 6 months out of the year due to its altitude so I felt exceptionally lucky to be able to tear through this dramatic road that rose and fell beside steep ravines and showstopping views.

The highway took me through the highest altitude of my journey, with some passes creeping over 11,000 feet. By rising into the alpine zone above the treeline, there was nothing to obscure the dramatic vistas of the Absoroka Mountain Range. Added to this was the fact that there were few guardrails on this winding road, no cars on the road, and all of sudden I had myself one HELL OF A RIDE. The hairpin turns had speed limits of 20mph, but pretty soon I got the hang of taking them at 40+mph. Glorious. Riding.

Pretty soon, the Beartooth Highway started descending into a steep valley and leveled out through Red Lodge, MT, the entrance into Bighorn Country and Custer National Forest. As I entered the Crow and Cheyenne Indian reservations, the topography laid flat with squat buttes punctuating the far horizon.

I can’t say that parts of the Native American reservations weren’t discouraging. Similar to what I saw when I visited the Grand Canyon, it seemed like the native population was granted exquisite scenery but no way to capitalize on it. I rode East practically never seeing another car making me feel how isolated and beautiful this stretch of country is.

After a spirited ride through the high prairies of Montana, I finally crossed the border into South Dakota, another first for me. My intention was to make it to Sturgis to spend the night.

But after arriving and driving through the empty (and surprisingly small) town, I quickly bailed and made my way to more populous Deadwood. Driving through Sturgis felt like walking through an empty convention center, or the guy who sweeps up after the strip joint closes. Without the right people, it just doesn’t work.

Deadwood is a small Western-themed town that continues to try to desperately cash in on its historic legacy as a gold rush, gambling mecca. The population consists of about 80 casinos occupied exclusively by slot machines and none seemed to rise above 10% occupancy of actual human customers. Despite being Planet Earth’s mecca of $8.95 ¼ inch flatiron steaks, Deadwood does have its charms. The architecture is authentically Western without seeming manufactured and the people have been unfailingly kind. It also might be the cheapest hotel room I’ve paid for this entire trip. Hey, Deadwood’s not so bad.

Tomorrow, I’m not exactly sure where I’m headed. I definitely want to see the Badlands but from there the trip gets a little hazy. I’m generally trying to head East but lack any more specifics. Tips and Midwest travel knowledge are always appreciated.

WHAT I LEARNED / DISCOVERED TODAY:

Montana is clearly a state I wish I could have spent more time in. I have about 10 days left on my trip to make it home to New York, which sadly doesn’t leave enough time to explore some of the other Montana destinations I’ve read about. Also, Montana is a great state to learn the top end speed on your bike. 122 mph, in case you were curious 🙂

Ketchum, ID – Driggs, ID

240 miles

I started the day on a somber note by visiting the Hemingway Memorial in Ketchum. To be honest, I thought the entire town would be deluged with Hemingway memorabilia and tourist venues. Turns out most people in Ketchum and Sun Valley care more about skiing than they do the Great American literary tradition.

Hemingway has always been a strong influence on me, both as a bibliographic figure and setting the tone for literary adventure and living life fully. He was a deeply flawed man and an epic genius of an author. But he sought to fill those aching gaps in his psyche with adventure, travel, war and women. He didn’t wallow in the depression that eventually overcame him but actively fought it like the Spanish bullfights he depicted in Death in the Afternoon.

At first, I was a little surprised at how modest the memorial was. Simply a sign by the road and small path leading to a bust of Hemingway looking away, towards the peaks of the Sawtooth Mountains. And then I realized that Hemingway, who prized economy of words and despised superficial flourish, would have been quite pleased by the simplicity and weight of his memorial. Below his bust are inscribed the words he wrote in 1939 when his good friend Gene Van Guilder died in a hunting accident:

Best of all he loved the fall, 
the leaves yellow on cottonwoods, 
leaves floating on trout streams, 
and above the hills 
the high blue windless skies 
…Now he will be a part of them forever.

After reflecting for short while, I got back on the bike and headed south on Route 75. The mountain scenery was still stunning, but I started to notice that the sharp, dramatic mountains were starting to grow softer, rounder and quite a bit lower. It felt odd to be leaving the mountains that I had come to associate with “the West” and seemed to be returning to the flat farmland that I associate with the Midwest.

Route 75 which took me south through the mountains eventually intersected with Route 20 which I took East following signs for Craters of The Moon and Rexford. Craters of the Room is this crazy lava field in the middle of the high desert plains of Idaho that makes you feel like you’re in the middle of Maui. The ground is black with volcanic soil and sharp rocks. Apparently there are crazy lava tubes and caves that are open to the public and free to explore. I could definitely see spending a bit more time there on a future ride.

Along the way, I kept spying off-road turnouts that seemed to lead out into the horizon forever. I grew tempted to maybe abandon my plans for Driggs and explore some of these dirt roads just to see where they lead. My off-road experience in New Mexico had taken a lot out of me. But time heals all wounds, and I was feeling a small itch to get some dirt under my tires. Alas, I had no maps and not enough water to risk another off-road adventure at the time so reason prevailed and I kept heading southeast to Driggs.

As I pressed on, the long straight roads seemed to stretch to infinity while the golden plains of the valley surrounded me on both sides. Potato fields and dairy farms dominated the even landscape. But then, far off in the distance, I could just see the tips of two massive spires rising above the horizon. My road began winding slowly towards these two mountains, and before I knew it I was staring at the impressive Teton Range, the geologically youngest part of the Rocky Mountains. Gorgeous.

I pulled into Driggs around 5:30pm and was famished having not eaten since breakfast. I quickly made my way to the Forage Lounge for curried rice noodles with 10-spice chicken. Driggs seems to surprise you that way. The population (according to the sign) is only 1,100 but the outsized landscape seems to match the offerings in this cool mountain town. Despite living in the shadow of its larger, more cosmopolitan cousin, Jackson Hole (a few miles over the Wyoming border), Driggs has sophisticated culinary scene along with every outdoor outfitting store you could imagine.

To top off the evening, I rolled out of dinner and into my first drive-in theater to catch Apollo 18. It was a little weird on a motorcycle, but they gave me a handheld radio tuned to the audio frequency for the movie that I could perch on my tank bag while I watched the movie, munching on fresh popcorn, under the cool night sky bursting with stars. Great way to end an unexpected day.

Next Stop: Yellowstone National Park!

WHAT I LEARNED / DISCOVERED TODAY: The days continue to be more unexpected than I think. I thought today was going to be a routine, albeit scenic, travel day. Rather, the Hemingway Memorial hit me harder emotionally than I thought.  Then, I was surprised how quickly the mountains melted away into flat farmland. I totally stumbled upon the Craters of The Moon National Monument unexpectedly (I could just read a map, I suppose). And at the end of the day, I was treated to the epic views of the Grand Tetons, and the deluge of cultural offerings in Driggs. Also, I might just be the fattest person in the State of Idaho. I went from experiencing puma-like svelteness throughout Mississippi and Texas, to feeling like the fat girl at prom in Idaho. I’m pretty sure everybody here hikes 30 miles a day and is on an Olympic Team.

San Francisco, CA – Fort Bragg, CA – Redwood National Forest

Today, I left San Francisco in great mood with everything coming up Christof. I had a newly repaired bike that purred like a kitten and felt great due to some newly installed bar risers for improved ergonomics. I had some congee in my belly. And I was heading out to experience some of the most anticipated riding of my trip. I was finally entering the Pacific Northwest. I crossed over the Golden Gate and made my way through Stinson Beach and over to the Pacific Coast Highway. The PCH can be very slow going due to the steep switchbacks, or more often, just a slow car ahead of you. But the views of the cliffs overlooking the Pacific Ocean can’t be beat.  I’m also not in a rush.

It occurred to me that despite having been on the West Coast for almost 2 weeks now – I hadn’t seen much of the Pacific Ocean. I’d seen a glimpse of it as I came down in Ojai and I saw some more in Santa Barbara, but mostly I had been riding inland in Solvang, San Luis Obispo, and San Francisco. Having the ocean on my left side gave me such a strong sense of how far I’d come.

The riding was gorgeous and every so often a strong scent of clean salt air penetrated my helmet. One of my favorite stops is at the Tomales Bay Oyster Farms about 80 miles north of San Francisco. I stop there just about every time I come through these parts. They sell local beer in a can and sell oysters by the dozen while you sit on a wood bench enjoying the view.

Later in the day, the skies grew overcast and a light fog was captured by the craggy hills causing traffic to slow cautiously around the hairpin turns. Riding the coast is simply exhilarating, and constantly feels like the final shot of late 70s movie right before the credits role.

I was pushing miles to meet Ali in Portland in two days, so I made it all the way to Fort Bragg by around 8pm that evening. I was promptly told that my dining options in town were rapidly dwindling.  By the time I got to the great North Coast Brew Pub at 8:30pm, I was informed that they had just stopped serving food. Really? 8:30pm is too late for the chef to flip a burger? Yeesh, I get better service in Philly.

Back in my hotel room that night, while I contemplated self-cannibalism to assuage my bereft stomach, I looked at the map and was surprised to see the highway veer off from the coastline 20 miles north and not return until Eureka, near the top of the state. The reason, I learned, is that the coastline in that section of California was deemed too wild and untamable to build a proper road. It was dubbed the Lost Coast and is a mecca for intense off road riding, hiking and remote camping. I REALLY wanted to check it out and get lost in what is essentially an untouched preserve. But I have too many miles to make, and I wasn’t too keen on banging up my freshly rebuilt bike. Definitely a spot to revisit through.

I kept riding north being amazed by the beauty of the Pacific Northwest shore line. There’s an authentic, wild quality to the beaches here that’s absent on the East Coast. The rough sand is nestled in between the natural boundaries of the high cliffs and rock, as opposed to where you can find parking in the Hamptons. I stopped at one of the beaches and simply had to walk up to the surf. A little girl asked her mother why I was wearing a snowsuit on the beach.

As I got closer to the Oregon Border, a funny thing happened. I pulled into a rest stop off the 101, and I saw two women standing beside their KTM 990 Adventure motorcycles. Now, this is weird for several reasons. First of all, the KTM bike is widely considered the best competitor to the BMW 1200GS Adventure (my bike), but it is very infrequently seen in the States. In fact, it’s damn rare. It’s also rare to see a woman riding a motorcycle by herself (not in a larger group), let alone two women by themselves. That coupled with the fact that both were riding uncommon bikes, I felt like I was supposed to say something, maybe hi, and acknowledge our mutual affinity for enduro motorcycles. From the luggage that they had strapped on, they looked like they were loaded up for adventure, and clearly so was I.  Now frankly, I’m a little shy in these circumstances, and I honestly considered the fact that they might be lesbians in which case the last thing they might want is some fluffy blond guy chatting them up.

But with the spirit of adventure motorcycling coursing between us, I approached them and wanted to find out their story. They were both very friendly and interested to hear where I was going and surprised to hear I was riding all the way from New York. One of the women was German and almost as tall as I was. She wasn’t a fan of the BMW bikes because of the weight and their reputation for being underpowered. She had ridden her bike throughout South America and Eastern Europe and sounded pretty damn accomplished for someone so friendly. I really wanted to ask them both to dinner to talk more about bikes, but I was worried that it might come off the wrong way. I sort of regret not doing it now. Damn shyness. If this trip is supposed to be about anything, it’s learning NOT to hesitate.

We said our goodbyes, and I soon entered Redwood Country which was one of the few must-see spots I had for my trip. The trees and the thick density of the forest that surrounds them were utterly mesmerizing. I had never seen anything like it before in my life.  I mean, I know Redwoods were big and I knew they were old. But 2,000 years old? 50 stories high? It’s one of those things that needs to be seen to be believed. I felt like I was playing World of Warcraft, the 3D version. I mean, look at the scale below!

I drove through The Valley of the Giants where the Redwoods lined each side of the small two-lane road. There’s just something about the otherworldly thickness of these mammoth trees that feels reassuring. The entrancing drive was shrouded in near darkness by the massive canopy of the Redwoods transforming the landscape into a lush emerald carpet that I wanted to stay in for weeks.

But I got my wish met halfway! A few miles before crossing into Oregon, I entered the Redwoods National Park and managed to snag the very last campsite available. Yes, it was right next the restroom facility, but that’s not unlike the seating treatment I receive at most fine restaurants.

The best part was driving into the campgrounds – I saw my first bear!! It was a little black bear and he was hightailing it away from me, but I saw him nonetheless. Hope he doesn’t try to eat my cigars tonight!

WHAT I LEARNED / DISCOVERED TODAY:

The Redwoods are like, older than Jesus and we should all try to protect them. Also, if I want dinner, I need to start eating earlier. Northern California isn’t exactly South American in its dining habits.