American Southwest loop

In the spirit of adventure, September 2022 saw me leaping headfirst into what turned out to be an epic 7,171km odyssey. I set off from Los Angeles, carving a clockwise loop through the heart of the stunning American Southwest. Over the span of 15 days, I ventured through six states—California, Nevada, Utah, Colorado, New Mexico, and Arizona—each adding its own unique zest to my journey. From the sun-kissed shores of California to the neon glow of Las Vegas, the untamed grandeur of the Rockies, and the myriad hues of the Painted Desert, this trip was a living homage to the Southwest's breath-taking scenery and its vibrant cultural mosaic.

(Oh, and just between us, if you're getting the sense that an AI-bot lent a hand in weaving this travelogue together... you've hit the nail on the head! )

Below, you'll find a map that traces the route I took. Laying it out like this really drives home the sheer expanse and diversity of this corner of the globe.



Let me walk you through some of the highlights of this incredible adventure:

First off, let's talk about my visit to Arches National Park in Utah. Honestly, it's hard to put into words just how awe-inspiring this place is. Picture this: natural sandstone arches stretching up to the sky, creating windows to vast, untouched landscapes that seem to stretch on forever. It's like walking on the set of a nature documentary, where every turn offers a new, breath-taking view that just begs to be photographed.



As I continued my journey, I found myself riding through Monument Valley. And wow, just wow. The towering sandstone buttes that rise majestically from the valley floor are nothing short of spectacular. It's a landscape so surreal, you must see it to believe it. These formations, set against the backdrop of the deep blue sky, stand as a testament to the raw, untamed beauty of the American Southwest. Riding through Monument Valley felt like being in another world, one where nature's grandeur is on full display, reminding us of its power and majesty.





The trip continued to the Grand Canyon, one of the seven natural wonders of the world, where I took in the awe-inspiring vistas of this vast and intricate landscape. And a "Chevy Chase" moment....



A change of pace brought me to Las Vegas, Nevada, for a concert by the legendary rock band Aerosmith, adding a musical highlight to my journey.



I experienced the extreme conditions of Death Valley, known for being one of the hottest places on Earth.



Cruised through Joshua Tree National Park, enjoying the unique desert landscapes and the park’s namesake Joshua trees.



Riding "The Loneliest Road in America" offered me a reflective and solitary experience through some of the country's most remote areas, contrasting sharply with the "Million Dollar Highway," one of the most beautiful routes in the United States, with its steep grades and tight curves.





The trip concluded with a moment of reflection as I paid my respects to RPF, a poignant and personal addition to my journey, underscoring the diverse experiences and emotions that motorbike travel can evoke.



I also got a crash course in what a femtosecond is. I define a nanosecond as the period between accepting a stranger's LinkedIn invite and getting hit with their marketing spiel. Well, let me tell you, a femtosecond makes a nanosecond look like a leisurely stroll. It's on a whole other level of quick! (But I can only reveal the illustrative material later in this report due to, let's just call it "Divorce Attorney Client Privileges.").

Overall, my trip was a remarkable blend of natural wonders, thrilling experiences, and personal moments, making it an unforgettable adventure on the open road. I hope that you will enjoy the journey with me….

Nice pics thanks
Who was RPF?
What bike did you use?
Oefff....and that Aerosmith concert, I'm GREEN with jealousy!!

The foreplay…..

Let me dive into the whole saga of lining up flights and snagging a bike rental, because it's a whole adventure on its own. It's kind of like embarking on a treasure hunt, where every clue solved, every step taken, edges you closer to hitting that jackpot—the dream ride. For me, getting there was a mix of playing detective, a bit of luck, and a whole lot of scrolling through options until I hit that sweet spot: flights that didn’t break the bank and a bike that wouldn’t let me down.

Now, when it came to flights, I had two big boxes that needed ticking. First up, I wanted a straight shot from Cape Town to the U.S. —none of that hopping around between states, thanks to those pesky baggage limits on domestic flights that could've thrown a wrench in my plans. Enter Qatar Airways to the rescue, with their superb two-bag, 23kg each, economy deal. I found myself a smooth connection from Cape Town to Doha, then straight onto Los Angeles. All this for just R13,360 return…..Bingo!

Next up: the bike hunt. That’s when I stumbled upon Riders-Share.com, think Airbnb but for motorcycles. Owners list their bikes, ready to rent out to folks like me looking for a ride. It’s genius, really. This platform turned out to be a goldmine, offering up bikes at prices that didn’t make my wallet weep. The cherry on top? Getting to pick from a dizzying array of models.

Getting verified on Riders Share was a walk in the park. A quick pic of my driver's license, a nod from their team, and I was in, browsing through insurance options that ranged from just-the-basics to the whole shebang. I ended up locking in a 15-day rental for $1,970—unlimited miles, comprehensive insurance, just keep it on the tar, they said. The bike, a R1200GSA with just over 10k miles, came with soft panniers, all set for adventure.

Now, the pickup was in South Central LA, which had me raising an eyebrow at first. But after diving into a sea of positive reviews about how awesome the bike owner was, any worries quickly faded. I even found a street view shot on Google Maps of the bike, just chilling outside its home.

I shot a message to the owner, asking about dropping off my bags at his place and chatting about my grand plan to chew through 5,000 miles. I was a bit antsy about whether the tires could handle the marathon. The owner was a champ, though, promising the bike would be serviced and decked out with new Anakees before I hit the road. Things were looking up!

Felix, the owner, even shared his WhatsApp for any last-minute updates or changes—talk about hospitality! With MapsMe downloaded on my phone and the route from the airport to his place mapped out (a cool 21 miles, easy peasy), I was all set. Seeing Felix’s profile picture on WhatsApp? Instant trust—how could you not feel confident about renting a bike from a guy rocking a look like that?



With my flight slated to touch down at LAX at the bright and early hour of 6:25 am, I mapped out a plan to head straight to the bike pick-up point. There, I would swap my travel attire for trusty riding gear, leave my suitcases in Felix's care, and chart a course inland towards the fabled Death Valley. Barstow appeared to be an ideal destination for my first day's ride – just far enough to escape LA's notorious traffic, yet close enough to ensure a leisurely mid-afternoon arrival at a welcoming motel.

As I scanned the map, my eyes alighted upon an enticing route that would lead me across the mountains – Route 2, also known as “Angeles Crest Highway” that snakes through the Angeles National Forest and over the San Gabriel Mountains. The promise of twists, turns, and breath-taking vistas beckoned, igniting my wanderlust, and fueling my excitement for the journey ahead.



So, I had my first night's stay all lined up in Barstow. About a week before I was set to kick off this epic journey, I started keeping an eye on California's weather. The temperatures were cranking up to "let's cook an egg on the sidewalk" levels. But that wasn't all—off the coast, there was this tropical storm brewing up, literally, and it looked like it was ready to crash my party before it even started. I figured as long as it didn't mess with my flights, I could just roll with the punches and tweak my daily plans according to whatever Mother Nature decided to throw my way.

What I hadn't counted on, though, was just how wild this ride was about to get, thanks to that storm. “The Bitch”—that's what I ended up nicknaming the tropical storm Kay,—had plans of her own, and boy, was she determined to make this trip one for the books. It was like she was out there, laughing in the face of my carefully laid plans, ready to sprinkle a little chaos into my adventure through the American Southwest.





So just as I thought I had everything under control, the universe decided to throw me another curveball. Just two days before I was supposed to head out, my phone started buzzing with notifications from Qatar Airways, each one delaying my flight out a few more hours. There I was, recalculating my arrival time in LA, watching my carefully planned buffer time evaporate into thin air. I shot a message over to Felix about possibly rolling in late into LA, and he shot back a cool "No problem." Crisis averted, or so I thought.

As the clock ticked away, I made the call to ditch my Barstow Motel booking and snagged a room in Hesperia instead, thinking it might give me a bit of an edge. Then, with the storm brewing, I double-checked Angeles Crest Highway—it looked all clear of any fallen trees or debris, surprisingly. So, I mapped out my new route on Google Maps, transferred it over to MapsMe, and punched the waypoints into my GPS, affectionately dubbed Putin.

Feeling a mix of nerves and excitement, I found myself at the Qatar Airways counter at Cape Town airport, checking in bags that each weighed a smidge over 20kg. Helmet in hand, I made my way through customs, ready for whatever adventure awaited.



Alright, so there I was, feeling pretty good about how things were going. Found myself a nice little spot to grab a bite before the flight. Checking-in and customs was a breeze, and just as I'm finishing up, I hear the first call for our flight. My ears perk up as I hear my name being called over the PA system. I'm thinking, "This has got to be my lucky day, right? Maybe a surprise bump up to business class!"

But as I make my way over, the scene doesn't exactly scream VIP treatment. There's a stewardess there, sure, but she's got company—a member of the South African Police force. My heart skips a beat. "Please come with me, sir," he says, and I'm not about to argue with that. We head down a flight of stairs, meandering through these narrow corridors until we hit this packed room. A couple of Spanish passengers are there ahead of me, looking just as bewildered.

My bags are off to the side, and the officer's like, "We've got a bit of an issue here, sir." Turns out, they think they've spotted gas canisters in my luggage on the x-ray. I'm totally thrown off—gas canisters? Really? I ask to see the x-ray images, and that's when it clicks. Those "canisters" are actually part of my Helite airbag jacket, something I've flown with to the US before without a hitch.

But the officer's not budging. With Qatar hosting the Soccer World Cup, security's tighter than ever, and they're not taking any chances. It's clear I'm not winning this one, so I agree to ditch the canisters. While they're digging through my stuff, I catch bits and pieces of the issue the Spanish duo is facing. Language barriers are making things tricky, so I jump in to lend a hand with translating. Turns out, the guy and his daughter were coming back from a hunting trip, and she'd held onto a spent cartridge as a keepsake of her first African kill. Big no-no for Qatar Airways.

After a bit of back and forth, explaining the situation, they're cool with leaving the cartridge behind. Crisis averted, and it feels good to help out. But man, talk about a rollercoaster start to what's supposed to be an epic adventure!





So, we're all set for this leg of the journey. It's a whopping 9 hours and 45 minutes straight into the skies. And you know what? The transfer in Doha was smooth as butter. No hiccups, no rush—just one seamless move from one plane to the next. Next up, we've got this marathon 16-hour flight stretching out from Doha, and I figure it's the perfect time to shoot a message over to Felix, giving him the heads up about when I'll be touching down.

The ride on the Airbus A350-1000 is the kind of smooth that has you forgetting you're flying across oceans and continents. But there's this tricky bit about hopping time zones—suddenly, you're trying to sync up with the US Pacific time, which is a solid 7 hours behind. So, I'm there, determined to beat jet lag at its own game. I make my little cocoon in the seat, and before I know it, I'm out like a light, sleeping my way across time zones, aiming to hit the ground running (or at least walking straight) when we land.



My phone's alarm beckons me to consciousness at 7 am LA time. Slightly disoriented, I rise and stroll down the aisles to shake off the grogginess. A somewhat disgruntled air hostess provides me with coffee and water, and I seize the moment to declutter my inbox on my laptop. The final four hours of the flight prove to be a test of endurance as I wrestle to stay awake. However, I remain steadfast in my commitment to the plan, knowing that the adventures that lie ahead will make it all worthwhile.

Landing in LA at 2 pm, I found myself trapped in a sluggish queue for customs. The sweltering heat seemed to amplify the slow pace, and by the time I finally emerged at 4:30 pm, I was desperate to change into my riding gear and repack my bags for a speedy transfer at Felix's place. Hailing a taxi while dripping with sweat, I informed Felix of my imminent arrival, only to be met with a foreboding "Good luck with the traffic."

Indeed, the traffic was nothing short of abysmal. Forced off the major highways and onto the backroads, I monitored our snail-like progress on MapsMe, realizing with a sinking feeling that I'd arrive just before sunset, still in the thick of rush hour. As we inched our way through South Central LA, I couldn't help but notice the colourful local scenery – prostitutes unabashedly advertising their services along the streets, showcasing an array of provocative outfits. It appeared that tonight, they were offering a special on ”low hanging fruit”…… Flexitarians welcome!

Upon reaching our destination, we find the place curiously unoccupied. Hindered by a lack of cell phone service, I pass the number to the trusty taxi driver, enlisting his aid in contacting Felix. Soon enough, he appears, heralding the beginning of my adventure.

The bike is parked in front of the house, and as advertised, it is in excellent condition, complete with newly fitted tires. Felix snaps a photo of the ODO meter and my driver's license, takes my empty luggage bags, and with that, I'm primed and ready to embark on this exhilarating journey.



As I prepared to venture out, my trusty BMW motorcycle was equipped with its standard GPS system, affectionately known as "Hitler" for its stern insistence on the most direct, no-nonsense routes. Alongside, my cell phone was mounted, synced up with MapsMe, and I had my Garmin 276, nicknamed "Putin," a nod to its knack for navigating through the most rugged terrains with a certain authoritative flair, reminiscent of my 2015 ride across the US.

Setting Angeles Crescent into the BMW's GPS, an amusing yet spirited debate promptly broke out between Putin and Hitler, each proposing their own version of the "best" path forward. It was as if a diplomatic summit had convened right there on my dashboard.

"Ah, comrade, why rush so directly?" Putin chided with a digital smirk, suggesting a scenic detour that promised adventure but perhaps a few more twists and turns. "The journey is as important as the destination, no?"

In contrast, Hitler's voice emanated with precision, a hint of impatience for such frivolity. "Schnell! There is efficiency in the direct route. Why waste time when the goal is clear?"

Their banter continued, with Putin advocating for the road less travelled, reminiscing about our past explorations through the back roads of Africa with a sense of nostalgia and camaraderie. "Remember the serendipity of our unplanned routes, the hidden gems we discovered away from the beaten path?"

Meanwhile, Hitler remained unamused, insisting on the virtues of punctuality and order. "Detours are but distractions from the optimal path. Efficiency, discipline, that is what leads to success."

After a few rounds of their navigational tug-of-war, and with a chuckle at their distinctive personalities, I decided to side with Putin's seasoned wisdom. It had, after all, been my guide through countless adventures, its advice often leading to the most memorable experiences off the beaten track.

So, with a fond glance at both my disputing guides, I turned off the BMW GPS, allowing Putin to lead the way once more into the unknown. "Alright, Putin, let's see what unexpected wonders you'll lead us to this time," I mused, ready for the adventure ahead, leaving Hitler to sulk in silence until our next journey on the open road. Nightfall descends, and I find myself amidst the pulsating energy of five lanes of rush hour traffic, moving in a bumper-to-bumper dance. Though exhausted from 26 hours of travel, adrenaline courses through my veins, and soon, I find myself ascending the storied Route 2. The darkness conceals the majestic landscapes from sight, but I know that breath taking vistas await me in the days to come.

Rolling into the Motel 6 in Hesperia just after 10 pm, I park my bike near the entrance. The check-in process was a breeze, and with bags in tow, I ascended the stairs to my first-floor refuge. Eager to wash away the day's grime, I indulged in a refreshing shower, set my alarm for the ambitious hour of 5 am, and surrendered to the welcoming embrace of a well-deserved slumber (aided by a full dose of Dormicum).

petri oosthuizen said:

Nice pics thanks
Who was RPF?
What bike did you use?
Oefff....and that Aerosmith concert, I'm GREEN with jealousy!!

Click to expand...

Hi Petri: RPF = Richard Feynman = Physicist and interesting character Details of the bike in my next post

Day 1: Hesperia to Big Pine.

Today's journey would lead me through the enigmatic Death Valley. My plan was to veer off at Baker, making my way towards Death Valley Junction, followed by the alluringly named Shoshone. From there, I'd continue on to Lone Pine before finally arriving at Big Pine. According to Google Maps, the 750km route should take approximately 8 hours, though I would soon discover that the “The Bitch” had other ideas.



The forecast promised a day of sunshine, and it certainly delivered. As I checked out of the motel, I filled my 3-liter water bladder with ice from the ice bucket, ensuring I'd stay cool and hydrated on the road. By 6 am, I was packed and ready to embark, with the sun set to rise at 6:30 am. There was ample light to guide my way as I set off, enjoying the comfortable riding temperature of 14 degrees Celsius. With MapsMe now used as my navigator, I began my journey towards Barstow and the adventure that awaited.



Yesterday, as I soared through the skies, my thoughts were consumed by the intricacies of production efficiencies, yield optimization, budgets, and workforce conundrums. Yet, today presents a stark contrast - it is a day dedicated to the journey and the marvel of the ever-changing landscape. Embracing the adage, "wherever you go, that's where you are," one understands the true allure of riding a motorbike.

The arid descent unfurls before me like an invitation, as I steer towards the enigmatic Mojave biome. Upon reaching Barstow, I pause to refuel the bike. Here, I am struck by a vision of the future - a filling station reimagined, adorned with solar panels and Tesla charging stations, harmoniously coexisting to quench the thirst of our modern, eco-conscious vehicles.

Under the weight of a persistent headache, I venture into a local shop in search of some light sustenance. It's then that I'm struck by a revelation - the cause of my nagging discomfort. It's been nearly 48 hours since my last cup of coffee. The aroma of freshly brewed java entices me, drawing me closer with magnetic allure.

Eagerly, I secure not one, but two cups of the delightful elixir and make my way outdoors. As I appease my caffeine cravings, the day's warmth becomes increasingly apparent. My gaze falls upon my airless airbag jacket, which seems to stare back in a curious display of inadequacy. I can't help but liken it to wearing a punctured condom - however, I find solace in the jacket's built-in, sturdy back protector.

I continue my eastward journey along Highway 15, setting my sights on Baker and from there, I plan to veer northward onto Route 127, directing me towards the quaint town of Shoshone. The traffic on these roads is sparse, allowing the landscape to take center stage.

As I traverse this semi-arid terrain, I'm reminded of the vast Karoo, its expansive roads stretching beneath the cerulean skies. Periodically, I find myself sipping from the valve of my water bladder as I ride, grateful for the hydration it provides.





Upon reaching Shoshone, I make a mental note to replenish my water supply and procure additional reserves for my panniers. One can never be too prepared in this parched, sun-scorched land.

Shoshone emerges like a nostalgic vision from the cowboy films of yore. A tour bus sits idly outside a charming coffee-shop-cum-restaurant, hinting at the allure this quaint town holds. Upon entering the General Store, I'm greeted by amicable owners eager to engage in small talk, curious about my destination.

I procure three litres of water and stow them securely in my panniers. After fueling up my motorcycle at the nearby gas station, I take advantage of the restroom facilities. In an effort to cool down, I remove my shirt and drench it in water, allowing the evaporative effect under my jacket to provide respite from the heat.

Feeling refreshed and well-prepared, I'm eager to face the formidable expanse of Death Valley that lies ahead.

A mere couple of kilometres beyond the charming confines of Shoshone, I veer left, directing my journey towards the enigmatic realms of Ashford and Badwater. Unexpectedly, I encounter a road closure, an unassuming development that, at the time, seemed of little consequence. However, it would later become evident that this was a subtle clue left behind by Kay....



Pausing at the aptly named "Death Valley Junction," I take a moment to regain my bearings and turn onto the sun-drenched Route 190. The heat is relentless, prompting me to seek solace in a couple of savory salami sticks and generous gulps of life-sustaining water. Recalling the sachet of "Rehydrate" electrolytes tucked away in my supplies, I decide to empty its contents into my water bladder, fortifying my hydration efforts.







To my astonishment, I realize that I've already consumed nearly two litres of water since setting out from Shoshone. The deceptive nature of the desert becomes apparent, as the rapid evaporation of sweat while riding conceals the true extent of water loss. It's a humbling reminder of the adaptability required to thrive in such an unforgiving landscape.

Day 1: Hesperia to Big Pine. (continued)

Pressing onward, my next destination is the illustrious lookout point, Dante's View.





Upon arrival, I'm greeted with a panorama so breath-taking, it appears to have been plucked from the pages of a mythical tale. From this elevated vantage point, the world stretches out beneath me, providing a stunning testament to the awe-inspiring beauty of nature's creations. Each gaze across the horizon sparks a renewed appreciation for the wonders that await the intrepid traveler willing to venture off the beaten path.







My journey continues as I set my sights on the intriguingly named Furnace Creek. As I traverse the open road, I'm struck by the near absence of traffic, allowing me to fully immerse myself in the splendour of my surroundings (traveling at times at 190ft below sea level). The captivating scenery conjures memories of Namibia's finest offerings, as the stark beauty of the landscape stretches as far as the eye can see.











The heat is positively scorching, as I glance down at the bike's temperature gauge, which hovers between a staggering 99.5 and 100 degrees Fahrenheit. Though I'm momentarily unable to convert the reading to Celsius (which, upon later calculation, reveals itself to be a sweltering 37.5 degrees), I'm acutely aware of the oppressive heat bearing down upon me, I don't need a thermometer to tell me that it's fucking hot!!.





As I draw from my water bladder, I find it disconcertingly empty, signaling an urgent need for replenishment. Grateful for my foresight, I pull over and retrieve the water bottles stowed securely in my panniers, refilling the bladder in preparation for the unrelenting journey that lies ahead.

Day 1: Hesperia to Big Pine. (continued)

So, next up on my ride was Stovepipe Wells. Man, it was scorching out there—I mean, seriously hot. Popped into this tourist shop to grab some water. They sell it by the gallon, so I snagged one, topped off my water bladder, and filled up those empty bottles I had stashed in my pannier bags. I decided to grab an extra bottle, mixed in some Rehidrate and just chilled in the shade for a bit, gulping it down.

After that, I ducked into the bathroom to give my shirt a quick soak in the sink. Slapped it back on, wet and all, for that makeshift aircon effect. I noticed a couple of camper vans outside, engines running just to keep the AC on—can't say I blame them!

Checked my map before taking off again, looked like about 200kms left to hit Big Pine, cruising through Lone Pine on the way. I was making pretty decent time, thinking I'd get there before the sun dipped down. But, well, let's just say things didn't quite go as planned...

So there I am, pointing my bike towards Lone Pine, and just as I'm rounding the corner, what do I see? A Sheriff's car, smack in the middle of the road, blocking my way. No sweat, I think. I've got all my papers with me. We shoot the breeze for a bit, and he's like, "Where you headed?" I tell him, "Big Pine, via Lone Pine." And then he hits me with, "Oh buddy, do I have some bad news for you today..."

"What's up?" I ask, kinda puzzled.

Turns out, the road to Lone Pine is closed. I'm scratching my head, asking if there's maybe a dirt road I could take instead. But no, he says, "All the roads are shut tight."

I try to play it cool, hinting that maybe my bike and I could handle a few obstacles and by-pass the roadblocks….. But he shuts that down real quick, "Sure, you might sneak through, but then they'd just lock you up. They've got cameras everywhere."

Man, talk about a dead end in Death Valley…. So I'm like, "Got any other ideas on how to get there?"

He tells me there's only one way in and out of Death Valley, buddy. I'd have to backtrack to Death Valley Junction and then figure it out from there—maybe head back through Shoshone or take a detour via Beatty, Gold Point... He keeps going, mapping out the route, but I'm barely listening at this point.

My mind's off, wandering, thinking about Kay... That girl really played me this time! (Sidebar: AI is way too polite here, I was thinking “Kay, you fucking Bitch!!!”)

So, just like that, my 200km trip suddenly morphs into this epic 650km detour. I'm looking at almost 7 hours on the road to get to Big Pine!!



So, I bid farewell to the Sheriff and make my way toward the Death Valley junction. At first, I'm really ticked off, thinking about just blasting past the speed limits. But then, it hits me—this is all part of the adventure, right? Plus, I get to roll through Death Valley not just once, but twice. I pull up at the Fine Cannabis Dispensary, kind of wondering if something there might help take the edge off. It's kind of wild, thinking they grow cannabis out here in the middle of nowhere.





After a bit, I decide to head back towards Shoshone instead. It seems like there might be more spots to crash for the night that way, in case I decide Big Pine is just too far off. Hitting Baker, the temperature gauge is showing somewhere between 80 and 90 degrees Fahrenheit. (I would only later realize that what I photographed was apparently the “world’s tallest thermometer”).







Honestly, the exact numbers don't even matter anymore—my body's screaming at me that it's just ridiculously hot. My water bottles are bone dry again but thank goodness for ice machines America's got that going for it. Ice machines at every stop is a given. And then, it dawns on me—I've been chugging water all day and haven't needed a bathroom break. Thermoregulation at it’s best…..

Now, I'm practically on autopilot, heading towards Ridgecrest. As I pass through Olancha and the sun starts dipping, it finally begins to cool down a bit.







Only 100 kilometres left to Big Pine, and I decide, let's just do this. I confirm the room on Booking.com and keep going, tucking in behind a FedEx truck to avoid any night-time critters that might decide to dart across the road. It's slow going, and by the time I hit Big Pine at 9 p.m., I've been on the road for 15 hours. What a marathon of a day! And it is only Day 1... Stadig Pappie...

I grab the key to my room and pick up some sunscreen at the shop. This place is clearly a hotspot for fishing, stocked with everything from live bait to hard liquor.

Before I could finally crash, there was just this one last thing nagging at me. Riding through Death Valley, I had popped open my helmet visor, but the darn locking mechanism was being a pain. I gave the screws a quick tighten, hoping that'd fix it, but no luck. I won’t make it through another scorcher with a closed visor, so I must fix it. Now. Good thing I had some 3M Dual Lock strips, super glue and insulation tape with me. Like they say, "’n Boer maak ‘n plan…..." This worked really well, and it was easy to open and secure the visor on either side of the helmet. Useless info I know, but as my wife constantly reminds me “small things amuse small minds….”.

Best since BigOils trips
Nice

Day 2: Big Pine CA to Ely NV

"Arrival aggression" . That is what happens on the first night of a fishing, hunting, or camping trip when buddies arrive from all directions. Lots of laughing, hugging, and talking. When the sun goes down, it's time to celebrate with bear/wine/hardwood and huge steaks in the company of old friends. Later, music and singing begin. Real pals. Those friends who, despite the fact that they haven't seen each other in a long time, continue the chat as if they did yesterday. This is what occurred yesterday night in Big Pine. While resting in bed, I heard laughter and chatting. Even though it kept me awake for a while, such things never bother me. I understand and respect the adrenalin and joy of arrival aggression.

I get up before daylight and start loading the bike. The parking lot is already bustling with men packing and fidgeting with their fishing gear. While loading, they continued to chat and give each other horns. Jeeps and large trucks loaded with cargo. I notice an abundance of cooler boxes, which reminds me of my friend Vaughn's collection of Yeti coolers.



Vaughn unquestionably believes in "go big or go home". Look at the size of that large cooler box, to which he has attached "No diving" warning sticker.



Despite the initial excitement and anxiety of starting the journey yesterday, I remind myself not to let down my guard and to remain cautious while I activate my SPOT GPS tracker. When riding alone, you take a different approach to the ride….



Today's journey was set to be a 600km stretch, roughly 6 hours straight through if I didn't stop.



My path was going to weave through the old cowboy town of Goldfields, then merge onto Highway 50, famously dubbed "The Loneliest Road in America."








On routes like these, you remember that most Americans are just hardworking, speak-their-mind kind of folks, not shy about airing their views on Joe Biden to anyone who'll glance their way...

Day 2: Big Pine CA to Ely NV (continued)

Crossing over from California into Nevada, I caught sight of my first Joshua trees.



Man, these Joshua trees are something else, sticking out with their unique, almost eerie shape.





Once I found a spot with WiFi, I dove into learning about them. It turns out, Joshua trees aren't really trees but succulents that hoard water. Named after the biblical figure Joshua by Mormon settlers back in the day, these "trees" have this vibe like they're guiding you through the desert with their outstretched limbs. They're actually part of the Yucca family, native to the Southwest U.S. and even a bit of Mexico, thriving in the Mojave Desert's open grasslands.

And yeah, today was the day I saw my first Joshua Tree for real!

Stopping in Eureka for coffee… "Man, you look hot!" the waitress who is serving me says to me with a single glance over her shoulder. I respond by saying, "Well, thank you, it has been a very very long time since I have received a compliment like that from a lady." I then add, "You are not to shabby yourself." She gives a chuckle, takes the order, and then quickly returns with the Cappuccino. She asks, "Isn't it hot with all that gear on?" as I am still in the process of going through the motions of taking off my protective gear. It is a question that I am frequently asked, and I respond with the famous response that Bill Clinton gave to a query regarding the scandal involving Monica Lewinsky, which was, "It all depends on what the meaning of "is" is." She smiles, grabs a chair and sits down to ask where am I heading to….





Rolling into Ely later on, the place was buzzing with muscle cars everywhere at the gas station. A quick look at the stickers clued me in - they were all here for the "Silver State Classic Car Challenge." What a sight!



So, there I am at the crossroads of 376 and Highway 50, right near Austin, and I spot this sign that's like, "You'll need a bigger bucket list." And man, it's so true. With all these gorgeous backroads around, time just isn't enough.





That evening, I ended up grabbing dinner at this local Mexican spot. And across the room, check this out—a dude in a massive Stetson, cowboy boots, the works, and get this... two diamond earrings. Yep, my day's complete: first a Joshua Tree, now a cowboy that's breaking all stereotypes. Score!



Just as I'm amusing myself over my cowboy encounter, in walks his partner, and they're all lovey-dovey. I had to do a double-take because the guy looks just like Charles Oliveira. I'm trying super hard not to make it obvious I'm staring because, let's face it, if "Do Bronx" decides I'm next on his hit list and gets me in one of those rear naked chokes... who's to say what his significant other might do to me while I'm out cold? I’m outta there in a flash!

As I reflect on the ride I took today, I come to the realization that the 15-hour marathon that I completed yesterday has re-adjusted my perspective. On average, it takes me between three and four days to clear my mind of thoughts that are associated with matters pertaining to my work, etc. After that lengthy ride, all of this was resolved in a single day! Although I would not recommend doing so after such a lengthy travel, the fact that how long ride that required absolute focus can quickly recalibrate you!

Day 3: Ely NV to Green River UT

Alright, so today's plan is to hit Green River, which is about 600km away, give or take, roughly a 7-hour ride.



So, I'm out of the motel by 6 a.m and the parking lot's already buzzing. The muscle cars taking part in the Silver State Classic Car Challenge are getting ready for the day. The whole place feels alive, kinda pulsating with the rumble of V8 engines firing up.



As I hit the road, I pass by a bunch of ranches. It's pretty clear they're set up for hunting. The ranch entrances—decked out with deer antlers. Pretty cool, actually.



And then, just after I zip through the little town of Baker, I'm crossing the state line into Utah for the very first time.



So, I'm cruising along, the road's starting to twist and turn through the mountain and then, as I come around this bend—holy crap, what the heck went down here?



There's stuff scattered all over the place. It looks like a motorhome took a serious tumble. The whole scene looks like it just happened. I pull over to check it out, and there's this orange Universal" notebook, filled to the brim with handwritten notes. I snag it and stash it in my bag... thinking, this is going to be some fascinating bedtime reading tonight.




I'm following Route 50 and there's this huge Lake on my right (Lake Sevier), just before I hit Hickley. I'm at the gas station, topping up the fuel tank, when one of the local farmers strolls over for a chat. I share the details of my route with him, and after hearing me out, he's like, "Jeez, don't you guys have enough desert roads back there to gawk at?" We end up shooting the breeze about his corn crop for a bit, but then its time to hit the road again.



I spot this cool mountain pass on the map, running from Ephraim to Green River, and decide to make my way to Ephraim via Nephi.



This pass is steep with gravel roads branching off into the mountains left and right. And the place is buzzing with buggies tearing up the off-road tracks, with drivers and passengers alike getting a free coat of dust and mud. It looks like a really fun activity!

Day 3: Ely NV to Green River UT



So, I'm about halfway to Green River (on the red route on the map below) when, lo and behold, I run smack into another road closure. That Bitch Kay again??



Even my gloves looked like they were throwing a fit over the situation.



I had no choice but to stop, soak up the view for a bit, and then head back to Ephraim. It kind of felt like I hit that Monopoly card, the one that sends you straight to jail……

While stretching my legs, I'm checking out this information sign by the road. It's all about how the Native Americans used to live around here. Pretty interesting stuff and then I notice that the universal pastime of blasting bullet holes through signs is a thing here too. (But whoever took their shots at this one, well, their aim grouping is nothing to brag about. (Or maybe the shooter is dyslexic …)




Cruising through Gunnison, I found myself pulling over at this war memorial, nestled under the cool shade of a big ol' tree.



Utah's quite the place with its deep Mormon roots, and along the way, I spotted a couple of those majestic tabernacles. They've got this presence about them, kind of like they're reaching out and touching the sky.



Now, as I edged closer to Green River, the landscape started throwing up those classic red Utah stone valleys. It's like suddenly, you're riding through a postcard.



With the heat cranking up, I had my visor open, trying to catch a bit of a breeze, but then my eyes started feeling like someone threw a fog machine party in them. Had to pull over for some eyedrops and that's when I noticed this fine dust just hanging in the air, giving everything this ethereal vibe. Tried snapping a pic to capture it…..



Kept riding, blinking through one eye, then the other, and it hit me—how something as tiny as dust particles could really throw a wrench in your ride. Lesson learned: keep that visor down when you're cutting through Utah's dusty air.

Coming off the ramp into Green River I see this truck loaded up with a couple of vintage Land Cruisers. Seeing those old beauties is pretty rare in the US….



Green River was my pick for a pit stop, mainly because it's just a hop, skip, and a jump away from Moab. And from there, I'm aiming for an early morning run through Arches National Park. the image below is poached from Arches’ official website, which showcases “Delicate Arch”. This is the Cederberg’s Woflberg arch on steroids!



Ever since I read about Arches in a Land Rover Owners International magazine many years ago, it's been sitting pretty on my bucket list. But getting in? That's a whole other story. They've got this timed entry ticketing deal to manage the flow between 7 a.m. and 4 p.m. You've got to book your slot ahead of time, and only then can you roll through the gates. It's a smart move—based on Goldratt's Theory of Constraints (TOC), focusing on maximizing flow by managing the system's bottlenecks with well-timed buffers.

So, what is the game plan? Dive in before 7 a.m. to sidestep the whole timing thing, meaning I'm in for yet another early start tomorrow. Bring it on, I say. Arches, here I come!

Day 3: Ely NV to Green River UT (reflection)

The secrets from the notebook…

So, there I am in my motel room, getting into my usual packing groove to make sure I'm all set for a crack-of-dawn departure tomorrow. Once everything's squared away, I kick back to dive into the mysteries of that notebook I stumbled upon at the crash site earlier. Flipping through it, I find it's packed with random phone numbers and all sorts of codes—kind of like a treasure map without the treasure.

Just as I'm about to write it off as a lost cause, something catches my eye. Tucked away in the inside cover, written in blue ballpoint pen, is this list that almost had me spitting out my drink: "FOODS TO EAT FOR STICKY STOOL." And there, listed (and numbered 1-12!!) like soldiers on parade, are the ingredients of the “secret sauce”: Asparagus, Broccoli, Carrots... you get the gist. I mean, come on, who writes shit like that down in a notebook?



It totally takes me back to Wild Dog’s own “Boskak Bruce” and his legendary advice on Psyllium Husk. Ah, the things you find, right? Just when you think you've seen it all, life throws you a curveball—or, in this case, a list of veggies for when you're in a sticky situation.

So my two life lessons for today were: 1. Shit happens. And it might happen sooner than you think! 2. If someone is "full of shit", don’t worry, Mother Nature has her ways of dealing with them…..

Day 4: Green River UT to Denver CO

So, there I was, up at the crack of dawn, buzzing with excitement to finally lay my eyes on those stunning red sandstone formations at Arches National Park. Seriously, I was so stoked I ended up waking the folks at reception while getting my bike loaded up. It was just a smidge past 5 a.m. when I zipped out of the Motel 8 parking lot, hitting the road on 70 East towards 191. That's my straight shot to Arches. The ride's about 80km, so I figured I'd be there in under an hour.



It's still pitch black when I pull up at the visitor center. I'd snagged my ticket online beforehand, so I just breezed on through. Riding in, with that cool morning air slapping against my face, was just surreal. Sunrise was about 45 minutes out, but you could already make out the silhouettes of the first rock formations in the distance. Man, it felt like I was rolling into another world.

I stop the bike in the parking lot and start the short hike towards the “The Windows” arch, it's already buzzing with folks. But here's the thing, everyone's in this sort of reverent hush, soaking in the pre-dawn quiet. (Wie onthou nog die Veldskool se “Bewuswording?” ) You'd hear the occasional camera shutter break the silence, a gentle reminder that we're all here trying to capture a slice of that magic.

As the sun begins to peek over the horizon, I find myself a spot to sit and just let the moment wash over me. It's one of those experiences where, even though you're surrounded by a bunch of strangers, there's this shared sense of awe. Everyone's just quietly respectful, united in this anticipation. And when the sun finally rises, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, it's nothing short of spectacular. I linger there, long after the sun has climbed higher into the sky, just savoring the warmth and the light.

I will let my camera do all the talking… the pictures... they tell the story way better than words ever could.

Day 4: Green River UT to Denver CO (continued)

Heading back to my bike, still riding that high from the sunrise, I couldn't help but chuckle at the signs I spotted in the restroom (“longdrop”). I mean, there were instructions for everything—“don't stand on the toilet”, “don't sit on the floor,” and my personal favorite, “put the used toilet paper in the toilet.”!! Seriously, you gotta wonder, what stories led to each of those signs being put up? Just goes to show, no matter where you go, there's always something that'll make you go, “WTF?”



Note to self:

So there I was, pulling into the parking lot, super eager to snap my first pic of the Arch with my iPhone. But the moment I try to capture the scene, my phone starts acting all weird, making this funny buzzing noise as it struggles to focus. It was like it was throwing a mini tantrum or something. Turns out, using my iPhone as a GPS while it was mounted on the bike kind of did a number on the camera. Who would've thought, huh?

Good thing I had my trusty backup camera stashed in my bag. It's moments like these that remind you—never head out on once-in-a-lifetime trips without spare equipment. Because, let's face it, you never know when technology will decide to have a mind of its own. Plus, there's no way I was going to let a little tech hiccup stop me from capturing all the breathtaking views. You always have to have Plan B ready!

Day 4: Green River UT to Denver CO (continued)

Kicking off from Arches to Denver, I've got a solid 560km stretch ahead of me, pegged at about 5 and a half hours if all goes to plan. I backtrack along 191, merge onto I-70 East, and set my sights on Denver. Now, I'm all for a bit of speed, but there's these signs dotting the highway, warning about speed traps from the sky. Yeah, airplanes keeping tabs on us road warriors—feels a bit overkill, but hey, I'm not looking to be anyone's target practice today.



First pit stop? Culvers. And let me tell you, the temptation to dive into some cheese curds was real. But, I stick with coffee. Gotta keep those eyes wide open? Besides, skipping breakfast and lunch isn't such a big deal today because I've got dinner plans in Denver with my buddy Vaughn, a maestro in the kitchen. He's already texted me about our reservation, and knowing him, we're definitely not hitting up a fast-food joint.





The heat's cranking up, so before I jump back on the bike, I slap on a generous layer of sunscreen, (the late-night purchase I made in Big Pine).



There are a couple of detours I want to hit up before checking into the Denver motel. First up, Golden, Colorado. I find a scenic backroad on MapsMe, following the river, and it's downright picturesque.



I pull up in front of Spyderco, and who do I see? Eric Glesser himself, the son of the founder, Sal Glesser. Eric cracks a joke about how I must be cooking under all my gear. Just as he's heading out, he throws some advice to a sales guy, making sure to clue me in on a promo they're running the next day. With a friendly wave, he's off.





The Spyderco shop's got this real vibe to it, with memorabilia dotted around and a candle burning next to a piece of the World Trade Center—an homage to 9/11.





I get chatting with the sales guy, asking to check out the SpydieChef knife—a collaboration between Spyderco and Chris Reeve. It's slick, with that signature Spyderco hole-in-the-blade and a smooth ceramic closing action courtesy of Chris Reeve, but the price tag's a bit more than I'm willing to shell out. I whip out my PM2 for a quick photo comparison, and while I'm at it, ask about the Shaman sprint runs (Z-Wear). No dice on those being in regular stock, though.



They have a large assortment of knives on display... Or do they simply keep the @Boerbok Spydie collection here?

Day 4: Green River UT to Denver CO (continued)

Next up, I'm off to the Buffalo Bill Museum and grave, just a 20-minute ride from Spyderco.













It's still blazing hot and humid outside. After paying my respects, I get this text from Vaughn with a picture from him passing through Kansas and approaching Denver from the Eastern side. He's already at the motel in Denver, painting a picture of our accommodations. He gives the following Multiple choice options:

You can either choose to die at this Motel tonight by: [a] Shooting, Stabbing with a screw; or [c] Opioid overdose. Classic Vaughn that…..

Day 4: Green River UT to Denver CO (continued)

As I roll up to the Motel 6, the first thing I see is this ambulance parked out front of one of the rooms, clearly there for someone who's overdosed.



Meanwhile, there's this pair of kids just chilling on the asphalt in the parking lot, passing something back and forth, totally oblivious to the ambulance and all the onlookers. I quickly freshen up with a shower and manage to be ready just in time for our Uber.



Vaughn lets me know that he's planning to swing by my room before we Uber out of what he lovingly refers to as a "real sh*thole." My response? "No sweat; remember, I come from one of Trump's sh*thole countries!"

Vaughn, being the planner he is, had us booked at "Buckhorn Exchange Steak House." This place isn't just any restaurant; it's a piece of history, having been around since 1893. Walking in, you're hit with this unique vibe—walls adorned with all sorts of animal trophies, giving it this authentic, wild feel.







As we're waiting for our table, we decide to kick things off with an Avalanche Amber Ale and get into sharing stories about our day's adventures. The one thing that stood out for both of us? How insanely hot it was on the ride over to Denver.



When we finally get seated, we dive straight into ordering Rocky Mountain oysters, which, if you haven't guessed, is just a fancy way of saying bull testicles. For mains, I went for either elk or buffalo—honestly, the details are a bit fuzzy—but what I do remember is how absolutely delicious it was.





Done... Next.

Day 4: Green River UT to Denver CO (continued)

Vaughn and I've been hitting the road together since 2013, and after attending an REO Speedwagon concert together, we started calling ourselves the "He-Man Woman Haters Club," referring to the “Tough Guy” lyrics of REO Speedwagon. This trip, I decided to print us T-shirts that captured some of the epic places and experiences we've shared, from Walla-Walla to Loxton to Santa Fe.



Handing Vaughn his shirt

, he immediately reminisces about the Kudu Wellington Fillet he had at Rheebokskloof, still ranking it as one of the best fillets ever.



Stepping out of the Buckhorn and waiting for our Uber, we're suddenly in the middle of this chaos—an ambulance and the fire brigade zooming towards the train station across the street. A local fill us in: whenever there's an emergency, both teams rush to the scene in case some heavy lifting—or door busting, rather—is needed before they can get to the patient. "First world problems," …. just another overdose incident.



The ride back to the motel turns into a deep conversation about Denver's struggle with drug abuse, especially since it became one of the first places to legalize cannabis for recreational use. It's drawn folks from all corners, escalating the city's drug issues.

Back at the motel, the reception's now just a small hole in a thick glass window—a stark reminder of the night's earlier events.



Climbing into bed, I spot an old blood stain on my sheets... Rusty nail or ?

Day 5: Denver CO to Monte Vista CO.

So, Vaughn and I had this informal agreement where I'd scout a route to Monte Vista, aiming to hit the road from the motel by 8:30. Waking up with the sunrise, I quickly packed up my things and zipped off to Commerce City. I was on a mission to check out one of the wheat mills there. Thank goodness for MapsMe guiding me straight to the spot, I parked without a fuss and explored around. The mill was exactly what I hoped for …..





After wrapping up there, I made it back to the motel just shy of 8, finding Vaughn all geared up and looking like he couldn't wait to leave the motel behind. We are of the very few clientele who leave the Motel 6 with the same vehicle we arrived in. Most guests arrive via Uber, Taxi, or on foot, and then hitch a ride in the local ambulance!

Our day's journey to Monte Vista was only about 360km away, roughly a four-hour ride, but we were all for taking the scenic route along the 285, soaking in the picturesque mountain views.



The Hungry Moose Caboose was our first stop to stretch our legs, and man, the mountains on our way there made for spectacular riding and backdrop. Along the way, we spotted quite a few fellow bikers, which added to the day's excitement.





We decided to take a detour to Salida, drawn by the promise of great coffee at the Brown Dog Coffee Co., a hotspot among local bikers. And no, despite the curiosity, I didn't experiment with the CBD coffee.



Our journey continued to Saguache for a fuel stop, where we encountered a lady eager to sell us tie-dye T-shirts. Despite our interest, the sizes just weren't right, leading to a missed sale opportunity for her. After parking under a shady tree in front of a local clinic to make some calls, we were asked to move our bikes. Despite the “parking lot” being completely empty!! Vaughn had a few choice words for them, emphasizing our freedom.