I spent nine days, from May 15 to May 24, riding the first 1800 miles of the Trans America Trail. I rode what is referred to as the “Blue Route”, which is defined as the “original TAT route”, although the portion east of Tellico Plains, Tennessee has been added since the original route was created.

It took me about the first seven of those nine days to come to terms with the fact that this is a route made up of a combination of paved back roads, small highways, and county-maintained gravel roads, which apparently are what is referred to as “off-road”. The majority of the route is very scenic, especially through the Smoky Mountains and the Ozarks. But the far majority of this route can be ridden on a Harley RoadKing (albeit at a slower pace).

The problem is not with the route, but rather with my perception. I blame myself for this confusion. I am not a social media person. I don’t subscribe to a bunch of forums, or heavily discuss or plan my ride ahead of time. I do this on purpose because I learned from riding around the world that researching a route is a fine line: the less you do, the bigger the chance that you might miss something of interest along the way. The more you do, the more it feels like “been there, done that” when you finally arrive. Several times on my round-the-world ride, I arrived at a beautiful place only to think “Yep, it looks just like it did online.”

In this case, my lack of research caused me a bit of confusion over the “trail” portion of this ride. As background, I have spent almost half a century riding and racing motorcycles, and trail riding in Southern California, Colorado, Idaho, etc. My personal idea of a good day of trail riding is similar to what is referred to these days as Extreme Enduro or Hard Enduro.

So after the first three or four days, I kept asking “When does the trail start?”

And yes, I am aware that the route gets more challenging further west, which I intend to experience as time allows.

For reference, here’s a breakdown of the “original route” as I saw it:

North Carolina: 98% paved roads; 2% county maintained gravel roads and/or Forest Service roads
Tennessee: 70% paved roads; 30% county gravel roads
Mississippi: 60% paved roads; 40% gravel roads
Arkansas: 50% paved roads; 50% county gravel roads and/or Forest Service roads

The majority of this route can be done in a passenger car without much trouble. The exceptions are primarily several places where a bridge is closed, which can be ridden around or across on a bike, whereas you would have to detour in a car.

So now that I’ve whined, I’ll throw in a little recap of what I saw and enjoyed, and a couple of quick stories.

The North Carolina route seems to have been primarily created so that you can say you rode “coast-to-coast”. I had never been to the Outer Banks, so it was worth the trip. But all the way back across North Carolina is flat and paved. Eventually you get to the Smoky Mountains (and the Blue Ridge Parkway). The scenery is great, and the gravel forest road is great.

The Two Sides of Blindly Following GPS Routes

I had multiple experiences on this trip where the GPS took me places that I probably didn’t want to go had I known where I was going, or took me to a road that no longer existed (the route I purchased on an SD card in order to do this ride was created in 2015 or 2016). This lead to both good and bad experiences. Here’s a couple:

The Down Side of Blindly Following GPS Routes

The scenery on the Blue Ridge Parkway and Smoky Mountain National Park is beautiful, but here’s my first horror story:

Cades Cove Scenic Loop. If you haven’t heard of it, google it. Or google “Cades Cove traffic”. This eleven mile long, one lane, one-way loop is jammed bumper-to-bumper with tourists in cars, creeping along at two to five miles per hour, but mostly two. Even the National Park Service’s website advises that it can take between two and four hours to drive the eleven miles. Every few miles, there might be a bear in a meadow, at which point everyone stops completely. Here’s the catch: the route follows the Cades Cove Loop about half way around, then turns off on a side road. Unfortunately, I took a “short cut” after the first hour on the Loop and missed the turnoff road, so I had to start the loop over. So after another couple of hours of walking my motorcycle, I arrived at the turnoff, only to find out it is closed for repairs. So after five hours of going in circles, I exited the park and took a detour to the top of the Tail of the Dragon (318 curves in 11 miles), thereby making up for my previous hours of sitting in traffic. I arrived at the Two Wheel Inn in Robbinsville, NC right at dark.

The next morning, the route took me across the Cherohala Skyway (more beautiful mountain vistas), to Tellico Plains, Tennessee. I did a quick tire change there, as my knobby tires were getting a little worn (a thousand or so miles at home before leaving, 1600 miles from home to Cape Hatteras, and another 800 or so to here, nearly all on pavement).

The Upside of Blindly Following GPS Routes

Sometimes following the GPS can get you lost. And sometimes that turns out to be worth it. Here’s an example:

After riding several miles of gravel-paved levees in northern Mississippi and eastern Arkansas, the levee dropped me off into a little town called Clarendon (population 1487). Clarendon sits on the east bank of the White River, and a large levee separates the river from the town. My GPS took me into town, down several residential streets, to the levee, where the route said to go straight. Straight across the White River. Large levee in front of me. No road. No bridge. But the route went straight into what looks like a large lake. I found a road up onto the levee and looked around. There was definitely no road across the water here. I could see a railroad bridge across the river to the south, so I dropped back down onto River Road which parallels the levee, and headed south. At a stop sign, a PT Cruiser pulled up to my left. The driver gave me a big thumbs-up, and I waved back. I rode through the intersection and about another half mile down the road, then pulled over. I could see the railroad bridge above me, and in the distance a large highway overpass. It was clear that River Road was not going to connect to either of these.

The PT Cruiser pulled up next to me, and the driver rolled the passenger side window down. He asked, “Are you really riding around the world on that?”

I was a bit surprised, and caught myself in a bit of a racist thought. First, that in Eastern Arkansas, in a small very rural farm town, here was a Black man, with no southern drawl, who clearly had read my message in Spanish on the back of my bike (my Rotopax gas can I am carrying has “Montando en todo del mundo” written on it in Sharpie). Although to be honest, I would have been surprised by a white person in this area having caught the Spanish on my bike as well. So I guess it wasn’t racist as much as judgmental of the local population.

“Yes. Well, I have. Now I’m just riding from North Carolina back to Texas.”

“Wow. That is so cool.”

He wore a work shirt that had “Roland” on it. “Are you lost?”, he asked.

“Well, my GPS is telling me to go across the river back there in town, but obviously there’s no bridge.”

He shook his head and laughed. “They blew that bridge up quite a while back.”

That caught me off guard. I hadn’t even seen an indication that there had ever been a road there. (Later that night I looked at Google Maps, and even they still show the Highway 79 bridge crossing the river in town, but if you look at the satellite image, there is no bridge).

We talked for several more minutes. At one point, he asked “Do you know anything about California?”

“A little”, I replied.

“I’m from San Pedro”, he said, using the Southern California pronunciation of “Pee-dro” rather than “Pay-dro”.

I laughed. “Dude, you are probably the only person in a thousand miles that knows it’s “Peedro” and not “Paydro”. I grew up in Torrance”. He laughed and we fist-bumped.

He talked about all the surfing spots he used to hang out at, and I noticed then that he had surf stickers and scuba stickers across the back window of his car. He truly seemed out of place in Arkansas. I’m pretty sure he saw me as being as out-of-place in Clarendon as I saw him.

I wish now that I had taken a photo of us there, but we were blocking the road (okay, there wasn’t a lot of traffic), and neither of us ever got out of/off our vehicles. But that five minutes with Roland in Clarendon made my day.

The flat, sprawling farmland eventually began to morph into rolling hills and everything got very green as I entered the Ozark Mountains. As far as riding goes, even though these were still county roads, this was the highlight of the Eastern half of the TAT. I spent more time on dirt and gravel and less time on pavement, and even had a bear run across the road in front of me on a ridge.

Now that I’ve “checked that square”, as my buddy Tom would say, I can regroup and begin the next leg of the journey. Diana and I are back home for a few days, sorting the gear and re-packing. The blog posts should pick up pace as we head out next week, two-up on the larger bike.

After a quick three-day pit stop at home to change bikes and sort, wash, and load gear, we left home yesterday on the 700 Tenere headed northwest.

This is our first long-term tour on the 700, so we’re still somewhat sorting through our kit. We thought we had it sorted, but then decided to add a larger bag on top of the right pannier to carry food. But, as George Carlin said, “Stuff expands to fill available space”. So of course the bag is half full of non-food stuff already.

Our first night’s stop was Lubbock, to meet with Laura, a childhood friend of Diana’s, her husband Kevin and their family. We had a great time visiting with them, as Diana and Laura got to reminisce while Kevin and I talked motorcycles, airplanes, and podcasts (he’s given me some ideas for the future). They were kind enough to put us up for the evening, which we were especially grateful for due to the large storms that came through during the night.

In the morning, we loaded up in light rain and left a flooded Lubbock. There was standing water across many roads, including Highway 82 heading out of town, where the water was up to the bottom of the footpegs through one muddy crossing.

The rain let up and we danced with the rain clouds until Tatum, New Mexico, when the sky turned black and it really came down. We found an old abandoned gas station awning and took shelter for an hour or so until the worst of it passed, then moved on westward. We had originally planned to stop in Ruidoso at a campground for the night, but with all the rain, we decided to change direction at Roswell and head for Albuquerque. We had a strong crosswind for most of the day, but stayed dry until just before ABQ, when the skies opened up once again. We gladly took a hotel room for the night. We had planned to hotel in Farmington tomorrow night, but since we made extra distance today and are in a hotel, we will compensate our budget by looking for a camp site tomorrow night a little further north.

We were latecomers, but hardcore Breaking Bad fans. So it wouldn’t be right to ride through Albuquerque without visiting a few of the film locations from the show. I drew up a loop that covered seven of the sites in about an hour. But first, we had to get some coffee…

While sitting in front having coffee, the MethLab Bounder motorhome drove by.

A few blocks down the street from Tuco’s is Jesse Pinkman’s aunt’s house, where he lived and hosted parties:

Around the corner from Jesse’s is the Dog House, which made several appearances in the show, particularly in the opening.

Then it was a few miles south to Los Pollos Hermanos.

Then it was a run up north to the Laundry Facility

A bit further east is Walt & Skyler’s car wash.

And last but certainly not least is the White residence.

After a morning of roaming Albuquerque, and laughing at ourselves and all the others that we kept bumping into taking photos of these landmarks, we headed north towards Colorado. At one point on the highway, we saw a wildlife crossing that made us turn around and go back.

We had planned to wild camp near Mancos, Colorado, but stumbled on a nice campground that had a few remaining spots just a few miles before our destination.

For those who don’t know me well, I’m a bit of a hermit. I enjoy traveling, but absolutely hate crowds; especially the American kind (loud, obnoxious, entitled, etc). In this vein, the thought of going to Zion National Park — and other parks in Utah — has been stressing me out. As much as I want to hike The Narrows, I don’t really want to listen to two thousand other people oooh and aaah and generally tell their life stories loudly while I hike.

So when we discovered Natural Bridges National Monument, it seemed like the right direction: small park, smaller crowds, and still some good hikes and sights.

There are three large arches or natural bridges in the park that you can hike to the bottom and back. There’s also a campground. The campground is first-come, and only has 13 spots, so we left Mancos with the intent of getting to the campground early afternoon and hopefully there would be an open spot. If not, our backup plan was wild camping on BLM land just outside the park.

We arrived around 1:30pm, and found there were three spots still open. So we set up and relaxed for the rest of the day, while we watched the parade of motorhomes drive through looking for an empty place to park. Even though the campground is at 6,500 feet elevation, it was 87 degrees in the afternoon, and the sun was blazing.

The next morning we hiked to the bottom of the canyon to Sipapu Bridge and Kachina Bridge, and also hiked out to the rim to look across to Horsecollar Ruins, the remains of an ancestral Puebloan cliff dwelling.

On our approximately four mile hike, we met an average of two people per mile. Quite a difference to what I expect Zion to look like.

On our second night in the campground, it was nearly empty. We couldn’t figure out why on a Wednesday night it was packed and had an overflow of people who were too late for a spot, while on Thursday night practically nobody showed up.

At the campground we met a German woman from Seattle traveling in a Honda Element, who gave us some great tips on Azerbaijan and Czech Republic, and just before leaving we met two women from Seattle and San Jose doing a two week tour on a Ducati Scrambler and a Honda. It’s great to see these others (especially women) traveling solo or together on adventures.

Tomorrow will be a hot one: It will be close to 100 degrees as we head south into Arizona before heading north again back into Utah.

We left Natural Bridges National Monument, and just a short ride down the road, we turned south on Utah State Route 261, a nice two lane road that eventually turns to dirt. And then turns to stunning.

We dropped down the Moki Dugway and into Mexican Hat, then across to Page, Arizona before heading back into Utah and to Kanab. The meter on the bike briefly showed an ambient air temperature of 100 degrees. I decided that our new Klim gear was quite comfortable up to about 84 degrees, even when just standing around, but at 100, with all the vents open, it was warm. Okay, hot when standing still. But still quite bearable when moving 65mph.

We had planned to camp at an RV park in town where I stayed in 2018 with our Polish friends Marcin and Ella, but when we arrived, the manager informed me that they didn’t really have those places available for tents any longer. And sure enough, the nice grass, shrubbery and trees were mostly gone in that area, and it looked blazing hot. When I mentioned that we might just try to find a hotel, he offered that we could “stay in the basement” for just a little more than a tent site. The basement turned out to be just a small room with a bed, but it was clean, and most importantly cool. Sure, we had to walk to the RV Park toilets and showers, but it was closer to our budget than the tourist-hotspot hotels in town.

Some hiking in the morning, another night in the basement, then we will move a little north for a couple of nights before settling into a small cabin for four days.

We were on the road this morning before 7am, headed forty miles back the way we came yesterday. The reason: Slots. Not the gambling kind. The canyon kind.

Arizona is still fairly locked down under Covid restrictions. McDonalds are drive-thru only. Mask or no mask, vaccinated or not, old guys like me can’t even use the restroom there, as the lobbies are locked. Likewise, Antelope Canyon, just south of Page, is shut down to tourists. It was strange to see the large parking lots, typically filled with tour buses and mobs of tourists, completely empty.

Just across the border in Utah, the outdoor attractions are open and doing brisk business. I had tried since January to get passes to hike to The Wave, a spectacular geological formation. Each month I lost the Wave Lottery; only 66 people a day get to do this hike, and my name never came up. However, in the Vermillion Cliffs area — the same area as The Wave — is Buckskin Gulch, and Wire Pass, which have some good slot canyons. And no lottery. So we decided that the earlier in the morning we arrived, the better chance of beating the crowds and the heat.

And we were right. It’s about seven miles down a somewhat rough dirt road to get to the Wire Pass Trailhead parking area. When we arrived there were already several cars there, but no crowds. This is the same trailhead that feeds The Wave, so I expected more people.

The hike down Wire Pass is primarily a creek wash, at least until you get to the first slot canyon.

Wire Pass Trail tees into Buckskin Gulch, and there are more slot canyons in both directions. We turned left towards the Buckskin Gulch Trailhead and hiked up another slot canyon to the end, then turned around and headed back to the bike.

On our hike out, the people started arriving. We probably passed fifty or more people headed down Wire Pass on our way up the wash. And that feeling of “this is a small percentage of what Zion will be like” began to haunt me.

I have traveled through over 40 countries, mostly by motorcycle, and seen some amazing places. La Sagrada Familia in Barcelona, Machu Picchu in Peru, the Santuaria de Las Lajas in Colombia, the Carretera Austral in Chile, and more.

There are a lot of places in our own backyard that we have yet to explore, but we’re working on it. The past two days have definitely added another to my Top 10 — and probably Top 5 — places to see worldwide.

We were once again aiming to get a “first come” campsite in Bryce Canyon National Park, and we were somewhat surprised that we were able to secure a nice spot in the North Campground. With the campground at 8,000 feet elevation, the temperatures dropped from mid-80s in Kanab to mid-70s in Bryce, and in the mid-40s at night. After setting up camp, we rode the 18 mile long scenic drive and stopped at the overlooks on the way back. The views here are stunning, and for the most part self-explanatory, so I’ll just let the photos speak for themselves unless I feel I have to comment.

After relaxing at camp for a few hours, we hiked about a mile to Sunrise Point to watch the sunset. Yes, there is a Sunset Point also, but who are they to tell us where to stand at what time of the day? 🙂

There are 65 miles of hiking trails in the Park. The next morning, we chose a short six mile hike from the Rim Trail down Queen’s Garden into the canyon and back up the Navajo Loop trail through Wall Street to the Rim.

After our hike, we stopped by the General Store for a beer on the porch. That’s where we overheard this short conversation between a woman and a store employee:

“What time do you open in the morning?”
“Eh, 8:30, 9am.”
“And what time do you close?”
“Six o’clock sharp.”

I almost spit my beer out. The difference between what time he chose to arrive to work versus the definitive “we are outta here at 6pm” was priceless.

After two days at Bryce, we moved to our “base camp” for the next several days.

As impressed as I was with Bryce, I keep hearing the scenery at Zion will blow me away. We will soon find out. Our next door neighbor in the Bryce campground (on a BMW 850GS) returned last night from riding through Zion and couldn’t say enough good things. He didn’t do any of the hikes, but we hope to.

We visited Zion a couple of days ago, but I am not going to post about it until we have a chance to return there next week. Meanwhile…

Yesterday was a “down day” while we did some basic maintenance and just relaxed. Around 4pm, we suddenly decided we had time to go hike Willis Creek Canyon, which is the other side of Bryce and about 60 miles away, before dark. We jumped on the bike and rode north and east, past Bryce, through Cannonville, and then six miles down a dirt and sand road to the trailhead.

We started our hike about 5:45pm, which meant we could go about an hour in before we would need to turn around. This turned out to be perfect, as it allowed us to go through the canyons to the point where it opens up again, then turn around and make it back to the bike before it started getting dark.

The canyon isn’t as impressive as Wire Pass, but was still good. There was a small trickle of water running the length of it, which required us to jump back and forth across it multiple times as we traversed the length.

We made it out of the sandy road and back to the highway with daylight to spare, and arrived at our cabin in Alton right at sunset.

We have one day left here before heading to Salt Lake City. Sadly, Diana’s only uncle passed away earlier this week, and she will fly home for the funeral. Due to logistics and expenses, I will not go with her. I’ll be on my own in Utah next week.

It’s 95 degrees as I look from Salt Lake City at the Wasatch Mountains. There’s a bit of snow remaining at the higher altitudes. I just dropped Diana at the airport, and my goal for the day is to find a campsite at elevation. The forecast for this week is record highs — over 100 degrees every day — and as high as 108 in Moab, which is where I was headed. I’ve talked myself out of it for now. There is also a large fire burning between here and there, just in case the heat isn’t enough already.

I head out of SLC on I-80 and immediately begin climbing. The temperature drops to 93. I was hoping for cooler. I turn off and head for Park City, and climb above the ski areas to the top. The giant ski jump ramp, built for the 2002 Winter Olympics, stands out on the hill as I enter town. I’ve forgotten what a busy place this is even in the summer. Tons of mountain bikers are everywhere. It’s a beautiful place, but clearly an expensive place as well.

Just beyond the summit I turn off on Pine Creek Road. My ambient temperature gauge reads 79 degrees, and it feels great. I wish I could find a side road or path to camp out of the sight of all of these people. Unfortunately there isn’t any, so I continue on. The road begins to descend, and the temperature once again begins to rise. By the time I get to Pine Creek Campground, I am down to 5,500 feet elevation. The bike says 106 degrees, though I’m fairly certain it’s really just in the mid-90s. But the sun is strong. I pitch my tent and add a tarp off the side for a little extra shade. The campground office sells popsicles for 50 cents, and I’m all over that.

Once the sun goes behind the mountain the temperature drops quickly and it’s suddenly a very comfortable 60 degrees. Even so, it will be even hotter tomorrow. As much as I don’t want to do an extra 500 miles round trip, I think I’m going to head to Duck Creek, which is at 8,500 feet and has a nice campground in the Dixie National Forest. That should help my heat problem and help my budget for a few days.

As I was eating my third popsicle last night, the woman at the entrance to Pine Creek Campground mentioned a place called Cascade Springs. “It’s a beautiful place”, she said. “They recently paved the road up there, except the last few miles. You can’t do that part on your motorcycle. You’ll need a Four Wheel Drive or Polaris RZR for that.”

I don’t think she intended it, but the gauntlet had been thrown. As I left Pine Creek Campground and rode through Midway, Utah, I saw the sign for Cascade Springs. I turned up the road. It was maybe five miles to the actual Springs, and beautiful fresh pavement.

The newly paved road continued on past the Springs, but I turned into the parking area and walked down to the falls area to take a look.

At the back of the parking area was the dirt road she was talking about. My GPS said it would take me through to another highway and on toward Duck Creek. It was a rough drop-off from the paved parking lot to the two-track rocky road. That should have been the first clue. The first mile and a half or so weren’t too bad. It was more trail than anything I encountered on the eastern half of the “Trans America Trail”, with loose rocks, large boulders, and steep downhills. I switched the ABS off and started down. It was fairly steep, and loose in places, but with rock steps in other places. I thought to myself, “I sure hope I don’t have to come back up this.”

About half way down one particularly loose, steep section, I slid the front wheel and lost it. Would the ABS have saved me? No, because I was going about 2 mph, and the ABS doesn’t work at those speeds anyway. Luckily there was a large boulder on the side of the trail, and I fell into that with the right handlebar and top of the right pannier. The bike was about two-thirds of the way over, but with some added adrenaline, I was able to pull it back up and continue down the hill. Let’s see…500 pound motorcycle, 80+ pounds of accessories and gear, 200 pounds of me. Yep, this is no dirt bike. But still way more capable than my 1200 Super Tenere, which I never would have considered taking down this trail. If I had left the panniers and camping gear off, this would have been an easier ride. But then, that’s not how we travel, and there will be plenty more situations, whether in Mongolia, the ‘Stans, or the outback of Australia, where we will be in true off-road situations fully loaded, AND two-up. So this is great experience for later. I wish now that I had slowed down a bit and taken photos, but at the time, I was more focused on the trail.

A few miles in I reached a creek crossing. It wasn’t that deep — a bit below knee level — but the bottom was rounded rocks about the size of softballs, and the water was moving pretty fast. I picked my way across and up the hill on the other side. At the top was a boulder field, like there had been a rock slide across the trail at some point earlier. It was about 80 feet across. I again slowly picked my way across it, and less than a quarter mile later I came to a large locked, fenced gate. There was no trail remaining on the other side. It had grown over long ago. This was the end of the road. There were some fire rings scattered around; signs of campsites.

I did a 10-point u-turn and headed back the way I came. By now I was beginning to get a better feel for the 700 off-road, and although the handlebars are a little low, standing on the pegs and staying on the gas, I was able to pick my way back up the hills through the rocks.

Once I popped out at the parking area for Cascade Springs, I looked at my GPS again. It said I could continue west on the newly paved road and connect to another highway. And of course, once again, I believed it. And of course, once again:

So finally I gave up, turned back and rode back down to Midway, and continued on to Duck Creek, which was about 300 miles yet.

We did a lot of miles on I-15 getting to Salt Lake City on Saturday, and I didn’t want to do that again. So I took the “back way”. It was warm — the gauge read 100 degrees a few times — and for the most part there isn’t a lot to see. But here’s three things that did catch my attention:

I finally made it to the campground around 4pm, and found a nice shady spot in the pines. The campground host stopped by, and we talked about the record heat. He said it was 37 degrees when he got up this morning, and that was hot for this time of year here.

I am SO looking forward to that for the next few days.