LOF5 Ride Report

 

Garmin

 

Trip odometer                                   1060 miles

Max Speed                                         90.3 mph

Moving Time                                      26 hrs 25 min

Moving avg                                         40.1 mph

Stopped Time                                    24 hrs 18 min

Overall Avg                                         20.9 mph

 

                Lof 5 Day 1          Mike Harris – Lucky Dog                              184 mi               

                Lof 5 Day 2          Lucky Dog – Reservoir Lake                         183 mi             

                Lof 5 Day 3          Reservoir Lake - Skalkaho                            180 mi               

                Lof 5 Day 4          Skalkaho - Delmoe                                       156 mi               

                Lof5  Day 5         Delmoe – Tobacco Root                                104 mi

               Lof 5 Day 6           Tobacco Root – Lucky Dog                          184 mi               

                Lof 5 Day 7          Lucky Dog – Victor                                        94.0 mi            

               

 

 

Prologue

 

A little over 7 months in the morphing and assembly, the 5^th Annual Legends of the Fall Team Ruptured Buzzard Rally Raid took shape on the Ride Dual Sport Forums, and played itself out on the ground in Idaho, Wyoming and Montana over the second week in September, 2013. Whew…. Eleven riders on board, although one stayed quietly in the background until he knew for sure he could swing the time off from work in order to go. That made a pretty good gang to rendezvous at rally point zero on Sunday morning inside a bustling Bubba’s restaurant and stand in line for breakfast, and the forum repartee for more than a half a year made for pretty sporting entertainment at times. The RDS forum served as an excellent vehicle to plan and prepare for a ride.

 

Unfortunately we lost a key rider at the eleventh hour due to a family medical emergency, and “Bezz” (Jeb in real life) was knocked off the ride at the last minute. He stayed with his family situation, and followed the important course – and has been making a difference where he’s needed to be. And, he will be back in the saddle on future riding projects, I am sure. All the best Jeb, and we are all with you and the Mrs. right now, and all the way down the road too…

 

The weeks and days leading up to departure saw a busy Stovey as the work to prepare for hosting such an august group of co-riders got ticked off the list of “to-do’s” and finally I was making and taking phone calls from our guys on the road en route to the Tetons! Brad showed first, and made a camp at Mike Harris campground just a few miles away from rally point zero, a few days before we all met up as a group. I made sure to keep in touch with him so I could try and meetup and shake howdy with this legendary hero of the adventure trails, and spend as much time as I could make with him before actually rallying up. It would prove to be to my benefit, of course – as ULYBRAD has much to offer the mere mortal man in terms of wit and wisdom!

 

Brad proved to be worthy of his comedic reputation and sage presence around the campfire, and we spent a short bit getting some face time. A brief flashlight show-and-tell in the darkness revealed the source of an oil leak smattering the left-side case on the mighty KTM while we were chatting, and we discovered a loose countershaft sprocket bolt, as well as a cracked subframe. So Brad decided to get a little visit going the next day with a friend of mine in Idaho Falls, to see if there was anything they could do to help do some last-minute aluminum welding, and take care of any other items that might become visible during a focused daylight scrutiny of this Orange Monster from Texas.

 

I found Brad and chased him down the next morning while he was already en route to my motorcycle repair expert and his crew, BEN HAWKER, Brent and Larry at HAWKER QUALITY CYCLE in Idaho Falls, and handed off a few parts that I had at home that might be useful to attack to the bike at the last minute. Brad met me on the road and he continued on, and I pressed on for my worky-issues.

 

As HAS BEEN had also arrived at the campground I was looking forward to meeting this wascal and anticipating a Saturday night meetup with all of these fella’s as well as TOURMEISTER and Rsquared who would also be arriving in town and staying in a local motel in Driggs. Oh boy! We’ve got a sizable pre-ride contingent on hand for some operation campfire action on the night before we rally! Sweet…

 

I got a phone call from Brad about 3:30pm on Saturday though, advising that we had HAS BEEN on board in the campground (alright!) and the not-so-good news was that Brad and Cal had been out riding together in Grand Teton National Park and Brad’s bike was consuming oil like Stevie Nicks had been eating Ben and Jerry’s, and great clouds of gray smoke were puffing out it’s butt. Uh, oh – not such a good thing. Brad told me by phone that his bike used about 12 ounces of oil in an hour. I told Brad that his motor was toast.

 

As I got off the phone with Brad (we had a crappy cell connection because we were both in bad areas for transmission/reception – he at the campground and me at my cabin trying to tidy up for the ride the next day) so I got on the road and started for home, my brain dripping almost as much oil as Brad’s KTM out of the left ear as I tried to think of a solution to get a motorcycle under his ass in about 15 hours. Hmmmmm…… I got nuthin.

 

As I’m driving home from Island Park a single thought occurred to me and I latched onto my phone, and gave “LRD” (Lanny) a call. I told him of Brad’s situation. I hung up and kept driving. And calling. And answering the phone. And driving. And talking on the phone…. Then I got to the campground, passing Lanny going the other direction on the way.

 

Time to visit Brad, and meet Has Been and say “hello” to Cal! Rsquared and Tourmeister would be on their way down to the campground shortly as well to join in and it looked like we could all be shaking howdy and enjoying a cold beverage…. Nice!

 

Well, to make a quick edit of the evening, it was great to finally meet HAS BEEN as well as visit with Cal once again – he would be our only rider from Nevada… and to meet both Rsquared (Roger) and Tourmeister (Scott) both solid brothers from Texas. Brad left and returned awhile later, with a pretty buffed out KLR in his truck which he had just received as a loaner from the most generous co-rider, Lanny. What can you say to a guy who gives you his motorcycle, hours from departure, because your bike just went kerblewy and otherwise you can’t go on the ride? “Thank You” seems hardly enough, and Lanny is a solid brother, and together we both represented Idaho on this trip, as well as “Fox Creek” our local neighborhood. Sweet….

 

The next morning would find us all together at the campground, riding in to the rally point zero at Bubba’s together, and making this Legend of the Fall happen. What a gang – we were only missing our last guy from Texas – TIREMAN. “Tireman” (Val) was steaming at full speed, solo, in his truck en route to the campground on a 21-hour missile launch from Texas to try and make it in time to start with the group, and not have to play catch up, solo. I will be go to hell if he makes it. Talking with him on the phone on Saturday afternoon, as well as our correspondence in the time leading up to the ride, left me convinced that if anybody could make it happen, it would be a man like Val.

 

I wouldn’t know until morning if he made it or not….

 

 

Day 1   Jackson, Wyoming – Island Park, Idaho  (Bubba’s to the Lucky Dog Cabin)  141 miles

 

It’s up at 6am and time for the last shower I might get for about a week, give or take. Casper is standing at the ready in the driveway, and my luggage is all packed and squared away…. waiting stealthily at the cabin. I’ll get to ride a naked bike today, for what that might be worth! Hehehehehe, what, ho – some immediate joy, me likey…

 

I’m on my deck at the Timberwish, and with the last sips of coffee draining from my mug down my throat, I hear Lanny’s bike light off and head down the road. He’s on his way to the Mike Harris campground to rendezvous with the LOF’ers already there and presumably assembled. I wonder if TIREMAN made it in last night? He would have to have been hard at the road in order to make it, and at that he’d be arriving waaaay late – maybe 2 O’clock in the morning? Just guessing, but if anybody can make it, he can.

 

I’m running late. Better go. I say ‘goodbye’ to my wife and dogs, and bid her adieu – I’ll see her sometime this afternoon at the cabin where she’ll receive all of us for dinner, serving us a hot evening meal with her homemade brownies for desert. I made the lasagna and green bean casserole, and she made us all up some baked chicken. There ought to be enough soft drinks, water, juice, coffee and beer to sate Patton’s 3^rd Army – hell, maybe even Rommel’s too…. We may need a little something after a day 1 in the saddles around Grand Teton National Park.

 

But, not everybody may even make it. There are plenty of Griz and wolves and moose to dodge before calling it the end of the day.

 

Casper lights and he warms as he wonders where his luggage is. “Shut up and just enjoy it….” I say, and snick it off for the first shift of many for the week. The forecast is for unstable mountain weather throughout the day, but a high pressure is moving in and we should enjoy at least a couple early days of fine Fall weather to get this ride moving. But today we may end up riding in some rain, according to the forecast. And according to the skies overhead. I leave the driveway, and head south for Victor, Idaho, then on to the campground for a pass-through and rally up with my co-riders.

 

At Mike Harris I find all hands who are supposed to be there; ULYBRAD, HAS BEEN, TOURMEISTER, RSQUARED are all there and representing Texas. CALVINJ is on hand and ready to go on his 690 with Nevada plate on the rear, and LRD is there as well on his DR400 with an Idaho license. I pull in with Casper, and with no sign of the TIREMAN, we motor off, en route to the gas station.

 

Moments after we hit the highway out of the campground I spy a guy on a tricked out with luggage KTM, just mounted up and motor running off to the side of the highway at the entrance to the next campground up. This is the place where the local campground host has agreed to look out for the vehicles parked for a week while we ride, and according to ULYBRAD who made contact with him, we will enjoy the safe parking under his watchful eye with no worries about vandalism or tickets, and people can return from the ride knowing their truck is where they left it, no problems. The guy on the bike sure looks like he might be my missing man, TIREMAN, so I wheel off and wave everybody by me so I can go back and slide in next to this guy, and introduce myself to Val, our last man from Texas who hopefully arrived late last night, and is at this moment warming his motor while watching what may look like to him, his posse riding past without him….

 

Sure enough, it’s Val, and we make a quick fist-bump and snick it into gears, and chase down the rest of the crew en route to Bubba’s.

 

It’s a long wait for breakfast as they don’t take reservations, and we sit and enjoy, (finally) a good hearty breakfast while chatting and meeting and greeting, most of us for the first time face to face. After abbreviated discussions back and forth between two different tables, we get up and get ready to go…

 

What – there’s no check? ULYBRAD destroys his first full C-note, and gets to work on his second, and buys all ten of us our first meal on the ride….  Thank You, Brad! This guy is amazing…

 

It’s time to blast and we make a quick gas stop to get all tanked up and we’re finally all on the ride! We make our way out of town and head to the Moose-Wilson road to score the most scenic passage around the Tetons for the day. Entering the park we find the usual tourist traffic with many different states represented on all of the license plates, but we make our route through without concern. The pace is fine as we’re pretty much stuck with the real limitations of the posted 45mph that the tree Cops like to enforce, and at this stage of the season, the Rangers really aren’t in much of a mood to suffer fools or speeders. So we amble and gawk, amble and gawk.

 

It’s overcast but mild, and there’s no rain on our visors. Life is good! It feels great to be out and riding, especially after all the planning and buildup – I personally am ready to just ride and enjoy the company. It’s quite a crew I got to sit and visit with at breakfast this morning, and I’m really looking forward to an entire week of good times and adventures from here to Montana, and back.

 

The miles roll on as the clouds continue to build, and roll in.

 

We make the Flagg Ranch at the Grassy Lake Road which is to be our passage between the Grand Teton National Park to the south, and Yellowstone National Park to the north. A fuel stop here takes a few minutes and a few of us take advantage of the local convenience for a pee break and a power bar and a sip of water. After this, it will be a gnarly, rocky dirt road for maybe 30-plus miles before we make our next turn, and it’s going to be a passage through some great country full of furry woodland creatures.

 

Bear spray on the handlebars and wherever, we rally off, over the Grassy Lake Road, aka The Ashton-Flagg Ranch Road, aka the John D. Rockefeller Memorial Parkway, aka the Reclamation Road. At least four names – I guess they wanted to make sure it had a name. It does, and then some….

 

We bust on through the dirty twists and find that the groomers have been out in force – I’ve never seen this road in such immaculate condition. It’s very smooth compared to every other time I’ve ever been on it, and I manage to make a few tracks in the gravel surface and dirty roadway. Somewhere in there, Casper might have helped Stovey straighten out a few curves, maybe…. It was a fun run!

 

After making it through the corridor, we hit some minor slab for a few short miles before it’s time to make a right turn and head north toward “Grizzly Gulch” and our Tee-intersection with the Fish Creek Road that will take the bulk of the group into the Lucky Dog Cabin. That route is a wide groomer of a dirt road with plenty of marbly gravel to keep a rider on his toes, and mindful of his contact patch. The route runs north along the western boundary of Yellowstone, and will only take an hour or so to ride to the stop point to meet where we agree to join back up with each other, after a few of us, myself included, take a dirtier, more technical two-track route straight up the middle of the caldera.

 

Tireman (Val), Tourmeister (Scott) and Rsquared (Roger) and I are going to head up together and split from the main body of LOF’ers lead by 950transapl (Keith) who knows the way to my cabin by heart. But, before we commence, it’s time to re-energize Keith’s Honda XR650R and flip the countershaft sprocket around before it chainsaws its’ way through the frame. There, that’s better! Now that it’s fixed, it’s “Go-Time!” Ready, set, and ….. where’s Has Been?  “Has Been, where are you?”   “David….DAVID?”

 

“Has Been is sleeping in the ditch underneath that tree down the road….”

 

“I think he’s dead!”

 

“Really?”

 

“Crap….”

 

“David, are you asleep?”

 

“Has Been, are you alive?”

 

He is. We go….

 

I break off with my 3 co-riders Val, Scott and Roger and we run the two-track along the old abandoned railroad grade on top of the Warm River through the volcano floor. It’s a nice little ride and we make great time – especially since it’s not as clapped out from an entire season of ATV invasion like it normally is by the end of summer. Sweet! This is fun… but the clouds are really beginning to build, so we’ll keep the pace and make our rendezvous with the group in an hour or so, and turn our SPOT locators to “OFF” and proceed to the cabin for a nice meal and to unwind for the night. I hope the sky doesn’t just open up on us, but at least we’ll have had most of the days’ ride under decent weather conditions, so we got that going for us….

 

We travel our travels and twist through our twisties and make it through the Boy Scout Camp and then onto Check Creek Road where we should be finding the rest of our co-riders waiting for us at the other end. It’s beginning to rain on us with some wind picking up as the front moves in, so we wick it up and waste no time transitioning from volcanic ash on the ground, to pavement, to dirt, to oblitereated road with a combination of all of the above….

 

There’s the end of our Chick Creek run, and there’s our crew! “We all here?”

 

“Yep….”  “I mean, nope.” “Has Been was with us but then he just kept right on riding right by. We saw him about 20 minutes ago, heading thataway….”

 

Okay.

 

We’re all saddled back up and motoring off under some pretty good raindrops right at this point, and my plan to take everybody into “town” just prior to going the final mile into the cabin on a silty dirt road is on my mind, as I wonder where David go to, and “why?”

 

The rain is pushing right down on us now, and with no apologies for not having pissed on us all day long, it starts to try and make up for it with some side winds and some bigger drops as we motor along. We’re only a couple miles from kickstands down, but we’re going to be wet when we get off these bikes. Good thing we have cover at the end of the day, and I managed to keep everybody off the ground in tents by doing a quick loft build in the shed at the cabin. And there’s a cover over the bar and a woodstove inside the cabin.

 

And my co-riders are experienced and rugged, this ain’t their first rodeo! So life is still good, and all is well. Just a little wet.

 

We find David parked down the road and pick him up, and head into town for fuel and some show and tell for the local shower house and café. If not for later, then for later, then…. (People may want to come back out from the cabin on their own at some point, and discover the shower house, the café or the hardware or convenience store. Now, they know the way out and back and can find all these things on their own. Superb….)

 

We make the cabin and roll it in, all ten of us. It’s raining lightly or heavily, off and on, but we’ve got an EZ-Up in place over a picnic table and the canopy over the “Café Buzzard” so there are places for people to get off the bike and have shelter, indoors or out.

 

My wife, Dorothy, is waiting there for us all with fresh, hot food just coming out of the oven, and we get a fire going in the woodstove to start taking the edge off. Some guys are a little cold, and some are more wet than others, but everybody seems to be in fine shape and good spirits, and here we are!

 

My sincere thanks to my wife for all the help she gave me in supporting the end of Day 1, and for all the support she gave me for this ride for about 8 months while I prepared the cabin for it and did recon raids up in the Tobacco Roots. Dorothy, without you backing me up and without you helping all the way, this ride could not have happened. Period. I love you, and I thank you…

 

A couple of cold beers are beginning to get drained, as is a second pot of coffee. There will be a small breakfast offering in the morning to all riders who might want to take advantage of it and save the time it takes to get into and out of the local café. It might help move the group along to not have to leave the cabin, dismount, wait, eat and remount and all that ritual time-eating stuff. Besides, we’re already refueled. This is crazy enough it just might work!

 

We visit, eat, drink and feather our nests… it rains off and on. But a few hearty souls manage to enjoy the Café Buzzard until late.

 

I confess to keeping my co-rider, Val up until about 1:30 am, jabbering until his eyes rolled back in their sockets. I felt his gravity – what a cool guy…. I already know I’d like to ride with him again after this legend. Too bad I make a pest of myself and keep him up so late after his marathon commute from Texas just to make it here…. It was “Dust To Glory” for the billionth time for the both of us while we talked about the desert runs we’ve both made, and would like to make…

 

Sleepyland followed, eventually. And the rain came tumbling down. I kept the fire stoked inside all night, and hoped everybody out in the shed had enough cover to keep themselves comfortable, though I know some may not be acclimated to such a harsh welcome from the Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem. “Welcome to Island Park, Idaho, men. And welcome to LOF5 – I’m very glad you all came! Good night, sleep tight….”

 

 Day 2 – Lucky Dog / Reservoir Lake      183 Miles

 

It’s a little before 6am when my weiner whistle goes off for the last time, and still dark out. I rustle myself out of bed upstairs at the cabin, and fall out onto the floor with helmet hair still intact from yesterday’s ride, Tireman still in the rack next over. He hasn’t had but a few hours sleep in the last 3 days or so. Poor bastard. Should have gone to bed earlier last night, I am thinking. That’ll teach him, but what the lesson is I can only speculate as I pass on by and head down the stairs to flick the switch on Mr. Coffee.

 

We have some muffins and coffee, fresh fruit, juice and some bloatmeal lying about and I hope the guys take full advantage and get something to eat here before heading out. Out at the trailhead signpost I get a chance to talk with Scott and Roger, and tell them that I am looking for “a few good men” to lead our group outa here this morning, as I stay behind and do the tidy up and close-down chores at the cabin and then play catch up. Convinced that they’ve got a firm handle on making a line across the map with some purple lines blazing across their cockpits, I make all the mosey and meanderings around the posse in the morning, and say adieu to the last of the riders as they bust through the gate and head on without me. I take about an hour and forty five minutes to shut the place down and gear up before I head through and lock the gate behind me.

 

At least the bar came in handy last night. All ‘Vegas’ and silly, but fun!

 

Casper is loaded down with luggage now and I told him that this was to be an easy ride with no technical work, and not to sweat it, just have fun. “If I take care of you, you just take care of me.” He just lit up and purred like he knew what was coming, and stood by all buffed and farkly with a full tank of gas. I toggled up my GPS and verified ‘Tracklog On’ and rolled off under clearing skies with no precipitation. There was still plenty of moisture in the air and on the ground from last night’s deluge though, and it offered up the promise of some great traction for Casper’s new rubber shoes. Next stop; Dubois, Idaho for fuel and maybe a sandwich…

 

Man this bike is carbureting like there’s nitrous in the airbox and the suspension is working like a dream. I’ll go ahead and massage this throttle tube a little and see how far ahead the LOF 5 posse is before too long, I imagine, and just hang on and start enjoying the ride! I take the old abandoned highway that parallels the slab down south to Elk Creek Station where the turn goes west and heads out the Yale-Kilgore Road, and turn on the blinker. A little bit of pavement rolls underneath as the mid-morning clouds continue to break up, and the sucker holes allow more and more sunlight down to bathe the Southeastern Idaho landscapes.

 

The road follows beneath the foothills of the Centennial Range to the north and heads west, then southwest through some timber into dry farms and sheep range toward I-15 and Dubois. The morning views open up and I can see the Tetons to the southeast, the Centennials to the north, the Pioneer Mountains, the Lemhi’s and Pahsimeroi’s. Menan Buttes are also visible to the southwest – they lie on the desertscapes on the outskirts of the Idaho National Engineering Laboratories – home of 11 nuclear reactors both online and decommissioned, and some of the most hotly guarded ground on planet Earth for reasons of national security. It is known in the region as “The Site.”

 

Dubois looms on the downward horizon as I course along on a gravel road, inbound for fuel and some more coffee. Perhaps a mochachino while I find some bars on the cell phone to call my wife and let her know all is well and to thank her for being such a big help to me yesterday at the cabin. I miss my dogs already though…

 

It’s shaping up to be a clearly wonderful day and the weather has improved dramatically – thank the stars. I’ll wheel in to the mini-mart and refuel Casper and see what’s on the menu inside. The wiener whistle is blowing like a siren anyways, and it’ll be a good time to stop and dispose of the extra water I’m carrying. The views to the west and north are nice, with the Continental Divide and associated ranges on either side bumping up toward the skies over southeast Idaho and southwest Montana commanding a rocky presence. For the heck of it I measure about 18 minutes at this pit stop, and that includes a nice break off the saddle, a chicken sandwich, some mocha-jojo and a call in to my wife and a chat a chat with my “Captain Fur-illo” who is waiting for me back home. Sidestand is up and I’m all fueled up for the run to the Reservoir Lake stop – no more gas until Wisdom, Montana tomorrow.

 

This afternoon ought to come early enough and there should be plenty of time to be off the bike and setting up camps at the spot WANSFEL recommended. We haven’t yet met and I’m looking forward to meeting Ron for the first time and sharing a good ride together. Meanwhile, I’ve got some nice high speed cruisers ahead with great weather and no wind, so the fresh rubber grips the gravel now for a while as I steer away from Dubois and cast a gaze up toward the tan ribbon of trackway that leads into the Divide over Bannack Pass. (Not “Bannock Pass” – that’s another place name nearby.) I’m on the Medicine Lodge Creek Road and making a blitz through the dry farms and ranchlands that lie on either side of I-15, enjoying the smooth power coursing through Casper’s lungs and listening to the throaty howls exit the new FMF pipe hanging off the exhaust system of my Six Days.

 

There are a few rocky little canyons to twist through along Medicine Lodge Creek and I’m enjoying the many scenic spots that appear and disappear, one after another like vignettes that run their course and then fade away, each getting and giving their introductions to another on this itinerary through a geologists dream. Rocks and canyons, feeder creeks and farmlands…. Tans and greens and the hints of yellow from aspen and oaks as they begin to show some Fall colors.  The sky is truly a nice, crisp azure as well, punctuated with some puffy white clouds drifting across the palate from the southwest. This is good country for a casual ride and I’ve never been through here before so it feels fresh and new, and I’m really liking the scenes unfold while I ride my motorcycle! I hope the guys up ahead are enjoying it too.

 

Gravel road is giving way to some two-track here as the easy climb over Bannack Pass creeps across my radar screen. There are some weather clouds up ahead and a distinct lack of sunshine as compares to only a few minutes ago, but that’s the nature of this time of year in these parts with unstable weather in the Fall as seasons change. It’s good riding though and my Klim Badlands Pro riding jacket is keeping me comfortable every minute as the ride continues, meeting every temperature change with courage and performance. It’s my first long ride with it on and I’m liking it like crazy! Time to give it a steady, hard wind test, and push some more fuel through the Keihin carb, and rail some two-track. This is fun riding…

 

The summit of the pass yields some long views to the north with a valley in between the Divide and the Tendoys, the Beaverhead Mountains helping to ring the lower elevations and my passage down through the Pass visible as a funny little tan squiggle. Still enjoying this nice two-track and keeping Casper’s glow plug warn is no trouble as each corner presents a berm and I straighten these angles with liberal throttle twisting. It’s a hoot! It’s cool playing ‘catch-up’ to the riders ahead as I get to stay on the mainjet and pretend that it’s important for me to catch them. It’s not but it’s fun to make believe I should catch them, and wick it up. The speed makes this kind of riding much more interesting and fun for me is all.

 

Coming down along the twisty two-track I spy a creek crossing up ahead and it’s big enough to look like there could be some depth to it, and I might have to lose 3^rd gear. I pick a line to the left and make a super splashy, pushing a great bow wave toward the Canadian border about a third of the way in. It’s smooth sailing across this small inland sea, and I’m out and over the far edge of the low creek bank in the blink of an eye, with a freshly rinsed motorcycle and some cool water in my left boot. Nice! Still no riders in front of me so they must be way out ahead somewhere, stuffing their eyes full of Montana on a late Summer morning. We have a senior rider on this ride who hasn’t spent much time on unsupported long distance backcountry tours with a dirt bike, and I hope he’s fairing well. He’s indicated that he doesn’t have the steam to ride all day, every day, but the mileages are not high and the technical challenges are low on this route, so I hope there is a match with his comfort zone and the length of our adventure. We’ll know sooner or later, but I hope HAS BEEN is enjoying the ride as well.

 

ULYBRAD is up there in the posse too, and he’s a retired gent with a borrowed bike and it’s his first time back in this part of the country since he spent some time here while stationed in the military, and he informs me that he’s been looking forward to getting back here and exploring for decades. I hope this route puts some meat on his table too! After meeting everybody yesterday and the the days before I know there are great folks riding up ahead of me, and I’m looking forward to rejoining this posse. I’m a lucky man to be able to ride with the giants who signed on for Legends of the Fall number 5.

 

It doesn’t take very long after hitting the lowland and getting a turn off the two-track and back on to dirt roads, to make some long miles disappear. What seems like a short run down through some Montana ranchlands has me caught up to the rear elements of our LOF5 posse, and I catch them right at the intersection of the short slab section near Grant, making their left turns for the run down to Bloody Dick Creek. There are five or six of these guys idling on the dirt getting ready to make their ‘lefts’ and I spy HAS BEEN making his turn to the west onto the slab. Casper is coming in HOT already and with clear views for traffic in both directions, I see no reason to clamp on the binders and slow him down… I make a snick or down on the shift lever and drift across HAS BEEN’s forward looking radar screen, and show him my rear fender. Apparently, the lead element has just made their turn and I can see a couple riders off ahead, leading the way and a quick count tells me that the group is still all together, and riding high. Heading for the sunset in a campground along a Montana lake, we’re making steam as a group once again, and I follow the leaders to the turnoff onto Bloody Dick Creek Road. Dirt road and lots of it, but not too far really before we’re all shopping for our ideal camp spots to setup, and enjoy our first evening as a complete posse, once we meetup with Ron who should be waiting for us just ahead at Reservoir Lake. And an easy day full of scenery to fill our heads full before settling in for camp dinners and perhaps a nice campfire! Too glorious to deserve, and I’m looking forward to it all…

 

I’ve got HAS BEEN in my rearviews and at the turnoff I catch the leaders and coast out ahead to let them see me, and share that I am ‘back with the group’ after my stay behind to close up the cabin. Easing off to the side, I let them back by again to continue on and lead the way, and several jet off into the hills that ring the east side of the Bitterroot Range, onward toward our lakeside destination only a few miles ahead on this Day 2 of our LOF adventure. Dust trails mark the leaders as I run mid-pack and file in behind 950TRANSALP, my friend Keith from Jackson, Wyoming on his XR650.

 

A few miles  along Bloody Dick Creek Road, Keith pulls off ahead of me on a right turn not far from our final stop for the day, and gives me a waive. I waive back and pass him on his right, noting the route continues straight ahead, but thinking he is of a mind that the leaders must be off-route and that this is our turn. I make it a few hundred yards down this dirt track and confirm that this is not the route, but I’m thinking there is no harm in his double-checking or second guessing the GPS. I pull off to the right and Keith rides on past me. I make the 180-degree turn and wait for Keith to do likewise, but he keeps on riding ahead. I signal with the arm up in the air but he seems as if he doesn’t see me, and still keeps going on ahead, up a long straight and then a switchback, climbing ever higher toward the Bloddy Dick Peak, and finally out of sight. Hummmppphh…. He must be on a little mission, but with so much daylight left and the route so clearly defined, with GPS and the lead element riders having gone past single file only moments before right ahead of him leaving dust trails, I figure he’ll scratch whatever itch he’s got, and turn around. I shut Casper down and peel off my AraiXD for a long sip on my Camelback and a five-minute break.

 

Well, the five minutes gets longer and old Rancher Jim comes by in his pickup truck and we strike up a conversation. Jim tells me he runs about 3,000 acres right in front of me as I face south and look out across his cattle land at the base of the foothills we just came out of when we crossed Bannack Pass and coursed down into this valley. He’s a nice fellow and after being assured we were alright and our chat in the middle of Montana Nowhere, he heads back down the mountain toward his ranch, wishing us well.

 

Still no sign of Keith and after a total of more than ten minutes waiting, I decide that he’s alright and will surely head back down, especially after hearing Rancher Jim say that the road dead-ends ten miles up. Okay then, I’m outa here and following the rest of the posse who has continued to stream past me down the Bloody Dick Road as I’ve been sitting here. “Look out fella’s… here I come!”

 

It’s only about 14 more miles to the reservoir and our USFS campground, and the ride in is pretty fabulous for a short day on good travels under beautiful skies. I wheel in to the campground to find a pristine setting and a very nice campground and the entire posse there gathering up and finding good sites to sprawl out in. Everybody but Keith, and he’ll be along shortly, so I find a nice little spot as well, and prepare to call it home.

 

Off the bikes and wandering around, we all find each other in good spirits and shopping for places to get some tents up, and… “what’s this? A story emerging from within the ranks?” Aahhhh, this should be entertaining! “Do tell!”

 

ULYBRAD is hopping around on one leg, and dragging the other like it was caught in a beartrap… Animated discussion about a blown turn, and more bench racing about some kind of creek crossing and more tales and …. It turns out, Brad thinks he’s broken his leg. Got into some kind of an argument with his borrowed KLR and a turn in the road. Something about being ejected from the roadway due to a disparity between his rate of speed, the contact patch and a diminishing apex at the last second. Anyway, it sounded like a good piece of riding to be able to ride it out, but ultimately, there was a get-off and in the ensuing interaction among Brad’s leg and ankle and the motorcycle and Planet Earth, gravity stepped in and had some final say. He crashed and did some twisting and banging. He’s running on one leg and in some obvious pain, but there’s a smile splattered all across his face… and the air is being punctuated with his wit and humor, and continuous supply of solid excellent energy.

 

Where do we get such men? I am awestruck by his demeanor, and humbled by his attitude and positive energy. Salute!

 

(I note also that he’s a snappy dresser.) I digress…         ;-)

 

I meet WANSFEL, (Ron) our co-rider from the Bitterroot Valley on Montana, and he’s already here as planned and with no drama – just a solid and capable rider on his home turf. What a pleasure it is to meet this guy, finally, after months of internet correspondence! We all settle in and meet and greet, and enjoy our time off the bike at the end of the day with plenty of daylight and hours to spare. It’s a nice relax and tents go up and clothes get changed and the skies are blue. Still no Keith pulling in behind us, but certainly he’ll be along any minute….

 

Two hours go by and still ‘no Keith.’ Ron and I discuss this briefly and gear back up – it’s time to go back and find him. Lanny ran out of gas and came into the campground on reserve and fuel will be an issue making it the 45 miles to Wisdom tomorrow, so we can’t afford to make mistakes about routing or fuel. I arrange for 2 gallons to be purchased from the campground host, and Lanny is getting his fuel sorted out while Ron and I make a plan to go and find Keith, and help him out. I approach the group gathered around the firepit and blurt out that Ron and I are leaving to go back for Keith, and for them to continue on ahead without us in the morning, should we not make it back.

 

This seems confusing to a few members of the group, but I assure them not to split up, not to come for any of us – Keith, me or Ron, and to leave in the morning on the route together, in a worst case situation if Ron and I don’t come back tonight. The last thing we need is to further disband, and scatter around with no information and diminishing fuel. Ron and I will take care of whatever we find… have a great night and we hope to be back before too long! If not, we’ll catch you down the trail. Adios!

 

Ron and I agreed to look for Keith, and go up the road he had turned off onto as far as the ten-mile dead-end. We would render whatever aid needed. If we didn’t find him up there, Ron would sweep back to the highway to Dillon, as his KLR is a supertanker full of fuel, and Casper doesn’t have the reserve to do that and still make the next fuel check in Wisdom. Keith might be broke down or hurt, since it’s been over two hours since he veered off, so something has gone awry and we’ll go find him and help.

 

This side venture has a non-melodramatic ending as we find Keith just parking his bike back down at the spot I last saw him, and we get the nod and the word that he’s alright, and just had a navigation issue – he’s been on a private sojourn the whole time up above, but alright and no problems. This is great news and I am ecstatic to find him this way! We tell him we’re all set and encamped about 14 miles away, but we’re going to need fuel, so let’s go sort that out. Ron is all thumbs-up and he takes off at this point to head back into camp, and let everybody know that Keith is found and inbound – all set and no worries.

 

Keith and I head over to Rancher Jim’s for a door knock and to show him sad faces while asking for some gasoline. We get the friendly Montana welcome and two tankfuls of gas! On our way with still a couple hours of usable daylight, Keith gets in a word while we’re fooling and fueling, and informs that he just simply never saw the dust trails of the lead element in the afternoon sun, and got off track thinking that the turn he was making was the right way to go. He spent two hours trying to punch through over the top, and there was no other way down. When he looked back, there was nobody there… so he kept on trying and finally ended up back down at the intersection, right where and when he met back up with me and Ron.

 

Pulling back into the campground was nice, and Keith grabbed a camp spot right next to me. It was so good to know nothing bad had happened to him, and we celebrated with some Coors that he had snagged at the gas station in Dubois, and then he lent me his spork because mine was on the kitchen table in Victor, Idaho and not here at Reservoir Lake in Montana.

 

Meals are being consumed around a small, warm blaze in the Legends Compound, and the tales are telling and the company is good! Ron is hosting all of us in his area of operations and we all get to listen to the Montana local and his wealth of knowledge and stories. Brad is a hoot around the fire even with a broken leg. Scott and Roger did a great job leading the group on the purple line all day and HAS BEEN is still alive after a long day for him on the bike. Lanny is enjoying his first long distance adventure ride and Val is likewise taking in some fancy scenery and keeping me in stitches with his extremely sharp wit and humor. Cal is back in some familiar riding country and enjoying the ride too, and it’s good to be riding with him again! Keith is here, and all okay – everything is apparently right with the world, and I am settling in for the evening a happy man indeed.

 

Tomorrow is another day and I’m looking forward to it as much as I am enjoying all the campfire moments and a good meal. Big Agnes eventually calls me in though, and I can’t help but wander back over to her plush bosom and jump on top of her for a cushioned-air night of sleep in the pines at my campsite. “Good ride, mateys! See ya on the morrow…” And it’s a farewell to LOF5, Day 2, from Stovey.

 

 

Day 3   Reservoir Lake to Skalkaho      180 Miles

 

I’ll be damned… Brad’s got a busted leg and/or ankle! Hummmppphhhh….

 

But at least it’s a nice day out.

 

This guy is incredible, he’s still up for riding and happy to boot. Another SALUTE as this intrepid soul puts forth his all and handles all of his personal care and camp management, bike chores and gets up and over all obstacles. All he’s asking for is some help getting on and off his bike – he’s got it from there. Jolly Good – just let us know what you need, and we’re here to help my Good Man!

 

Everybody is up and at ‘em and we’re off from Reservoir Lake for another good day on the trail. What an excellent site recommended by Ron! This place was a score and a guy couldn’t go wrong to pull in here on an adventure ride through southwest Montana and hole up. If a guy like to fish a lake, he could stop here and rip some lips as well. With morning groceries shoved down our pie holes, it’s time to get some of these cold-blooded motors lit and kick ‘em into gear. I watch as the pack loads out and files out of the campground, Cal leading the way towards the Van Houtten Lakes for a viewing, then onward toward the highway at Jackson, then a fuel checkpoint in Wisdom, Montana – and maybe a lunch stop there.

 

I take a minute to extinguish the campfire before telling Casper it’s time to go, and ride off in sweep position under wild Montana skies. The Van Houtten Lakes are on the radar first thing, and I take a minute or two to ride by them and get a look at all the splendor of their clear waters in a pristine setting. This area was on my original route but Ron recommended the Reservoir Lake site, so we took that instead. Nothing wrong with this place, but for a group our size, I have to agree that where we spent last night was a better choice, and it was great to have the benefit of Ron’s local information and his recommendation for it. I shoot a pic of the Beaverhead Mountains to the West, and the Bitterroots on the Continental Divide, and head for the turnoff onto the two-track that is my intended route from here to the slab at Wisdom.

 

The two-track immediately presents itself as an invitation to a more interesting route to travel than the gravel road, and after only a few short minutes I begin thinking to myself that the posse on ahead must really have their hands full keeping each other helped out on some of these sections – with cobbles the size of baseballs and basketballs strewn about from one side of the track to the other. We’ve got some pretty big bikes with some pretty big load-outs tied on, a senior rider who struggled with the length of the day and his comfort zone yesterday, two KLR’s and a guy with a broken leg out there…. I’ll be catching them any second now, and enter into the fray of whatever drama they may have gotten themselves into for the relative toughness of this stretch as compared to the easy gravel roads we’ve been travelling on until now.

 

It’s not too long before I spy the rear fender of Rsquared ahead, and catch Roger on a slight uphill stretch in some thick woods. I stop the bike and listen and gather that there is no big crowd just up ahead from the sound of things. He’s also disappeared right away, an indication that from the sound of his motor getting further away, there is no bottleneck and no drama unfolding immediately ahead of him.  Hmmmm… these guys are traveling with angels on their shoulders! How can this be? I know this ain’ t extremely technical, but it ought to have at least snagged our injured rider and put a hurting on him by now! What gives?

 

Happily, I motor on and enjoy some beautiful Montana two-track!

 

In short order I catch up with a couple riders, and find Roger and Lanny stopped and dismounting on the other side of a boulder-strewn creek crossing. I waddle and bounce my way across this boingy bit and stop alongside and say “hey!”

 

Lanny is catching some air and water, and Roger is with him – partnered up through a tougher section with Lanny just putting the smackdown on these rocks in the trail on his loaded down Suzuki DR400. He’s got a luggage pile on the back of his bike that just reminds me of the last time I was in Staten Island, (which is no reflection on the quality of his gear – but the shear SIZE of this portable mountain is daunting…)  We rest up and chat for a few minutes and in the realization that we’ve covered most of the two-track on this section already, and that the end will soon be getting easier and increasingly easier as we approach the more well used portion of this forest access, we hit the trail again with renewed vigor. Scott was leading off this group of three and formed the front end bracket to the ‘Scott – Lanny – Roger’ triad as they rode in helpful formation through this section of forested trail, and after returning to check on them, Scott returned to his lead position, and resumed the track.

 

We weren’t long on the end section of this two-tracked trail of tumblers when we broke out onto the smoother sections below, and began to pass pickup trucks and campsites full of campers and hunters. A few minutes later, all four of us sat on the dirt road connection that would take us to the slab just south of Jackson, Montana…. But where was the rest of the group?

 

The only thing I could think of was that Ron had decided to lead the main core away from this more technical challenge and keep our broken leg guy off of this stuff – and headed down the main trunk back to the highway at a more southerly point than where our route connected. A smart move if so, supremely.  I grabbed some gears and wicked it east, to the slab.

 

Hitting the slab and heading north through Jackson I was reminded of the other times I have been through here on other adventure rides, and all the dirt I’d ridden as well as all the slab I’d previously suffered. The views were gorgeous and I enjoyed the short connection on the highway toward Wisdom where we would find fuel, hoping that I would find all of the rest of the posse at Wisdom, alive and well and enjoying the day. I roll in to find everybody there at the gas station, and good to go!

 

Brad was still all smiles even though he was in obvious pain from an injured leg and ankle, and I hoped he was going to be alright. He was monitoring for further trouble, and taking as easy as he could on the wounded appendage, and insisted he was still good to go. Everybody else gathered up had already had some food at the sit down café, and the four of us who had just ridden the two-track together filed in to have a lunch break, and watch the other guys head out in front of us. They had indeed come down the main dirt road trunk together after Ron took a brief reconnaissance down the planned two-track. One look at the route he was handed and the injury limitations assessment and he decided it was a no-brainer to offer up the more do-able route from the Van Houtten location toward the highway connection, and leave the rockier stuff to whoever follows that wants it. Good call, Ron – good call.

 

So, with those guys all refueled and tummies full roadkill helper, I get a sit-down with Lanny, Roger and Scott for a nice lunch. The other fella’s made a quick plan to visit the Bighole Battlefield National Monument, and tour that for a bit while we ate lunch, then we could all rendezvous again at the top of Schultz Saddle as we entered the Sapphire Range that rims the Bitterroot Valley to the east, en route to camp at the end of the day.

 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Big_Hole_National_Battlefield

 

http://www.nezperce.com/bholebf.html

 

//www.youtube.com/watch?v=syfnyfxzTEw

 

http://www.nationalparks.org/explore-parks/big-hole-national-battlefield

 

Lunch is good, and it seems my money is no good here – Roger picks up the tab!  Crime in Italy, “thank You” Sir! With gas in our tanks we head down the highway to make a short connection to the dirt turnoff and up through Maybe Meadows toward Shultz Saddle. Low and behold, we run right back into the back end of the main group, and form up en masse once again, almost like we planned it that way… nice! Before long we are riding under warm weather conditions and I’ve got to open the vents on my jacket to keep from overheating. This jacket works like a champ and I’m riding mid-pack with a bunch of cool guys from Texas, Montana, Nevada, Wyoming and Idaho.

 

We make Schultz Saddle and change our route plans to include a short 13-mile run down to civilization for refuel and cold man-killers that might serve to give us a moderately resplendent overture to the sunset this evening, and make a left where we had originally intended to make a right, and head down to Sula, Montana to the gas station and convenience store. I am plenty warm under this sun and will be glad to get some fuel and a couple of cold ones down below, and turn around to head back into the hills for the night. It seemed a unanimous chorus of glee up above when it was mentioned that we could refuel and stock up on cold drinks as part of the end-of-day mission, so with no delay we made the 13-mile run down to Sula and Highway 93 near the southern terminus of the Bitterroot Valley after a dash through a herd of Bighorn Sheep along the way.

 

Refueled and all stocked up on cold man-killers all the way around, we reverse course to the point of departure from the route, and rejoin the purple lines coursing across our GPS screens, and make the left turn back onto the Skalkaho-Rye Highway towards Skalkaho Falls, the pass, and a room for the night under starry skies.

 

This “highway” is named one, but is by no means a fast route of travel and clearly not traveled as often as say, the Long Island Expressway. It’s tight, dusty and slow as we wind our ways around and up and through tunnels of lodgepole, doug fir, spruce and ponderosa on our way towards a camp at the end of the day. The setting sun is beginning to cast right straight into my faceshield, and the dust is rather enormous as I ride at the very end of our pack. A look at the GPS and my seat of the pants is telling me that at this rate of travel, we are going to be challenged to put in for the night without a slog of a battle for another couple of hours. Still, it’s going ahead, and I hope the crew ahead is enjoying a ride in Montana as much as I am. It’s just going to be a longer day in the saddle than it could be with only just a few riders. As it is, we have lots of wheels kicking up dust, and a lot of twists and turns in the road, with a suncast that is conspiring to remove safe fields of vision for all of us. I hope HAS BEEN can stay in the saddle for as long as it takes, but if he needs to stop and call it a day, we can do that with no effort and hole up before reaching Saklkaho.

 

The miles tick away, but slowly. Our pace is slowing, if anything, and the sun is getting lower and lower on the horizon, and I know that HAS BEEN must be feeling it a little by now since his concern at each stop at a vista or for fuel or a sip of water has been over how much longer it might be until we quit for the day. With this on my mind, I ride on through a pretty thick cloud of dust from a Sapphire Range dirt road.

 

It’s not too long and I witness HAS BEEN take a dirt nap right in front of me, a second-gear curve on a dirt road has him sucked to the ground like a moth to a bug-zapper, and he hits the ground like a lump of clay with a helmet on top. Sheeeeyit! That was quite a strike – I do believe we are going to be picking up old-man parts on this one, and I am quick to dismount Casper, and let his sidestand down and go to aid… but, as I approach – here is HAS BEEN – standing up under his own power! Incredible…

 

I thought he was down for sure the way he hit, it looked like a pretty hard smackdown. But “UP” he comes and he’s standing there next to his bike, shaking it off and preparing to remount.

 

At this point it’s a clear study that it’s past time to get HAS BEEN off his bike for the day and bedded down for the night. The witching hour has descended upon us and we’ve run out of day and he’s run out of steam, and needs to go down and get a recharge. He’s spent what he has on the trail over the past couple of days, and today was just too much time in the saddle – if he keeps riding, he’s going to offer up opportunity to make a mistake, crash, and get hurt. Besides, the visibility with the sun setting in our eyes will take its final toll, and possibly claim one of us for lack of clear vision. Something simple can make for something stupid, if you can’t see it and get a wheel crossed up at the end of the day with fatigue factoring in. Nope, it’s time for a campsite and we can get Ron to go on ahead and catch up with the rest of the group, and dig in up there. We’ll be fine back here – and here is where we’ll be as soon as I can find a good “here” to be in for the night!

 

Re-mounted and back on track, HAS BEEN agrees to hole up with me and Lanny short of our planned for destination and get off the bikes for the night. I scout ahead and find a really nice place right off to the side of our dirt road, only a few minutes ahead, and plant Casper on his sidestand, take off my helmet, and have just enough time to make it back down to the road and waive to the riders following, “This Way!” There’s a nice little spot with a stream running along the back where three tents will go up easily and nicely, and serve as a camp spot for me and Lanny and HAS BEEN. Ron pulls up and we chat a minute – all is good. David is apparently unharmed from his tumble back there, and just needs to get off his bike and rest up. Ron agrees to go on ahead and situate everybody in one of his secret camping spots that he’s used on rides in the past, up above Skalkaho at Dam Creek Lake. Kudos and bonus! Seeya tomorrow my friend, and thanks for the help… your route-reading ability and generous, helpful nature have paid off for this group in spades already, and I only just met you yesterday!

 

We’ve got our spot all picked out and David, Lanny and I are digging in for the night, underneath some big timber on the side of the road. The stream is running and babbling, the sun going down. Long, long shadows are cast and we are surrounded by the darkness of the forest long before official sunset for the terrain and trees. Still, it’s very nice spot, and I’m going to enjoy a nice hot meal while I attend to Casper’s air and oil filters and change his oil tonight.

 

Snacks and meals are going down real good in our nests ensconced in the understory, and Lanny and I are prepared with some fresh, cold man-killers to enjoy as the evening drains its last into our Day 3 experience. David is regaling us with tales from the old days of enduro competitions and treats us to an oral history of the development of the Husaberg brand, harking back to the days preceeding the KTM farm shop in Mattighoffen, and we face the emerging stars with a full day under our belts, and some dust in our teeth, for sure. Lanny is riding really well and is extolling the virtues of being out here for such a long ride on the bike – he seems to really be digging it! David is dog tired but he hung on like a trooper and I have my fingers crossed he can make another day on route, because we have two short days in a row coming up, with lots of down time at the end of each day to relax and recharge in camps.

 

With the oil and filter changed in Casper’s crankcase, and a fresh air filter lined out for him to breathe, my bike stands at the ready with a freshly lubed chain and a frisky look on his face. Tomorrow brings us past picturesque Skalkaho Falls on the way over Skalkaho Pass, and we’ll hook up with the lead element of our group as well, and enjoy a nice easy ride on Forest Service roads into Butte for a sit-down meal, convenience stores and a short visit inside ‘civilization’ for any and all who need or want it. After our pit stop in Butte, we’ll only be about 40 minutes or so to the next camp at Delmoe, and a nice long relax off the bikes. Yes, another excellent day ahead, with an opportunity to get Brad some medical attention on the horizon too, if he needs or wants it.  Yep, if the bears don’t get us tonight, we’ll wake up happy tomorrow, is my thinking. Nice ride today fella’s… see ya in the morning.

 

Stovey

 

Day 4        Skalkaho to Delmoe Lake      156 Miles

 

The Broken Arrow…

 

 

A babbling brook is my alarm clock this morning and I’m up and looking at the grounds of LOF5 tail-gunner’s compound.  There’s a large pile of bedding and humanity a few feet away under some trees, and breath sounds huffing through the coverings that conceal David, our HAS BEEN from Texas. A few moments into my morning rituals and there are signs of life from Lanny’s domicile as he greets a Sapphire Dawn too, and a broad smile pops out of his tent toward me.

 

Everybody’s awake and dancing across God’s Green Earth, making some breakfasts happen and getting some gear loaded for the day. David is ready to go before long, and while I am eager to dispatch a fresh steamer downhill of our encampment and the stream, he is anxious to set off ahead, and wants to go. With no GPS he has no navigational aid to guide save for his paper map set, and this area is absolutely riddled with logging roads and intersections and convolutions of every manner along the route, but he’s adamant and off he goes. Lanny takes off next and I finish the paperwork on the project I had started, because I hate to leave a job unfinished, and set out on sweep to follow along.

 

Another gorgeous day with the weather Gods in full compliance with our fervent wishes has its sunshine and blue skies beaming, and the views from our vista-crammed ridgelines are stunning. It’s one spectacular view after another as I chug along in the rear, and I take it all in as I side scan every intersection for signs of a mis-turned rider. I never see Lanny or David even one time this morning as I play catch-up, and the first I catch of another member of our party is Val at Skalkaho Falls – he’s waiting there right at the base of the falls, and I wheel up to him and shut off the fire.

 

“G’ mornin…”

 

“’Mornin!”

 

“You want yer picture took by the falls here?”

 

“Naaaaahhhh… have you seen Lanny and HAS BEEN go by?  …please, say yes…?”

 

“Yep, they’ve gone by and they’re all up ahead waiting in the welcoming committee.”

 

“Perfect!”

 

Whew… that’s a relief. Val and I saddle up and he takes off ahead of me, and I ride behind one of these giants – I really like this guy, Val. He just has it all together and a sense of humor to match his intellect, which I find engaging, entertaining and comforting. I wish he was my next-door neighbor kind of thing. Anyway, I follow him up and over Skalkaho Pass and in a few minutes we’re both parked with the engines off at the gathered Legends, parked in their lot on the east side of the Sapphire divide. We’ve got all hands accounted for with TOURMEISTER and RSQUARED off on a side ride together for the day and a plan to rejoin us at the evening rally point on Delmoe Lake outside of Butte. Sounds good, so we make a last minute break for the calls of nature and I take full advantage to heed the air raid siren from the weiner whistle once more before re-saddling Casper the Friendly Punkin.

 

What a nice little dirt road we’re on through the Deerlodge National Forest and I am enjoying the ride behind Val and HAS BEEN, although I note that if David doesn’t start staying on the right hand side of the road, he will probably be getting a nasty close-up of a front bumper from oncoming traffic. Sure enough, I see his handlebars waggling back and forth like a rookie trying to land an F-14 Tomcat on the deck of a pitching aircraft carrier right before he gets swept into the arresting gear by the nosecone of a sidewinder missile. How he manages to avoid the near miss from an oncoming pickup seems a miracle to me, but he does, and we continue our happy, sunny travels onward toward Anaconda. He may be more tired than meets the eye, and what meets the eye is that he is fatigued. Shrugging my shoulders I make my mind up to get David’s real riding condition assessed at our next stop for fuel, and get some honest picture of where he’s at on the table, so he can get some needed rest and recharge before it gets out of hand, and somebody else gets hurt. If it’s a motel for the night or a complete reroute to homebase, or anything in between, something has to happen to keep an accident from visiting him or the group. Period. I ride on, and think about my own good fortunes and how nice it is to be riding…

 

It’s not too long before we ride by the touristy sapphire mine where they allow folks in to try and pail up  a treasure full of the precious gems from the local digs, and we pass down out of these wooded hills into the valley that Georgetown Lake lives in. In a few more short moments, however, things really start to morph as far as this ride organization and operation are concerned, and I’ll have to face the prospect of putting a mid-ride ‘plan-B’ into action. I’ve still got the tailgunner position as I ride up behind the group which has all pulled off to the side of the mini-slab at a turn-off for our route that takes us southeast toward the East Fork Reservoir on a scenic detour from the pavement. As I glide in behind HAS BEEN and Val, I have a direct view of a mishap that convinces me that we have a problem…

 

In the time it takes a guy to stop his motorcycle and put his foot down, I witness HAS BEEN come to a complete stop right beside ULYBRAD, and put his foot down. Okay, except his foot never touches the ground as he’s got himself on a high spot with his wheels, creating a low spot for his feet – there’s nothing there but air and he topples over to his right – taking Brad to the ground with him. In an instant, all hands are dismounting and coming to their aid, getting the weight of a loaded KLR off of Brad’s broken leg and helping him to his feet, err, ummm, ‘foot.’ Other guys are going for HAS BEEN to give David a hand and I’ve managed to get my bike parked off to the side of the road in a safe place and get a handle on David’s machine and help get that up. David is alright once again, no injuries – thank God. Brad is a little tumbled out though, and although he’s seemingly no worse for wear, and able to remount his motorcycle, my mind has gone to the point that his leg certainly needs no further aggravation, and if he gets through this particular mishap, we’ll be fortunate indeed.

 

Meanwhile, Ron is pointing down the dirt road, and informs that Keith ‘went that way’ a minute ago, or so…

 

Lanny is almost out of gas.

 

David says, “I’ll need gas too…. In about 5 or 6 miles or so.”

 

Aside from this, everything else is going smoothly…

 

As I’m remounting my bike, I say to Ron that we need to cancel our purple line at this turn, and focus on gasoline, heading in toward Georgetown Lake, and seek out the next available fuel stop so we can get the guys with the low fuel topped off. Ron says “cool – I got this…” and he does. I jet off to go run Keith down, get him turned around if he hasn’t looked over his shoulder already, and take us back into our just revised route to Anaconda, and back with the group.

 

I catch Keith within a few minutes, as the dirt road is a groomer and Casper hasn’t had his hide whipped in a few hours anyway, and he’s ready for a sound lashing. We get turned around and head back the way we came just the two of us, Keith no doubt wondering what the hell since he was on the route but I ran him down, turned him around, and now we’re running without the rest of the group. We reach the turnoff where I had left the group only a few minutes before, with bikes parked and toppled, and it’s ghost town… all gone as expected and Keith just files in and follows me in toward Phillipsburg.

 

We get into P-burg to check the fuel stations and find no posse, and turn it around and get back on the line around Georgetown Lake and start heading in toward Anaconda. At this point, I reason that everybody is ahead of Keith and I, albeit a couple guys low on fuel but running in the right direction. On the hillclimb between Georgetown and Silver Lakes I see Lanny parked on the side of the road, helmet off. He’s waiving me by, so I go by. (He must have run out of gas, and got some more, possibly from David who is carrying a 2-gallon Rotopax unit on his bike.)

 

Miraculously to my mind, in the following miles between Silver Lake and Anaconda, all the riders in our group meetup on the slab, and a head count shows we’ve got everybody we are supposed to in tow. This is good, it will make for a tidy gather-up in a few minutes when we hit Anaconda, and regroup.

 

“Broken Arrow;” I hear the words inside my helmet. I can even visualize Mel Gibson saying it to his radio operator as his Character Colonel Hal Moore declares it on an open battlefield in the Ia Drang Valley in the movie, We Were Soldiers…

 

Anaconda ambles along, and I pull in to the first fuel station with a mini-mart that comes up – we’re just on the outskirts of the west side of town. I blinker in and pull up to the pump, the entire Legends Posse right behind me. I shut the bike down and grab for a pump handle, David pulling in right behind me for a refill…

 

I hear Keith saying to David across the parking lot, “…I think you’ve got a flat…” to David, and David responds with a downward gaze toward his rear wheel which yields a confirmation that sure enough, that tire is no longer round, stiff and puffy.

 

This is a pivotal fuel stop on the ride.

 

We have our meeting and in the nearly two hours that we are there getting refueled, buying coffee and water, repairing a flat rear tire and searching the town for a spare inner tube, we get our poop back into a group. I think.

 

David is tired. Brad has a broken leg. Keith has gotten disconnected from the main element a couple times. Two guys have run low on fuel, one of them twice. It’s time to knock the rough edges off our situation and just smooth things out… and I am not feeling like finger-pointing and blaming, but rather stepping up to accept responsibility and mainly, doing whatever it takes to get all issues addressed, then handled, and redirected to keep the ride on course. For now, I’ve got to use the momentum that’s already in motion, and veer things into a ball, and roll the ball down into the strike lane.

 

David is volunteering that he needs to get off the ride route at this point and get a motel room for tonight so he can get off his bike and get some rest. He’s had it and he seems to realize this and has already come to this conclusion. I agree, and there’s no drama anywhere about it, but I do have reservations about how to successfully accomplish his rejoining the group in a couple of days time back at the Lucky Dog. David insists he’s got that under control even without a GPS and having only been there one time, and at that, it was during a driving rain storm at the time he punched his way in there with the rest of the riders and we were all struggling just a bit with the visibility because of that.

 

The rear tire repair got underway, but the yeoman effort was to no avail. Keith, Ron, Val and Lanny were all busy helping David in the gas station parking lot, and Cal scouted out the bike shop, returning with a new tube after we’d popped one. Still no joy on the repair and we could have just kept at it until we got it right, but David insisted on going to the motorcycle shop about 2 minutes away and giving them a couple bucks to get ‘er done. As we escorted David around the corner to a local bike shop to do a proper job of replacing his rear tube, I wondered if it would haunt me for the rest of my life; leaving a guy off and then reading about him later on.

 

Brad has continually monitored and reassessed his leg and ankle injuries and keeps coming up with a no bullshit assessment that he’s hurt, and that he can keep going with no further aggravation. So far, he’s been right on the money. He insists he’s good to go, and that he wants to keep on going. I just want him to know that he’s got our complete support to get into civilization for a medical, and we can make that happen, no sweat. He swears on a stack of KTM manuals that he’s got this, and he’s good to go. His smiles continue to be contagious… and I buy into this notion as well. If nothing else, this bastard is gonna go down swingin’… Besides, he is just riding well and having a great time, and is even improving with his mobility. It’s unfathomable, but we’re all witnessing it every hour as we go. Besides, I want him to keep going with us; I just want to keep riding with him. So when he says he’s good to go, only twice, I’m satisfied because I don’t want him to change his mind… I just suck that way.

 

There are two guys out there who are planning, at last count, to be meeting up with us at the end of today at Delmoe Lake after their side ride together away from our main element. Whatever happens the rest of the day, I aim to have either the whole group, or a liaison, at the lake to meet them. As it’s working itself out here, it looks as if the ride will just continue on and we’ll have zero trouble making our rally point with hours to spare.

 

With David escorted and dropped off by our entire entourage, we waive him “goodbye” as he tells us to look for him outside my cabin gate at the end of the day on Friday, and we motor off down Main Street. The sky is still a brilliant azure blue as I pass by the site of the old abandoned smelter stack on the east side of town, headed for the super-slab toward Butte. With David advising he left his cell phone back in his truck before the ride, and he’s solo, without a GPS, I figured “…he’s got this…” and leave it behind me. “God’s Speed, HAS BEEN.” See ya in a couple of days. If anybody can pull this off, it would be an old enduro rider. But I don’t believe it for a minute. (Later, Val would tell me with a deadpan look straight up, “…he’ll be there. Trust me, he’ll be there at the gate…”)

 

With this drama in our rearview mirrors we run it down the super-slab and blinker of I-90 at the Harrison Exit in Butte, and take a right turn into the Arby’s. I get two of everything, and eat one. We get a stop in at the nearby mini-mart for cold man-killers, and head outa town. We’ll be in camp before the hour is out.

 

I make a detour further south to get a better look at the foothill on the south-facing slope of I-90 below the Homestake Exit that I got stymied on a couple of years ago on the Adventure rider Montana 1000, and we bust onto the super-slab once again for one exit, and get off at the top of the hill. We make our left and head right down into the dirt road that takes us in to Delmoe Lake, and start our search for a site at one of the two campgrounds.

 

Almost home for the night, thank God.

 

We find a pretty damned nice spot on a hill in the trees above the lake, and it’s got nice views. Nice vies of the lake, below.

 

The lake is bone dry. So much for my precaution to the lads a couple days ago when I told them that I found out during research for my book, that it had been witnessed here that some cows took some sips of water from Delmoe Lake, took a few steps, and then dropped dead. So I mentioned this to the guys and said, “…hey, maybe don’t drink the water and stuff…”

 

Not to worry, the water was all gone.

 

I swing a leg off of Casper, and with mountains of daylight left and a great spot to dwell in, I begin to dwell. And so does everybody else.

 

I see more man-killers produced from backpacks and luggage than at any other time during the ride. They are cold. They are tasty. We are staying up late and it will be a favorite time for me as a result.

 

You guys are the best, no lie.

 

Salute…

 

 

Day 5    Delmoe Lake to Tobacco Roots     104 Miles

 

 

I dunno about you guys, but I had a good time around here last night! Sure, we stayed up late and maybe past my bed time, but as I am recalling… out here, I have no ‘bed time!’ What a hoot.

 

Who drank the lake?

 

There’s a stack of neatly crushed empty man-killer cans on the picnic table awaiting a pickup and a pack job, and I spy Lanny wading into a freeze-dried breakfast. I know he got the memo that we will be traveling through café country this morning, but perhaps he is just hungry. He’s been riding really well and especially since this is his first longer dual sport rally with full luggage over uneven ground, he’s pretty much kicking ass. We shall let him eat food if he wants to then…

 

TOURMEISTER and RSQUARED never showed up at this rally point as anticipated, but we also know that they are on their own and presumed fine wherever they are. HAS BEEN is hopefully getting some rest in a motel room somewhere. ULYBRAD is alive and well and kicking ass this morning, and a beautiful dawn it is. With a little packing after coffee we can be off and down the road to Whitehall, Montana for a refuel and a sit-down breakfast at the café on main street along the railroad tracks. It’s a low mileage day on the horizon, with a happy ending waiting for us at the camp spot Jeb and I lined out this past summer…

 

…so it’s a throttle twist or two away and away we go.

 

This dirt road through the foothills to the north of I-90 east of Butte is a nice easy pathway through granite boulders in the landscape dotted with pine and punctuated with OHV trails. We take a leisurely tour down from Delmoe Lake and head southeast toward a frontage road that connects with Whitehall and enjoy a nice passage through ranchlands along the superslab. Our café is waiting for us down below, along with a gas station and mini-mart. A good cell phone connection gets the attention of a handful of riders just itching to make some connections, and I’m no exception. I dial up my wife and touch base – all is well back at The Timberwish with the dogs and cats. A thankful of premium and a gut full of groceries has me all loaded up with everything that I need, and after a leisurely pit stop we are back in the saddles and outbound on slab for a bit.

 

The pavement is pretty much unavoidable here, but the scenery is wonderful and I continue to enjoy this section of southwest Montana. I’ve been through this way numerous times in my explorations and I know I’ll be back yet again as future explorations must yield more adventures on the bike up here. We make a curve on the frontage road that takes us south of the interstate through Cardwell and more ranchland on the way past the northern toe of the Dry Lake Range, co-located next to the Tobacco Roots. A turn to the right onto South Boulder Creek Road gets us on to a really nice country lane for miles as we venture further again into some more Montana scenery. We pass homes and farm houses riding alongside wire fences with cows mooing and horses romping in the sunlight. There’s a cat perched on a propane tank, scanning for mice in his yard. The Boulder Creek is a beautiful little shaded water run and the ride upstream at its flanks is a real pleasure.

 

Casper is purring happily and smooth, a recent oil and filter change keeping the oil galleys clean and the parts working like they should. Every now and then, a wicked thrum comes from the exhaust as I don’t even fight the urge to playfully turn the right handle and make the countryside zoom past on an occasional hurry, just for fun. The turn is at hand to leave this little road, and make a left at the Indiana State University Geology Field Station, and cut due east on a cool two-track.

 

This two-track is a high-speed sweeper with water bars and I notice it’s been recently groomed as smooth as a Nikasil-plated KTM cylinder bore, so the old rocks, bumps and ruts have been leveled right out. It’s at least a full gear higher all the way through this cut coming out of South Boulder Creek and Casper has his head with no reins again; such a frisky little pony for me…

 

And so, I ride my iron pony around another corner and make the southbound turn that will take us into the old mining town of Pony. Pony, Montana and home of the “Pony Bar.” It’s a little too early for me to whet my whistle, but it’s a good spot to have out-of-towners sit down and enjoy some small town goodness in the back of beyond. So we kill the engines and sidle up to the barkeep inside and take five. The young lady I met this summer here, Clarissa, was wandering around the Pony Bar with her friends when I came through one time, and we started up a conversation about the area. I learned from Clarissa that she actually owns the Atlantic & Pacific gold mine on top of the hill above Pony, and that it has been in her family for years. She told me she had inherited it and that her family has been in the area here, mining, for five generations. Her family homesteaded it during the Civil War and this is definitely home for her.

 

I had asked her for permission to ride through her mine and she granted it and even told me I could take all the gold I could carry. Especially since the giant rocks of ore would remain pretty safe in any motorcyclists hands! We got a few good laughs together on a hot afternoon on my birthday weekend, and said farewell before riding off. Now that I’m back again, I scan around and ask for her at the bar – it’s also a little early for her to be running mahogany ridge. So I enjoy some ice water while some of the peeps sample a dust-busting brew. We’re not too far from our end-of-day destination either because this is a short mileage day on LOF5. Cool – we’ll pull up and campout together, a handful of Montana Mountain Maniacs taking a reprieve in the prowl.

 

Saddle up and gearshifts snicked, we’re all back in formation on some slab out of Pony. A right turn at Harrison, Montana gets us on State Highway 287 and southbound to Norris. There’s a super-small mini-mart at the gas station in Norris, so any big meal re-provisions are lacking, but hopefully everyone has taken care of themselves along the way. I got a meal reload back in Whitehall, and I’m good to go. I must take a minute though and jet down the road and around the corner to check and see of Norris Hot Springs is open, and come back and advise this posse. I wheel in and spy all the “CLOSED” signage, noting that the place appears “closed.” No shower and a hot spring dip for any of us then, bummer!

 

Returning to the assembled group, I deliver the news. ULYBRAD is bummed because he was looking forward to taking full advantage of a hot spring stop, if available. Unfortunately, it is not, so we press on for the short dirt road run back up into the hills flanking the eastern slopes of the tobacco Root Mountains. About twenty miles or so is all it takes for us to get up to the spot alongside South Meadow Creek that I’d really like to camp at, and we file in one after another at the site. What a bummer it is to find the site apparently occupied with several tents already setup, a vehicle in place and somebody has made themselves comfortable around the firepit with furniture. Crap!

 

As I wheel around and motion to my co-riders to do a one-eighty-degree turn and get back out of there, it occurs to me that there are still a number of really good locations within yards of this spot where we can scatter along the creek and take cover underneath the ample boughs of mature Doug fir. Just as I am dismounting, an oncoming SUV pulls up next to me on the two-track and the fella inside is asking me questions:  “…are you looking for a place to camp?” he asks, pointing back up into the occupied site we just circled around from.

 

“Why, yes – we are, but we’ll just be camping right here along this stretch of creek….”

 

“How many of you are there?” he asks.

 

“Ten of us.”

 

“How long you planning on staying?”

 

“Just for tonight. We’re on a ride through southwest Montana for a week, and headed back down toward Jackson, Wyoming. Leaving in the morning….” I say to the man sitting next to his wife in the Suburban.

 

He said that it’s his campsite he’s gone ahead and set up in advance of his weekend elk hunt, and that we’re free to take it over and have at it. “Really?!” I said… “Wow, that’s awfully nice of you folks – thanks!”

 

He and his wife were just on their way up there to exchange vehicles at the site, and leave his truck there for when he gets back.

 

“Keys are in it….” He said as he drove by us on his way out. “In case you have trouble or need something – have at it.”

 

No lie. Montanan’s are the best on planet earth, I swear.

 

We arrive and settle in at our last campsite on the ride, a nice little opening in the trees at the end of a forest spur alongside South Meadow Creek. I have been here several times camping, and I have a favorite spot I like to set up in, and I take it. There are better than a dozen really great places to set up a spot in and the rest of my co-riders have no trouble feathering their nests. We’re all present and accounted for, save for TOURMEISTER and RSQUARED who missed joining up with us last night. I endeavored to give a detail to Scott a couple days ago that would put the two of them right on top of this spot when the caught up, in the event they didn’t stay connected with us and did their own side rides, but Scott blew that off in Wisdom, Montana thinking he would be with us for a night in between, and would get that data point from me then.

 

That didn’t happen.

 

“Oh, well,” I think to myself…. They’ll be going right by this within a couple hundred yards if they stay on my purple line on the GPS, and hopefully we can get them waived in. I realized that I didn’t get the spur with an “X marks the spot” onto the GPS route after I had sent everybody the LOF5 trail, but didn’t think it would be a problem because of the way I had communicated about the ride plan. So there was still nothing for me to actually “worry” about – and I don’t.

 

An early afternoon pull-in to this spot, calling it quits for the day, seems to be suiting everybody right down to the ground as camp chairs get pulled up and a few cold beers start to emerge from day packs, left and right. Firewood is beginning to be gathered in anticipation of holding court around the campfire on a last night out… there’s a very good vibe here! Scott and Roger are heard heading past, and they stop on the road up above and look down at a pile of adventure riders ganged up in a small corner of heaven alongside a creek in Montana, and we waive them down. Success! They have found us – we’re all here, with loads of daylight for fun and relaxation!

 

I am thinking of my friends, Jeb and Ann, back home and hoping she’s doing alright. Jeb helped me out a lot with details on this ride, and has been a genuinely fun guy to ride around with over the past few years since we met. He helped me on a small project related to this particular campsite too, and I am reminded of his absence and missing him here all the more. With this on my mind, I wander out of camp and down into the woods along the creek, looking for firewood….

 

“Ho – Ho – Ho!” exclaims ‘Stovey-Claus’ as I find my way back into camp from my secret mission. The fella’s look up and it’s nice to spy the grins while handing out fresh man-killers kept mountain-creek-cold and tied up in mesh laundry sacks since August. Molsen’s Canadian Ale and Fat Tire Ambers, along with a few O’Doul’s are at the ready, and it makes for a mighty fine accoutrement to the standard camp fair.

 

I manage to enjoy one or two myself.

 

Yes, there are some threatening skies in the late afternoon, and it seems for sure as if we will get rained on over night. Sure enough, thirteen rain drops fall, but nobody manages to get hurt – incredible. The clouds clear overnight… and all stays well, as we safely rest.

 

Day 6     Tobacco Root – Lucky Dog                            184 miles

 

 

The pine and fir needles are so soft at this camp site, I really like it here! And, cold beer magically appears from the creekside refrigerator – how can you go wrong?

 

I slept like a log in a swamp all night – it’s nice to catch up a little on some rest. This ride has been exhausting to my mental energy reserves and I needed some sleep. It was great sitting around the camp yesterday afternoon and last night listening to tales from WANSFEL, TIREMAN and ULYBRAD. 950TRANSALP was his usual fine campfellow self too, and it was a pleasure to be around my new friend RSQAUARED. LANNY was great company and it’s so good to have him out here enjoying himself – he’s kicking ass on top of those wheels and doing an awesome job – I hope when it’s all done he will feel like it was worth all the preparation he did all year long to get ready! I know one thing, his preparation sure shows… glad he’s here with us. CAL is with me again and riding some more familiar ground that I know he’s covered on two wheels before too, and between Keith, Cal, Ron and I the group has some collective past experience in these parts on motorcycles. Cal is set up right nearby in our evergreen motels and he’s spreading some more of his joy around first thing in the morning – his usual way. Yep – it’s a great start to the final day on the trail together and with luck, we’ll be able to pull off the intended leg over the top of the Gravelly Range this afternoon. And, with further luck, HAS BEEN might even be waiting for us at the gate outside of the Lucky Dog at the end of the trail tonight. I hope he ain’t dead somewhere…

 

Brad gave us some show-and-tell yesterday with his ankle and lower leg – it was kaleidoscopic…. But, he assured us then as he is reminding us this morning, that he’s set and ready to go on the technical two-track out of camp for the twenty miles into Ennis, Montana for breakfast, rather than take a slabside alternate safely down all the way from camp. Nope, he wants the grits and scenery – guts, feathers and all. The way he’s been tracking, there’s absolutely no reason to doubt him. He’s the first guy packed and saddled up, ready to go.

 

We take off in beautiful weather and make our way uphill out of this hollow, toward the turnoff from the Granite Creek forest road onto a two-track that will wind us down off the foothills of the Tobacco Roots to the highway outside of Ennis. It’s a nice set of dirty meanders with a few little ruts here and there, and I have enjoyed riding this section several times before. Skies are blue with a few puffy white clouds adrift on their azure ocean currents and our pacing on the two-track is slow and leisurely – all the vistas get packed in one on top of the other for an hour or two as we amble along.

 

While ambling, I find a single-strand wire with my triple clamps and chest in second gear – that’s never been here before. It’s a good thing I tend to check my speed out of habit at all gate crossings, because I stretched this recently place wire piano-tight across my rally light and front fender – scorching in with the brakes locked at the last second. Couldn’t see the wire until a second before I was into it. Wheewwww….. that almost sucked a chub.

 

Detangled and rolled on through, it’s a fine bit of trail that takes us out of the Tobacco Roots entirely, and with a short jaunt through ranch easements at the bottom of Fisher Creek. With visions of a hot breakfast skillet dancing across my heads-up display, I make the last turns on dirt tracks through the last ranch, and pull up short of the highway and wait for this posse. Everybody is here, all safe and sound – and Brad’s leg is no more angular in shape when he stops here than he has been for the entire ride. Score!

 

I mention to the group that ‘our café’ is just around the mini-mart/gas station corner when we pull into Ennis, and that everybody ought to fuel up there and just meet around the corner on Main Street at the café for breakfast. My plan is to pull up short and wander inside at the US Forest Service Office and make a face-to-face inquiry as to the status of the Eureka Fire that has closed our intended route through the Gravelly’s. This will be fresh and hot information to go off from, and we’ll know whether or not the travel restrictions there are still in place or not.

 

I stop. Ron stops. The LOF5 posse stops at the refueling depot. We do indeed gather back up at the café, and I get my skillet!

 

Over coffee, TOURMEISTER asks me about our route for the rest of the day and I tell him that we’re all a “GO” on the ridge ride down the crest of the Gravelly Range, as originally intended. The Forest Service office advises no more restrictions. He also asks me about the GPS route that he has from me, and about whether or not it is accurate. Realizing his frustration with my GPS work and the editing that I felt I needed to do and the way that I chose to do that this past summer, my only reply is “…I’m not sure what route you have on board, so the best thing to do is just stick with the group for the afternoon, and there won’t be any question about it. Besides, with any incoming weather like CAL is saying is a possibility from his channel report on his smart phone, it’s going to be a good idea to stick together and move quickly across the top anyway….”

 

Scott says he’s “got it” and minutes later, we’re all saddled back up and on our way.

 

This is the last leg of our journey together as a group – we should arrive back at the Lucky Dog Cabin and the end of the Rally per se – this afternoon some time, give or take an hour or so here and there. The Gravelly’s are a picturesque mountain range; small in footprint by the square miles relative to many other ranges, but prettier than many others as well. The dirt roads that scatter along the length and breadth of these mountains give good access to some stunning views, especially from the ridgecrest route along the Gravelly Range Road. This is the route I had planned and had been hoping to get access to after the recent Eureka Fire put an inferno right across the path and a travel restriction replaced my hope for coursing along that particular line.

 

Thankfully, the weather contributed greatly to the heroic efforts of our wildland firefighting crews and the fire was substantially suppressed, under control, and the travel restrictions have been lifted. Joy for our eyeballs! We’ll get the full views coming back down toward the cabin to a final night in Island Park before everyone starts to disperse and go our separate ways. It will be a great end of the trail, if we don’t have bad weather. The Gravelly’s, although small, can produce some absolutely wicked, wicked weather.

 

When Cal and I rode together for the first time in 2010, we were with a few other guys on the inaugural Adventure Rider Montana 1000, and we came across the crest of the Gravelly Range together then. We attempted to cross them from north to south at that time, I should say. We never made it. The severe super-cell that roared through right over top of us wanted to slay each and every one of us, and we all smelled ozone several times from the nearness of all the deafening, bright and really scary lightning strikes that were landing all around us. We struggled for emergency shelter up there for an hour before finally retreating altogether and high-tailing it off the crest and making a detour from the Montana 1000 and hiding out back at the Lucky Dog Cabin. It was a good call too, that was a wicked storm. It continued to roll through and when it crossed the Teton Range near where I live, it actually took the lives of climbers on routes of the Grand Teton, from lightning.

 

Lightning, among many other things weather and circumstance related, is not to be trifled with.

 

As the bacon skillet with rye toast begins its journey south from my mouth, I stuff a substantially helmet-haired head back into my Arai, and strike a match under Casper’s cylinder head. About one minute later, and around the corner, our turn from the pavement comes into view, and….

 

“What, ho? A stoppage?”

 

The group has stopped in a pile on the side of the road, and a small crowd has already begun to gather around my friend Keith – a gang stare in progress ogling his Honda. He’s got a flat…

 

Poop stain, I say! Oh well – we’ve all done really well so far on this ride, mechanically speaking and only had one flat so far up in Anaconda, that I can think of. So one more this close to home can’t be that bad. We’ll just fix it! That’s what we’ll do – we ride motorcycles, and we fix flats.

 

I notice though, that we’re missing a guy at head count, and it’s TOURMEISTER. He’s gone around the corner in the other direction on the slab, headed out away from the group at highway speed. A thought bubble appears over my helmet-hair as I rest the Arai on a footpeg, and begin searching the ditches for timber to make a bike stand out of for Keith. Inside the little cartoon bubble it reads, “…this guy has left the reservation, and I’m not chasing after this one.  See ya…”

 

We get to work on Keith’s rear tire, Roger showing us how Texans get things done! Brad and Lanny and everybody is right there as well, and Keith gets that rubber rodeo done with much hands on from our friend Roger. I pretty much stand around and do nothing… which is what I’m good at.

 

TOURMEISTER finds his way back to the group about 15 minutes into the stop, and in time to file back in and rejoin us. That’s a good thing, because before we even get up on top of the Gravelly’s, the weather indicators are showing that clouds are getting more frequent, closer together, getting bigger and moving more quickly. They begin to cast some significant shadows across the farm fields as we remount our bikes and head out, taking the last little bit of silly-slab out of town before hitting our turn onto the Call Road, and up, up and away….

 

We’re lucky to be able to make this connection through a cool scenic corridor, but we’ll need to stay together and move quickly. And we’ll need to defeat any mechanical problems that may come up quickly and keep a pace that will give us some margin for safety. We can’t tarry up there.

 

The ride is beautiful and even though the breeze picks up right away, and the temperature noticeably drops as soon as we start climbing out of the Madison Valley floor, it stays nice and I remain cozy inside my riding duds. When we make it to the ridge crest at the intersection of Call Road and the Gravelly Range Road we make a stop for photos and sips of water, to take in some views. It’s here that it is evident that a weather system is brewing and inbound from the typical direction from the southwest. In fact, as we crest the ridge and continue south, the weather front is visible coming straight at us from less than seventy miles away, give or take. Big nasty clouds with heavy verga are all formed up like a wall of linebackers miles across, and they are approaching us like a distant menace. The front is nearing the western edge of the Centennial Range to the south, and I know two things – it won’t be long before what I see coming actually gets here, and it won’t matter about that so much, because the weather will be forming up right on top of us long before that front actually gets here.

 

I try to impress this notion upon my co-riders, and the need to keep rolling and stay together (staying together keeps navigational SNAFU’s down to a dull roar,) for time’s sake. It goes without saying that being more together rather than spread out will be helpful if anybody needs any kind of help. We keep riding as the wind comes up, and the clouds get bigger, but the air stays clear and the views are awesome!

 

We bust down off the ridge and make our way off the main dirt road and onto a two-track that will definitely challenge the KLR people, and anybody with a sprained ankle or a broken leg. I hope we can get Brad down through this last bit alright, with no further aggravation to his injury – we’re home free after this last bit of two-track! Then, it’s all dirt road around the Red Rock Lakes Wildlife Management Area, and over Red Rock Pass…  Please be careful of these rutted out sections Brad! Easy does it Lanny – this is tricky stuff with heavier bikes, man. “Stay Frosty you guys!” I am thinking to myself as TIREMAN and I bust some dirt together on a magnificent day in Montana. I will miss riding with him, for sure.

 

Val and I pull up and dismount on a bench above the dry lake in the valley below, and watch the lightning fly in the storm front that continues to move our way. The wall of verga is actually hitting the ground (as snow) on the Centennials to the south. We’ll wait here for a bit and get everybody gathered in a pile before heading off the hills.

 

Sure enough, a short while passes and the next riders begin filing into view, then a few more. Everybody makes it into a single herd of LOF’ers and the only casualty we find at this point is another flat rear tire on Keith’s Honda, and a collapsed left footpeg on Ron’s KLR. Everybody else’s bike is still going and every rider still has a pulse – I’m ecstatic! We’ll fix that flat down below, in a few more miles we’ll be off this hill and much safer from the approaching storm to deal with a flat tire, and to continue with a better footpeg repair on WANSFEL’s bike. He has ridden an entirely too nasty technical two-track section with a virtually perished left footpeg – simply amazing. Doesn’t sound that impressive – but if you were here and had to do that, well I don’t know if I could have done it. Well done, Ron… no lie.

 

We make through the last of the ranch lease gates and find our way to the flats on the bottom of the southern toe of the range, and park the fleet. ULYBRAD makes his way to the top or a ditch and insists on helping to hold Keith’s bike while tear the rear wheel off again and give that pesky tube another stab. Roger and Keith go to work with lots of help and get that tube patched and the wheel reinstalled. The weather rumbles in, and the verga is no more – the rain is hitting the ground on top of us. It’s time to take the sandy whoops cutoff and make a dash across the valley, and head south to the north side of the Centennial Range.

 

We make haste on a slippery gravel road in building storm as the lightning begins to strike here and there. A left turn has us blasting a two-track across the valley, and my thoughts are on a warm cabin for the guys, and a hot meal. Maybe a hot shower too! Perhaps we’ll find HAS BEEN at the cabin as well. We should have this thing licked in about an hour or so…

 

The Flat Tire Gods must still be appeased, however, and there’s one more flat in store for Keith’s rear wheel. The pit stop got it pumped back up with another patch, and a handful of monster Zip Ties for good measure thrown in to serve as makeshift rimlocks, but to no avail. She de-puffed en route along the base of the Centennial Range on the way toward Red Rock Pass, and while a few of us made it ahead and waited, Team Texas stopped and helped out with yet another rear wheel removal under the gloom and doom of a serious rainfall. They got it done, and this time found a second finishing nail stuck in the tire that was causing repeated punctures.

 

Poor, poor tube. Pin-cushioned, but repaired, it soldiers on…

 

Lanny pulls up on the summit of Red Rock Pass while we’re waiting for Keith and Team Texas, and he says his goodbyes in order to travel on while the going is still possible, and wants to make it home to Teton Valley before dark. His smile and handshakes are telling the tale – he’s had a great ride and wants to do another…

 

“Adios, my friend – see ya soon. Travel safe!” He’s off like a bad check, and it’s me, Val and Ron waiting for Keith, Roger, Brad and Scott for a short bit.

 

Team Texas and Keith show up with a nice puffy rear tire, and so we take off for the final ride down from the pass, and make an easy, soggy Montana exit into Island Park, Idaho. The cabin is only a half-hour away.

 

We make the cabin with no fanfare, and find HAS BEEN’s KTM parked at the cabin gate. He’s made it there on his own, facing down any and all navigation challenges and making good on Val’s deadpan days before – “… he’ll be there.” He is!

 

Food, fuel, showers and beer. A sit-down at the bar. A ride in the can.

 

We demobilize on the morrow…

 

Stovey

 

 

 

 

Day 7     Lucky Dog – Victor                                           94.0 mi
 

Garmin page 4

 

Trip odometer                                   1060 miles

Max Speed                                         90.3 mph

Moving Time                                      26 hrs 25 min

Moving avg                                         40.1 mph

Stopped Time                                    24 hrs 18 min

Overall Avg                                         20.9 mph

 

                Lof 5 Day 1          Mike Harris – Lucky Dog                              184 mi               

                Lof 5 Day 2          Lucky Dog – Reservoir Lake                         183 mi             

                Lof 5 Day 3          Reservoir Lake - Skalkaho                            180 mi               

                Lof 5 Day 4          Skalkaho - Delmoe                                       156 mi               

                Lof5  Day 5         Delmoe – Tobacco Root                                104 mi

               Lof 5 Day 6           Tobacco Root – Lucky Dog                          184 mi               

                Lof 5 Day 7          Lucky Dog – Victor                                        94.0 mi