Idaho Backcountry Discovery Route Revealed

The greatly anticipated 5th Backcountry Discovery Route was unveiled before a sold out auditorium in Boise last evening. The movie ran for about 90 minutes and was a big hit, based on the reaction of the 350 in attendance. People laughed in some places, cheered in others, and groaned when a couple of the riders went down. Along with DVDs of the new movie, the new Idaho BDR maps were for sale in the lobby. Those who waited to get them after the show were disappointed as both quickly sold out.

In a nutshell, the trail begins in Nevada just across the Idaho line and runs up through the Gem State before turning east into Montana on the Magruder corridor. The route then swings back into Idaho and north to finish at the Canadian border. The route runs over mountains, across rivers and through some of Idaho's most remote and beautiful back country. Anyone riding this route will not be disappointed by the scenery or the challenge of completing the ride.

After the movie, BDR riders Paul Guilliem from Touratech and Justin Bradshaw from Butler maps were on hand for a Q&A session. Someone asked why the Idaho route is repeatedly mentioned as the "least technical" of all the BDRs. Paul Guilliem explained the less technical aspect will allow more riders to participate in the BDR experience. I asked what suspension or other modifications were done to the bikes. The short answer was "none" these were stock BWMs and KTMs on the route. Honestly, I had not expected that answer since the bikes were fully loaded with panniers and soft luggage on some rough and rocky roads.

The final event for the evening was a drawing for a bunch of cool door prizes. As the table full of t-shirts, caps, and other freebies dwindled, I was stunned to hear my number called. I was stunned because I have never, ever, won a drawing of any sort. That changed tonight and I brought home an autographed copy of Into the Horizon by Lance Gines, who was on hand to present the book. Cool. Looks like I will be doing a book review sometime soon.

The IDBDR movie exceeded all of my expectations for the BDR series by once again showing great off road riding on a fantastic route. This BDR also highlights some Idaho history as well as many of the people and places worth visiting along the way. While no KLRs made the trip, our bike can handle the mountains, gravel switchbacks, and other challenges as well as the bigger, heavier, adventure bikes that appear in the movie.

The New Backcountry Discovery Route

The latest installment of the terrific Backcountry Discovery Route series will add Idaho to the growing list of BDR states. The Idaho BDR will premiere February 4 in Boise. The BDR series has already charted off-road, adventure routes across Arizona, Utah, and Washington with several additional state routes in development.

The Idaho BDR has been in development for some time and it is exciting news that Idaho will soon be joining the list of BDR ride states. The route will open new challenges for off road and adventure riders in the Gem State region. For now, the only details available on the new route are from the BDR website:

The IDBDR is the fifth route developed by the Backcountry Discovery Routes organization for dual-sport and adventure motorcycle travel.  The IDBDR is a south-to-north route across the state of Idaho covering over 1,400 miles of mostly non-paved track.  The route begins in the old western town of Jarbidge Nevada and meanders through the west side of the Idaho Rocky Mountains on the way to the Canadian Border at the Idaho Panhandle. Two stunning and historic backroads are part of the IDBDR - the Magruder Corridor and the Lolo Motorway.  Several small mountain towns in Idaho are visited along the way including Yellow Pine, Burgdorf Hot Springs, Elk City, Avery, Wallace, and Clark Fork.

For more info on the currently available BDR routes and those in development, click here: Backcountry Discovery Routes.

Over the River and Into the Wild

(Click here for Part 1 of this story: Ride to Carter's Ferry Crossing)

I soon found a hand painted plywood sign that read, "To cross, push button for 5 seconds." I pushed the button below the text and slowly counted to five. I released the button, and waited. Did this button do anything? Maybe I should press it again...

Behind me, a gruff male voice called out, "Are you going across?" I turned as a man approached. He strode passed me without waiting for my answer. He headed toward the river and I guessed he was the ferry operator. I said, "Yes, I want to go across, explore a little and take some pictures."

He turned toward me and in a very surly tone said, "I don't care what you do over there." Then he dropped the cargo net that allowed entry to his "boat" and motioned me to ride on to the platform. I did so, but was a little taken aback by his abrasive tone and behavior. What was up with this guy? 

He fastened the cargo net behind me and busied himself in a little shack to the side of the platform. I parked my bike and got off to start taking pictures. This was my first ferry trip and I had looked forward to it. An engine started and the ferry slowly pulled out into the river.

I moved to the rail with my camera and the Operator loudly barked at me, "You are supposed to stay in your vehicle!" Maybe he wanted to ensure I heard him over the engine, but I suspected he wanted to assert his authority as the "Captain" of this floating platform. I apologized and started to get on the bike. Then he said, "It's all right, don't worry about it." Then why make an issue of it, Captain Ahab?

The shore slowly receded and the Captain paced the deck. He gave my bike a thorough inspection and paused at the license plate, "You come all the way from North Dakota?"

This was my chance to crack his grouchy exterior. I replied that I was indeed, from North Dakota and had ridden to Butte for Evel Knievel Days, then pressed on to this ferry crossing. His silence and sour look told me that he not impressed.

I quickly changed the subject, "What's on the other side of the river?"

"Nothing," he answered gruffly, "the same thing that's on this side. In 18 years I was over there once and never went back."

My map showed a twisted gravel road over there. The road eventually connected to a state highway. I asked, "How far to the highway from the other side of the river?"

He thought a moment and answered, "Twenty miles, maybe a little more." He looked at my bike then added, "A four wheel drive truck can do it, you can make it on that." He paused and then continued, "I used to have a bike like this, but it was smaller - back in the 70's." I waited for him to continue, but he turned, walked to the rail and stared out at the river as if I wasn't there. I guessed that he was not a "people person."

The far shore neared and soon the exit ramp gently ground against the sand and gravel river bank. I was on my bike and ready to depart when the Captain called loudly, "If want to come back, push the button again." I nodded, he dropped the cargo net and I rode on to dry land.

A short distance up the shore was another hand painted plywood sign with a push button in the center. I rolled by, anxious to see what lay on this side of the river. Ahead, was at least 20 miles of unknown road before I reached civilization again.

But, it was soon clear the Captain was correct, there was nothing on this side of the river. More rugged, empty land with a few abandoned shacks and dilapidated  houses. I admired those hardy souls who settled here (100 years ago?) in almost complete isolation. Could I have made it, living out here in those days?

In many places the road became more of a trail. The ruts, washouts, and loose gravel provided a great ride. The road easily made up for any disappointment that lingered over the less-than-expected ferry boat and its crotchety captain.

This was a memorable ride without a safety net - no cell service, no quick and easy rescue if something went wrong.  It was just me, the bike, and a road to overcome. It felt real, and I loved every minute of it.

It's probably not the safest way to ride, but if safety was our main concern, we would not ride at all. 

Carter's Ferry Crossing Montana

You can't see it from here, but the Missouri River flows through west central Montana in the hazy distance. Remove the power poles and barbed wire fences and it's easy to imagine a herd of buffalo out there. This wide open country is near the small town of Carter's Ferry, about 25 miles north of Great Falls. This morning I packed up camp and headed for Carter's Ferry Crossing where the Montana DOT operates one of several ferry boats on the Missouri River.

Five miles of rough gravel road led down to the ferry crossing. My bike was loaded down like a pack animal and when I saw the sorry condition of that road, I paused to reconsider going down to the river. But, I had not came this far to turn back now. I throttled ahead and stood on the pegs as the KLR rolled off the pavement and plowed into the loose gravel that led to the ferry crossing.  

It was soon clear that my apprehensions about the heavily loaded KLR on this road were needless. Despite the heavy load and stock suspension, the bike handled the ruts, pot holes, and loose gravel without any problems. As I rolled onward, my trust in the bike was rewarded with some awesome views of the Missouri River valley.

This was a desolate area with no other people or vehicles in sight and even more disturbing, no cell phone service. I was totally alone and noticed how quiet it was when I stopped for some pictures. The only sound was the tall prairie grass rustled by the breeze. Somewhere in the distance a few crows called to one another. I confess it felt a bit strange and a little lonely. 

While taking some pictures the thought occurred to me, if this bike does not start, I will have a long walk to find help. I decided it was best not to dwell on that thought. So, I made up my mind to just enjoy the moment and the adventure of  "the road less traveled."  

The quiet and the view along the river was fantastic, but I was looking forward to the river crossing. I guided the bike back on to the gravel road and soon reached the Missouri River without any difficulty. But, what I found at the ferry crossing was both more and less, than what I had expected.

In front of me, the wide Missouri River flowed quietly from the west down toward St. Louis. Its calm surface was as smooth and reflective as a mirror. Across the river, the rugged hills and bluffs were a beautiful sight and despite the gloomy, dark, and cloudy sky, I had avoided any rain so far. Things were going just as I had planned - almost.

For some reason I had expected to find other people waiting to cross the river. But, aside from a couple of distant fishermen downstream, there was nobody else around. Also, the ferry "boat" I had expected to be waiting here was more of a floating platform. This platform was attached to a steel cable that was stretched across the river. I don't know why, but for some reason I had expected more.

Regardless, I was glad to have reached my destination, and pleased with my bike. After many miles of highway riding, the KLR had easily handled the ugly gravel road that led me here. Now, the next step was to find whoever was in charge of running the ferry and see about a ride across the river.

To be continued in my next post...

Near Death Experience on the Road in Montana

On the road to Evel Knievel Days in Butte, Montana, I was a few miles outside of Glendive, Montana racing west on Interstate 94, trying to outrun a thunderstorm coming from the north. A cold, gusty, wind pushed from the right, but the bike handled it just fine. Riding with one eye of the clouds, I saw the storm had changed direction and moved out ahead me as I rode on.

Suddenly, a sharp wind gust pushed me into the left lane. No traffic was around and I simply steered back to the right side of the road. A few seconds later a "sledgehammer" wind gust slammed me from the right and the bike swerved sharply to the left. There was no correcting this time, I was being blown off the road. What happened next seemed to be in slow motion.

The bike leaned sharply toward the wind and I knew it would dump on the loose gravel shoulder. To avoid this, I steered sharply to the left, straightened up the bike and rode it off the pavement. I rolled off the throttle, but plunged into the grassy median at over 60mph. As the front wheel dropped off the pavement I had two very clear thoughts. The first was "This is it, I'm going to die right here."  Then, as I plowed down into the deep grass between the east and west lanes of the interstate, I thought, "Dump it here."

But, instead of dumping, I hit the brakes. The back wheel locked and fish tailed slightly, but was very controlled. I was also on the front brake, but did not want to lock that wheel. As I crossed the median, my eyes were glued on two semi trucks barreling side-by-side toward me on the east side of the interstate. They were gonna smear me all over the road. I was about to die and calmly thought, "I hope this doesn't hurt."

Suddenly, the front tire slammed into the raised edge of the east side pavement and the bike jolted to a stop. Two seconds later the trucks blasted past me. The nearest truck was less than 5 feet from me. I had both feet down, the bike was upright, and I was still alive. All at ounce, my heart felt like it would pound out of my chest and I was breathing very hard. I slowly released the front brake and turned the key off. I don't know how long I sat there waiting to calm down, but several cars passed before I turned the bike around, restarted it and rode back on to the west bound side of the interstate. I needed to move before the worst of the storm hit.

An overpass was about a quarter mile further down the insterstate and I slowly nursed the KLR under it and off of the highway. Just beyond my shelter, white flower petals were blowing across the road. Then I realized the flower petals were actually hail blowing sideways in the wind. I killed the bike and sat next to a support pillar under the bridge to avoid the blasting wind, rain, and hail.

An hour passed before the storm blew over and I was ready to ride again. Maybe I was in shock from my close call, but the remaining ride to Miles City seems like a dream. I rode slowly with no other traffic around and it was nearly dark when I reached town.

In McDonalds parking lot, an older man approached from the restaurant patio and stuck out his hand, "I am a Gold Wing rider," he said as an introduction, "you're getting in late, aren't you?" I shook his hand and told him about my close call. "You are lucky to be here telling about it." he said. I agreed.

He (I never got his name) told me another severe thunderstorm with high winds and large hail was expected to hit Miles City very shortly - not what I wanted to hear, I planned to tent camp that night. Instead, I checked into the Econolodge and found shelter for the bike before the powerful thunderstorm slammed Miles City with strong winds, pouring rain, and pea sized hail. By 1am the night sky was clear and I was ready for some sleep. This had been a memorable first day on the road. Tomorrow I would head on to Butte.  

Evel Knievel Ride Day 1: Storms Ahead

Evel Knievel was my boyhood hero and like many other boys growing up in the 1970's I jumped my bicycle from many plywood ramps. So, when Evel's hometown of Butte, Montana held their annual celebration of her favorite son, I had to go.

I packed my cameras, camping gear, and a few clothes on the KLR and hit the road. On the first day's ride I planned to reach Miles City, Montana and camp there for the night. The following day I would finish the run into Butte where Evel Knievel Days would be in progress. I picked up Interstate 94 as it crosses North Dakota and made my first stop at New Salem, ND.

The small town of New Salem is home to New Salem Sue, the world's largest Holstein cow. The giant fiberglass attraction sets high on a butte just outside of town and is visible for several miles in all directions. 

The KLR handled great as I climbed the steep, rutted, gavel road that led to the parking lot below New Salem Sue. The giant Holstein was impressive and as a bonus, the hill provided a sweeping view of the wide, green, North Dakota country side.

Before getting back on the road, I stopped for gas and met a couple from Minneapolis. Jim and Judy were going home after a bike rally in Salem, Oregon. On their way to the rally, Jim rode his BWM R1200 while Judy followed in the car. The BMW broke down in Miles City, Montana and the closest BMW shop was in Minneapolis or Sturgis. Either of these was a long way in the wrong direction. So, they stored the bike in Miles City and drove to the rally. Now, they were going home with the BMW in a U-Haul van. While Jim washed the windows of the rental truck, Judy told me, "He is really pissed and swears he is going back to Japanese bikes." I asked if he was serious and she replied, "I don't know, he is just mad about putting $91 of gas in that U-Haul van." I could certainly understand that. We wished each other safe journeys and I continued west.

A few miles from the Montana state line I stopped at the Painted Canyon Vistor's Center of Theodore Roosevelt National Park. This is a popular stop along Interstate 94 with a fantastic view of the North Dakota badlands that form a portion of the national park.

At the visitor center, a young couple in a pickup truck with Minnesota plates parked next to me. The woman got out and took off with her camera. The man stood in a nearby grassy area with a small, fluffy, white dog on a pink leash. He did not look happy as he aimlessly wandered with the dog and he kept stealing quick glances toward where I stood next to the KLR. 

Finally, he led the dog toward me and asked, "Where you headed?" 

I replied, "Miles City today and Butte tomorrow."

He nodded and said, "That's the way to travel - alone. Only need to stop for two reasons." 

I laughed and replied, "Gas and bathrooms." 

He smiled, nodded again and wandered off with the dog. The poor guy was still wandering around with the dog when I fired up my bike and rolled out of the parking lot and back onto I-94.

Entering Montana was a milestone since I had never ridden in this state. My next stop would be Makoshika State Park near Glendive, Montana. But, a few miles outside of Glendive, a line of dark, ragged, clouds appeared in the northwestern sky. Soon, the wind picked up and I could feel it pushing the bike. Down the road ahead were dark streaks of rain with lightening bolts shooting from those clouds. The storm was a few miles ahead and to my right, but was quickly moving across my path. It appeared the storm would reach Glendive before before me and I was not looking forward to riding in the rain.

Dark storm clouds filled the sky as I rolled into Glendive, Montana just ahead of the storm. I wanted to keep riding, but pulled off the interstate for gas and a weather update. The Cenex station attendant assured me the storm was moving southeast and only the edge of it would hit Glendive. Most of the storm was already behind me and he thought I could reach Miles City without any trouble from the weather.

Back outside, thunder, lightening, and rain were rapidly approaching. The storm would be here soon. Should I stay and wait out the storm or push on to Miles City? The edge of the storm was clearly visible a few miles to the west. Beyond that, the sky was clear. I guessed that I could easily outrun the storm on the interstate.

As thunder and lighting closed in on Glendive, I decided skip Makoshika State Park and finish my run to Miles City. Missing the park was a disappointment, but could stop here on my return trip. I fired up the KLR and accelerated down the I-94 on-ramp toward Miles City. At the time I didn't know this was a bad decision and a few minutes later it almost killed me.

To be continued... 

Ride Through the Woods and Around the Lake

This wraps up my three part post on our yurt camping weekend. Along with camping and wildlife photography, there was great off road riding.  

Tearing down tree lined gravel and scanning for an unexpected deer, or more than one, to dart across my path.

This deer was watching for a KLR to dart across his path!

The forest was still brown in the first week of May. The flat, dead grass helped me avoid large rocks and holes that were off the beaten path. 

Despite the lack of green in the woods, it was a warm and beautiful day riding around the lake and Sally was awesome in mud, gravel, and sand. 

  

The yurt camping weekend was great. But, all good things must end and I am looking forward to the next outing and great riding, Click these links if you missed: Part 1: Camping Weekend at the Yurt and Part 2: Where the Wild Things Are.

Bonnie and Clyde Ride For Sale

The holidays are over, the new year has arrived, and it's time to get back to serious blogging and planning for the 2013 riding season. But first, here is a look back at some pictures from September 2012.

This vintage car that I immediately named, "the Bonnie and Clyde ride," sat in a gravel parking lot along the road. A "For Sale" sign leaned against its rusted bumper and I had to stop and take a look. 

I am not a vintage car enthusiast, but with no glass, the missing floor and wooden door panels that were probably lunch for termites, I wondered how you decide on a fair price for a "car" like this one.

I appreciate the history these cars represent. but I could not decide if this was a potential job for Rick on American Restoration, or a pile of scrap metal waiting to be melted down.

 

A few weeks later I was in the area again and checked for the car, but it was gone. I circled the gravel lot to be sure the car had not simply been moved, but it was really gone. I turned back onto the highway and rode away thinking how one person's trash is another person's treasure. 

Random Pictures From the Road

I take many pictures during my rides and the best are posted here. But, many others are left collecting dust in some forgotten folder on my hard drive. These are subjects I found photo-worthy at a particular moment. With that in mind, here a few of these random pictures from the road:

As an Air Force veteran I have an affinity for vintage military aircraft. This 1960's era T-33 is a common fixture in parks across the country. Three of them are within an hour's ride of me and I have seen them in many other states. It's not a particularly sexy aircraft, but the T-33 was a solid part of our nation's Cold War defense and is still flying for some South American nations.

Abandoned homes are fascinating because under the rotting floor boards you may find a rusty metal box full of old $1000 bills. They are also creepy because you know they are haunted as well as home to a rabid skunk or a serial killer waiting for the next victim to wonder through the door. Either way, best to keep a safe distance and take a picture!

These are the "Wide Open Spaces" the Dixie Chicks used to sing about. I liked this scene, but the barbed wire fence post needed some dressing up. That is the "Punisher" logo on my hat, not one of those aliens that crashed at Roswell, New Mexico.

This was along the Sheyenne River from a ride back in August. This isolated and peaceful spot was at the end of a rough and rutted dirt trail. It was fun to imagine being the first person to discover this place, but a fisherman had left some trash on the river bank. I hate that! When I left, I took the trash with me.

You never feel more alive than when you realize you have gotten way too close to a monster buffalo! I am amazed at how people line up to see and to show their kids these great animals. I believe many people view buffalo as a living connection to the Old West. I can relate to that.