There are several hairpins just west of the 1.1‑mile Zion‑Mt. Carmel Tunnel, which separates distinctly different parts of Zion National Park in southern Utah.
Living at 6,000 feet in Cedar City, Utah, most of my winter riding involves heading south, which offers a quick drop in elevation and less chance of the falling white stuff. So that’s what I did a week before Christmas, giving myself a gift of a one‑day ride through some southern Utah and Arizona history.
The day promised unseasonably warm temperatures…eventually. Just after the sun peeked over the mountains, the ambient temperature was in the upper 20s, but doing 80 mph on the interstate meant I was closer to single digits. Thankfully, the BMW R 1600 GTL Grand America I was riding offers great wind protection, and with my California Heat heated apparel (see California Heat gear review here), I didn’t need to use the bike’s seat or grip warmers.
Utah is one of the few states where even interstate riding offers great views. Descending the Black Ridge south of Cedar City, the mountain terrain changes from gray and sage green and reveals distant red rock mesas. Exiting Interstate 15, I took State Route 17 to Hurricane and connected with State Route 59.
After a quick climb out of Hurricane, SR‑59 flattens out and heads south. Just a few miles outside of town, jagged peaks painted in rust, deeper reds, and oranges rise in the distance. Much of this area is managed by the Bureau of Land Management, and numerous dirt roads meander from the highway.
If you keep your eyes open on the east side of Zion National Park, you’re likely to see a mountain goat…and much less tourist traffic. Plus, the curvy road is open to motorcycles all year.
Within an hour, the temperature had risen nearly 20 degrees as I rolled into the small twin cities of Hildale, Utah, and Colorado City, Arizona, an area locally known as Short Creek. Much has already been written about this area that is both the last U.S. stronghold of the FLDS church (read: polygamists) and the non‑FLDS members struggling against that stigma, so I’ll just say they have a beautiful place to live.
Continuing on, the road isn’t especially exciting, but the scenery remains impressive. Crossing into the Kaibab Indian Reservation, the road heads east, paralleling red cliffs to the north. To the south, on a clear day, you can see as far as 60 miles into the Arizona Strip – a wedge of that state between the north side of the Grand Canyon and the Utah border – without any signs of humanity. The desolation makes it easy to imagine life a couple centuries ago. However, not far onto the reservation is a sign for Pipe Spring National Monument, an oasis in the desert where Mormon pioneers erected a fort in 1872 for protection against some of the very people whose land they had settled on. Located a half mile off the highway, the museum and fort are worth a visit.
The fort at Pipe Spring National Monument was built as both a ranch house and protection for settlers during the Black Hawk War. It later served as a refuge for polygamist wives.
Farther east, I picked up U.S. Route 89 in Fredonia, and 7 miles later, I rode into Kanab, Utah, known as “Little Hollywood” for its filmmaking history, particularly old Westerns. My family likes to come here in February for the annual Balloons & Tunes Roundup hot air balloon festival. The historic Parry Lodge is a fun place to stay, and there’s a good mix of dining options.
Outside of town, the road cuts into the red rock, climbing and then dropping again into Mt. Carmel Junction, with the landscape colors changing from red to white to yellow.
The only thing missing from this photo taken in Kanab, Utah, (aka “Little Hollywood”) is a locomotive.
Taking State Route 9, this diversity of landscape continues with almost every twist and turn, both in tones and textures, leading to the east entrance of Zion National Park. For most of the year, you can only get up the road into Zion’s main canyon via shuttle, but as spectacular as the towering cliffs in the main canyon are, I much prefer riding on the east side, which is always open. It’s like an alien landscape, and with the slower speeds, you get to enjoy both the views and the numerous curves.
The Zion Canyon Scenic Drive is closed to personal vehicles most of the year.
On the west side of Zion is Springdale, a typical national park gateway community with lots of lodging and dining options (depending on the season), as well as art galleries and novelty shops. Just a few miles past Springdale is Rockville, where you can detour on Bridge Road to cross over the Virgin River on the last surviving Parker‑through‑truss bridge in Utah. Continuing 3.5 miles on this road, which turns to dirt about halfway, takes you to Grafton Ghost Town, where parts of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid were filmed.
The Rockville Bridge is listed on the National Register of Historic Places. Built in 1924, it enabled the first direct link from the Grand Canyon North Rim to Zion National Park.
Staying on SR‑9, it’s about 16 miles from Rockville to close the loop at SR‑17 in La Verkin, where I made my way north and back home. Like the places I’ve ridden through, this Favorite Ride is now in the history books.
C. Jane Taylor’s moto memoir Spirit Traffic was published in 2022. That summer, she and her husband embarked on a 97‑day cross‑country book tour on their BMW F 650s. She said her book tour was characterized by deeply rewarding and completely exhausting work. It also featured great roads. During her vacation from what some might already consider a vacation, she enjoyed many memorable rides. The leg from Gunnison, Colorado, to Hovenweep National Monument in Utah was a favorite. –Ed.
My husband, John, and I rode for 97 days – from Maine to California and back to Vermont – on a national book tour in the summer of 2022. We snapped this selfie at 10,856-foot Wolf Creek Pass in Colorado.
West of Gunnison, Colorodo, U.S. Route 50 was closed. We’d seen signs about the closure for at least 100 miles. Those signs were for other people, right? We’d planned to stay on the famous Colorado byway through the Grand Mesa, Uncompahgre and Gunnison National Forests as long as we could. But as we approached Gunnison, our shoulders slumped with the reality that the signs were for us. We’d have to rethink our whole route. And the weather was starting to look iffy.
At the Gunnison County Chamber of Commerce, a note taped to the door underscored the closure. We went inside, paper roadmap in hand. At the desk, the clerk proffered her own map, opening it in front of us. She and John pored over it like kids seeking clues to lost treasure.
She confirmed that U.S. 50 was closed and suggested State Route 149 instead. It had less traffic and was more beautiful, she assured us. We compared her map to the Butler map for the region. (Butler Motorcycle Maps highlight the best roads, rating them on twisties, traffic, road surface, etc.) SR‑149 was G1 (gold), Butler’s highest rating – perfect!
After filling our water bottles, we headed to the gas station. SR‑149 is quite rural, so we wanted to be prepared. As John filled our tanks and I surveyed the darkening skies, a bolt of lightning ripped through the clouds. Thunder crackled. A guy next to us gassing up his pickup was watching too.
“Hope you’re not going that way,” he said, nodding toward the storm.
“Not anymore,” I said.
We paid for our gas as the storm clouds gathered closer and closer. Thunder rumbled, and lightning struck from cloud to ground in the near distance. We sped back to the park next to the Chamber and ran for the cover of a gazebo. Just as we stepped under, buckets of rain dumped from the sky, and lightning dashed all around us. The thunder was so loud that we ducked our heads each time it clapped.
John snaps another selfie on SR-149 along the Lake Fork River. As two cross-country-and-back trips have taught us, body temperature management in variable conditions demands a good rainsuit – and a good attitude.
Celebrating our excellent timing, we stretched out to nap on top of the picnic tables just as two vans arrived and disgorged two dozen kids. It was the local mountain‑biking camp escaping the weather. We were instantly surrounded by kids eating popsicles and playing a raucous game of tag. Now each thunderclap was accompanied by the ear‑piercing screams of prepubescent mountain bikers. One of the camp counselors checked in on our welfare, asked about the bikes, and offered popsicles, which we accepted.
The lightning eventually abated, though the rain drizzled on. The camp counselors packed their charges and drove away. We wrestled into rainsuits and got back on the road.
SR‑149 was as wonderful as described: a narrow, almost abandoned two‑lane road snaking seductively through the San Juan Mountains and the Rio Grande National Forest. The weather was cold and drizzling, but the road was curvy, and the air smelled like earth and springtime in New England. We were in motorcycle heaven.
Ten miles down the road, oncoming cars flashed their headlights, gesturing to slow down. Thinking they were trying to warn us about a cop, I laughed. It had taken me five years to get up to the speed limit. We continued with caution until a mudslide stopped us in our tracks. If we hadn’t been wearing helmets, we would have scratched our heads in a “Now what?” gesture. Like U.S. 50, it seemed SR‑149 would soon be closed too, but we gingerly traversed the shallow edge of the slide at the far‑left side of the road. Alert to the changes in road surface and rambunctious streams in the gullies flanking the road, we pushed forward like children anticipating candy at Halloween.
SR-149 near Powderhorn, Colorado.
Instead of candy, we sought groceries as we rolled into Lake City and its tiny country store whose proprietors seemed to be a badly mismatched couple. The woman in long braids glared at us as if we’d tracked mud onto her freshly mopped floor, while the man – handsome in a Willie Nelson kind of way, if Willie Nelson could be considered handsome – happily greeted us, teasing about our florescent green rainsuits. “We are not men, we are Devo,” he joked in a robotic voice referencing the ’70s New Wave band famous for their quirky spaceman costumes. We bought vegetables, tortillas, and cheese for quesadillas we would cook once we found a campsite for the night.
Lake City is an eye‑blink of an old mining town with the down‑at‑heel aspect of a climate-change ski resort in shoulder season. The cold, damp weather did not bring any charm to the Grizzly Adams cabins lining the road.
I attributed the town’s creepiness to its horror‑movie sepia tones and bad weather, but I later learned that Lake City gained notoriety in 1875 when Alferd Packer, the “Colorado Cannibal,” was charged with killing and eating the prospectors he’d been hired to guide through the San Juan Mountains after the group had become snowbound. In the spring, five bodies with human teeth marks were found at the foot of Slumgullion Pass. Lake City’s Hinsdale County Museum has an extensive collection of Packer memorabilia, including a skull fragment from one of his victims and several buttons from the clothes of the five men he ate. The area where the bodies were discovered is now known as Cannibal Plateau. Odder still, the area hosts an annual Alferd Packer Jeep Tour and Barbecue.
As we approached the peak of Slumgullion Pass near Lake City, Colorado, the rain abated, and the skies cleared.
My unease was supplanted by the fear and exhilaration of climbing out of town along steep, wet switchbacks to Windy Point Observation Site and Slumgullion Pass. As we climbed, I chimed into the headset, “Don’t look right, Johnny.” The narrow two‑lane highway had no guardrail, and the drop-off induced a vertigo that made me tighten my grip on my handlebar and tank. At Windy Point, we stopped to look back at the long narrow valley thousands of feet below us.
Evening was approaching, and we were still in the middle of a sheer climb on our way to North Clear Creek Campground, a destination we were not sure even existed, but the sky finally opened, and the tight switchbacks loosened as we topped 11,530‑foot Slumgullion Pass.
The map we consulted – and re‑consulted – showed the campground within 50 miles. Trying to keep from being swept up in the National Geographic beauty of the broadening landscape, I kept my eyes peeled for a Forest Service campground sign. We were hungry and cold, and it was getting late. We’d passed so little traffic, I was game to pitch the tent at the side of the road, but John persisted.
North Clear Creek Campground in Colorado’s Rio Grande National Forest was our home for the night after an eventful ride.
We finally turned off SR‑149 and crossed a cattle guard onto Forest Road 510, which fell away to vertiginous Class‑IV switchbacks. I groaned but also laughed. It was the “dropping hour.” We have a joke that on extended motorcycle trips, we often face the most challenging miles of the day right before arriving at our destination exhausted and hungry. The road toyed with us. I inched down its sharp gravel turns, determined but cautious given the hour. As I eased down one hill, a young woman on a dirtbike blasted up it. Encouraged that there might be an actual campground ahead and inspired by another woman on a bike, I sped all the way up to 2nd gear!
Pink sunglasses reflect the expansive valley near Creede.
After almost missing the 70‑degree turn into the campground at the bottom of the hill and duck‑walking the bikes back over sandy gravel ruts, we casually rolled into the nearly vacant campground and found a suitable spot with a picnic table, breathtaking panoramic views, and a glorious sunset reflected off the peaks of the Rio Grande National Forest.
The next morning was cold and clear. With visions of coffee and pastries dancing in our helmets, we headed toward Creede, home to an underground mining museum, the Mineral County Landfill, a cemetery, a chapel, and an excellent little food truck/coffee shop that appeared to be set up during the pandemic like a one‑way street, with one entrance and one exit. The pastry case was filled with buttery French confections, the air with the scent of espresso. Bon appétit! We took our pastries to a table outside where we lounged, sipping cappuccinos in the sun.
The population of Creede, Colorado, swells from 300 to 10,000 on July 4th. After a cold, wet, challenging ride the day before, it was an oasis. We found a mobile coffee shop where we enjoyed the company of locals, pain au chocolat, and cappuccinos in the sun.
The road along the Rio Grande – which far downstream serves as the border between Texas and Mexico – was as good as the croissants. At South Fork, we headed south on U.S. Route 160 and climbed to 10,856‑foot Wolf Creek Pass. It was cold at elevation, and we encountered traffic and threatening weather, but the road was smooth, wide, and curvy through Pagosa Springs and Chimney Rock. We lunched in Durango after a torrential downpour trapped us under a busy highway underpass.
U.S. 160 through the mountains near Hesperus Ski Area was fabulous despite the cold and wet. Things got warmer as we descended out of the mountains, and by the time we got to Mancos, we were sweltering in the heat of the desert. We took off as much as we could and poured cold water down the backs of our armored jackets. Body temperature management was a challenge we had improved at over time.
South of Creede, the Rio Grande snakes along SR-149 on the way to South Fork.
In the blazing heat, we headed west on State Route 184 toward Dolores, then north on U.S. Route 491 past Yellow Jacket and into Canyons of the Ancients National Monument, administered by the Bureau of Land Management and inhabited almost solely by spirits. The road narrowed and then narrowed again. There is something gritty and fundamental about these small roads, something secret and unspoken like the second indents of an outline of one’s life or the dark side of the moon.
The heat kept building. As we crossed into Utah, the landscape gave way to a barren, flat emptiness without trees or buildings. We traveled in silent awe, feeling exposed in the heat but excited about the ruins of Hovenweep National Monument.
Our day took us from cold rain and high passes to sweltering heat and desert valleys. The sunset at Hovenweep was a just reward.
Known for six groups of Ancestral Puebloan villages, Hovenweep contains evidence of occupation by hunter‑gatherers from 8,000 B.C. until AD 200. We were finally going to visit the spirits we’d been sensing on this hot road.
We turned into what seemed the middle of nowhere, but John assured me this was the way. I saw only shrubs, grasses, and sage until I glimpsed a sign the size of a sheet of paper with an arrow proving him right: Hovenweep National Monument. We traversed a lunar landscape of sand, craters, dead volcanoes, and lava flows until we happened upon a herd of wild horses in the middle of the road. We stopped to gape. Shy and beautiful, they paused in their grazing to examine us. Though I wanted to join these beasts on a romanticized journey out of a dream, we had to keep moving. Standing still in the late afternoon heat was a torture neither of us wanted to endure – magical, wild horses notwithstanding.
Sunset on the ruins at Hovenweep National Monument in Utah.
Reminiscent of Death Valley with its lethal sun, long straightaways, and distant bluffs, Hovenweep Road also reminded me of the song by America “A Horse with No Name.” I started to understand the line “In the desert, you can’t remember your name.” In the heat and arid sameness of the landscape, time seemed to stop. I could tell we were moving, if only for the visual cue of the scenery receding in my mirror. I became flooded with the eerie sensation of being watched. It felt as if the ghosts of millennia were hovering just above the heat waves upwelling from the macadam.
“Hovenweep” is a Paiute/Ute word meaning “deserted valley.” As we rode into the scorched campground, I sensed that the ancestors were still there. A clan of attentive ravens seemed to be protectors – or just eager to see what food they could liberate from us.
Hovenweep is a special place, and we had the distinct feeling that the ancestors were still there.
After pouring rationed water onto our heads and down our backs, we hiked off to see the ruins, following a faint path between rock walls leading to a dry creek bed. Walking fast to beat the setting sun, we climbed down into the creek bed then up the other side until we saw what looked like a crumbling brick silo. Hovenweep at last! As we gazed in silence at the majestic ruins of a once‑lively community, a rainbow broke through distant storm clouds. Back at our campsite, we cooked dinner in the waning light as a million stars began to wink.
Utah State Route 128 is a scenic byway on the way to Moab, Utah, that winds through a canyon carved by the Colorado River.
Moab, Utah, is an ideal destination for a motorcycle trip. Where else can you find sandstone arches, red‑walled canyons, snow‑capped mountains, scenic byways, two national parks, and a fun, adventure‑ready town? The best time to visit is in the spring or fall because it’s often too hot in the summer and roads can get icy in the winter.
Since I live in Denver, on the other side of the Rockies, part of the fun of visiting Moab is simply getting there. Heading west out of the city, U.S. Route 285 climbs the Front Range before passing through mountain towns like Conifer (8,277 feet), Bailey (7,740 feet), and Fairplay (9,954 feet).
Riding through the Rockies means going over mountain passes, and on the way to Fairplay, you’ll cruise over Kenosha Pass (9,997 feet) and Red Hill Pass (9,993 feet) before descending into a broad valley. Such grand vistas across open range show the true beauty of Colorado. Fairplay is an old mining town named after the notion that all miners should have an equal chance to stake a claim. It’s home to South Park City, an open‑air museum preserving a 19th century mining town, including over 40 original buildings and thousands of artifacts from the boomtown days.
South Park City in Fairplay, Colorado, is an open‑air museum that preserves a 19th century mining town.
Continuing south on U.S. 285, the road becomes U.S. Route 24 at Antero Junction and goes south and then north through Buena Vista (7,925 feet) and Granite (9,012 feet). At Twin Lakes, turning west on State Route 82 takes you across the Continental Divide at Independence Pass (12,095 feet), where the air is thin and always chilly.
The author and his Yamaha V Star 1300 Tourer at the high point of his ride from Denver to Moab.
The long, winding descent to the ski town of Aspen is pure pleasure. SR‑82 ends at Glenwood Springs, and the next 134 westward miles follow a curving section of Interstate 70. If you have the time, I recommend the scenic Rim Rock Drive through the Colorado National Monument among the high cliffs above Grand Junction.
After crossing into Utah, take the first Moab exit for State Route 128, which is a scenic byway that winds through a majestic red rock canyon carved by the Colorado River. Highlights include the stunning Fisher Tower and Castle Rock, a finger‑like spiral to the southwest that’s been seen in many films and commercials.
At milepost 14 on SR‑128 is the Red Cliffs Lodge, built on the old George White Ranch, another location used in many Western films. If you’re a cowboy fan like me, visit the lodge’s Moab Museum of Film and Western Heritage to see production stills, movie posters, autographed scripts, props from movies filmed nearby, and displays about Western heritage. Lunch or dinner at The Cowboy Grill is highly recommended.
View of the Colorado River from the deck at Red Cliffs Lodge, which has dining, lodging, and a museum dedicated to Western films and heritage.
The key attractions in Moab are Arches and Canyonlands national parks. Arches, located just a few miles north of town, is the more popular of the two, and the nearly 20‑mile paved road through the park takes you past a stunning array of sandstone arches, petrified dunes, and red rock formations.
Canyonlands is the largest national park in Utah, and its diversity staggers the imagination. The park is 32 miles from Moab and has 20 miles of paved roads with many pullouts offering spectacular views. The Island in the Sky sits atop a massive 1,500‑foot‑high mesa, and on a clear day you can see over 100 miles in any direction. Sunrise and sunset are particularly beautiful times of day to enjoy these panoramic views of canyon country.
Arches National Park is a wonderland of sandstone arches, pinnacles, and other rock formations. The park gets busy, so it pays to go early.
Scenic State Route 313 leads to both Canyonlands and Dead Horse Point State Park, which offers unforgettable views of deep canyons and cliffs overlooking the Colorado River. I recommend taking time to explore side trails to see different viewpoints in this one‑of‑a‑kind area.
The La Sal Mountain Loop, a 36‑mile scenic road that starts at SR‑128 near Red Cliffs Lodge and goes through Castle Valley, up into the La Sal Mountains, and then back down to Moab near Spanish Valley, is another great local ride.
One of the many awe-inspiring vistas at Dead Horse Point State Park.
Moab is an ideal base camp for lodging, dining, and other adventures such as whitewater rafting, hiking, mountain biking, and off‑road riding and driving (you can rent Jeeps, ATVs, and side‑by‑sides). One of my favorite places to stay is the Red Stone Inn, a rustic but clean and affordable motel with a communal hot tub and picnic area and rooms with a TV, free wi‑fi, and a mini kitchen.
Whether you travel across the Colorado Rockies, through the red‑rock canyons of southern Utah, or take some other route to get there, put Moab on your “must visit” list. I promise you won’t be disappointed.
The subtle, pastel hues of southern Utah’s sedimentary rock formations meld seamlessly with the complementary shades of the asphalt in Zion National Park.
While I waited for my steaming calzone to cool in the pizza restaurant in the tiny town of Orderville, Utah, and contemplated my impending southern Utah motorcycle ride, I studied the giant world map on the wall. A sign encouraged visitors to place a stickpin in the map to indicate their home. The colorful plastic balls that served as pinheads reflected an impressive worldwide span, with a truly remarkable density in most of the United States.
Southern Utah’s Dixie National Forest and the area’s national parks have a magnetic appeal for hundreds of thousands of visitors each year. For me, the promise of incredible scenery and winding roads drew me to the region on my trusty BMW.
After a good night’s sleep in a comfortable and unique forest-themed room at the historic Parkway Motel in Orderville, I geared up and headed toward Zion National Park. I had no plans for dirt forays on this tour, but my big R 1200 GS was the perfect mount for the area just in case. I rolled south through lush farmland until I made the westward turn at Mt. Carmel Junction onto State Route 9.
The midweek traffic was moderately light on what is also known as the Zion-Mt. Carmel Highway. The muted hues and sweeping corners on the first stretch were a nice warm-up and ultimately led to the east entrance of Zion. After stopping to pay the park’s $30 entrance fee (good for one week), I soon rolled into the shadows of striking crimson cliffs and stratified sedimentary rock formations.
Tunnels carved through the sandstone are a unique and entertaining element of a ride through Zion National Park.
The scenery morphed into the striking beauty for which Zion is famous, and the road coiled to follow the natural contours of the park’s stone majesty. After a stop to admire the massive geometrical etchings on Checkerboard Mesa, the curves became increasingly tight and entertaining.
To my delight, I spotted two mountain goats posing atop two rock outcroppings. Thankfully, they held their pose long enough for me to dismount and snap some photos. Just a few miles later, I rolled through a short but impressive tunnel carved into the red sedimentary mountain. This ride was off to a scintillating start.
A mountain goat stands sentinel over stratified rock formations high above State Route 9 in the eastern part of Zion.
Deeper into the national park, the traffic and tourist presence became denser but not so heavy as to spoil the stunning ambiance. I motored beneath sculpturesque rock formations dotted with vibrant evergreen trees. The colors were eye-popping. In stretches, the winding asphalt was crimson-hued like the cliffs, and at other times, it was the more traditional gray. After miles of riding, stopping, and photographing, I came to the Zion-Mt. Carmel Tunnel. After waiting for an oversized RV to be escorted through the tight passageway, it was my turn.
The tunnel, which was carved during the Jazz Age of the 1920s, is over a mile long. However, it’s not the length that was so striking to me. There were intermittent arched “windows” along the span that framed glimpses of the majesty of the mountains though which I was passing. While stopping in the tunnel is prohibited, I moved at a snail’s pace to take in the living art. It was truly impressive.
White Navajo sandstone looks like snow atop the red rocks.
I emerged from the tunnel, flipped down my faceshield, and rolled farther into Zion. In the distance, white-capped mountains rose on the horizon. What I assumed was snow was actually the top layer of white Navajo sandstone on towers like the Great White Throne. I resisted the temptation of wide-eyed sightseeing while navigating the narrow, winding road. Frequent stops gave my kickstand a workout.
The western stretch of the park is much more developed and thus more visited. I motored over the cool waters of the Virgin River and into the community of Springdale, which rests just outside the western entrance of the park. This bustling community sits in stark contrast to the more natural and undeveloped eastern entrance. I have to say, I preferred the latter.
Checkerboard Mesa in Zion National Park.
With Zion National Park in the rearview mirror, I set my sights on a remote stretch of my tour. After a northern turn at St. George, I rolled onto State Route 18. This is a road that often parallels the route of the Old Spanish National Historic Trail through Dixie National Forest. The ride started with more of the red and white Navajo sandstone that graced Zion as I passed by Snow Canyon.
After several miles of the nicely sweeping road, I came upon a somber historical site. The Mountain Meadows Memorial commemorates a massacre that took place in 1857. The four-day series of attacks were carried out by members of the Utah Territorial Militia and targeted the Baker-Fancher emigrant wagon train. About 120 men, women, and children were killed in the tragic territorial dispute.
I rode farther north through the high chaparral terrain until making a westward turn onto State Route 56. This stretch afforded me the space to use the higher gears on the GS and take in the expansive southern Utah views. Finally, signage welcomed me to Cedar City. The “Festival City” would be my highly anticipated stop for the night. After unloading my bags in the El Rey Inn, I had a few slices of margherita pizza and a microbrew at the bustling Centro Woodfired Pizzeria near the campus of Southern Utah University.
Cedar City is a compact and charming Utah town.
The university is home to a world-class theatrical experience, the annual Utah Shakespeare Festival, which runs from June to October. Anytime I can infuse a bit of the Bard into my tours, I do so with enthusiasm. In this case, I had secured a ticket to a preview performance of Macbeth. I settled into my seat at the beautiful outdoor theater and thoroughly enjoyed the spirited performance of “The Scottish Play” in the warm Utah evening air.
From June through October, Cedar City hosts the Utah Shakespeare Festival, which has established itself as one of the premiere Elizabethan experiences in the nation.
The second day of my southern Utah tour would include a serious gain in elevation, so I layered riding shirts under my mesh jacket in preparation for the crisp morning ride. The climb out of Cedar City into the mountains of the Dixie National Forest was rapid and enjoyable. The vibrant mix of conifers beside the winding path of State Route 14 was more reminiscent of a forest in the Pacific Northwest than what one would normally find in the Southwest.
Diversity is the rule of the day in southern Utah. State Route 14 carves a sinuous line through Cedar Canyon east of Cedar City.
I was glad I had put on extra layers. Even in late June, this mountainous area often reveals some lingering snow. I clicked on the heated grips for a spell in the early morning shade of the mountains as the temperatures dropped into the low 40s. Deep in the mountains, I made the northern turn onto State Route 148 and continued my curvaceous climb. (Due to winter closures on this part of the route, this ride is best done in late spring to early fall.)
Located just north of Cedar Breaks National Monument and surrounded by national forest land, the ski area of Brian Head is an alpine region with incredible riding through evergreens and alongside high-country creeks and wetlands.
Just a handful of miles into this stretch, I arrived at the impressive Cedar Breaks National Monument ($10 entrance fee). The Paiutes called the area “Circle of Painted Cliffs,” and the Native name is a perfect description. It is known as a smaller, less touristy version of Bryce Canyon, which is exactly why I opted for it on this tour.
Cedar Breaks National Monument is a geologic amphitheater filled with multicolored hoodoos, spires, and steep cliffs that spans 3 miles across and a half-mile deep.
It is a natural shale, limestone, and sandstone amphitheater with a rim elevation of 10,000 feet. The road follows that rim closely, offering several breathtaking views. After taking in those vistas, my ride out of the monument was flanked by mountains still laced with snow and flowing runoff streams.
Taking in the view at Cedar Breaks National Monument. The vast expanses of southern Utah are best imbibed slowly and completely. This is not an area to rush through.
Just out of the boundary of the national monument, I continued north on State Route 143 and rolled into the ski resort town of Brian Head, which sits at an elevation of nearly 10,000 feet. Some of the forests near the town were ravaged by wildfires in 2017, but the unaffected ski slopes are lush and dense. The entire ride along Route 143 was amazing.
I dropped out of the mountains, and after a short leg on the interstate, I headed southeast on State Route 20. I was fully engulfed in the sweeping corners when I noticed a series of metal sculptures that looked like a mule train in the tall Utah grass. The adjacent historical marker indicated that I was at an intersection of the Old Spanish National Historic Trail. At the end of this stretch, I headed south on U.S. Route 89. I rode through the small town of Panguitch, and then I turned west on Route 143 and rode through the Dixie National Forest for the last leg of my trip.
Human history, as evidenced in a portion of the Old Spanish Trail used by traders in the early 1800s, adds texture to an exploration of the area.
I was back in the serious twisties as I passed Panguitch Lake. The expansive reservoir sits at more than 8,000 feet. Tall trees, meandering creeks, and crisp mountain air were the earmarks of the rest of the ride through the national forest. I detoured south on Mammoth Creek Road, and at Duck Creek Village, I headed east on SR 14, descending out of the mountains to U.S. 89 and back to Orderville.
My southern Utah motorcycle ride did not disappoint. My exploration proved to be an area rich in both natural and human history. The diversity of the ride kept it fresh and entertaining, and the roads were a motorcyclist’s dream.
Utah’s national parks – Arches, Bryce Canyon, Canyonlands, Capitol Reef, and Zion – are known as the Mighty 5. All feature impressive red rock formations, landscapes, and vistas, yet each is unique. In late September, after the worst of the summer heat and crowds, my wife and I toured three Utah National Parks on a motorcycle.
We were coming from California. Younger riders or those with iron butts may choose to endure the entire journey on two wheels, but we prefer burning the hundreds of interstate miles to get there and back in comfort, and we like to bring more for a two-week trip than can fit on a bike. We rented an RV and a trailer, loaded up my BMW R 1200 GS, stocked up on gear, food, beer, and wine, and hit the road from our home in Oxnard.
We “glamped” in RV parks, all of which had wide pull-through spots with plenty of trailer and bike parking. Once parked, we saddled up for scenic day rides. Being on a motorcycle made it easier to cruise through the national parks and slip into smaller parking spaces. At the end of each day, we returned to our campsite for a sundowner by the fire. For this trip, we purchased a National Parks and Federal Recreational Lands Pass for $80, which paid for itself upon entrance to our third park and gave us access to other parks for a full year.
On a perfect 70-degree clear day, we mounted the GS, departed Thousand Lakes RV Park in Torrey, Utah, and rode into Capitol Reef National Park, known for its 100-mile wrinkle in the earth’s crust called the Waterpocket Fold. It was formed as rocks were pushed upward and erosion sliced and diced through the layers, creating deep, narrow canyons and towering monoliths.
Capitol Reef got its name because early settlers thought the Navajo sandstone resembled the U.S. Capitol.
We rode past Panoramic Point down a short washboard dirt road to Goosenecks Overlook. I changed the GS’s suspension setting to Comfort mode and promptly received a “Thanks, Babe” from Nicole via our helmet comms. The view from Goosenecks Overlook of the river below and the slender S-curve it cut into the canyon was splendid.
Continuing into the park, we turned right at the visitor center onto Capitol Reef Scenic Drive, a paved road that turns to dirt after 8 miles at the Capitol Gorge Road picnic area. There is so much to see in all directions that we poked along at about 20 mph. Coming back, we turned onto a bumpy 2-mile dirt road and rode through a couple dry washes to the Cassidy Arch trailhead and Grand Wash. I checked the horizon for storms, as even distant rain could quickly make those washes impassable. The scenery as we approached the trailhead changed dramatically, making the detour a must-do.
Utah National Parks on a Motorcycle: Canyonlands
From Grand View Point in Canyonlands, the Colorado River and Green River canyons look like a giant chicken footprint in the plateau.
Due to a late start from our campsite at the Sun Outdoors Arches Gateway in Moab, we were turned away from Arches because it was at capacity. Even in the “shoulder” season, high-traffic parks like Arches fill up early, so depending on when you go, plan ahead and reserve a timed entry ticket. Even though Canyonlands is only a few miles from Arches, it gets much less traffic, so we headed there instead.
Canyonlands is made up of three districts: Island in the Sky (which we visited), The Needles, and The Maze.
We had to wait to get into Canyonlands too, but Nicole and I passed the time by chatting and digging into our bag of snacks. Following the requisite snapshot at the park entrance sign, we proceeded along the huge flat-topped Island in the Sky Mesa and the 34-mile roundtrip paved road that connects the panoramic viewpoints. These overlooks are 1,000 feet above the surrounding terrain, so the views are spectacular.
Utah National Parks on a Motorcycle: Arches
Double Arch in Arches National Park is a pothole arch formed by erosion from above.
A much earlier start the next day paid off. We began the tour of Arches at The Windows Section, home of Double Arch, the Parade of Elephants formation, North Window, and Turret Arch. We brought shorts and tennis shoes to comfortably walk amongst the sites, as well as a picnic lunch. My favorite was Double Arch, a pothole arch with a span that’s 144 feet wide and 112 feet high formed by water erosion from above rather than more typical erosion from the side.
A brisk 10-minute walk took us to North Window, standing 93 feet wide and 51 feet high, where we stumbled upon a group of local grade-schoolers with canvas and paintbrushes in hand, tapping into their inner artist. “Don’t get too focused on the sky, or you’ll end up with too much blue in your painting,” advised their teacher. We continued on and then enjoyed the solitude and scenery of the Windows Primitive Loop trail.
Arches fills up fast, so get there early.
Back on the bike, other highlights included the Garden of Eden, Balanced Rock, and Wolfe Ranch, which is located at the trailhead that leads to the famous Delicate Arch featured on Utah license plates.
On a cloudy 62-degree morning, we followed U.S. Route 191 south out of Moab and made our way to La Sal Loop Road, a winding paved route that climbs up into the La Sal Mountains. The temperature dropped and it began to rain, but luckily the road turned away from the storm.
Moab serves as a great base for scenic day rides. After visiting Canyonlands and Arches, we climbed out of the valley on La Sal Loop Road, where we enjoyed the fall colors of the aspens.
“Are you warm enough?” I asked Nicole, and when she answered in the affirmative, we pressed on. Just beyond the parking area for Mill Creek, we turned right onto Forest Road 076 toward Oowah Lake. This bumpy, rutted dirt road challenged me with sharp corners, steep climbs, and wandering bovines, but we were rewarded with the fall colors of the aspens.
We took this dirt road of the main La Sal Loop Road in order to get to Oowah Lake.
We continued our counterclockwise ride on La Sal Loop Road. We stopped at La Sal Lookout Point, which provides sweeping views of Castle Valley and red rock formations that look like the inspiration for the old cartoons with the Road Runner and Wile E. Coyote. A steep descent with multiple switchbacks took us down to the warmer air of the valley floor. At State Route 128, we turned left (west) and followed the Colorado River on our way back to Moab.
RV camping allowed us to travel in comfort.
With so much great riding and scenery, we were reluctant to leave, but our allocated vacation time was coming to an end, so we packed up and headed home. Southern Utah is a stunning part of the country that should be on everyone’s must-see, must-ride list.
The MT-10 accessorized for sport-touring. (Photos by Kevin Wing and the author.)
Some rides are more challenging than others. Sometimes we seek out the challenge, and sometimes the challenge finds us. It was a little of both when I found myself stopped on the side of the road, trying to stay upright on a Yamaha MT-10 while being battered by 60-mph winds and sandblasted by a dust storm.
It was Valentine’s Day, and I was headed for Las Vegas to attend the AIMExpo dealer show while a winter storm was sending a freight train of frigid air down from the Sierra Nevada mountains. South of me on Interstate 15 in the Mojave Desert, tractor-trailers were being overturned by the wind. I had avoided that route because I’ve ridden it a million times and find it boring, so I was taking a longer, more scenic ride along part of the Eastern Sierra Scenic Byway (U.S. Route 395) and through Death Valley.
While I expected it to be a cold, windy day – and was warmly cocooned in my Zerofit HeatRub baselayers, Gerbing’s 12V heated jacket liner and gloves, and traffic-cone-orange Aerostich R-3 suit – I didn’t anticipate it would be quite this bad. My arms and neck were sore from leaning into the wind for the past couple of hours, and things went from bad to worse after I filled up in Olancha and turned east on California Route 190 across the Owens Valley. The snowcapped Sierras were partly obscured by dusty haze, and soon I became engulfed in a beige cloud and got blitzed by stinging sand.
This photo doesn’t do the dust storm justice, but the video does. Check it out here or below.
After a few gusts nearly knocked me off the road, I slowed way down and turned on my hazard flashers. At one point, I stopped on the side of the road to get my bearings near the Olancha Dunes OHV area, with my legs splayed like outriggers and my feet planted firmly on the ground. I didn’t dare get off the bike or it would have toppled over, but I managed to dig my phone out of my pocket to capture a video of the blasting sand starting to cover the road and slamming into me and the bike like millions of miniature BBs.
Once you’re in it, you’re in it. You can either wait it out or proceed with caution.
Sport-Touring on the 2023 Yamaha MT-10
In calmer days last fall, I traveled to North Carolina to attend the press launch for the Yamaha MT-10, a naked sportbike based on the YZF-R1 that was updated with engine refinements, R1-sourced electronics, new styling, and revised ergonomics.
Yamaha’s accessory top case comes in three sizes: 30L, 39L (shown), and 50L. It not only provides lockable storage, it also provides a backrest for a passenger. Soft side cases (20L each) are also available.
The MT-10’s suck-squeeze-bang-blow comes courtesy of a 998cc inline-Four with a crossplane crankshaft that produces sound and feel like a V-Four, and its aural symphony is amplified by acoustic sound grilles atop the air intakes on either side of the tank.
At the launch, we rode stock MT-10s in the Cyan Storm colorway, which has a mix of gloss black and gray bodywork with bright blue wheels. One of the Yamaha guys rode a Matte Raven MT-10 fitted with factory accessories: Windscreen ($249.99), GYTR Frame Sliders ($209.99), Comfort Seat ($299.99), Rear Rack/Top Case Mount ($250.99), 39L Top Case ($241.99), and Universal Mount ($24.99). After the launch, Yamaha agreed to let us borrow the accessorized bike for an extended test.
Compact, light, and agile, the MT-10 is like a cat with catnip in the corners.
The first thing we did was take the MT-10 down to Jett Tuning for a dyno run. Measured where the rubber meets the road, the MT-10’s quartet of 249.5cc cylinders chuffed out 138.5 hp at 10,200 rpm and 76.5 lb-ft of torque at 9,000 rpm. Yes, that’ll do nicely.
Then we flogged it around town and up and down the canyon roads that make Southern California such a land of milk and honey for motorcyclists. The balance and smoothness of an inline-Four is always a delight, but the MT-10’s particular blend of herbs and spices is truly mouth-watering. Twist the throttle hard, and the bike leaps forward, emits a joyful noise, and flashes an amber light as the wheelie control keeps the front wheel close to the ground.
Flash forward to my trip in February. The temperatures had been in the 40s all morning, and after making it through the dust storm and climbing out of the Owens Valley, it dropped into the 30s by the time I stopped for a photo in front of the Death Valley National Park sign. It was a Tuesday, and there were few cars on the road – just the way I like it.
A gritted-teeth smile and a powdered MT-10 after the first dust storm.
No matter how many times I visit Death Valley, I never get tired of it. Covering nearly 5,271 square miles, you could fit Rhode Island and Delaware within its borders and still have 1,237 square miles left over. It’s a place of extremes, contrasts, and wonders. And with nearly 1,000 miles of paved and unpaved roads ranging from tame to intense, it’s a two-wheeled playground.
I savored the long, winding descent into Panamint Valley, enjoyed the sweeping curves up to 4,956-foot Towne Pass, and cruised the 17 miles back down to sea level at Stovepipe Wells in Death Valley. After passing Mesquite Dunes, I was engulfed in another dust storm near the Devil’s Cornfield, where clumps of arrowweed resemble corn stalks. Even though wind was battering me, dust was obscuring the wide-open views that make Death Valley such a unique place, and hours of being cold were beginning to take their toll, it felt good to be hundreds of miles away from my desk.
Deep in Death Valley. Nelson-Rigg’s Commuter Tank Bag and Hurricane 2.0 Waterproof Backpack/Tail Pack came in handy.
The windscreen provided more protection than the MT-10’s stock flyscreen but not by much. The comfort seat, however, was a huge improvement over the stock seat. It has a flatter shape, more supportive foam, and a suede-like finish. The top case provides 39 liters of lockable storage, and I used it as a solid anchor point for my Nelson-Rigg Hurricane 2.0 Waterproof Backpack/Tail Pack that sat on the passenger seat. For those who want more storage, Yamaha sells a 50L Top Case ($298.99), Side Case Brackets ($249.99), and MT Soft ABS Side Cases ($484.99).
The MT-10’s stock tinted flyscreen’s height is just above the black mesh screen seen above, so the accessory clear windscreen adds 4-5 inches of height. It send airflow into the top of the chest/shoulder area.
By the time I made it to Las Vegas, the MT-10 no longer looked Matte Raven but a light gray because it was so powdered with dust and grit. In my hotel room, I poured handfuls of sand out of the pockets of my Aerostich suit.
Rolling on the throttle through a smooth corner on the MT-10 delivers a visceral sound and feel.
As I wrote about in First Gear last month, it wasn’t just me at AIMExpo. Our dispersed editorial team also came together in Las Vegas, and we enjoyed a group ride to Hoover Dam and Valley of Fire State Park. In the hotel parking garage after the ride, my colleague Kevin Duke pointed out the center of the MT-10’s rear tire was getting thin on tread. Admittedly, of the 2,000 miles on the bike’s odometer, most of them had been ridden with little to no lean angle, but I figured the tire had enough life left to get me home.
From Vegas, I rode north on I-15 to St. George, Utah, where I spent the weekend with my father and stepmother. Wanting to avoid the interstate for the long ride home, Dad helped me plot out a route west through the sparsely inhabited interior of Nevada.
Sunrise at Snow Canyon just north of St. George, Utah. It stayed below freezing for the next two hours.
On Presidents Day, I suited up, plugged in my heated apparel, and set off north from St. George on State Route 18, which passes by Snow Canyon on its way to Enterprise. Dawn was just breaking, and it was below freezing – and it stayed that way for the next two hours, mostly down in the 20s. My heated gear did its best to keep up; my core was warm, but my hands, even with the heated, insulated gloves turned to the highest setting, were still cold. The accessory I most wished the MT-10 had was heated grips (Yamaha doesn’t offer them).
Cathedral Gorge State Park.
After crossing into Nevada, my teeth chattered as I rode over 6,718-foot Panaca Summit, and then I made a brief stop at Cathedral Gorge State Park, which has walls of eroded bentonite clay that look like intricate sandcastles. Continuing southwest on U.S. Route 93, I went from cold to colder over 6,243-foot Oak Springs Summit. At Crystal Springs, I turned onto Nevada Route 375, known as the Extraterrestrial Highway because it passes near Area 51, the infamous secret government facility where there have been reports of UFO sightings.
Nevada Route 375 is known as the Extraterrestrial Highway. With its beady headlights, the MT-10 looks a bit extraterrestrial itself.
Nevada is known for its “basin and range” topography, with abrupt changes in elevation as you travel over steep mountains and across wide, flat valleys. I passed over two more of Nevada’s summits – Hancock and Coyote, both around 5,500 feet – before reaching the rundown town of Rachel, home to the Little A’le’inn bar/restaurant/motel, the Alien Cowpoke gas station, and scattered mobile homes.
This is the only UFO I saw in the vicinity of Area 51.
Other than a few overpriced souvenirs, Rachel didn’t have much to offer. Route 375 passes through vast emptiness, but there was no evidence of Area 51 or anything otherworldly.
These guys kept a bug eye on me while I gassed up at Alien Cowpoke in Rachel.
My dogleg westward route eventually brought me to the old mining town of Tonopah for gas. I entered California by way of Nevada Route 266, which took me over 7,420-foot Lida Summit, the highest pass of the day.
It was cold and windy for 1,600 miles.
After crossing the state line, I stopped at a ranch that straddles both sides of California Route 168. Nearly 15 years ago, on a moonless night at that very spot, I crashed a Ducati GT1000. I had no business riding through an open range area after dark, but I had left home late and was on my way to meet my father at the Bonneville Salt Flats. I suddenly came upon a herd of black cows on the road, grabbed a handful of brake lever, locked up the front wheel, and went down.
All things considered, I was lucky. It could have been much worse that night. My apparel was thrashed, but I wasn’t hurt and the bike was rideable. The Swiss Army knife that I carry in my pocket to this day still bears scratch marks from sliding along the pavement during that crash. Had I not stopped this time around to preserve the memory with a photo, I wouldn’t have noticed that the MT-10’s rear tire, with just 2,600 miles on it, was worn down to the cords. Bridgestone Battlax Hypersport S22 tires are marvelously grippy, but they’re not much for longevity.
Luckily these are the only scars from my crash 15 years ago.
I rode slowly and gingerly for the next 50 miles, which, regrettably, also happened to be the curviest section of my entire trip. I made it over 6,373-foot Gilbert Pass and 7,271-foot Westgard Pass on my way to Big Pine, a small town that sits in the shadow of the Sierras on U.S. 395. I was safe and sound, but I was 250 miles from home.
Cords showing after just 2,600 miles. No burnouts, I promise!
Unwilling to risk a catastrophic blowout, I got a motel room and hunkered down. The next day, my dear wife drove up to Big Pine in our 4Runner with a motorcycle trailer and rescued me. It’s not how I wanted the trip to end, but once again, it could have been much worse. Maybe my guardian angel lives at that ranch out on Route 168.
A stunning view of the Sierras during what turned out to be the last few miles of my ride.
How about a Tracer 10 GT?
The MT-10’s performance, handling, and ergonomics make it a great streetbike, and with some accessories, it makes for a very sporty sport-tourer. In fact, we’d love to see a Tracer 10 GT version with an even taller windscreen, a lower fairing, heated grips, wind-blocking handguards, hard saddlebags, and higher-mileage sport-touring tires. Hey Yamaha, whaddaya think?
Taking a rehydration break along the Colorado River while our Yamaha Ténéré 700s waited patiently.
During the long, dark winter in Minnesota, when the ground is covered in snow and ice and our motorcycles are mothballed for months, dreaming about riding in a warm, dry place gives us hope. That’s when my friend Craig and I started planning an adventure ride out West. We sketched out a route that included a mix of backroads, parts of the Arizona and Utah Backcountry Discovery Routes, other off-road tracks, and interesting sights along the way.
In May, we flew into Phoenix and headed to EagleRider in nearby Mesa, where we were greeted by a friendly guy named Bob. After a quick paperwork checkout procedure, we packed our gear on two rented Yamaha Ténéré 700s and headed north on Interstate 17.
With temperatures in the triple digits, the frigid days of winter seemed like a distant memory, so we busted north to gain some elevation.
Even in full riding gear, we started to cool off as we rode farther north. Our bikes were unfamiliar to us, and they were stuffed to the gunwales with camping gear and other essentials. We soon grew accustomed to their added weight as we passed over the “Carefree Highway,” a 30-mile stretch of road made famous by Canadian singer Gordon Lightfoot that runs between I-17 and U.S. Route 60.
I have a lot of street miles under my belt, but this was my first adventure bike trip, so I wasn’t entirely prepared for the primitive roads where the gravel feels like marbles under your wheels. However, it didn’t take long for the combination of my ancient dirtbike experience and a few unplanned rear-wheel kickouts to provide a quick education on keeping the Ténéré upright. Enthusiasm tempered with caution was the order of the day.
We took County Road 59/Bumble Bee Road off I-17 to check out the Cleator Bar and Yacht Club. The name of this welcoming 4×4 oasis run by Tina Barnhart is a bit tongue-in-cheek, as it is located hundreds of miles from open water. Barnhart is also in the vehicle delivery business to such faraway places as Africa and is active in the Global Rescue Project based in Scottsdale, Arizona, which works to end child slavery and reunite children with their families.
Boats in the Yacht Club’s “marina.”
The Cleator Bar is a must-stop location, complete with boats in the “marina” out back and a stage for live music. Interestingly, the entire town of Cleator, comprising 40 acres, a bar, a general store, a few other structures, and mineral rights, was put on the market by descendants of James P. Cleator in 2020 for $1.25 million, and it was sold at the bargain price of $956,000.
Hanging out with Tina Barnhart while we cooled off at the Cleator Bar and Yacht Club.
Our next stop was Crown King, located another 13 miles along CR 59 at an elevation of 5,771 feet. A high-clearance four-wheel-drive vehicle is recommended on the deteriorated roads. The Ténérés managed well, and we soon found ourselves taking a load off in the Crown King Saloon & Eatery, one of the oldest continuously operated saloons in the state. We enjoyed a cold drink and a hearty lunch, and the $5 bottle of scotch we bought there (on sale courtesy of Mother’s Day) served us well during the rest of the trip.
We were surprised to see so much green in the Bradshaw Mountains.
Like a lot of small towns in the Bradshaw Mountains of Arizona, Crown King used to be a thriving mining community. In 1904, a railroad was built to help mining operations, but due to a lack of water and high transportation costs to process the ore, it was abandoned in 1926. The old railroad bed is still used today as the main access road to Crown King.
While there, we met Chuck Hall, who is a great ambassador for the area – and a talented guitar picker to boot. He told us he’d lived there for over 30 years and recommended we check out the Senator Highway, on which he’d lost many an exhaust pipe from his old Dodge Neon. A former stagecoach route, the rutted road snakes 37 miles from Crown King to Prescott with many blind switchbacks, eroded surfaces, several water crossings, and spectacular scenery.
Craig takes a breather on part of the Utah Backcountry Discovery Route.
Hall recommended we visit Palace Station, a stage stop built in 1878 midway between Crown King and Prescott. Back in the day, the station had a bar and was a social meeting center for the miners who worked in the area.
We targeted the town of Jerome for the night. This old copper mining town earned its nickname, “Wickedest Town in the West,” during its heyday in the early 20th century. After the mining bust, the town descended into desperation, greed, and crime. It was revived in the 1960s as a tourist destination, and many of its historic buildings are now filled with restaurants, shops, and hotels. Jerome is said to be a hotbed of paranormal activity, and we stayed at the Connor Hotel, which is reportedly haunted by the “Lady in Red.” We didn’t see any ghosts, so maybe she had the night off.
Downtown Jerome, the “Wickedest Town in the West.”
With a long day of off-roading ahead, we left Jerome and headed north toward the Grand Canyon on a series of unpaved national forest roads. We wound our way around the contours of Woodchute Mountain, crossed the Verde River, and ascended to the Colorado Plateau at more than 6,000 feet. We could see the volcanic San Francisco Peaks rising above the plateau to the east.
We crossed Interstate 40 near Williams, and after a few miles on State Route 64, we turned onto a national forest road to take an unpaved “back door” route into Grand Canyon National Park. We hooked up with Route 64 again where it’s known as East Rim Drive and enjoyed scenic views from the Grand Canyon’s South Rim.
Craig (on left) and me at the South Rim of the Grand Canyon – a million miles away from our home in Minnesota.
After leaving the park, we connected with U.S. Route 89 and refueled at Cameron, where the highway crosses the Little Colorado River. At Bitter Springs, U.S. 89 splits to the east toward Page, but we continued north on U.S. Route 89A, crossing the Colorado River at Marble Canyon via the Navajo Bridge and following 89A west into an area known as the Arizona Strip. We rode with the majestic Vermilion Cliffs to our right, crossed House Rock Valley, and then climbed out of the desert and into the evergreens of the Kaibab Plateau.
The Navajo Bridge crosses the Colorado River at Marble Canyon, and in the background is Vermilion Cliffs National Monument.
We stopped at Jacob Lake, a small crossroads that sits at 7,925 feet, and it was noticeably cooler at the higher elevation. Known as the gateway to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon, Jacob Lake has a gas station and a hotel with a restaurant and gift shop. The town was named after Jacob Hamblin, an early Mormon pioneer who was shown the location in the mid-1800s by the Kaibab band of Southern Paiutes. And according to the hotel staff, the lake is more of a pond.
Jacob Lake, Arizona, is near the North Rim of the Grand Canyon.
We continued west through Fredonia and crossed into Utah near Kanab, known locally as “Little Hollywood” because of its rich history in filmmaking – most notably Westerns, with more than 100 movies and television shows being filmed there.
Thus far we had stayed at motels, so we weren’t exactly roughing it. We decided we needed to get some use out of the camping gear we’d been lugging around. After riding through Zion National Park, where we were blown away by the majesty of the cliff faces and rock formations, we traversed the Dixie National Forest through Duck Creek Village to Hatch, where we found suitable dispersed camping.
Utah State Route 9 winds through incomparable scenery in Zion National Park.
It had been about 20 years since my last camping experience. I narrowly avoided putting an eye out with the tent poles, and after the camp was set and the fire built, it felt good to relax with that $5 bottle of scotch. It was a clear night, and the 7,000-foot elevation yielded cool temperatures. With the fire all but gone, it was time to turn in for the night. I live in Minnesota and am no stranger to the cold, but I clocked 19 degrees overnight in that campsite and don’t think I have ever been so happy to see the sun start to rise. Note to self: Next time bring a sleeping bag rated below 30 degrees.
Around the campfire, we sampled the $5 bottle of scotch we bought at the Crown King Saloon. To paraphrase Mark Twain, the coldest night I ever spent camping was during May in Utah.
Once packed up, we put Hatch in the rear view and were soon heading east on Utah’s stunning State Route 12, known as one of the most scenic highways in the nation. We visited Bryce Canyon National Park and its many rock spires and hoodoos and rode through the vastness of Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument.
At Boulder, we left the pavement and took the Burr Trail, a well-known backcountry route that passes through Capitol Reef National Park on its way to the Bullfrog Basin in the Glen Canyon National Recreation Area. The trail was named for John Burr, a cattle rancher who developed the route to move his cattle between winter and summer ranges. The country was nearly impassable then and continues to be challenging to this day, with RVs and trailers “not recommended.” Southern Utah is one amazing vista after another, and this stretch featured outstanding scenery as well as many switchbacks on loose gravel that kept us on our toes.
Switchbacks and elevation changes as far as the eye can see on the Burr Trail in Utah.
Throughout the trip, we’d been battered by winds that were contributing to fire restrictions in Arizona and Utah. At this point, the wind was howling, with 50-mph gusts giving us a good sand blasting. After a quick stop in Bullfrog, we headed north on State Route 276 and then south on State Route 95 to Hite Crossing over the Colorado River.
We had violated our “never pass gas” top-off policy in Bullfrog, expecting to find a place to refuel in Fry Canyon. Given the time of year and possibly other reasons unknown, the gas pumps were closed in Fry, so we pushed on through some gorgeous country that might’ve been easier to appreciate if we weren’t worried about our dwindling fuel.
At one point, we pulled over to assess the situation. Craig had been smart enough to fill his reserve bottle, which he poured into his tank. My bike was still showing a couple bars of fuel left. I tip my cap to the Yamaha Ténéré 700. Even though my fuel gauge was blinking “empty” and both of us were expecting the pullover of shame, we made it all the way to Blanding. The Arch Canyon Inn was a welcome stop, but being informed that it’s a dry town put the “bland” in Blanding.
Travelers in a strange land. Parts of Utah felt like being on another planet.
Leaving Blanding and getting on the Utah BDR was like visiting another planet. The Butler and Comb washes, the Moki Dugway, and Valley of the Gods were some of our favorite parts of this trip. With all the distinct rock formations, it was a challenge to stay focused on the trail and not get distracted by the scenery. In most cases, one blown turn can mean disaster, but the rewards are more than worth the risks. Again, caution saved the day.
The southern terminus of the Utah BDR is in the town of Mexican Hat, which I assumed was named after a mountain resembling a sombrero. Turns out, it is a distinctive disc-shaped rock about 60 feet in diameter that’s perched atop a smaller base at the top of a mesa. I’ll always remember it as the site of my first involuntary dismount from the Yamaha during a charge up a softer-than-expected mound of sand.
At the southern terminus of the Utah BDR in Mexican Hat. Behind me is the town’s namesake rock and below me is softer-than-expected sand.
The area around Mexican Hat borders the northern section of the Navajo Nation into Monument Valley. This area is considered the sacred heart of Navajo country, and you can’t help but marvel at how iconic the straight-line stretch of road is as it leads into the horizon, framed with towering sandstone rock formations. Hiking in the park is highly restricted, with only one path that can be hiked without a guide. Monument Valley Trail Park had been previously closed after a movie crew was caught filming without a permit. It is now reopened at a reduced occupancy limit, but no motorcycles are permitted on the 17-mile loop due to deep sand dunes in the area.
Dispersed camping near Hatch, Utah.
Back in Arizona, we cruised paved highways to Flagstaff and then down into Sedona. Determined to camp at a lower (read: warmer) elevation, we found the Lo Lo Mai Springs Outdoor Resort. Lo lo mai is a Hopi Indian word that represents a greeting with many meanings, similar to the Hawaiian aloha. It also means “beautiful,” which the owners of Lo Lo Mai Springs say is where the resort’s name originated. The area borders spring-fed Oak Creek, which is a valuable and rare natural water source in this part of Arizona. The campground had some welcome amenities and was a lot warmer than the prior camping stop.
Monument Valley.
We spent our last day exploring some of the Arizona BDR tracks in the Coconino National Forest near Sedona and Flagstaff. With time running out, we finally hopped on State Route 87 and burned the final miles to Scottsdale, where the town was alive with nightlife.
Returning the bikes was bittersweet. Bob welcomed us back, relieved that the Ténérés had only a layer of dust and a bit less rubber on their tires after 1,591 on- and off-road miles. As we grabbed an Uber to the airport, I could not help but realize the vast additional riding world that adventure motorcycling opens up. Soon after getting home, I put one of my streetbikes up for sale, and an adventure bike could be in my future.
Taking a break at Hurrah Pass during our warm-up ride on Chicken Corners Trail.
White Rim Trail – or White Rim Road in national park parlance – is a 100-mile unpaved route that loops around the Island in the Sky mesa in Canyonlands National Park near Moab, Utah. It’s on the bucket list of many dual-sport and adventure riders, and rightfully so. The scenery is spectacular, and the trail is ridable by anyone with a modicum of off-road experience.
White Rim Trail, named after the layer of White Rim Sandstone that it runs on top of, was built in the 1950s by the Atomic Energy Commission to access uranium deposits. The mines didn’t produce much ore and were abandoned, and the road became part of Canyonlands after it was established in 1964.
Although White Rim Trail is a rough and rugged route, only street-legal (plated) motorcycles and high-clearance, four-wheel drive vehicles are permitted. Off-road-only dirtbikes, ATVs, and side-by-sides that are common on many trails around Moab are prohibited, which helps keep noise and traffic down. There’s also a daily limit of 50 day-use permits.
Since the trail is within Canyonlands, a national parks pass or entrance fee ($25 per motorcycle, good for seven days) is required. Day-use permits are free at visitor centers, but a $6 fee is required for permits purchased online at Recreation.gov. There are several campgrounds along the trail that require overnight permits for an additional fee. In the spring and fall, reservations are strongly encouraged.
White Rim Trail runs atop a layer of White Rim Sandstone below the Island in the Sky mesa.
The plan was for four of us – Bruce Gillies, Vic Anderson, Kevin Rose, and me – to ride the entire White Rim Trail in one day. We would be traveling light, with all of us riding KTM 690 Enduro Rs. As enjoyable as camping would be in such a beautiful place, it requires gear that would’ve weighed us down, and whatever was in our saddlebags or panniers would be subjected to paint-shaker conditions for hours on end. Instead, we rented a house in Moab that served as our base for two days of riding.
As a warm-up for the White Rim, we spent our first day riding Chicken Corners Trail, a 42-mile out-and-back route on Bureau of Land Management land that passes through Kane Springs Canyon, goes over Hurrah Pass, and runs along a high sandstone bench on the southern edge of the Colorado River. We got hammered by rain early on, but then the clouds parted, and we enjoyed a fun, scenic ride. The trail ends 400 feet above the river across from Dead Horse Point Overlook, the filming location for the final scene in Thelma and Louise when they drive off the cliff.
Hidden from view near the patch of green is the Colorado River, which joins with the Green River below the southern tip of White Rim Trail.
Having obtained our day-use permits online, the next day we left the house around sunrise and rode north on U.S. Route 191 past Arches National Park and then turned west on State Route 313. There’s no gas in Canyonlands, and the nearest gas station is about 30 miles away in Moab, so completing the loop requires at least 160 miles of range. We were equipped with auxiliary fuel canisters just in case.
White Rim Trail is a two-way road, so it can be ridden in either direction. Our plan was to ride it counterclockwise, saving the famous Shafer Trail for the very end. We turned west on Mineral Canyon Road (BLM 129) before entering Canyonlands and followed the long, flat, well-graded dirt road for about 12 miles.
When ridden counterclockwise, White Rim Trail passes through Bureau of Land Management land before entering Canyonlands National Park.
The road into Canyonlands climbs up onto the Island in the Sky mesa, which is where the visitor center and many RV-clogged overlooks are located. Since the White Rim is below the mesa, riding it in either direction requires going down a series of steep switchbacks to get to the trail.
Getting to White Rim Trail from atop the Island in the Sky mesa requires a steep, switchbacked descent to the rim and then a similar ascent at the end.
On a crisp morning in late May, we peered down into the red sandstone canyon carved by the Green River and descended to Horsethief Bottom. After passing the Canyonlands National Park boundary sign, we cruised along the flat trail and took in the full spectrum of colorful scenery: green vegetation along the river; layers of red, pink, yellow, white, and gray rock; and blue skies sprayed with tufts of white cirrocumulus clouds. Off in the distance was Canyonlands’ Maze district.
Riding along the Green River, with Canyonlands’ Maze district off in the distance.
Our first challenge was crossing a sand wash where Upheaval Canyon dumps into the Green River. If the Green is running high, the wash can be flooded and make the trail impassable. We blasted through on the gas and soon found ourselves at one of the two most technical sections on the trail: Hardscrabble Bottom. Since we rode the loop counterclockwise, this section was downhill, and we picked our way along without incident.
Even though it was a Saturday, we rarely saw others on the trail. We waved to a group of Jeepers at a campground, and we passed a few 4x4s and mountain bikers followed by support trucks. Otherwise, it was just the four of us enjoying the sweeping views and a fun trail with minimal dust thanks to the previous day’s rains.
Box canyons, hoodoos, buttes, and spires are common sights in the eroded landscape of Canyonlands National Park.
The second technical challenge on White Rim Trail is climbing up and over Murphy’s Hogback. Our KTMs were perfectly suited for the terrain, and we again made it through without any problems. Bigger ADV bikes would be more of a handful here but certainly capable of getting through.
While some of White Rim Trail is red dirt and sand, miles of it are on bare sandstone, which makes for a bumpy ride. Long-travel suspension, good ground clearance, and a sturdy skid plate are essential.
Pausing to admire the view. Parts of White Rim Trail run right along the cliff’s edge, and there’s no fence or guardrail.
The sky had become progressively cloudier throughout the day, and by midafternoon, dark clouds blotted out the sun. At the junction with Potash Road, a ranger checked our permits before we began the final climb up the Shafer Trail switchbacks. This section of trail is accessible by anyone visiting Canyonlands, so we worked our way to the top around not only Jeeps and mountain bikes but Toyota Camrys full of Instagrammers too.
The switchbacks of Shafer Trail marked the end of our White Rim ride.
A few fat raindrops began to fall as we exited the trail. We made a hasty retreat back to the house to hoist celebratory beers and share stories about our adventure.
We rode from the Mountain State of West Virginia to visit the Rockies. After hundreds of miles across the Great Plains, we were ready for some elevation. (Photos by the author)
I see mountains! It’s Thursday, somewhere west of Anton, Colorado, and after four-and-a-half days and 1,600 miles, the snowcapped Rockies appear on the horizon. My riding buddy Jay and I left our home state of West Virginia on Sunday. Now midday, we see the jagged peaks we’ve been longing for. The Great Plains were beautiful and adventurous, but we’re anxious to ride into some elevation.
In Aurora, Jay makes the required pilgrimage to a Harley shop and buys yet another T-shirt while I get a long overdue full-face helmet. Then we climb up, up, up. West Virginia, known as the Mountain State, has great riding, but its mountains are mere hills compared to the Rockies. West of Denver significant climbing and a diversion onto U.S. Route 6 leads to 11,990-foot Loveland Pass on the Western Continental Divide. Beyond that the road winds through scenic towns like Dillon and Frisco until we stop for two nights in Edwards.
Maybe if we stood on the sign we could have reached an even 12,000 feet.
Our next two travel days are memorable! Riding through the high plains beyond Steamboat Springs, the spectacular views blew us away. We stopped for gas in Maybell, Colorado, and encountered three dual-sport riders on their fourth day off-road — and they sure looked it. Our lunch break was at the BedRock Depot in Dinosaur, where delicious sandwiches and milkshakes hit the spot. Then on into Utah, climbing up to 8,300 feet on U.S. Route 191, north of Vernal. In Wyoming the land became so dramatic through the Flaming Gorge National Recreation Area that I could hardly keep my eyes on the road. When a cold, wet front was forecast and we could see clouds ahead, the flat broadly curved roads allowed for high-speed fun. We beat the storms, passed the 2,000-mile mark and ended the day’s ride in Rock Springs.
Our tour route is available on the REVER app in the Rider Magazine community.
Winds were a brutal distraction at the start of the next day, leaning constantly into 30-mph gusts until the wind abated near Cokeville, Wyoming, but soon after lunch in Montpelier, Idaho, the rain started. We climbed into the Uinta-Wasatch-Cache National Forest and it began snowing hard, sticking to trees, bushes and my windshield, but fortunately not the road. We were cold, but it made for a memorable photo at Emigration Pass on Idaho Highway 36. Dropping below the snow line, we ended the day’s ride outside of Preston, Idaho, at the Riverdale Resort. It has geothermally heated outdoor pools where we simmered for an hour. Ahhh ….
Brrrr! Freezing temperatures and snow made for a memorable ride over Emigration Pass in Idaho. Luckily it didn’t stick to the road.
Two nights and friend farewells later, we headed north through Soda Springs, where many of the roads are posted “Open Range.” Sure enough, we rounded a curve to find a herd of cattle blocking the road. We honked, and they genially ambled aside. Idaho Highway 34 followed Tincup Creek on its way to the Wyoming border, and we paralleled the Snake River on U.S. 89/191 through the Bridger-Teton National Forest, reminiscent of our own West Virginia roads. As the valley opened, we finally entered Jackson.
We continued north on U.S. 191 through the incomparable Grand Teton National Park and into Yellowstone National Park from the south. Twice we crossed the Continental Divide at 8,000-plus feet before descending into the Firehole River valley. We enjoyed lunch and a timely geyser eruption at Old Faithful Village before riding a long circle around the park. East of Yellowstone Lake we cursed in our helmets as traffic halted. Up ahead a bison plodded along in our lane. Awestruck and humbled, we eventually rolled past this massive creature.
Ed stands under one of the elk horn arches in Jackson, Wyoming, while the guy with the backpack tries to count them all.
We exited via Yellowstone’s east entrance on U.S. Route 14 and rode over 8,524-foot Sylvan Pass, and rolled downhill for 20 long, pleasurable miles. The surroundings turned from pine green to desert brown as we passed between huge sandstone sentinels along the Shoshone River. We reached Cody, a nice thriving western town. At dinner, Jay smiled and ordered Rocky Mountain oysters. About half a bite was all I could manage of fried bull’s balls.
Continuing east on U.S. 14, we crossed a broad valley and began to climb yet again. The view behind us became breathtaking, the temperature dropped to 45 degrees and we crossed the Bighorn Mountains via 9,033-foot Granite Pass. We picked up I-90 at Ranchester, but I foolishly ignored a gas stop. My engine sputtered to a stop and we had to siphon a quart from Jay’s tank. He’ll never let me live it down.
We didn’t see extraterrestrials at Devils Tower, just tourists.
Devils Tower was impressive. No extraterrestrials, just busloads of photo-snapping tourists. Our destination was Keystone, South Dakota, 130 miles away. Signs for Spearfish, Deadwood and Sturgis flashed by, but it was getting dark and drizzling so we roared on. Finally, we reached our hotel. We rode 510 miles over 12 hours and our backsides were numb. What’s half of an Iron Butt — a Wood Butt? An Iron Cheek?
We visited Mount Rushmore and the Crazy Horse Memorial, which is much larger than Rushmore and was the highlight of our visit to the Black Hills. Under construction since 1948, the only recognizable part is Crazy Horse’s face and it won’t be finished in my lifetime.
The plaster statue shows visitors what the Crazy Horse Memorial will look like — some day.
After 3,300 memorable miles, we became horses headed for the barn. Our tripmeters were just shy of 5,000 miles when we arrived back home in West Virginia four days later. My wife greeted me by asking, “So, where to next year?”
Northern Utah is an enticing mix of high country views, rugged mountains, intriguing history and fantastic roads. Photos by the author.
I unfold a Utah map on my outdoor table at the Main Street Deli in Park City’s bustling downtown. After placing my gyro sandwich plate over the state’s southern half, I study the upper portion of the map. With my yellow highlighter, I carefully trace out my two enticingly twisty, yet distinctly different loop rides. One emanates southeast of Park City and the other extends to the northeast.
This picturesque hamlet will be my home base for an exploration of Utah’s high country. Nestled in the mountains due east of Salt Lake City, Park City was the site of much of the competitive activity of the 2002 Winter Olympics. The town rests at the base of the ski run-lined mountains that are its winter lifeblood.
Downtown Park City is full of restaurants and shops housed in historic brick buildings.
Park City buzzes with activity in all seasons. In winter, ski boots and fur-lined parkas are the attire de rigueur. However, mid-summer is the perfect time to pull on the riding boots and armored jacket and hit the road. The upscale village offers (slightly) discounted lodging for summer activities, like my planned double-loop foray into some of the most varied and striking motorcycle riding the Southwest has to offer.
After wiping the Greek tzatziki sauce from my whiskers, I am ready to throw a leg over my BMW R 1200 GS for an afternoon ride.
The historic Miners Hospital in Park City is now a community center hosting a variety of meetings and activities.
The Southern Loop – Wide Open Spaces
Following a short ride east through the historic buildings, ski chalets and bustling activities of Park City, I start my ride on U.S. Route 40. The long, sweeping corners are lined with grasslands and a wide variety of summer wildflowers. In no time, I am riding with the blue waters of the Jordanelle Reservoir to my left. The substantial body of water is virtually treeless, offering up miles of views.
Just a few miles after the reservoir, I roll through clean and tidy Heber City. Like most of the Mormon-founded towns in Utah, Heber City features a mix of modern homes and buildings as well as historic pioneer-era structures.
Map of the route taken, by Bill Tipton/compartmaps.com.
After Heber City, the human element fades, and the grasslands and low trees again define the landscape. Traffic is refreshingly light, and the undulating pavement is smooth and fun. The farther southeast I ride on U.S. 40, the curvier the tarmac becomes. This is a relaxing ride that requires little on the technical riding front, but offers much in terms of long-perspective visuals.
Strawberry Reservoir is the next notable water feature on the ride and it is substantially more expansive then the Jordanelle. I make the turn into the Strawberry Reservoir recreation area, and stop by the U.S. Forest Service depot that rests at the entrance to the area. The tidy Forest Service facility is a treasure-trove of information on the Dominguez–Escalante Expedition of 1776. The Spanish expedition was conducted to find and map a route from Santa Fe, New Mexico, to the Spanish missions in California.
The 1776 Dominguez–Escalante Expedition sites highlight the ride.
The paved roads that flank the reservoir are too much to resist, and I spend a fair amount of time exploring the lake’s shoreline. Having heard of the great views and interesting endgame offered after a ride south of Strawberry Reservoir on Forest Road 42, I decide to give the big BMW a little light dirt duty. The well-groomed 10-mile gravel and dirt road ultimately leads to the entertaining and paved Sheep Creek Road. The road turns out to be a wonderfully winding stretch that is virtually devoid of traffic, and yes, the views are spectacular.
Sheep Creek Road is a serpentine ribbon through the undulating high chaparral landscape.
So what about that interesting endgame? I visit the strange, semi-submerged ghost town of Thistle, which was completely flooded when a massive landslide dammed the Spanish Fork River in the 1980s. After exploring the wet ruins and imbibing the eerie ambiance, I retrace my ride back to Strawberry Reservoir. This out-and-back is something you can omit from the ride if you are not comfortable with a short foray off of the tarmac.
The partially submerged town of Thistle is a fascinating and surreal stop.
I rejoin U.S. 40 for several more miles of sweeping turns accented with outcroppings of rock formations and low cliffs before heading north on State Route 208. After that stretch, I head back toward Park City on State Route 35. This northwestern ride is a delightful climb back into the mountains. The terrain morphs from grasslands to chaparral to forestland in a span of about 40 often-curvy miles. That forested segment would be a foreshadowing of the next day’s ride.
Northern Utah’s roads offer up panoramic views punctuated with snow-laced mountains.
I roll back into Park City after 230 miles of moto entertainment. I settle into my room at the Shadow Ridge Resort Hotel and then shower up for a walk to the downtown district for dinner and to catch the Mark Cohn concert at the historic Egyptian Theater. The revived theater is an intimate 300-seat venue, which, in addition to concerts, serves as a site for the annual Sundance Film Festival. Both Cohn and the Egyptian prove to be completely enjoyable.
My day ends with a local microbrew and then a slow and satisfying walk, not “in Memphis” like Cohn had just crooned, but rather through the cool night air of Park City. The stroll back to my hotel is a fine culmination to a fantastic day.
The historic Egyptian Theater is an entertainment staple in Park City.
The Northern Loop – Mountain Lakes and Waterfalls
I intentionally leave a full day for the second of my loop rides. Map study and Internet searches have revealed a full slate of reasons to throw down a kickstand along the route. Mountain lakes, rivers, waterfalls and forest vistas are on tap.
I leave Park City in the same direction as the day before, but just a few miles free of the town, I start my northwestern sojourn into the Uinta-Wasatch-Cache National Forest. Just miles into my ride on State Route 150, also known as the Mirror Lake Scenic Byway, it becomes crystal clear just how different this ride will be than that of the prior day.
The Uinta-Wasatch-Cache National Forest covers nearly 2.5 million acres.
The long, lazy sweepers of the lower loop have been replaced with tighter, more technical corners on this northern ride. The evergreens that line the roadway increase in height with the rise in the elevation. Vibrant forest greens color my ride into the Uinta Mountains.
The blue-green waters of Beaver Creek skirt the early miles of the climb up Route 150. When the route turns northward, it is the Provo River that flows along the ride. At about the 40-mile point in the loop the rushing and tumbling Provo River Falls are a great first stop.
The cold waters of the Provo River Falls cascade below towering evergreens.
After the falls, the road becomes increasingly twisty and entertaining. There are even a fair number of hairpins to keep things lively. The traffic is a bit heavier than I had experienced on the southern loop, but it is far from frustratingly congested. Much of the traffic that I encounter is made up of other happy motorcyclists.
Deep blue mountain lakes begin to dot the alpine landscape, and each one offers its own unique visual appeal. My first shoreline stop is Teapot Lake, which sits cold and still with a great view of snow-laced Mount Watson over its far shore. Even in late June, the white stuff is in abundant supply on the mountains at this elevation.
The author looks over Teapot Lake to rugged Mount Watson.
After Teapot, I don’t even get out of second gear before I come upon the more expansive Lost Lake. For the next several miles, bodies of water with names like Moosehorn, Mirror and Butterfly sit just off of the pavement on both sides of the winding road. For me this high-mountain lake region is the highlight of my riding in northern Utah.
The next miles of Route 150 follow more rivers as the road carves through the national forest. The northern ride takes me by a smattering of cabins and lodges. It should be noted that most of this scenic byway is devoid of any services so plan your gas and sustenance needs accordingly.
The impressive Slate Gorge was cut by the Provo River.
Shortly after a cluster of cabins called the Bear River Lodge, the forest of pine and aspen trees transforms into a high-elevation grassland environment. The road is straighter and the riding landscape is rolling and wide-open. The snowcapped mountains diminish in my rearview mirrors.
At about the 75-mile mark of the ride, I pass into Wyoming. I am riding in what would still be Utah if the state were a true rectangle. It’s as if Wyoming, which became a state six years before Utah, laid claim to that geometric distinction by biting off the ear of Utah. The small handful of miles that I will spend in Wyoming is punctuated with a stop in the town of Evanston. After a quick fuel stop, I look for a place for some lunch. Jody’s Diner, a quaint retro eatery, fills the bill.
There are trout in those riffles, but the author didn’t pack his rod.
There is more entertaining riding to be had, so I head out of Evanston to the northwest on Wyoming Route 89, which becomes Utah Route 16 as I reenter the Beehive State. It’s when I turn onto State Route 39 (the Ogden River Scenic Byway) that the real entertainment begins. This 50-mile stretch of my ride serves up the longest sustained lineup of curves on the entire loop. The pavement conditions are variable, so I exercise caution on the new-to-me route. At Huntsville, I head south on State Route 167 and finish my return to Park City via Interstates 84 and 80.
In the end, this tour is really a tale of two distinctly different rides. The southern loop is defined by sparse traffic and wide-open spaces that equal a relaxing and view-infused experience. The northern route is an alpine route that ramps up the riding entertainment with winding mountain roads. Needless to say I will be back, map and highlighter in hand, to trace more of what this region has to offer.
Mirror Lake Scenic Corridor Recreation Area
If you are going to get off your bike and explore the lakes, streams and hiking opportunities in the Mirror Lake Scenic Corridor Recreation Area along Utah Route 150, you will need to stop at one of the self-serve recreation fee stations. A three-day pass carries a $6 fee and it is $12 for a seven-day pass. For more information contact the Heber-Kamas Ranger District at (435) 783-4338.
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