Surtch Pherther switched off Escape Artist and leaned it on its stand at the T-junction of Ourantah Ridge Road and the rural highway between Trapper and Portcullis.
Ahead, to the east across the asphalt, badlands lay in wait, known to Surtch only through paper maps and hearsay, a rumorland–a land of rides to come. And behind him? Well, behind stretched 45 miles of the most delicious dirt he’d ridden yet, a finer way from point A to B-b-b-beyond, a tool and a toy–a promising path to his riding future. In fact, Surtch was already speculating how to extend the experience, how to nudge the dirt–by linked like routes of rocks and dust–closer to the City of Contradictions.
Civilization seems to self-assess somewhat by the amount of pavement it lays, to equate progress with wildness subdued, dirt covered, and curves tamed. It might then be the two-wheeler’s duty–civil disobedience moto style–to bypass the straight with twisty and the paved with dusty, leaving the slabs and their vanishing points to cagers and deadline riders.
That morning, Surtch had broken camp, scarfed down breakfast bars and parfait and cold coffee, bidden his folks goodbye, and coasted Escape Artist down toward the boat ramp, hanging a left just before. There, San Cosme Reservoir Road reached far to the tip of a sloped spur, then sharp-turned south, switched to gravel, and scampered up past thorny shrubs, sagebrush, and quaking aspen stands that tremble-filtered the harsh light for undergrowth of tender grasses and wildflowers and small ferns…
Soon it sprinted–a rutty, pocked, dirt traverse–through a lodgepole wood across a craggy mountainside toward a jumble o’ junctions where Surtch had U-turned the year before for poor dirt legs, throb-throb-throbbing in his full-faced head from having his wisdom teeth yanked just days before, and mind-fog and body-blahs from half a week of juggling painkillers…
It leapt through meadows and mixed forests high above San Cosme Creek–a creek to which a younger self and his brother and their dad had tromped through autumn-tan and -brittle brush in a frigid late fall to cast for brooks and browns but catch zilch…
It dashed past a shadow of a two-track down which on that same long ago trip the three had driven dad’s ’72 Ford “Blue Ox” Bronco and eaten hash browns with onions and lemon-peppered pork chops before a bonfire and slept like dead in their bags through a mute night to wake the next morn to half a foot of snow and they miles in on a “closed” road…
It hopped left and right in switchbacks tight to San Cosme Peak’s shoulder where Surtch wrong-turned twice but soon got on track for a change of scene to gray from green, to sparse pines among rabbit brush and sagebrush again and a clay soil road that went greasy from a cloudburst, causing Escape Artist to waggle about and to about go down, spooking a passing sheepdog but not the Peruvian shepherd or the pro horse he rode by on, the only creatures (short of Mr. and Mrs. Ed, of course, of course) that Surtch had seen all afternoon…
And finally it scrambled up to the last stretch of Ourantah Ridge, to the north of which the land rolled soft and somewhat green toward dinosaur digs and toward pumpjacks keeping time in fieldlings of oil and gas and toward the vast Cairn Mountains’ rock pile peaks, and to the south of which the earth broke jagged-dramatic toward coalfields and more dino digs and the Bucksaw Cliffs flanking a clayscape waste and toward–afar–the vivid desert of sandstone and dunes.
Back at the T-junction, Surtch switched on Escape Artist, heeled up its stand, and pressed its starter. By highway, the nearest town was 30 miles off. About 110 farther–through Lupo Pass and South Middlefield, past Keetstone Lake and the Silvervale roads, and over Big Canyon summit–waited the City of Contradictions, surely facing fitful sleep through another sultry summer night.
But for his hunger for a cheesesteak with fries and coffee at Pemm’s Hash House in Trapper, the lateness of the day with its shadows already presenting and the typical chill already making the usual threats and more cloudbursts abrewin’, and the guarantee that large game would soon again be jaywalking after dark, Surtch would’ve U-turned and gone back the way he’d come.
Oh well–he’d be back. Yes, Surtch Pherther would be back. For Ourantah Ridge Road had changed everything.
Was a specific road or stretch of road a game changer to the development of your skills or confidence as a rider?
Thank you for this wonderful little piece.
The second to last picture looks like I would be able to handle it… on my Vespa 😉
My game changer: When I was a rookie user of my GPS, I forgot to exclude the off road function, hence was led on a muddy forest trail while on my scooter. It was slippery from grass patches, with deep tractor trenches, and did I mention muddy? However, the Vespa pulled through like a champ. This is how I learned that riding off the road does not necessarily have to involve a dirt bike, and I make it a regular exercise to take my scooter where my Sportster wouldn’t want to go.
Thank you, Sonja. I’m glad that you enjoyed this tale.
It’s funny: A few weeks back, when I was searching your blog for the origin of Alonzo’s name, I read a number of your scootering stories, including–I believe–your rookie-to-GPS adventure. It is super-cool that you’ve since embraced Alonzo’s mad off-roading capabilities. I wonder if you’ve returned to that first road to tackle it with greater confidence. 😉
I like the thought of riding the dirt roads being civil disobedience. We all need to disobey ‘the man’ a little more in that case.
Hear, hear, Trobairitz! 🙂 So, to call it “civil disobedience” might be a bit of an exaggeration, a way of making a normal activity sound more heroic than it really is, but heck, if we don’t flatter ourselves, don’t celebrate our own adventures, who’s gonna’?
I’m just grateful that The Man mostly seems too preoccupied with other goings-on to bother about what roads we ride and when. Mostly too preoccupied…
Loved this Ry! I have had an idea for a post called “Pavement Ends…” for a year or so. But it has not gotten written. Hmm…although I do enjoy forest roads and gravel roads, of late I have a propensity to shy away from off road in order to keep my bones in order. LOL
But I did have a game changer road. Probably 4 or 5 years ago, we rode Max Patch road, in the North Carolina mountains. It goes up, up, up, to Max Patch, which is a ‘bald’ or treeless mountain top, and the Appalachian Trail passes over it. Then the road goes down, down, down, into TN, actually. Once I conquered my fear of even trying that road, I was much better at dirt. Now, I still have a huge aversion to rocky single track and my 1200GS has no business on those with me at the helm, anyway. But I really enjoyed this trip!
Hey there, Lynne. It makes me happy that this tale struck a chord with you. 🙂
You know, I think that many of us often fail to fully appreciate not how circumstances can conspire against us, but how they can unite for our success, for the improvement of our skills, whether we’re riding, writing, or juggling chainsaws. That’s precisely what that ridge road was for me that day: I just showed up for the ride–the road did the work. It was a seducer.
Also, it seems that we can too easily lose perspective over time, fail to fully grasp our progress because we forget where we started. It reminds me of an excerpt from Sirens of Titan by Kurt Vonnegut: Unk had written the letter to himself before having his memory cleaned out. It was literature in its finest sense, since it made Unk courageous, watchful, and secretly free. It made him his own hero in very trying times. Memories like the first ride of that ridge road make me courageous when I most need it, when I’m faced with a rough patch that challenges my skills.
When I was looking to step up from my Vespa (yeah, I know–almost anything is a hell of a step up from a Vespa), I saw a photo of the 1200GS Adventure and I fell head over heels in love. Then I saw it face to nose cone, and my first thought was “Holy shit–this thing is huge!” Each time I go down in nasty dirt and rocks on my 800GS, I am grateful that the bike is no bigger, no heavier.
I look forward to eventually reading your Pavement Ends… blog post. It could be a perfect project for the off season, something sunny to reminisce when winter is settled in outside.
Keep the rubber side down, Lynne, whether on pavement OR dirt. 🙂
🙂 Juggling chain saws…memories of Max Patch make me courageous too, so we are lucky to have these memories that help us, rather than hold us back.
Interesting perspective, moving from a Vespa to any motorcycle, much less a GSA! My bike is a standard GS, but my husband has a GSA, and I have only ridden it a few times, and only on pavement. It is a monster!
Funny, but I have only had one off road spill on my GS, and it basically just went down into a ditch standing upright. Now have I dropped the GS on pavement, oh yeah, that too. But usually at a full stop where my leg doesn’t reach all the way to the ground! It was on my DR250 that I have taken the brunt of my off-road spills and actually hurt myself. Mostly strained muscles and lots of bruises, but the older I get, the less I like that stuff. No surprise, I guess.
One day, I will write that post…I already have the perfect photo to go along with it!
You keep courageous and upright yourself, my friend! 🙂
Now THAT is what I call an escape. What beautiful scenery. The pics are gorgeous. And, as a lover of words, I must say I giggled aloud at “deadline riders.” You’ve coined a new phrase for me. 🙂
My game changing experience was our first tour in Europe. It was Hubby’s idea. I didn’t give much thought to any of it. The rental bike — an F650GS — was far different than my V-Star 1300 Tourer. I had no idea where we’d be riding. I just grabbed a spot in the middle of the pack and rode along. My brain couldn’t equate speed signs posted in metric, so there was no thoughts like “Uh oh, that’s a 15 m.p.h. curve” or slowing down. I just went with the flow of the pack to maintain my place in line. On that very first day, I realized a big, fat heavy, cruiser was the absolute wrong bike for me. And I learned that I’d been way too cautious for years, taking most of the real fun out of riding. I have a lot more fun now. 🙂
I love this, Kathy! I had a similar game changer from giant cruiser when I finally test rode a BMW many years ago! 🙂
I’m glad you liked this tale, Toadmama.
I had to mention those that choose to take interstates, but I didn’t want to imply that they know no better: They ride the slabs for a reason. After all, motorcycling is a deliberate activity–folks choose to do it. (Well, the first time is a choice. After that it might be compulsory.) In fact, I was thinking specifically about Mike and his recent USA Four Corners Tour when I decided on “deadline riders”: In order to meet that ride’s conditions, Mike could not afford to take the back roads.
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“Kathy,” someone says in a snarky way, “Europe changed you…” 🙂
I’ve ridden my brother’s big cruiser and would like to again, but I do prefer rides with an aggressive stance: They make me feel more in control, more a part of the curves, physically and… emotionally?… soulfully?… spiritually?…
Several years ago I was at a motorcycle race and show. Up rode a woman on a Ducati. I asked her how she liked her bike. She said she’d been all about Harley for many years, but that there was no turning back now.
Europe did change me, but for the better (in my opinion). It would be hard for me to go back to a cruiser, I think. Unless I had a cruiser and a lighter bike to use for fun.