The Escape
Sitting at my desk staring at the calendar a week before Fourth of July brought a sudden amazing realization. You could take Monday off and turn a non-holiday weekend into a full on four day escape. Any long weekend gets my mind instantly racing towards motorcycle road trip. That thought is inevitably followed by: where should I go? Utah? Oregon? Maybe somewhere closer. All I knew was that I wanted to avoid the holiday crowds and explore sites for rouge camping.
Holiday weekends in the Bay Area are almost a lost cause now-a-days. You spend the whole time fighting traffic, fighting with people over rooms or camp spaces, and fighting with your sanity as to why you forsook yourself with this hair brained scheme. Plus, the most sought after campsites in California often have a year long booking process with a slim window of availability. And don’t get me started on hotels (I’m just a cheap ass and don’t want to pay for them).
When the call of the wild comes, I just want to answer. Messaging some Instagram friends who have been exploring the Sierras brought a bevy of ideas. Tons of suggestions for great roads to ride and places to camp (big shoutout to @hyryz). Next, I loosely penciled out a route while downloading google maps of the areas I most wanted to explore. FYI, you can download sections of Google Maps onto your phone for offline use. Super helpful if you don’t have a GPS, as I don’t.
Hitting the road
After a couple rounds of “Can I fit this on my bike” Saturday morning I was finally fully loaded and ready to ride. The cool winds of the bay petered out with the engine roaring toward the Central Valley. Green hills subtly turned gold as the temperature needle rose and beads of perspiration began to soak my shirt. Bay Area summer riding can juxtapose three seasons of weather on the same ride in the course of twenty miles. Packing can often be a toss up of what to bring and what to leave at home.
For this trip I went with pairing the Aether Apparel Rally Motorcycle Jacket with the Ramble Motorcycle Pant. Slipping the jacket on I noticed instantly that the sleeves were the right cut for a motorcycle jacket—long. In a riding position they end perfectly at the top of the wrist preventing the annoying ‘Moto tan’. No sunburn for the whole four days of riding, some of it in hundred plus heat.
Getting off the main highway and onto the local roads brought orchards with fruit stands selling season ripe peaches and cherries along with almonds and local honey. Every so often there’s a sign for 120 Yosemite as I crisscross through the half a dozen or so towns that liter the foothills of the Sierras.
Then all at once the elevation starts to increase and before you realize it you are cresting six thousand feet. Each twist of the throttle gives me significantly less braap as the KLR losses power in the thin air. Mountain towns crop up every now and then while the forestry gets thick and stubby. Any curve can bring with it vistas of mountains still sporting white frosting from this winters dusting.
Climbing with giants
Another half hour and I’m at the entrance of Yosemite begrudgingly paying the twenty-five dollars it costs motorcycles to cross the Tioga pass. By now it’s early afternoon with the temperature leveling off to pleasantly cool in the shade of the massive trees.
Just pass the entrance and you’re up over ten thousand feet cruising by chunks of snow on the ground. Closing the vents to the jacket I try to stay warm by hunkering into it in an effort to reduce airflow. The bike doesn’t seem to mind though and continues humming along past full waterfalls and gushing rivers. Every vista is packed with tourists snapping pictures of the historic wilderness. Undeterred, I throttle on preferring to stop in the vast areas just beyond the designated vistas where there isn’t a soul around.
Off with the rouges
As the chill is just starting to penetrate my riding suite the park exit comes into sight. After crossing the gate there are a couple more curves and before I know it the road is slanting down at a thirty-five degree angle. The Roo (my nickname for the KLR) starts letting out pops every time I let off the throttle as we proceed to drop thousands of feet in elevation over the next ten miles.
What was a chilly afternoon turns hot in the span of ten minutes as the 120 comes to an end at Mono Lake. It all went according to plan as this put me within a stones throw of one of the suggestions for rouge camping.
On a little dirt/sand path with no signage I stumble onto an little oasis of BLM land. The path was mostly loose sand, which is a little tough due to the 80/20 tires I’m running. However, even after a long day of riding I quickly find my dirt legs. Cresting the first hill brings a whole little valley into the view, but to my surprise I realize: I’m not alone…
Continued in part II. Where at one point I am in an abandoned mine shaft with bats buzzing my head and a hacksaw in one hand.