When life gets busy, time is a precious commodity, but investing in an experience with my son like motorcycle camping slows down the clock and helps me remember what’s most important.
Although I know my dad rode a motorcycle when he was younger, I don’t have any memories of him doing so. Nor do I remember our family camping when I was growing up. My wife and I have taken our kids camping a few times since they got old enough that it wasn’t too much of a hassle, but it has always been car camping. This past summer was busier than usual, and when I knew we weren’t taking our usual big family trip and I still had the CFMOTO Ibex 800 T (see my Ibex 800 T review here), I told my son, Jameson, that we should go motorcycle camping.
As with most things that elicit excitement in a 10-year-old, he latched on to that idea and wouldn’t let go, so I decided we better make it happen while I still had the bike. I wanted him to have that memory.
Of my younger children, my son has taken to riding with me more so than my 13-year-old daughter. It’s not a “teenager thing”; it’s just not her thing. But for whatever reason, my boy, who is fearful of many other things, likes to get on the back of the bike. He still gets nervous on curvy roads, but on straightaways, I’ll sometimes see him in the mirrors with his arms spread out like he’s flying. I can relate to that feeling. And maybe part of it is just doing something with Dad. I can get on board with that too.
So we planned our trip. Although we were only traveling a little over an hour away, it would be Jameson’s longest ride with me. It was also the first motorcycle camping trip for both of us. Honestly, it was about as close to car camping as you can get on a motorcycle – except not as comfortable since I couldn’t take as much on the bike as we normally shoehorn into the car. But we were only going to be gone overnight – and not far off the beaten path. We would be camping at a place that served diner food, but I wanted at least one meal cooked over a fire, so I packed some hot dogs – and marshmallows, of course. Otherwise, we went pretty barebones, with just a tent, two old sleeping bags, and some snacks.
Talk about memories – mine, at least. We found an actual payphone at this gas station in the small town of Enterprise, Utah. There was just a recorded message saying there was no service, but at least you could hear something when you picked up the receiver.
When it comes to life with a 10-year-old, you’re not always sure when you’ve hit a homerun. Sometimes it’s obvious, like when they ask to do it all again the next weekend. Other times, you have to pry a little more, and when you have a gracious kid like mine, then you have to figure out if he’s just saying he had fun because he knows it’s important to you.
I know he enjoyed parts of the trip. He liked being on the back of the motorcycle – and I saw those arms spread out a few times. He didn’t like some of the twistier bits of the ride, but we talked about it that night at camp, and he felt more comfortable on the way back…I think. He was glad to arrive at our campground – especially since there was a pool – and he liked helping me with the tent. I made him leave his iPad home, which is a tough one for my kid, but we kept busy enough. Later that night in the tent, I caved and we watched a couple videos on my phone.
Our campsite could’ve used a little more shade for the late afternoon, when temps rose into the 90s, but the creek on the other side of the trees was the perfect soundtrack for relaxation.
Mostly I’m guessing he enjoyed the experience because it was just him and me, but like most kids with a sibling, I think he might’ve liked it more if his sister had expressed some jealousy. But she didn’t. She at least displayed some interest when we showed her and my wife the pictures, but there was no request of “Can I go next time?”
Cooler temps might’ve helped as well. It’s hard enough convincing a kid to get in full gear in the summer – it’s hard to convince myself sometimes – and he was especially ready to be done by the end of our trip when it hit the 90s and we were waiting in a drive-thru for our burgers before going home.
The riding was fun, but the smiles were the best part of the trip.
Our trip was a month and a half ago. So far, he hasn’t asked to do it again, but the rest of the summer continued to be as busy as the first part, so we’ll see how it goes next year. I hope he had fun. Or at least I hope he remembers the good parts above the rest. I’d say that’s the goal of parenting in general.
My campsite at Kanawha Falls State Park on my West Virginia motorcycle ride.
We all have beliefs about what’s expected of a motorcycle camper, and sometimes it takes a certain situation to bring those expectations to the surface. For me, it took heavy rain on a mountain road during a West Virginia motorcycle ride to point out my principles on motorcycle travel and what type of person I thought I needed to be to do it.
A Beautiful Beginning
Everything was going according to plan. I was on a solo motorcycle camping trip across central West Virginia along the Midland Trail National Scenic Byway (U.S. Route 60), and I spent my first night at the Kanawha State Forest campground. My campsite was pleasantly remote and on top of a bridge that crossed a scenic running creek. Waking up to the sound of gently flowing water was an energizing start to what would be an amazing day – or so I thought.
I packed up my gear and headed into Charleston for an early lunch. I chose Adelphia Sports Bar & Grille in the historic downtown area and enjoyed the best dish I’ve eaten on any of my dozen or so motorcycle camping trips to date: gyro macaroni and cheese, perfectly spiced gyro meat atop pasta shells and a creamy, cheesy sauce. I was in heaven.
I had never seen a gyro mac and cheese dish offered anywhere before I ordered it at Adelphia Sports Bar & Grille in Charleston, and it turned out to be one of the most comforting dishes I’ve had.
The First Rainstorm
Having thoroughly enjoyed my meal, I took off along the curvy Route 60 on my way to Lewisburg. Along the way, it started to drizzle, but my waterproof gear was doing its job. Then the rain intensified from a drizzle to a shower and eventually a torrential downpour. The road became curvier, with switchbacks and hairpins that would have been delightful on dry pavement but were treacherous when wet. Not trusting my tires as sheets of water ran across the corners, I was stiff and tense. Having nowhere to stop for cover, I had no choice but to press on.
Kanawha Falls State Park has campsites in a serene landscape covered in soft moss, which muffled surrounding noises and created a feeling of complete solitude.
Seeking relief, I consulted the navigation app on my phone and found a shortcut. To my dismay, the shortcut turned out to be a one‑lane road with no shoulder – my least favorite type of road – and was no less treacherous in terms of cornering. I accidentally took a wrong turn onto a deserted side road, and then the navigation rerouted me to a sharp, steep downhill left turn that would lead to another side route. I froze, uncomfortable with such a tight turn on wet ground.
Deciding that I should go back to Route 60, which at least had lane lines and a shoulder, I suddenly noticed two giant German shepherds nearby, glaring and growling at me. As they both started running toward me, I quickly accelerated and turned down that steep incline to get out of there faster than they could run. That’s one way to initiate a turn you don’t want to take.
I continued on the narrow, curvy road. My nerves were frayed by this point, and I even had a desperate thought that I should pull over and call my husband to come get me – a ridiculous notion, given that I was nearly eight hours away from home.
I finally made it through the not‑so‑shortcut and back onto Route 60, bitter that I could have just stayed on it the whole time. I started seeing signs for Lewisburg and have never been so relieved as when I pulled into Hill & Holler, the pizza place I had programmed into my phone.
Carbohydrate Therapy
After taking off my soaking wet gear and ordering a 12‑inch pizza all for myself, I settled in and let my frazzled nerves relax. I wasn’t sure what to do next. My reserved campsite was still an hour away – also along mountain roads. This time, the roads were ones that I had never ridden before, and on the map, they looked as curvy as where I had just been.
Deep down, I wanted to get a hotel. The thought of riding another hour or two in unrelenting heavy rain and setting up a soggy campsite sounded downright miserable. I messaged my husband and some of my riding friends; he supported the hotel idea, but they encouraged me to press on. They said it would be worth it, that I could do it, that there was no giving up or turning back. I felt guilty for thinking about giving up and getting a hotel, even though I knew it was the safest thing to do.
Charleston, West Virginia’s capital that’s bisected by the Kanawha River, has a charming historic downtown district.
Never one to back down from a challenge, I decided to continue, leaving the pizza place after cleaning up the massive puddles my dripping gear had left on their floor. Once outside, I discovered it was raining even harder. I hopped on and rode to the nearest gas station to fill up, and as my visor fogged up completely, I decided enough was enough. I found a hotel less than half a mile down the street and checked in. After carrying my luggage up the stairs and stripping off my water‑logged gear, I collapsed onto the bed.
At this point, I felt terrible about myself and my decision. I had given up, taken the easy way out, let down myself and everyone who was cheering me on. I realized I had high expectations of myself as a motorcycle camper – that I should be tough and resilient, but instead I was a wuss. Other female moto campers I had seen on social media portrayed themselves as “hardcore” as they slept sitting up or spent the night under a bridge. Why couldn’t I make it through a little rain?
After a hot shower and some takeout, I started feeling better about my decision. Staying in a hotel allowed me to regroup and relax, and it was nice to drift off to sleep in a dry, comfortable bed.
Bears and Boulders on a West Virginia Motorcycle Ride
The next day, I awoke to sunny skies and headed north on U.S. Route 219, also known as the Seneca Trail and part of the Seneca Skyway loop route. The ride was thrilling. For a while, I forgot I was on my Kawasaki Versys‑X 300 adventure bike since it was handling the curves like my Ninja 400.
After a thoroughly enjoyable half‑hour of riding, I dropped my kickstand at Beartown State Park, a must‑stop for an avid hiker like me. Beartown has one of the most unique hiking trails I’ve ever experienced, a half‑mile stroll on wooden boardwalks that wind through imposing rock formations on all sides. I was one of the only people there, so walking through this “town” of large boulders was quiet, a little eerie, and the perfect reward after the trials I’d been through the previous day.
Beartown State Park was named because the pioneers thought it resembled a town for bears since the rocks are roughly the size and shape of buildings.
Route 219 took me all the way north to Elkins, a charming historic town that serves as the seat of Randolph County. Elkins was a coal and timber town in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Its revitalized downtown has restaurants, bars, shops, lodging, and museums centered around the restored Elkins Depot, where you can take a scenic train ride on the Durban & Greenbrier Valley Railroad. Scottie’s of Elkins, full of locals and serving hearty, delicious comfort food, was the perfect place for lunch.
West Virginia certainly lives up to its nickname, The Mountain State. Tucked between the rolling Appalachian peaks are cozy burgs like Elkins, which are great places to stay, eat, and enjoy other off-bike activities.
Riding east out of Elkins, U.S. Route 33 follows a winding path up and over the Allegheny Mountains, crossing several rivers along the way to Seneca Rocks, a scenic rock formation that’s popular among climbers. I stayed on Route 33 to Judy Gap, where I continued south on State Route 28, enjoying curves and sunshine all the way to Watoga State Park.
After setting up my campsite, I walked to the bathhouse and was stopped by a man in his 70s who was in better shape than I am. He yelled out from across the yard, “Are you the biker lady?” I laughed and responded, “Yes sir, that’s me.”
He asked where I had come from and where I was going. When I mentioned I had planned to spend the previous night here but stayed in a hotel instead because of the rain, he exclaimed, “Oh, you sissy!” I was taken aback and momentarily hurt until he laughed and followed his insult with the remark, “Yea right. I’ve never even seen a female on a solo motorcycle trip here in 17 years of being a camp host.”
Point taken: I couldn’t possibly be a sissy given what I was out here doing. This realization and the external validation were a relief.
Elkins Depot has a welcome center with information about the area. You can also board a train for a different sort of scenic ride through the mountains.
Return to Route 39 and Motorcycle Camaraderie
Rain started again in the evening, and while it had stopped by morning, my tent and tarp were still wet when I packed them up. My final campground of the trip was at Beech Fork State Park, but I had a few stops I wanted to make along the way. Plus, I wanted to ride State Route 39, which was the other reason I had come to this area – a man on a previous trip had given me a coin and pin commemorating this road (see “Along the Midland Trail: A West Virginia Motorcycle Trip”), but I didn’t get a chance to ride it at that time.
The landscape of the Seneca Trail (U.S. Route 219) is a remarkable mixture of rolling hills and mountains.
For this trip, I had taken a laissez‑faire approach to planning: Pick a few destinations and the routes in between them and see what happens. This was different from my usual meticulous planning, and I ended up missing out on a few opportunities. I assumed that Route 39 would be a curvy road through towns and countryside like Route 60, but it runs through a national forest, isn’t particularly curvy, and has plenty of tourist stops along the way. Trying to beat the oncoming rain and knowing I had limited time to get to my next campsite, I didn’t stop at any of them, which I regret.
I continued south on U.S. Route 19 back to Route 60 when I got stuck in yet another rainstorm, this time on a four‑lane highway. Given the recent relinquishing of my harsh, self‑imposed rules about pressing on in misery, it was an easy decision to stop in Fayetteville at Water Stone Outdoors – a befitting name for my situation.
My Kawasaki Versys-X 300 handled well in the rain, but I still felt tense and nervous on steep, winding roads.
The store had a cafe inside, and my weather app said the rain would pass in about an hour, so I settled in with a warm and comforting chai latte while perusing their clothing options, again dripping puddles all over the floor.
A local woman approached me and said they didn’t see many motorcycle travelers around there. She asked if I was alone. When I replied that I was, she gave me a fist bump and said, “Wow, so you’re a badass!”
This woman didn’t know that I had stayed in a hotel to escape the rain nor did she care that I had ducked into a cafe to do it again. She just knew I was out here traveling on a bike, and that was enough in her book. It should be enough in my book as well.
As the sun peeked out of the clouds and the rain stopped, I headed to Beech Fork State Park. On previous trips, I had gone to one homebase campground and then branched out on day trips from there. This time, I had planned an actual tour where I stopped at a new place each night and packed up camp in the morning.
My campsite at Beech Fork Lake was a beautiful retreat.
I found this to be exhausting, even with my hotel stay in the middle of it. After packing up my kit at Watoga, I had thought briefly about pushing through and riding the eight hours home just so I wouldn’t have to set up camp again. But I reminded myself that camping was half the reason I was on the trip and I would enjoy it once I was there, feeling the weight of my beloved camp equipment in my hands as I unpacked it. And for once, the weather looked clear for the next two days.
I arrived at Beech Fork State Park and found a perfect campsite with a stunning view of a lake. I set up camp and enjoyed the quiet solitude until I heard the familiar sound of a motorcycle exhaust. A large BMW adventure bike loaded up with gear and piloted by a man in matching textile apparel pulled around the circle in front of my campsite.
“I heard there was another motorcyclist in the campground,” he said through his helmet. “I thought I might stop by and say hello.”
We chatted briefly about where we were from and where we were headed. “You’re the only other traveling motorcyclist I’ve talked to on one of my trips,” he told me, and I indicated that he was the same. I was reminded of my recent realizations thanks to the camp host at Watoga and the woman at Water Stone Outdoors. They had both taught me that being out on a bike was enough, regardless of whether you’re traveling across the world or just across a state, roughing it every night in the backcountry or sleeping in a campground with amenities, braving the elements or enjoying warm and safe shelter indoors.
Looking at this fellow adventurer, knowing we were both rare individuals among travelers, sealed the deal that my expectations of myself as a moto camper were unfair and unrealistic. I shrugged off the unnecessary emotional weight right there on the shore of Beech Fork Lake.
The sun rising above the mist on Beech Fork Lake was the perfect send-off on my final day in West Virginia.
If you need permission to ditch staunch expectations about what type of person you should be to travel on your motorcycle, take it from me: You are enough, just as you are.
Setting up camp in your backyard first will make things easier once you get to the campsite.
You’ve packed your moto camping kit. You’ve loaded up your luggage. You zip up your moto jacket and step out into…your backyard? When it comes to motorcycle camping tips, this is perhaps the best place to start.
Regardless of whether you’re an experienced motorcyclist or a skillful camper, there’s something about combining the two that enhances the adventure – and the challenges. Your backyard might seem like an odd place to camp, but if you’re new to motorcycle camping or trying out equipment for the first time, there’s no better place to practice than at home.
Motorcycle Camping Tips 101: Checking Your Kit
Camping at home can be a fun mini “staycation.”
Unlike car camping, tossing everything in the back of your vehicle is not an option when traveling on a bike. Motorcycle camping requires more attention to organization and efficient packing. You not only have limited space, but often you need to unpack and set up camp when you’re worn out from a long day of riding. You then must pack everything back up again the next morning – and that tent never wants to go back in its stuff sack just right, does it?
It can take time to figure out how new equipment works. After upgrading to a larger tent, I embarked on a moto camping trip before trying it out first. When I arrived at my campsite in West Virginia, exhausted from riding since dawn, I realized the new tent’s guy lines were different than my usual setup. Without internet access, I had to guess how to tie them. I made it through the night, but the clear light of morning revealed I had tied them incorrectly. Had I tried to stake down those lines at home, I could have quickly determined the correct method by pulling up a video on my phone.
Testing your camping gear and learning the proper approach for set up and break down in your backyard saves headaches in the backcountry. Practice makes perfect. Can’t figure out a piece of gear? Read the instruction manual or find a tutorial on YouTube. Is something broken or missing? Find a replacement before you need it most, and get your packing list dialed in from the comfort of home.
Lucky are those who can sleep through anything. For the rest of us, a sagging sleeping pad or too-puffy pillow can make for a miserable, sleepless night – and fatigue and soreness the next day, which affects your riding.
Try sleeping overnight in your backyard to test out the comfort of your sleeping bag and pad.
One night while camping in the early spring, I discovered that my idea of a comfortable sleeping temperature differed significantly from my sleeping bag manufacturer’s rating. After shivering for an hour in 35-degree temperatures inside my 30-degree bag, I donned every piece of clothing I had, including three pairs of socks and my motorcycle gloves, before I finally fell asleep. Had I tested the sleeping bag at home at that temperature, I could have simply gone inside – and opened a browser tab to order a thermal sleeping bag liner.
Waiting to Wander
After testing out your gear, packing methods, and camping setup, you might be ready to head out on that long-distance motorcycle trip. While you would be better equipped than you were before the backyard practice, another of my motorcycle camping tips I might offer is that it’s still a good idea to do a shakedown run with your loaded motorcycle and perhaps spend a night at a campsite close to home, especially when trying out new gear or luggage.
It’s also a good idea to pack everything on your bike ahead of time to make sure everything fits and is secure.
I purchased a set of universal-fit Sedici saddlebags for my Kawasaki Ninja 400, and after loading them up, I hit the road. When I arrived at a campground a couple of hours later, I smelled something odd. After examining my bike, I discovered that hot exhaust gas from the muffler had burned a gaping hole in the corner of the saddlebag.
Molten sunscreen and soap were dripping out of the singed tarpaulin, and I knew I wasn’t going to be able to ride home like that – not without my stuff falling out of the hole or being melted or burned on the way. I called my husband and asked him to drive to the campsite so we could load my gear into our truck. Had I tried those saddlebags around town before heading out, I could have saved us both time and hassle.
Don’t think of setting up camp in your backyard as a chore or a waste of time. Have fun and use it as an opportunity to get excited about the adventures to come. Play with your gear, enjoy the outdoors, and if something goes wrong, you can always sleep in your own bed.
Rider’s editor-in-chief Greg Drevenstedt (left) and American Rider’s editor-in-chief Kevin Duke share a fireside toast. (Photos by Kevin Wing)
Buried deep in my iPhone is a text message I sent to my riding buddies on Feb. 29, 2008 (lucky leap day, as it turns out):
I got the job!! I’m Rider’s new Road Test Editor! Woohoo!
I had just returned from my second interview with Mark Tuttle, Rider’s former editor-in-chief. We had met up for a motorcycle ride, and during lunch at a beachside cafe, he offered me the job.
Working full-time at a motorcycle magazine really has been a dream come true. It’s been an honor and a privilege to ride hundreds of new motorcycles and travel all over the world. But one of the most rewarding parts of my job has been getting to know fellow motorcycle enthusiasts who work in the industry – passionate, intelligent, talented individuals who have become not only trusted colleagues but true friends.
The Wingman
One of those friends is Kevin Wing. He’s one of the best motorcycle photographers in the business, and his work has been featured in Rider, Motorcyclist, Sport Rider, Cycle World, and other leading publications since the ’90s. Wing is responsible for countless inspiring covers and vivid images that bring this magazine to life, and he deserves way more credit for his contributions than we could ever give him.
Like many photographers, Kevin Wing avoids the limelight. I managed to capture a selfie with him (right) and Duke during a lunch stop.
Wing was the photographer on my first Rider photoshoot. A month into my new job, Tuttle asked me to photo model on the Buell XB12XT for the June 2008 cover feature. Wing was patient with my inexperience, coaching me on how to ride 2 feet off the back bumper of a minivan for tracking shots.
Wing is also a perfectionist. He’ll call for as many photo passes as it takes – sometimes dozens of them in a single corner – to get the lighting, focus, angle, and other details just right. On the Buell shoot, I struggled to do repeated U-turns on a steep, narrow road for the cover shot. When I blew it one time and ended up in the weeds, he snagged a few embarrassing frames of me trying to extricate myself.
Enjoying fresh pavement on Lockwood Valley Road aboard the Husqvarna Norden 901 and Honda CB500X.
If I’m honest, I’ve never felt like the “talent.” I’m a rider with middling skills who is always trying to compensate for a lifelong habit of cocking my head to the left, inspiring a few riding buddies to nickname me “iLean.” The real talent is the guy behind the camera.
The Dukester
Another industry veteran I’m proud to call my friend is Kevin Duke. He started out at Motorcyclist in the late ’90s and was an editor at Roadracing World and Motorcycle Consumer News before taking the helm as editor-in-chief at Motorcycle-USA.com and then Motorcycle.com. When the EIC position opened up at our sibling publication, Thunder Press (which became American Rider last May), I was stoked when Duke landed the job.
The Honda CB500X is more at home on the pavement, despite its adventure styling and 19-inch front wheel.
Over the years, I’ve attended dozens of press launches around the world with Duke. He was at my first press launch in Gatlinburg, Tennessee, in the spring of 2008, one that will forever live in infamy after one guy crashed (me), nearly every other journalist got a ticket, and one unlucky soul was hauled off in handcuffs. But that’s a longer story best told over a couple of beers…
In January 2013, Duke and I attended the global launch of the BMW R 1200 GS “water” Boxer in South Africa, an event that got cut short on the first day after a British motojournalist crashed and ultimately succumbed to his injuries.
Following the fatal incident, the mood at the launch was somber. We had a free day before our flight home, and Duke and I decided we needed to do something life-affirming. So we borrowed a BMW X1 and drove to Bloukrans Bridge, which, at 700 feet above the Bloukrans River, is the site of the world’s highest commercial bungee jump.
Can you tell which one of us had completed the Bloukrans Bridge bungee jump and which one was awaiting his fate?
I was nervous during the entire two-hour drive there, hoping Duke would chicken out so I could do the same. But he never did, and we went through with it. The jump was two seconds of sheer terror followed by one of the most exhilarating experiences of my life.
The Motorcycle Camping Plan
Duke and I oversee a small editorial team as we work collaboratively on Rider and American Rider. Duke is a former racer and can wheelie anything on two wheels, but now that he runs an American V-Twin publication, his opportunities to ride bikes not made by Harley or Indian are limited.
“Hey Duke, we’re working on this adventure issue for Rider. How about you take the train up here to Ventura, and we’ll go for a ride? Bring your tent and sleeping bag.”
As a full-sized adventure bike with long-travel suspension, the Husqvarna Norden 901 is well-suited for stand-up riding off-road.
We both spend way too much time riding a desk chair, so he didn’t hesitate to accept my invitation. We had a pair of adventure bikes – a Honda CB500X and a Husqvarna Norden 901 – in the Rider garage, and we’d be joined by Wing on our Yamaha Tracer 9 GT long-termer.
You know what they say about the best-laid plans. Duke missed his 6 a.m. train, pushing our departure back by two hours. Deadlines, a bum knee, and aftereffects of a Covid booster slowed down my last-minute packing, so by the time we hit the road it was noon.
Introduced last year, the Norden 901 is Husqvarna’s first foray into the adventure/travel segment. Husky is owned by KTM, and the Norden is built on the same platform as the KTM 890 Adventure. It’s powered by an 889cc parallel-Twin that makes a claimed 105 hp at the crank, and it has throttle-by-wire, a 6-axis IMU, and a full suite of electronic rider aids. MSRP is $13,999, and the touring cases with carriers add $1,030.
First, the Ride
From my house, I can hit California Route 33 with a rock. It peels off U.S. Route 101 near the beach, and after winding through small hamlets like Casitas Springs and Oak View, Route 33 passes a biker hangout called the Deer Lodge and becomes one of the best motorcycling roads in Southern California, entering the wide-open spaces of Los Padres National Forest. I even wrote about the 33 in my cover letter when I applied to Rider back in 2008:
A motorcycling treasure sits in Rider’s backyard. The triple-crown of the Jacinto Reyes Scenic Byway (Route 33), Lockwood Valley Road, and Cerro Noroeste Road has it all: breathtaking vistas, peg-scraping switchbacks, fast sweepers, and top-gear straights.
In Honda’s lineup since 2013, the CB500X has grown into its role as a light, affordable adventure bike. Built around a 471cc parallel-Twin, in 2019 it got a larger front wheel, more suspension travel, and other upgrades. Updates for 2022 include a lighter front wheel, a lighter swingarm, a new inverted Showa SFF-BP fork, and dual front disc brakes. MSRP is $7,199, and Honda’s accessory tankbag, light bar, and panniers bring the as-tested price to $8,517.
Even better, these roads have minimal traffic, especially on a Tuesday. “The Kevins” and I have ridden together many times, and we enjoy a brisk pace. We pushed our bikes hard and gnawed the chicken strips down to gristle. And then, out of nowhere, we received an unexpected gift.
Covering about 25 desolate miles from its junction with Route 33 to the small community of Lake of the Woods, Lockwood Valley Road has suffered a long history of neglect. It was in rough shape when I first rode it 15 years ago, and over the years, it has only deteriorated further. One tricky section is a tangled knot of first-gear corners that go through narrow desert canyons and washes. On one of my first test rides through Lockwood Valley, I dumped a $20,000 BMW R 1200 HP2 Megamoto in a patch of sand that caught me off-guard, cracking one of the magnesium cylinder heads and nearly putting my dream job at risk.
As the Kevins and I turned onto Lockwood Valley Road, we saw that the top layer of pavement had been scraped off. A few miles later, we came upon the paving crew. And then … nirvana!
The recently repaved Lockwood Valley Road was a delight.
All the twists and turns that were such a challenge when the pavement was cracked, patched, potholed, and strewn with sand and rock-slide debris became a jet black, eerily smooth roller coaster like those plastic Hot Wheels tracks you could twist into acrobatic shapes and loops. We were gobsmacked.
The Actual Motorcycle Camping
An army marches on its stomach, and so does a crew on a photoshoot ride. We’re all remote workers these days, so rides like these give us a chance to see each other face-to-face and have some laughs. While we sat around a picnic table and scarfed down an XL combination pie at Mike’s Pizza, Duke revealed that Wing had also been the photographer on his first shoot – 25 years ago to the month. We commiserated about the recent heat wave, inquired about Duke’s and Wing’s kids, and discussed the length of my beard. By December, I should be eligible for a part-time gig as Santa.
As California Route 33 follows the winding path of the Ventura River through Wheeler Gorge, it passes through a pair of tunnels built in 1931.
We waddled out to the bikes rubbing our distended bellies, saddled up, and made our way through the alpine community of Pine Mountain Club before spiraling our way up Cerro Noroeste Road to the top of its namesake mountain. Cerro Noroeste is surrounded by the Chumash Wilderness, and sprawled across its 8,300-foot summit under the shade of enormous Jeffrey pines is Campo Alto Campground.
When my brother and I first camped at Campo Alto back in ’06, we had embraced our Tennessee heritage, bringing little more than a box of fried chicken, a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, and bed rolls tossed in the bed of my F-150. We’ve taken Rider staff camping trips to Campo Alto, so it seemed a fitting location for our most recent escape. A week after Labor Day on a Tuesday, it was deserted.
Shaded by enormous Jeffrey pines, Campo Alto Campground is perched atop Cerro Noroeste at 8,300 feet in Los Padres National Forest.
As the Kevins set up camp, I rode down to the general store in Pine Mountain Club and stocked up on beer, chips, sandwich fixin’s, and firewood. We soon had a toasty blaze going and cold cans of IPA in our hands. Heavy rains had spun off from Cyclone Kay and soaked the mountains only a day or two before, and the petrichor mixed with the smell of pine and wood smoke.
“Hard to believe we’re so close to home,” Wing said. “Feels like we’re a million miles away.”
We had ridden less than 100 miles since leaving Ventura, and it was probably half that to the campground as the crow flies. But we were on the top of a mountain surrounded by wilderness, and there was no one around but us.
“Trust me, Duke, if we just bomb down this hill, go over the river, and through the woods, we’ll get home an hour earlier.”
After the sun went down, it dropped into the 40s, so we huddled close to the fire, sipped some 10-year-old Henry McKenna bourbon, and told war stories about press launches, photoshoots, close calls, and embarrassing moments. (Yes, I told the Gatlinburg story.)
Ours was an adventure with a little “a.” We didn’t do much preparation or planning, nothing went wrong, and we were back home in less than 36 hours. But we slept in tents under the stars, had fun, and asked, “Why don’t we do this more often?” Even a brief escape with good friends does wonders for the soul.
Setting up camp in New York’s Catskill Mountains with some showers in the forecast, so the tent rain fly goes on before hitting the sack. Photo by Kenneth Dahse.
Everyone knows the potential benefits and joys of camping out. Spectacular unfiltered views of the sky, sunsets and stars, communing with nature and friends by the campfire and sharing simple, tasty meals surrounded by trees, wildlife, mountains or the open desert…it’s all out there. Camping avoids costly hotels, too, so you can ride longer for less, and it lets you plan riding routes into backcountry you might not otherwise be able to reach. The shared effort and cooperation of roughing it with friends also enhances your group’s camaraderie, creating stronger bonds and great memories.
Of course, camping is a bit more complicated than whipping out a credit card at the Dew Drop Inn. Everything we need and take for granted in our homes or in hotels has to come with you on the bike, right down to the roof over your head. Car campers have it easy–there’s generally plenty of room, so less thought has to go into what to bring. But despite a limited amount of space on a motorcycle, with a little forethought and ingenuity you can enjoy both a great ride and a memorable camping trip.
Primitive, dry camping takes more effort and planning, but the payoff can be secluded beauty like this spot on the Sea of Cortez in Baja, Mexico. Photo by Steven M. Green.
Assuming you’re a total newbie to motorcycle camping, consider picking a spot for your first overnight that has water, toilets, trash cans, picnic tables, fire rings and/or grills, like an established campground. Dry, primitive camping can be awesome and the only kind available in some really wonderful places, but in addition to carrying your own water for washing and drinking, you’d be surprised how inconvenient the lack of a simple raised table can be for some people, not to mention doing your business in the bushes and packing out your trash. Of course, a dark pit toilet in a campground is still an adventure at 3 a.m., but at least you’ve got a door and somewhere to sit (just remember that if something falls in there, it’s probably staying!).
When your living quarters is a tent, the presence of simple conveniences like a table for organizing your gear can make a huge difference in your camping comfort level. Photo by Steven M. Green.
It also helps if there’s a camp store or host nearby who can provide bulky things like charcoal and firewood, which you can strap to the bike after it’s unloaded at the campsite. Depending on the motorcycle’s capacity and if you’re riding solo or two-up, you may also want to skip the pre-organized meals and simply buy something for dinner and breakfast at the closest store to the campground and bungee it on in some way. You’d be amazed how much space you can find when you’re hungry and thirsty! Bring or buy soft-sided insulated bags that fold flat for transporting cold beverages or hot food, and try to leave some space in your bike’s luggage for your purchases when you pack the bike at home.
Using a liner bag in the bike’s top trunk makes it easy to remove and strap to the passenger seat, freeing up trunk space for vittles and such purchased close to camp. Photo by Mark Tuttle.
How much and what type of camping gear to bring really boils down to personal preference and how much you can fit on the bike without overloading it and upsetting its handling. You can’t go wrong by buying the lightest, most compact gear that will work for the conditions–backpacking equipment, for example, often works well, particularly when space is at a premium. It can be expensive, though, and there’s no point in shelling out big bucks for an ultra-lightweight tent when you’re riding solo on a big touring bike with a full set of luggage. Don’t compromise on quality, though–cheap tents leak and can be hard to set up, and bulky, inexpensive sleeping bags and pads are never as warm or comfortable as promised. Here’s a basic list to get you started:
Tent
Ground cover or tent footprint
Sleeping bag
Sleeping pad, air mattress or cot
Stake mallet/puller
Camp chair
LED headlight/lantern
Small stove/coffee pot or JetBoil
Cup/spork
Water bottle
Multitool/knife
Towel/soap/cleansing wipes
Windproof matches/lighter
Kindling or campfire starter
First aid kit
Bug repellant, sunscreen, hat
Choose wisely, and most of this stuff should fit in a waterproof duffel you can strap on the back of the bike (we recommend Rok straps, but bungees work too) or in a large saddlebag or top trunk. I use a liner bag in the top trunk and one saddlebag for gear and clothing so that I can easily lift them out and strap them on the passenger seat at the supermarket. Some examples: Choose a tent (with rain fly) that is just big enough to fit you and your gear inside and that packs small, and set it up on a tarp or ground cover to protect the floor. Down sleeping bags pack down quite small in a compression stuff sack, and choose an inflatable sleeping pad rather than bulkier self-inflating or foam sleeping pads. Instant coffee saves some hassle, and you can heat the water with a small backpacking stove or Jetboil cooking system. Campfire starter is safer than newspaper or gasoline to get your campfire going.
When I have a full set of luggage on the bike, here’s how I typically fill it. Left saddlebag: axe/stake puller, spare Rok straps, MotoPump, clothing bag. Right saddlebag: The Football (tools, flat kit, siphon hose, etc.), sleeping bag in compression stuff sack, sleeping bag liner, fleece jacket liner. Top trunk: Pouch with smaller items, liner bag with other gear (next photo). Photo by Mark Tuttle.This is what goes in the top trunk liner bag: Tent, ground cloth, Helinox chair, sandals, inflatable sleeping pad, TP, Kammok hammock, miscellaneous small stuff. Photo by Mark Tuttle.
How much you add or subtract to the list above is where the ingenuity comes in–if your bike has removable aluminum panniers or saddlebags with flat tops and bottoms, for example, with your compressible pillow on top they can substitute for camp chairs. Sleeping bag liners pack small and can lower your existing bag’s temperature rating by as much as 20 degrees. Carry water in a Camelbak reservoir on your back and you’ll have up to 3 liters while riding and in camp.
You get the idea–with a little creativity you can enjoy most of the comforts of home in the middle of nowhere. There aren’t a lot of hard-and-fast rules, except pack it in, pack it out, tend your fire…and don’t forget the TP!
Saddlebags loaded with a little room to spare for snacks and such. Photo by Mark Tuttle.Removed from the bike and padded with your compressible pillow, hard bags stand in for fancy camping chairs when space is at a premium. Photo by Mark Tuttle.
