Tim Kessel searches for mysteries along the Colorado River. (Photos by the author)
There is something truly awe-inspiring about standing in the presence of art created by an ancient civilization, especially when that creation holds a particular mystery. Having grown up on an Apache reservation in eastern Arizona, I have always had a curiosity about, and a respect for, all things Native American. It is with that lifelong intrigue that I packed my BMW GS and headed for the Colorado River near the borders of Nevada, Arizona, and California in search of the mystifying art of the ancients.
After a night at a high-rise casino hotel in Laughlin, Nevada, I pulled away from the bustling modern town seeking things from a quieter, more enigmatic time. It was a late-November morning, and this often oven-like region had a chill in the air.
The Grapevine Canyon Petroglyphs are more than 700 rock engravings on Spirit Mountain near Laughlin, Nevada. The site is listed on the National Register of Historic Places.
My first destination was the Grapevine Canyon Petroglyphs. After riding northwest on State Route 163, I turned right on Christmas Tree Pass Road, where my trek continued on a graded road that’s a mix of dirt, gravel, and sand. The GS’s long suspension was perfect for this foray, but with care this road can be navigated on most motorcycles. At about the 2-mile mark, I saw signage for Grapevine Canyon. A short access road brought me to the trailhead that leads to the petroglyphs. There were no other vehicles in the small parking area. Just the kind of solitude I was hoping for.
With the kickstand down, I shed a layer of gear and navigated the sandy and beautiful quarter-mile walk to the petroglyphs. It was one of the most peaceful and well-preserved prehistoric sites I have visited. Other than shoeprints in the sand, there was little evidence of modern man. The well-defined stone drawings cover the rocks in every direction.
Grapevine Canyon Petroglyphs
The animal, human, and stylized geometric figures were reportedly created between 1100 and 1900 AD by the native Mojave peoples who have inhabited the Colorado River region for centuries. While a great number of the glyphs are readily available for viewing, many of them now sit 40 to 50 feet under the blown and shifted sand. The meaning and purpose of the glyphs are unknown.
Back on the highway, where the views of the Colorado River Valley are stark and expansive, I turned south on Needles Highway. This stretch took me through rocky crags, below pastel desert vistas, and near the banks of the Colorado River. After passing into California, I crossed the river into Arizona on Interstate 40, then took a southern exit onto State Route 95 and rode along the eastern bank of the river.
One of the many colorful murals that adorn various walls in Lake Havasu City, Arizona. This one is “Farm to Table,” created by Rachel Keiser.
Soon I arrived in Lake Havasu City, which is famous for being the home of the relocated London Bridge. But I had a different focus for my visit: the city’s large and vibrant outdoor murals, which are painted on roadside retaining walls and local businesses. They provided a colorful, modern contrast to the ancient murals I saw earlier.
After lunch, I continued rolling south until I came to one of the most important stretches on the Colorado River, the Bill Williams River National Wildlife Refuge. The unique, naturally regenerating wetland area is a rarity in the desert Southwest. The blue waters, tall green reeds, and variety of waterfowl were visually stunning.
The Bill Williams River National Wildlife Refuge is an oasis in the desert.
After leaving the refuge, I made my way through the striking red rock canyons of the Parker Strip before taking Agnes Wilson Road back over the Colorado and into California again. A southern turn onto U.S. Route 95 took me toward the final ancient intrigue of this ride. This stretch is a great mix of undulating road, with long sweeping turns as it follows the flow of the Colorado south through the beautiful, stark desert.
Signs indicated I was approaching the Blythe Intaglios. A short dirt ride brought me to a series of huge desert drawings that are protected by low chain-link fencing. These massive human, animal, and spiral geoglyphs, the largest of which is over 170 feet long, are dated from 900 BC to 1540 AD. They were rediscovered when a pilot spotted them in 1932. Interestingly, none of the Colorado River tribes claim to have created the intaglios. The mystery remains unsolved.
A bird’s eye view of one of the Blythe Intaglios, which are so large they’re difficult to view from ground level. (Photo courtesy Wikimedia Commons)
After a long day of riding and discovery, I made my way back across the Colorado River to a tiny cabin in Ehrenberg, Arizona. As I enjoyed a post-ride stroll along the banks of the river, I contemplated the intrigues I found upstream along this vital Southwestern waterway.
Tim Kessel is a lifelong resident of Arizona. With 50-plus years of motorcycling and 30 years of teaching English under his belt, he has melded those two passions into a gig as a motojournalist. Maybe that’s why there is always a permanent, satisfied smile under his full-face helmet.
Railyard Pie Company in Edmond, Oklahoma. (Photos by Steve Skinner and Steve Johnson)
Oklahoma and Texas have been official neighbors since 1907, when Oklahoma became the 46th state. Oklahomans and Texans have more in common than not, but they haven’t always been the friendliest of neighbors. In July of 1931, a border dispute between the two states led to the so-called Red River Bridge War, during which Oklahoma Governor William Henry “Alfalfa Bill” Murray sent the National Guard to the Oklahoma side of a bridge across the Red River. Texas Governor Ross Shaw Sterling answered in kind, deploying a group of Texas Rangers to their side of the bridge. The standoff was quickly diffused, and the only shots fired were by Texas Rangers taking target practice.
Nowadays the Oklahoma vs. Texas hostilities are mainly limited to the annual Red River Rivalry, one of the longest-running and most storied college football rivalries in the country. First played in 1900, the rivalry series has been held uninterrupted since 1929. The teams have met 120 times, and Texas leads the series 64-51, with five ties. Each October the two teams meet at the Cotton Bowl in Dallas to settle bragging rights for another year.
Bags full of decadence at Arbuckle Mountain Fried Pies near Davis, Oklahoma.
Texas also holds an edge when it comes to great motorcycling roads – a glance at the Butler Maps-rated roads in each state clearly makes the point. But there are other “quality of life” considerations important to motorcyclists, and near the top is food. When you drill down in that category, it doesn’t take long to get to pie and the cafes and diners where good pie can be found. The question of which of the rival states has the best pie is an open debate.
I, along with two of my riding buddies, Steve Skinner and Steve Johnson, set out to settle the question once and for all during a three-day, 1,100-mile motorcycle tour we called The Red River Rivalry of Pie. Our plan was to eat our way through some of the best pie cafes in each state, compile our admittedly unscientific results to declare a winner, and enjoy some great Texas Hill Country roads along the way.
Apple crumble pie from Railyard Pie Company in Edmond, Oklahoma.
Our adventure began at the Railyard Pie Company in Edmond, Oklahoma, which sits in a newly renovated old part of town, with vibrant shops, restaurants, and a weekend farmers’ market. Railyard has an inviting and friendly atmosphere, often treating customers to live bluegrass music on Saturday mornings. We sampled two pies: lemon cream and apple crumble. Railyard didn’t disappoint – we agreed the pies were outstanding and looked forward to judging how they would stack up against the stiff competition yet to come.
Total pie count: 3 pieces
Oklahoma City’s Pie Junkie is tucked between a bar and an art gallery in the city’s hip Plaza District. Its pies impressed our discerning taste testers.
Our pie tour turned south to Oklahoma City. Pie Junkie, located in the city’s groovy Plaza District, is a compact operation, accommodating only about a half-dozen dine-in customers. Most of the customers we saw were picking up pre-ordered whole pies or grabbing slices to go. We sampled Pie Junkie’s French silk (chocolate), Drunken Turtle, and (again) apple crumble. The pies were amazing, and we began to realize just how difficult picking an overall winner would be. After licking our plates – literally – we hopped on the bikes, pointed them southwest on Interstate 44, and headed toward Lawton, about 90 miles down the road.
Total pie count: 6 pieces
The Wichita Mountains Wildlife Refuge near Lawton, Oklahoma, preserves 60,000 acres of grasslands and granite mountains.
The weather was cooperating beautifully, with the temperature in the low 60s, clear skies, and light winds. As we approached Lawton, we could see the Wichita Mountains outlined against the western horizon. We detoured from the interstate onto State Route 49 in the direction of the quirky town of Medicine Park. Mount Scott, one of the highest points in Oklahoma at 2,464 feet, towers over the eastern edge of the Wichita Mountains Wildlife Refuge, where buffalo, elk, and longhorn cattle freely roam. We took the 3-mile-long paved road that leads to the top and were treated with striking vistas in every direction.
Back on I-44, we continued south, crossed into Texas, and at Wichita Falls picked up U.S. Route 281 south toward Jacksboro and Mineral Wells. The road cuts through a swath of cattle country but soon gives way to a gently winding, undulating roadway and more wooded terrain. Looming over the town of Mineral Wells is the 14-story Baker Hotel and Spa, which is on the National Register of Historic Places. Opened in 1929, it originally boasted 450 guest rooms, ballrooms, a bowling alley, a gymnasium, and a swimming pool. The hotel thrived throughout the 1930s and ’40s, but after 20 years of decline, it closed its doors in 1972. Now under renovation, the hotel should reopen in 2026.
State Route 49 is a winding, scenic ride through the wildlife refuge that goes by Mount Scott, Lake Jed Johnson, and Quanah Parker Lake.
South of Mineral Wells, the bridge on U.S. 281 that crosses over the Brazos River is also listed on the National Register of Historic Places. Spanning 1,138 feet, the continuous-truss-style bridge was built in 1939 and has been recently refurbished.
We pressed on along U.S. 281 south to Stephenville where, recognizing that man cannot live on pie alone, we stopped at Hard Eight BBQ for lunch. Since this is a pie article, I won’t dwell on the many great qualities of Hard Eight, but for the record, it’s an excellent place to satisfy your inner carnivore.
The Fredericksburg Pie Company is in the heart of Texas Hill Country west of Austin. We liked their pie so much that we had two pieces each, which fortified us for a fun ride on two of the Twisted Sisters: RM 336 and RM 337.
We followed U.S. 281 south to Lampasas, where we angled southeast on U.S. Route 183 toward Austin. Pink, white, and red wildflowers added splashes of color to the sides of the road and the green fields beyond, giving us a taste of what we would see in abundance in the Hill Country west of Austin. We overnighted northwest of the city after a great day of riding that covered nearly 450 miles.
On Day 2, we made our way to U.S. Route 290 west out of Austin for the 75-mile ride to Fredericksburg. U.S. 290 between Austin and Fredericksburg is a beautiful road, parts of which are rated by Butler Maps, and there are several breweries and wineries along the highway.
Fredericksburg Pie Company
Fredericksburg Pie Company is open Thursday, Friday, and Saturday from 10 a.m. until the pie is gone – usually around 3 p.m. We arrived about 15 minutes after it opened, and there was already a dozen or so customers in various stages of pie-induced bliss. The place is homey, with plenty of indoor and outdoor seating. When we asked about their best pie, the friendly staff quickly shared their motto: “We’ve got no time for bad pie – everything’s good.” And they weren’t wrong. The coffee was great, and the pie was even better. We quickly scarfed down the first round – lemon meringue, coconut cream, and orange bourbon pecan. Then we moved on to round two: key lime, chocolate meringue, and coconut cream. Our scorecards showed that the setting, service, and pie (six pieces in one visit!) at Fredericksburg Pie Company received high marks.
Total pie count: 12 pieces
It’s hard to beat a ride on Texas’ Twisted Sisters on a beautiful sunny day.
Stuffed and quite happy, we turned our attention to finding some great Hill Country roads, specifically the famous Twisted Sisters – RM (Ranch-to-Market Road) 335, 336, and 337. Our plan was to ride most of RM 337 from the jumping-off point on State Route 16 at Medina, pick up RM 336 at Leakey, and take it north to its end at State Route 41. The two Sisters are curvy, fast, and undulating, and we worked off a lot of the pie calories hustling our big bikes down those roads.
We are all veterans of the Twisted Sisters, but we agreed that they seemed better than we remembered – maybe it was the beautiful day, springtime greenery, and colorful wildflowers. Or pie-induced bliss. At the junction of RM 336 and State Route 41, we set our GPSs for Marble Falls, about 140 miles to the east, where we would stop for the night.
The Blue Bonnet Cafe in Marble Falls, Texas, serves a wide variety of wonderful pies as well as hearty homestyle breakfast and comfort food.
Day 3 dawned cold and threatened rain. We hustled over to the Blue Bonnet Cafe for breakfast and our first pie of the day. The cafe opened in 1929 and has been in its current location on U.S. 281 since 1946. A perennial award-winner, the Blue Bonnet is a motorcyclist’s dream – great breakfast, great service, great atmosphere, dedicated motorcycle parking, and world-class pie. We showed up at 8:15 on Sunday morning, and the place was already packed. As pre-breakfast appetizers, the Steves had slices of German chocolate cream and I had regular chocolate cream. Everything was outstanding.
Total pie count: 15 pieces
Blue Bonnet Cafe
It was hard to leave the Blue Bonnet Cafe, but we expected inclement weather to cross our path, so we zipped up our Gore-Tex riding gear, put on our waterproof gloves, and set off. Our target was Glen Rose, about 125 miles to the north. Before long, it was raining heavily and the temperature had dropped into the 40s. By the time we made it to Pie Peddlers, the rain had lightened up, and we needed hot coffee and warm pie to lift our spirits. Four pieces of pie – chocolate meringue, Every Berry, blackberry, and buttermilk (a house specialty) – and a pot of coffee later, we were warm, dry, happy, and ready to get back on the road. We pointed the bikes north toward Oklahoma City, with one pie stop remaining.
Total pie count: 19 pieces
Blue Bonnet Cafe
North on Interstate 35 through the Dallas/Fort Worth metroplex, the rain had cleared, and the sun occasionally peeked out of a mostly cloudy sky. After crossing back into Oklahoma, we were soon rolling through the beautiful Arbuckle Mountains, the oldest known formations in the U.S. between the Appalachians and the Rockies. The granite rocks date back at least 1.4 billion years.
Our final stop was nestled in those mountains – Arbuckle Mountain Fried Pies, near Davis. Some might call including a fried pie shop in an article on the best pie cafes pure heresy, but a 4.7-star rating with 4,225 Google reviews suggested it had a place in our Oklahoma vs. Texas pie smackdown. And getting off the interstate at the State Route 53 exit allowed us to enjoy about 10 miles of pretty and twisty U.S. Route 77 near Turner Falls State Park. Three hot, delicious fried pies later – pineapple, chocolate, and pecan – we were on the bikes for the final leg back to Oklahoma City, about 78 more miles north on I-35.
Total pie count: 21 pieces
Four slices of pie and a pot of hot coffee at Pie Peddlers in Glen Rose, Texas, was the perfect way to warm up after riding in cold rain.
The Red River Rivalry of Pie had been a great ride and a labor of love. After three days, more than 1,100 miles, two Twisted Sisters, six pie shops, and 21 pieces of pie, we were ready to announce a winner. Our unanimous selection – Blue Bonnet Cafe in Marble Falls, Texas. It’s simply fabulous on every metric. We diverged, however, on second place. I picked the Railyard Pie Company in Edmond, Oklahoma; Steve Skinner selected Pie Junkie in Oklahoma City; and Steve Johnson selected the Fredericksburg Pie Company in Texas. But we were splitting hairs – the truth is you can’t go wrong with any of the rival pie cafes we sampled. Pie on!
Tim DeGiusti lives and works in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. Tim returned to motorcycling in 2012 after a long break and has since ridden throughout Oklahoma and 44 other states (and counting).
Oatman Highway between Kingman and Topock, Arizona, is one of the most challenging sections of this Route 66 motorcycle ride. (Photos by the author)
Testing the new Can-Am Canyon Redrock in Arizona presented me with an opportunity to ride part of Historic Route 66. I began in Flagstaff, a mountain town that combines a charming historic district with the energy of a college town (Go Lumberjacks!) and a gateway location near the Grand Canyon and several national monuments.
Interstate 40, which replaced or bypassed Route 66 in parts of New Mexico, Arizona, and California, runs east-west through Flagstaff. Historic Route 66 winds its way through the heart of town, where you can visit landmarks such as Miz Zip’s diner, the Lowell Observatory, and the Americana Motor Hotel (where Peter Fonda and Dennis Hopper stayed while filming Easy Rider). The Flagstaff Visitor Center, located in the train depot downtown, offers maps, info, and a mobile passport that lists “66 Things to Do on Flagstaff’s Route 66.”
West of Flagstaff, Route 66 merges with I-40, and a sign that reads “Arizona Divide, Elevation 7,335” marks the highest point on Route 66. Next, I took the exit for Williams, the last town to be bypassed by I-40 (on October 13, 1984) and a launching point for Grand Canyon National Park, either by riding 60 miles north on State Route 64 or taking the Grand Canyon Railway.
Route 66 nostalgia is alive and well in Williams. Downtown is divided into eastbound and westbound one-way streets that are lined with motels, bars, restaurants, souvenir shops, murals, and attractions celebrating the Mother Road. After a cruise around downtown, I continued west on I-40.
The Flagstaff Visitor Center.
Sixteen miles later, I exited at Ash Fork and followed Route 66 through the former railroad town. The Route 66 museum was closed when I passed through, and most other sites are in disrepair.
After another 5 miles on I-40, I exited at Crookton Road and rode a quiet 18-mile stretch of old Route 66 to Seligman, passing several sets of restored Burma-Shave signs, including: He tried to cross / As fast train neared / Death didn’t draft him / He volunteered.
Williams, Arizona, was the last town bypassed by I-40, but Route 66 nostalgia lives on at many local businesses.
It was a hot day, so I stopped in Seligman for a milkshake at Delgadillo’s Snow Cap, a historic eatery founded in 1953 by Juan Delgadillo. Juan’s brother, Angel, once the local barber, founded the Historic Route 66 Association of Arizona. Seligman has several notable Route 66 establishments, including the Aztec Motel, the Roadkill Cafe/O.K. Saloon, and the Copper Cart (which has a small motorcycle museum).
From Seligman, I continued west on Historic Route 66, a quiet, desolate stretch through the high desert to Peach Springs, a town on the Hualapai Reservation that offers the Hualapai Lodge but no Route 66 nostalgia.
The staff at Delgadillo’s Snow Cap in Seligman, Arizona, serve up delicious milkshakes and good humor.
For the next 50 miles, Route 66 passes through a parched landscape dotted with a few communities – Truxton, Crozier, Valentine, Hackberry, Antares. Some have relics of the past, but mostly they provide evidence of how much was lost when I-40 passed them by.
Next up was Kingman, a thriving city that fully embraces its Route 66 heritage: throwback motels and eateries, signage and murals, and a large visitor center with a drive-thru Route 66 arch that’s perfect for commemorative photos.
On Historic Route 66 between Seligman and Kingman, you’ll see more Burma-Shave signs than cars.
Leaving Kingman, Historic Route 66 passes through a dramatic canyon, crosses over I-40, and becomes Oatman Highway. The road to Oatman is narrow, steeply graded, and full of switchbacks as it works its way up and over Sitgreaves Pass (3,586 feet). What was the most feared section of Route 66 for migrants and travelers in the early days is the most exciting for motorcyclists.
Oatman, a former mining town with weathered storefronts, wooden boardwalks, and wandering burros, is a popular stop. From Oatman, Route 66 descends more than 2,000 feet through the desert on its way to the state line.
When I reached Topock, a 160-mile uninterrupted stretch of old Route 66 came to an end as I got back on the interstate to cross into California. Riding over the Colorado River, I admired the white Old Trails Bridge, which once carried Route 66 traffic, and the blue, inviting water.
The Route 66 arch in Kingman is a popular photo stop.
The first town in California is Needles, where Route 66 separates from I-40 as it goes through town and then is swallowed up again as it climbs into the rugged mountains of the Mojave Desert.
Soon I entered the Mojave Trails National Monument, which spans 1.6 million acres between Needles and Barstow and contains one of the longest undeveloped stretches of Historic Route 66. I had been on the road for nearly 10 hours, and the 100-degree-plus heat was taking its toll. I missed an exit for Route 66, and another section off Mountain Springs Road was closed for construction. I finally exited I-40 at Kelbaker Road and rode south to Route 66 near the iconic but defunct Roy’s Motel & Cafe in Amboy.
Riding west, I began seeing large white Route 66 highway symbols painted on the roadway as it passed through empty desert and wilderness areas. For miles, I-40 was nowhere in sight, but eventually it drew closer and Route 66 ran right next to it, passing through hardscrabble communities like Ludlow, Newberry Springs, and Daggett. Route 66 stopped abruptly at a Marine Corps Logistics Base, so I returned to I-40 for the last few miles into Barstow.
An iconic sign in Amboy, California.
Riding all the way to Santa Monica Pier wasn’t in the cards. The final 130 miles of Route 66 goes through the sprawl of Los Angeles on surface streets and takes hours to ride. I was still three hours from home, and by the time I got there, I had logged 678 miles over 16 hours in temperatures ranging from 41-106 degrees. I enjoyed my Route 66 motorcycle ride, but I was overdue for a beer.
A Route 66 mural in Flagstaff, Arizona. (Photo by Greg Drevenstedt; other photos by the author and Scott Spangler)
Decades after its official demise in 1985, Route 66 remains in fragments, with the rest either paved over and renamed or reclaimed by nature. Nearly 100 years after its official opening in 1926, my buddy Scott and I heeded Yogi’s proclamation that it ain’t over and took a Route 66 motorcycle ride on what was left of America’s Main Street from Chicago, Illinois, to Santa Monica, California.
Perhaps the most photographed section of Route 66, this 1.4-mile brick-paved restoration in Illinois clings to its 1931 roots.
Interstate travel has its limits. Limited access. Limited visual variety. Limited signage. Limited opportunities for impromptu exploration. Interstates exist to give motorists the fastest path between endpoints. While that was also Route 66’s original purpose, nowadays the Mother Road favors journey over destination. Like clicking through TV channels, this road offers visual variety with every eye blink. With famous roadside attractions and scenery that varies from city streets to open desert to mountain twisties, the Mother Road provides plentiful moto-nourishment. Despite its official nonexistence and decades of neglect, this national organism hangs on, morphing and reinventing and refusing to succumb with all its heart. I like that.
Route 66 brought prosperity to many small towns, and the interstate took it away. So many bypassed businesses and evaporated dreams.
Each section of this Route 66 motorcycle ride has a distinct personality. Through its eastern states, it is what you probably expect Route 66 to be: excellent signage, world-famous landmarks, kitschy attractions. Great stuff. Farther west, roadside attractions became fewer, maybe a restored gas station here and there and a few Burma-Shave signs. What we often encountered was some recently opened business staking an as-yet unearned claim to membership in this highway’s fraternity. Perhaps they’re not as genuine as, say, Wigwam Village Motel #6 in Holbrook, Arizona, but these newcomers to the Route 66 mystique help keep this national artery pulsing.
An abandoned piece of America’s Highway sits next to the modern road near Dwight, Illinois. You can almost hear the bikes sigh.
Riding Route 66 was both poignant and somber. Poignant was riding that little stretch of bricked road in Auburn, Illinois, and strolling onto the Brush Creek Marsh Rainbow Arch Bridge between Riverton and Baxter Springs, Kansas, as well as myriad other attempts to preserve last century’s then-super highway’s personality. Somber was seeing entire main streets boarded up or rusted vehicle hulks strewn around abandoned gas stations or literally reaching one of the many ends of the original road. Pausing to imagine each of these deteriorating places as little oases that catered to weary travelers in their heyday felt like paying last respects to the demise of a dream.
Nothing you need, some stuff you want, lots to gawk at in Bone Daddy’s in Seligman, Arizona, where the spirit of Route 66 lives on.
There are still plenty of stop-worthy places along the road’s nearly 2,500 miles. Like Bone Daddy’s in Seligman, Arizona. Resembling a 1930s bordello, it was fronted by odd displays, old cars, and a man playing guitar and singing on the front stoop (at 9:30 on a Monday morning, mind you). Between songs, he manned a broom.
It’s farther than it looks when the temperature is over 100 degrees.
Some roads were fun, some boring, some badly in need of re-paving, some just plain crumbling into nonexistence. And then there was the Sitgreaves Pass portion of Route 66 over the Black Mountains in Arizona, described by DangerousRoads.org as “built like a bobsled run, with crazy switchbacks and steep drop-offs plunging thousands of feet down.” It was both fun and terrifying in a way no roller coaster could ever match.
These friendly burros deposited liberal amounts of skid-assist in Oatman, Arizona.
The real treat along the entire trip was the locals. Every one of the people we met was pleasant, friendly, and more than happy to answer what were surely the same questions they’re asked by tourists every day. The county worker who stopped his mower and offered to take our picture. The bartender who finger-drew an imaginary map on the bar top for us. The waitress at the Windy Cow Cafe in Texas right out of Central Casting. The appreciative parents snapping a photo of their beaming little boy atop Scott’s motorcycle. Perhaps friendliest of all were the burros wandering the main drag of Oatman, Arizona.
There is no Route 66 landmark more iconic than this restored arch bridge near Galena, Kansas.
This Route 66 motorcycle ride was a smorgasbord of scenery, riding challenges, culinary adventures, and wonderful conversations with genuinely nice people, the kind you just don’t encounter when bombing down the interstate to the next stopover. Sure, every form of travel has a destination, but we ride for the journey. On Route 66, it’s a journey back to the days of yore.
Ed Kolano has been riding motorcycles since his early teens when he kludged a lawnmower engine to a bicycle frame using U-bolts and wood. These days he enjoys long-distance riding adventures, challenging roads, and impromptu conversations, managing to find the humor in all of it. A former Marine and semi-retired test pilot, he lives in the Pacific Northwest.
Murals are common sights on Route 66. About 60 miles from Chicago is this mural in Wilmington, Illinois. (Photos by the author).
Designated as a federal highway in 1926 and running from Chicago to Los Angeles, Route 66 connected – and often ran right through – Midwest and Southwest downtowns. It was quite literally America’s Main Street. By the 1950s, Route 66 had become an attraction in and of itself, serving as inspiration for numerous hit songs and TV shows and as a livelihood for countless small business owners.
The 630-foot Gateway Arch in St. Louis, Missouri, is the tallest man-made monument in the U.S. and one of the most prominent landmarks along Route 66.
But when the interstate system bypassed much of the old route, the heyday faded, businesses dried up, and many establishments were abandoned. Eventually, the all-American road was almost entirely chopped up and decommissioned.
The good news is that today, up to 85% of the route remains, and preservation programs are actively at work. Because it has been disconnected and signs removed, however, a ride on Historic Route 66 requires some planning. Local tourism resources can be very helpful.
Gay Parita is a recreation of a 1930s gas station in Paris Springs, Missouri, that was owned by Fred and Gay Mason. It has a gift shop and a fence where visitors are welcome to sign their names.
The starting point of Route 66 is in downtown Chicago within sight of the former Sears Tower (now called the Willis Tower). As you ride out of the city, you’ll see the Blues Brothers dancing atop a neighborhood bar, a big red guitar attached to the Illinois Rock & Roll Museum, and the Old Joliet Prison. Soon I realized there is more to see on Route 66 than could possibly be crammed into one adventure. This is a ride, after all, not a scavenger hunt. I settled into a rhythm, and the joy of road-tripping sprang to life.
“Muffler Men” are some of the most popular giant landmarks on Route 66. Used to promote roadside businesses, the fiberglass statues stand 18-25 feet tall and often hold a muffler (to promote a car repair shop) or other recognizable item. This is the Gemini Giant in Wilmington, Illinois.
Buck Atom in Tulsa, Oklahoma.
In Wilmington, Illinois, I stopped to pose in front of the Gemini Giant, one of the most iconic Route 66 roadside attractions. Across the country, I would encounter similar “Muffler Men” statues that had been variously repurposed. The Gemini Giant – a spaceman holding a rocket – once beckoned hungry travelers to the Launching Pad Drive-In; now his commanding presence graces South Island Park. Wilmington was also the first of many towns where I discovered a large Route 66 mural. All it needed to create the perfect photo was a motorcycle propped in the foreground.
The 2nd Amendment Cowboy in Amarillo, Texas.
Paul Bunyon (yes, with an “o”) in Atlanta, Illinois. He used to entice customers to Bunyon’s Hotdog Stand in Cicero.
In St. Louis, I was determined not to let the heat keep me from getting a photo of the Gateway Arch. But after that, I turned to the interstate for rescue. Points of interest in the downtown core just didn’t seem worth the fight, and it wasn’t until I was well out of the city that I returned to U.S. 66 and again breathed deep.
An old-fashioned chin wag with the 16th President in Bloomington, Illinois. Abe was a particularly good listener.
In the cool shade of Ozark oaks and chestnuts in Newburg, Missouri, I discovered a battered sign for John’s Modern Cabins standing, ironically, over three collapsing log shacks. In Sullivan, on the other hand, I pulled over in front of Shamrock Court Motel, a vacant building of stonework too beautiful to discard. Happily, it was the first of many classic buildings I would encounter where the local Route 66 association was busily engaged in restoration. Typical of early motor courts, it features a series of rooms arranged in a semicircle around a central courtyard.
A bronze monument of major league slugger Mickey Mantle in his boyhood hometown of Commerce, Oklahoma, where he received early training from his father and grandfather.
A nearby barn roof bids travelers to see “Meramec Caverns, Next Exit,” and to dine at “Stuckey’s, Since 1937.” And I couldn’t resist the puerile invitation to stop at Uranus Fudge Factory for a giggle. Billboards had been full of innuendo for miles, and the fictional town of Uranus (located in the real town St. Roberts in Pulaski County, Missouri) comprised a row of confectionaries selling candy, gifts, T-shirts (don’t buy one for your mother), and of course, fudge.
Honoring “King of the Road” singer Roger Miller in Erick, Oklahoma.
From Missouri, I breezed through the southeast corner of Kansas and into Oklahoma with its sprawling cattle ranches. In the tiny town of Commerce, I stopped to pay my respects at the home of baseball legend Mickey Mantle and then explored a retired stretch of Route 66 that was only 9 feet wide. It was hard to imagine that the engineers could not foresee a day when opposing vehicles would regularly need room to pass each other. Simpler times indeed.
The 80-foot Blue Whale of Catoosa (Oklahoma) has graced this pond since 1972.
The route soon brought me to the Blue Whale of Catoosa. Built in the early 1970s on the edge of a pond, the large concrete whale attracted swimmers who would fling themselves off its tail or slide down its fins. I discovered the water was murky and swimming was no longer permitted, but the whimsical whale continued to draw pop history buffs.
Shamrock, Texas.
In many small towns, I encountered retro fuel stations, museums, diners, and “The World’s Largest [Gas Pump/Rocking Chair/Cross of Our Lord/Branding Iron],” each continuing the tradition of vying for travelers’ attention. In Amarillo, The Big Texan Steak Ranch still issues its famous challenge: “If you can eat our 72-ounce steak in under an hour, it’s free.” For me, 4.5 lb of meat was out of the question, but I left the restaurant with a full and happy belly en route to the famed Cadillac Ranch, where a row of spraypainted cars are buried nosedown in an Amarillo cow pasture. Legend has it that the infamous site was born from the misadventures of a man who drank too much whiskey, lost big at poker, and had to bury his beloved collection.
The World’s Tallest Gas Pump stands beside the Heart of Route 66 Auto Museum in Sapulpa, Oklahoma.
The Cross of Our Lord Jesus Christ in Groom, Texas, is 190 feet tall.
Aiming for Tucumcari, New Mexico, I watched as the tawny bunchgrass turned to stunted creosote bushes, and the distant mesas crept ever closer. In the mellow light of late afternoon, I rolled up to the Blue Swallow Motel with its pink and blue neon sign, a classic Buick parked in front, and a garage attached to every room. This is one of the best-known and most authentic accommodations on Route 66, and I enjoyed a quiet evening with other travelers, all of us sitting outside in the courtyard under the neon and starlight.
Tucumcari, New Mexico.
The next morning at the Blue Hole, a small lake in Santa Rosa, the sapphire water was so still and clear that I wondered if I could see the bottom, but 82 feet is a long way down. The hole is deeper than it is wide (60 feet), and it’s fed by an underground spring that keeps the temperature at a constant 62 degrees. I watched as three divers in wetsuits completed their scuba training. And soon an intrepid mom with her three teenaged boys cajoled each other into jumping off the rocky ledge. They came up shouting – and then did it again.
The Blue Swallow Motel in Tucumcari, New Mexico, is listed on the National Register of Historic Places.
Across the limitless stretches of Oklahoma, Texas, and New Mexico, Route 66 often disappeared – either abandoned on the open range or laid to rest under sprawling I-40. Posted speed limits were often 75 mph, and keeping up with the flow meant pushing my Suzuki V-Strom, nicknamed Suzette, to 85. Finding the two-lane Mother Road again was always a happy moment: Not only was it the focus of my trip, but the headlong traffic disappeared, and I had the forgotten road to myself.
Abandoned after WWII when a bypass was constructed around the tiny town of Atlanta, Illinois, this ridable exhibit preserves Route 66 and its condition circa 1929.
In Albuquerque, while searching for a place to wild camp in the gathering dusk, the ride up into the mountains caught my breath. Below me lay the city, its streetlights twinkling along the valley, and a full moon was just clearing the distant peaks.
Arizona’s Petrified Forest National Park was 200 million years in the making.
The next day, scattered ocotillo and saltbush signaled my entrance to Arizona, where I made a detour through Petrified Forest National Park. Approaching Winslow, a voice in my helmet began leading the Eagles in a continuous loop of “Take It Easy.” It is state law, of course, that when in Winslow, Arizona, you must stop to stand on the corner where a bronze statue of Glenn Frey awaits the girl in the flatbed Ford. A red one just happens to be parked at the curb.
Standin’ on the Corner Park in Winslow, Arizona, celebrates the Eagles’ song “Take It Easy.”
Rolling into Flagstaff brought an entirely new landscape: Soaring ponderosa pines filled the city with their perfect shapes like an army of jubilant Christmas trees. As I rode through deep forests to the west, their vanilla scent wafted on the breeze – which was a refreshing 70 degrees. I should not have been surprised by the temperature, given that Flagstaff sits 6,800 feet above sea level. Just west of town, I-40 crosses the Arizona Divide at 7,335 feet – the highest elevation on all of Route 66.
As I inched ever closer to the Mojave Desert, the daily extremes became more pronounced. Days continued to broil, but the nights were beginning to call for my Sea-to-Summit sleeping bag liner. Beyond Peach Springs, the chip-sealed route was narrow and bordered on both shoulders with long berms of dirt – a feeble defense against torrential monsoon rains that can trigger flash flooding. Rather obviously, signs located at every dip warned “DO NOT ENTER WHEN FLOODED.” Or perhaps it wasn’t so obvious: I was amused to learn of Arizona’s “Idiot Law,” which specifies that if you enter a flooded road and get stuck, the authorities will not help – rescue and the associated expenses are on you.
Vega, Texas.
Route 66 soon began a long series of twists and switchbacks as it rose into the Black Mountains. With no guardrails, no shoulders, and loose gravel in the corners, it was a demanding ride. Perhaps in a nod to the Tail of the Dragon, a roadside sign claimed there were 191 curves in 8 miles, but on this route, no one was racing.
I arrived in the Wild West ghost town of Oatman on a Sunday afternoon of a long weekend, meaning tourists were in full attendance. The main street was even temporarily closed for a gunfight – I saw two men fall with my own eyes. The biggest attraction, of course, is the wild burros. Oatman was a turn-of-the-century gold-mining town using hundreds of burros to haul ore and supplies, but when the boom went bust and the population moved on, the animals were simply turned loose to graze in the mountains. Their descendants still wander the hills around the town – and frequent the streets where delighted visitors offer free handouts.
In Adrian, Texas, a wide white stripe on the road and this sign mark the midpoint precisely 1,139 miles from either end of Route 66.
Crossing into California, I made a loop through Joshua Tree National Park and swung south on a detour that would take me down (quite literally to 200 feet below sea level) around the Salton Sea to Slab City and Salvation Mountain. The result of one man’s lifelong religious devotion, Salvation Mountain is a 50-foot-tall monument of adobe and bright paint proclaiming “God Is Love.” Next door stands Slab City, an abandoned army base where vagrants and off-the-grid dwellers have moved in and claimed it as “The Last Free Place in America.” And of course, in the desert around Borrego Springs, I had to snap photos of the iron sculptures of horses, camels, elephants, scorpions, and a great mythical dragon that appears to swim through the sand (and under the road).
My return to Route 66 meant braving the sprawl of L.A. – a daunting prospect if not for lane-splitting, that most blessed California concession. I wandered the city and got photos of the iconic Hollywood sign and of course, the Walk of Fame. Dinner was at a staple of Route 66: Irv’s Burgers, where the walls are adorned with photos of celebrity guests, including David Lee Roth (with bikini-clad twins), the Wayne and Garth characters of Wayne’s World (played by actors Mike Myers and Dana Carvey), Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson, Jeff Bridges, and Linda Ronstadt.
Celebrating the moment at the end of the road, which is actually a wooden pier cantilevered over the sand and water of the Pacific Ocean in Santa Monica, California.
Arriving bright and early the next morning at the Santa Monica Pier, I expected I’d have to walk the final quarter mile to a sign reading “66: End of the Trail.” Instead, a security guard at the pier’s entrance looked me up and down and then glanced left and right.
“It’s early,” he said. “No one’s here; go ahead.”
And so after 2,448 miles through farmland and forests, mountains and deserts, I posed for photos with Suzette at the end of the road – at the very end of the pier. We’d done it! Strangers sensed a celebration and gathered around. Some wanted to talk. Others offered fist bumps and handshakes. Common to all was a kind of nostalgic admiration for our achievement – a reverence that could only be stirred by the myth of America’s Mother Road.
Jeff Davison is a retired teacher who, for many years, spent his summers exploring North America on two wheels. Now that he can ignore school bells, he rides longer distances for weeks or months at a time. He lives in Ontario, Canada, with his intrepid partner, Stephanie.
State Route 33 near Pine Mountain Summit, with the Cuyama Badlands in the background. (Photos by the author)
When I want a taste of adventure in my own backyard, one of my favorite rides is around the Carrizo Plain National Monument, a native grassland situated between two mountain ranges. It’s a special place that showcases unique geology such as Soda Lake and the San Andreas Fault, both Indigenous and ranching history, and flora and fauna that includes wildflower superblooms in the spring and animals such as California condors, coyotes, and pronghorn antelope.
For adventure riders, 460 miles of (mostly) unpaved roads run the length of the Carrizo Plain, cross its interior, and wind their way into the surrounding Caliente and Temblor ranges. Soda Lake Road, the main road through the national monument, is partially paved and is smooth enough for streetbikes, though care must be taken on sandy sections.
SR-33 passes through Los Padres National Forest for 50 glorious miles.
Half the fun of a Carrizo Plain day ride is getting there. Starting in Ojai, about 15 miles inland from Ventura, State Route 33 goes through Los Padres National Forest and serves up some of the best curves and scenery in the region. Once past Wheeler Gorge Campground, there isn’t a stop sign for 56 miles!
Entering the Carrizo Plain National Monument from the south on Soda Lake Road, with the Caliente Range in the background.
After cresting Pine Mountain Summit (5,160 feet) and descending into the Cuyama Valley, I always stop in the small farming community of Ventucopa at the Santa Barbara Pistachio Company, which has gas, snacks, cold drinks, and tasty dry-roasted pistachios.
I did this ride on a 2024 Suzuki V-Strom 800. Behind the bike is the central valley of the Carrizo Plain, and in the distance is the Temblor Range.
Continue on SR-33 to its junction with State Route 166, hang a right, go 4.7 miles, then turn left on Soda Lake Road. After about 5 miles of rough pavement, you’ll enter the Carrizo Plain National Monument, which is under the jurisdiction of the Bureau of Land Management (a helpful recreation map and guide is available on the BLM.gov website). No entry fee or permit is required. The pavement ends after a cattle guard.
Soda Lake covers 3,000 acres and is dry most of the year. According to the BLM website, “it is the largest remaining natural alkali wetland in southern California and the only closed basin within the coastal mountains. As its name suggests, Soda Lake concentrates salts as water evaporates, leaving white deposits of sulfates and carbonates that look like baking soda.”
Soda Lake Road follows the western edge of the valley, and as you ride north, the rolling Caliente Range is on your left. You’ll pass several dirt roads – Pipeline, Quail Springs, and Padrones Canyon – that climb into the mountains and offer some fun ADV exploring, but they dead-end at the southern boundary of the monument.
The Carrizo Plain during a spring superbloom following winter rains. (Photo by Kevin Wing)
Pavement resumes on Soda Lake Road just before passing Traver Ranch, where you can see old farm equipment and access a public restroom. Then you’re back on a wide sandy track for miles. It’s easy to get lulled into a relaxed cruising pace but then get surprised when the road bends sharply, so stay frosty.
The San Andreas Fault runs through Wallace Creek.
There are two campgrounds off Soda Lake Road – KCL and Selby – as well as the Goodwin Education Center, which serves as a visitor center and has maps and information about the monument. Two unpaved roads – Panorama and Simmler – cross the valley to Elkhorn Road.
In the northwest corner of the monument is Soda Lake, a seasonally dry lake that spans 3,000 acres and is covered in dry white sulfate and carbonate deposits most of the year. During the rainy season (November to April), Soda Lake may have water in it, and if it has rained recently, most of the unpaved roads in the Carrizo Plain turn into impassable mud bogs.
Elkhorn Road runs along the Temblor Range foothills.
After passing Soda Lake, turn right on Seven Mile Road, go 5.8 miles, then turn right on Elkhorn Road, a one-lane dirt road that is more undulating and winding than Soda Lake Road. Now you’re on the eastern side of the valley, in the foothills of the Temblor Range, heading southeast.
In about 4 miles you’ll see a sign for Wallace Creek. Park your bike and walk up the path to the interpretive placard. You’re standing on the San Andreas Fault, a 750-mile split down the length of California where the North American Plate (which moves south) meets the Pacific Plate (which moves north).
Hudson Ranch Road is a hidden gem.
Elkhorn Road is a fun ride for about 36 miles, and in some places it’s long and straight, so you can kick up some dust. The last few miles climb up and over the southern end of the Temblors, and there are some tricky downslopes covered in loose gravel, so be mindful.
Soon the pavement resumes and Elkhorn Road ends at SR-33/166. Turn right, enjoy a fast, smooth climb for nearly 8 miles, then turn left on Hudson Ranch Road, one of the best-kept secrets (oops!) in Southern California. The lightly trafficked road twists up and over grassland hills with long sweepers, then follows a ridgeline that ascends to more than 7,000 feet and offers commanding views on both sides. It’s a fantastic 25-mile ride to the alpine community of Pine Mountain Club. Stop here for gas, drinks and snacks at the general store, or a meal at one of the casual restaurants.
Quatal Canyon Road cuts through the Cuyama Badlands for 15 miles from Hudson Ranch Road to SR-33.
Next, backtrack a few miles to Quatal Canyon Road, a dirt byway that connects Hudson Ranch Road to SR-33 in Ventucopa. The first few miles of Quatal are a little tricky, but then it straightens out into a fun, rolling ride. But beware! There are some tire-swallowing cross-ruts in low places that will sneak up on you. Once back on SR-33, it’s a fast, curvy ride on pavement for 50 miles back to Ojai.
Badlands National Park can be a busy place in the summer, but if you take roads less traveled, you can challenge your off-pavement skills and have views all to yourself. (Photos by the author)
In River-Horse, William Least Heat-Moon’s book about his journey across the United States by boat, he mentions carrying a small sign with the Quaker aphorism: “Proceed as the Way Opens.” That phrase is my motto for both motorcycle travel and life in general, and it certainly applied to the trip my long-time riding buddy Howard and I took through western South Dakota.
Dealing with storms and changing road conditions meant that we had to continually rethink our plans to ride through Badlands National Park and the Black Hills BDR-X adventure route on our small dual-sports – my Honda CRF300L Rally and Howard’s Suzuki DR-Z400S.
We live in Nebraska, so the first leg of our journey was to ride north into South Dakota via U.S. Route 83. We passed through the Rosebud Indian Reservation and then tacked west on Interstate 90 to the town of Interior (pop. 65), just outside the southeast entrance of Badlands National Park.
We kept luggage light on this trip by staying at little motels along the way instead of hauling camping gear.
That evening we stayed at Badlands Hotel & Campground, a perfect base camp just outside the national park that has RV and tent sites, hotel rooms, a restaurant, a general store, an outdoor pool, and other amenities. We parked our bikes just outside our room and relaxed on the porch with a cold beverage. The resort is only open from late April to mid-October, so keep that in mind when trip planning.
A bighorn sheep in South Dakota.
After arising refreshed and refueling our bikes and bodies, we rode through Badlands National Park. Our little dual-sports were the perfect vehicles for exploring winding paved roads, fast gravel sections, and rutted, barely-there unmaintained two-track.
If you venture into Badland’s Stronghold District, be sure to carry plenty of water and watch for storms that could result in mud or flash floods.
Badlands has wild animals both large and small, including bison, bighorn sheep, and prairie dogs, so stay sharp and keep speed within posted limits. Visitors, especially those on motorcycles, need to remember that bison, sometimes whimsically referred to as “fluffy cows,” are not tame and can be dangerous.
Badlands is the rare national park where the English and Indigenous names translate out the same, with the Lakota calling the area Mako Sica, which means “Land Bad.”
After exploring gravel roads on the eastern edge of the park, we took off west on the paved and winding Badlands Loop Road, leading us to the Pinnacles Overlook and then the gravel Rim Road, which heads into the more remote western areas of the park. Once we left the pavement, the number of visitors dropped dramatically, making us feel like we had the wide-open spaces all to ourselves.
Rim Road becomes Sage Creek Road and transitions from gravel to chip seal, a rough type of pavement with crushed rock compressed into a thin layer of liquid asphalt. It can feel a little squirrelly compared to traditional pavement, but our knobby-tired dual-sports took it all in stride.
Though Howard and I both shop at the big-and-tall store, our lightweight dual-sports – my Honda CRF300L Rally and his Suzuki DR-Z400S – were perfect for exploring South Dakota.
We exited the park near the Sage Creek Campground and arrived in Scenic (pop. 52), where we continued south on Bombing Range Road into the largely undeveloped Stronghold District of Badlands. For the adventure and dual-sport riders, a highlight of the Stronghold area is heading west on Sheep Mountain Road into some of the most gorgeous and remote land in the park.
After about 5 miles of decent gravel, Sheep Mountain Road becomes a minimally maintained dirt road requiring an off-road-capable bike with good ground clearance, long-travel suspension, and knobby tires. The road varies between deep ruts, sand, and grassy two-track – exactly what we wanted on light dual-sports like ours. The conditions required steady throttle in 2nd gear. As long as we kept moving, we were fine, but there were places where we would not have wanted to stall out. Be sure to keep an eye on the weather as the dirt portion of the route is impassable during and following storms. Speaking of which…
Down a gravel road in the eastern unit of Badlands is the Roberts Prairie Dog Town. They’re cute, but keep your distance – they have been known to carry the plague!
It was nearing dark when we stopped for gas outside of Rapid City, and a look to the west showed dark clouds frequently lit by bolts of lightning. Fortunately, our route for the rest of the day was on pavement, and we prepared ourselves to get wet by closing up the vents and collars on our gear. We rode through heavy rain for the last half hour as we ascended into the Black Hills to Keystone.
It stormed on and off all night and light rain was still falling in the morning, so we had a decision to make. This trip was a vacation for Howard and me, and we didn’t want to spoil it by damaging our bikes or bodies. We decided against braving the fresh mud on Stage 1 of the Black Hills BDR-X. Instead, we proceeded a more open way, taking paved backroads to the motorcycle mecca of Sturgis.
Devils Tower National Monument
We enjoyed western South Dakota’s paved twisties during an off-peak time of year, when there were few tourists and no bikers gathering for the big rally held every August. Sturgis Coffee Company on Lazelle Street was the perfect place to warm up with a hot beverage before heading back out into the damp cold. Then it was on to Devils Tower National Monument, just over the border into Wyoming. We finished the day by riding into Spearfish, by far the largest town we would stay at with a population of about 12,000 people.
The next morning presented us with another “choose your own adventure” day. We still wanted to avoid the mud and some of the more challenging sections of Stage 2 of the BDR-X, so we mapped out our own path through the Black Hills National Forest, incorporating maybe a quarter of the official route. We started on Spearfish Canyon Scenic Byway down to Roughlock Falls Nature Area, running past deep canyon walls with streams and waterfalls along the road. This is a great place to stop to relax or go for a hike.
On the Black Hills BDR-X, wear shorts under your riding gear so you can go hiking in the Roughlock Falls area off Spearfish Canyon.
Leaving the nature area and most of the tourists behind, we followed a couple of nicely flowing gravel roads: Roughlock Falls Road (FS 222) along Little Spearfish Creek and past the site where the final scene of Dances With Wolves was filmed; Tinton Road (FS 134); O’Neil Pass/Rapid Creek Road (FS 231); and finally Boles Canyon Road (FS 117), a dirt road through gorgeous woods and range land.
Our goal was to avoid the mud, but the mud found us, though there was generally a dry line to follow. FS 117 turned to gravel and was easier to ride. Be sure to keep your eyes open for the cattle inhabiting the area as well as the “souvenirs” they leave behind. At the junction with West Deerfield Road (FS 110), we rode southeast on gravel and then fresh pavement leading into Hill City, our destination for the evening.
We planned to focus on the Black Hills BDR-X, a 355-mile adventure loop through Black Hills National Forest and Custer State Park. Weather forced us to pivot, but we still got to spend quality time on the route.
After a full day without rain, Howard and I were able to ride the entire Stage 3 of the BDR-X. It was a good mix of gravel roads along with some two-track that ranged from easy to challenging. There were lots of barbed-wire gates to open and close, but fortunately most of the mud had dried up.
Custer State Park was the highlight of the day. An excellent gravel road took us away from the pavement and through sections where we met no one else other than a couple of pronghorns and a bison or two. There is a mostly paved route through the park that would be more friendly to cruisers and touring bikes, but the gravel roads were in great condition and let us experience rarely seen parts of the park.
Back in Keystone, we had our best dinner of the trip at The Front Porch Restaurant and Bar. I had a “grown-up grilled cheese” with bacon and tomatoes. We spoke with a couple of gentlemen who had ridden Stage 2 of the BDR-X a day earlier, and from their reports of multiple “mud naps,” I’m glad we plotted our own route.
Before returning home, we visited a couple of man-made monuments. The first was Mount Rushmore National Memorial just outside Keystone, which is much more impressive in scale and grandeur than photos we’ve all seen a million times. We then took twisty backroads down through Custer and Hot Springs before taking long, straight highways back into Nebraska.
Mount Rushmore is awe-inspiring.
We closed out our adventure with a visit to Carhenge, located just north of Alliance, Nebraska, which is like England’s Stonehenge except done with old car and truck bodies instead of monoliths.
As we putted along on our little tiddlers toward home, we wouldn’t have minded being on bigger, comfier bikes, but for our Badlands and Black Hills adventure, they fit the bill. As Howard put it, “Our trip was like an hourglass. The top and bottom portions heading to and from South Dakota were wide open to whatever type of bike you wanted to ride. But the portions in the middle with wet, off-pavement riding were so narrowly focused that our lightweight dual-sports were perfect.”
Carhenge is a can’t-miss attraction in the northwest corner of Nebraska, with an eclectic mix of car-parts sculptures to go with the automotive recreation of the British prehistoric landmark.
Like much in life, our trip did not go according to plan, but we ended up having a great time getting out onto remote roads – paved, gravel, and dirt – by proceeding as the way opened.
Ralph E. Hanson is a journalism professor and textbook author based in central Nebraska. When he isn’t teaching or writing, he’s riding his Honda CRF300L Rally or his Suzuki V-Strom 650. He’s currently trying to ride as much of the Lewis and Clark route as possible.
The craggy San Juan Mountains of Colorado provide a dramatic backdrop for a journey along well-groomed dirt and gravel roads near Silver Jack Reservoir. (Photos by Bill and Susan Dragoo)
Backed by lush orchestration, the opening credits of the 1969 John Wayne film, True Grit, reveal a beautiful farmstead nestled in a green valley beneath craggy 10,000-plus-foot mountains. The scene is meant to depict the Yellville, Arkansas, home of main character, Mattie Ross. But even as a child watching the film for the first time, I knew that this location could not possibly be Arkansas, where the Charles Portis novel is set and whose highest peaks are barely over 2,700 feet. Why, I wondered, was it not filmed in a more accurate setting? (I should add that I am often accused of being overly literal.)
While exploring Colorado’s San Juan Mountains in a 2024 Ural Gear-Up sidecar rig with my husband, Bill, last summer, we stumbled upon that farmstead along Last Dollar Road, one of the state’s loveliest byways. This 20-mile passage between Ridgway and Telluride summits at 10,600 feet and offers some of the most scenic views in the San Juans without the need for a grueling, technical tussle to the top or a struggle for trail space against hordes of side-by-sides.
Why would they not film movies out here?
Sweeping curves on easy unpaved roads suit the Ural quite well.
U.S. 550, aka the Million Dollar Highway, twists and turns up the mountainside as it ascends to 11,018-foot Red Mountain Pass south of Ouray.
The mountains, the streams, the golden aspens in fall, uncrowded and pristine. Who cares if it looks nothing like Arkansas? Ridgway and its surrounds provided stunning locations for True Grit and other western movies, and for us it was a perfect place to explore while we put the Ural through its paces, occasionally needing to summon some true grit of our own. The bike was on loan from Overland Expo, their 2024 Ultimate Overland Motorcycle Build, all decked out for adventure with on-demand two-wheel drive, knobby tires, auxiliary lights, a winch, and even a refrigerator.
Mist rises as Bill enjoys the view into the valley during a stop along Last Dollar Road.
Over the course of our multiday journey, we would find the Ural’s limits, discover where it excels, and have fun in the process. Getting accustomed to its steering was the first challenge. On a two-wheeled machine, you initiate the turn with a gentle push on the handlebar in the direction you want to go. It’s commonly called countersteering. But the three-wheeled Ural does not lean. You must heave the handlebar on the heavy machine in the direction you want to go. In right-hand turns, the sidecar, attached to the right side of the motorcycle, tends to lift. Taking corrective action in this situation may straighten the bike’s path in an undesirable way, such as pointing it into traffic. This can be avoided but requires practice and deliberate effort and, oh yes, more than a little determination.
The Bear Creek Trail, a popular and challenging hiking trail into the Uncompahgre Wilderness, starts near this tunnel on U.S. 550 outside Ouray.
“Flying the chair,” which requires balance and nerve, is one of Bill’s favorite pastimes while piloting the Ural.
We based our expedition out of Lake City, Colorado, one of the towns originating as mining communities in this mineral-rich region, now a hotbed of tourism and off-roading. Heading north on State Highway 149 on the Ural with me in the sidecar, Bill and I left the pavement south of Blue Mesa Reservoir on a county road, bypassing a bridge closure on U.S. Route 50. Flowing along well-groomed dirt and gravel through wide, sweeping turns, we found the mellow road perfect for our three-wheeled machine. We had originally planned to take it over Engineer Pass but thought better of it after a brief test on a trail just outside Lake City. At 1,100 lb and 41 hp, the Ural is less than ideal for loose, steep climbs like Engineer, even with the additional traction of two-wheel drive.
Susan and Bill pause while exploring the roads around Lake City, Colorado.
A short stint westbound on U.S. 50 took us to Cimarron Road and a turn back south into the Uncompahgre National Forest. We followed the road’s twists and turns past Silver Jack Reservoir and up to Owl Creek Pass at 10,114 feet. I took a turn as pilot and gave Bill a spin in the sidecar. By this time Bill had mastered the bike, expertly handling right turns while keeping the sidecar mostly on the ground and us in the right lane and drifting it into left turns like a dirtbike. My driving was not as smooth, but the wide, lightly traveled roads provided an ideal place to practice. Eventually I gained more confidence, but ultimately I was content to stay in the sidecar and leave the driving to Bill, who was enjoying it immensely.
Groves of aspens flank the trail along Last Dollar Road.
Just northwest of Owl Creek Pass, we passed Deb’s Meadow, where True Grit’s climactic shootout was filmed. There on one side of the aspen-wrapped field with Chimney Rock in the distance, Ned Pepper, played by Robert Duvall, provokes Rooster Cogburn, played by John Wayne: “That’s bold talk from a one-eyed fat man.” Enraged, Cogburn bows up and yells “Fill your hand you son of a b***h!” He grips his horse’s reins between his teeth and charges Pepper and his gang from the opposite side of the meadow, shooting with both hands at the villains.
Signage at Ouray’s Hot Springs Inn identify the mountain passes of the Alpine Loop.
Deb’s Meadow was named for actress Debbie Reynolds, who was involved in filming other motion pictures on the site, including How the West Was Won.
This nicely preserved stagecoach at the Hot Springs Inn is a reminder of the area’s “Old West” heritage.
Eventually, the unpaved road intersects U.S. Route 550, and from there we cruised into Ridgway for lunch. The community’s downtown provided the setting for much of True Grit’s filming, and we ate lunch at the True Grit Cafe, which is, not surprisingly, filled with John Wayne memorabilia.
Bill takes a break near the Mattie Ross farmstead.
After lunch we set out for Last Dollar Road, heading west on State Highway 62. Twelve miles west of Ridgway, we left the pavement on a southbound turn, and in just 2.5 miles we came across Mattie Ross’ farm. The current owner restored the house, buildings, and corrals in 2018-2019 in honor of the film’s 50th anniversary.
This ranch along Last Dollar Road was the filming location for Mattie Ross’ family farmstead in True Grit.
We continued beyond the Ross farmstead through ranchland for a few miles, soon coming across a sign urging caution when the road is wet and muddy, as it becomes very slick. “Good Tires Only,” it read. We figured our knobbies would qualify and went on, ascending through aspen, spruce, and fir to an overlook with a formation in the shape of a ramp pointed skyward.
Bill ascends the ramp to nowhere for a spectacular view off Last Dollar Road.
Bill appeared poised to drive right to the top of the ramp, but I interrupted his progress at its base. “Let me out here,” I said and walked up to meet him at the crest of the incline. Swooping up the ramp was not the sort of adrenaline rush I craved, although in my rational mind I never really believed he would go over the edge.
Look in downtown Telluride for the pot of gold at the end of this rainbow.
The view from the top was breathtaking. We gazed down upon the valley, clouds rising between and around the surrounding peaks to both obscure and enhance our view. I expected Brigadoon to appear out of the lush green flanks of the hills at any moment. The mist rose and dissipated, but no fabled Irish village materialized, so we moved on.
The scenery and byways of the San Juan Mountains make for a perfect Ural adventure.
I literally caught my breath when I saw Telluride, tucked into the rugged San Juan peaks in the gap below. There, smack dab in the middle of town, an intensely saturated rainbow was firmly anchored in the pot of gold that is the community of Telluride, known for its ski resort and its luxury homes occupied by the rich and famous. Nearly as impressive, Telluride Regional Airport sits at just over 9,000 feet elevation and is one of the highest commercial airports in the United States. Its 100-foot-wide runway is more than 1.25 miles long and looks oddly out of place in this setting.
The 1969 movie True Grit was filmed in Ridgway, and the town’s True Grit Cafe serves up good food and John Wayne memorabilia.
Intersecting State Highway 145, we jumped back on the pavement and looped back to Ridgway, then traveled 10 miles south to Ouray, known as “Little Switzerland” for its tall, jagged peaks reminiscent of the Swiss Alps. The Victorian architecture of its downtown enhances the ambience. We luxuriated in Ouray’s hot-springs pools for a relaxing end to an active day and spent the night at the Hot Springs Inn, lulled to sleep by the rushing waters of the Uncompahgre River, which runs right behind the hotel.
Susan takes a break at Red Mountain Creek, which runs along U.S. 550.
Before heading back to base camp the next day, we rode south out of Ouray, passing the trailhead for the Bear Creek Trail, where we had backpacked 18 years before. We went up to Red Mountain Pass, stopping to ogle the historic Idarado Houses, homes built for miners between 1910 and 1920 and now in the process of restoration. And there, on the tight turns of U.S. 550 – the Million Dollar Highway – Bill perfected his sidecar flying technique but without me in the car, thank goodness. True grit only goes so far.
Rain-slick pavement and no guardrail require extra caution on U.S. 550 south of Ouray.
Susan Dragoo is a writer and photographer based in Norman, Oklahoma, specializing in adventure travel, along with her husband, Bill Dragoo, who founded Dragoo Adventure Rider Training (D.A.R.T.). Find more articles at SusanDragoo.com and BillDragoo.com.
Glassy conditions on Jackson Lake in Grand Teton National Park. (Photos by the author)
Fort Laramie is the oldest town in Wyoming, having first been settled as Fort Williams in the 1830s and “bought” by the U.S. government in 1849. It was the perfect place to start my 1,500-mile Wyoming motorcycle ride around the Cowboy State. Just 3 miles away is the Fort Laramie National Historic Site, which in the 1800s was the fort that anchored all the small outposts along the Oregon Trail and was a stop for the wagon trains headed west. Abandoned in 1890, it became part of the National Park Service in 1938 and has been restored and preserved. It’s a great place to explore and learn about the Old West.
Atlantic City is one of several ghost towns in Wyoming that had their heyday during mining booms in the 1800s.
From Fort Laramie, my roughly clockwise route around Wyoming took me on U.S. Route 26 west to I-25 and then south on State Route 34 to Laramie. SR-34 is a remote and relaxing ride through rolling country with just enough curves to keep it interesting. After visiting the Laramie Historic Railroad Depot Museum, I headed southwest on Snowy Range Road (SR-130) to the Wyoming Territorial Prison State Historic Site. Built in 1872, the prison housed some notorious outlaws, the most famous of which was Robert LeRoy Parker, better known as Butch Cassidy. Butch spent two years at the prison and was never jailed again. Remember in the movie Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid when Butch and Sundance tried to blow the safe on the railroad car and accidentally blew up the whole car? That safe is housed at the prison, which is well worth a stop.
Continuing west on SR-130, I rode over the Snowy Range Mountains, topping out at Snowy Range Pass (10,847 feet). This part of eastern Carbon County is one of the most scenic rides in Wyoming, with snow-covered granite peaks, alpine forests, and deep-blue clear lakes. The road has steep grades and curves, but its surface is well-maintained and there are plenty of pull-offs where you can stop and enjoy the scenery. The road is closed in winter and had only been open for two weeks prior to my ride, so there was plenty of snow at the pass.
The Wyoming Territorial Prison is in Laramie.
SR-130 took me deeper into Carbon County to State Route 230 south to Encampment and then west again on State Route 70, which goes through Medicine Bow-Routt National Forest and over Battle Pass (9,995 feet). This is a very remote road that’s open only in summer. After descending Battle Pass and encountering a herd of elk on the highway, I arrived in Savery, population 25, where I visited the Little Snake River Museum. Some of the buildings in town date back to 1873, and the museum has many artifacts from Wyoming’s early days.
The Jim Baker Cabin at the Little Snake River Museum.
Farther west I passed through the small towns of Dixon and Baggs, and then I rode north to I-80 and headed east to U.S. Route 287, which took me north to Lander for my first overnight. The next morning, I rode 12 miles on Sinks Canyon Road with the river cascading beside the road to Popo Agie Falls. Since the road past the parking area is gravel, I turned around and rode back to Lander.
The Carissa Mine near South Pass City was once the largest and most productive gold mine in central Wyoming.
From Lander, I took State Route 28 through the Red Canyon scenic area. Just a few miles down the road is the turnoff for South Pass City and Atlantic City, both of which are ghost towns from the mining days. The road is hard-pack gravel, but it’s well maintained. I stopped in Atlantic City to have a coffee at the Miner’s Grubstake & Dredge Saloon (which also has a general store) and discovered the owners also ride motorcycles. The restaurant is the only business in town, and there were a few campers there when I stopped.
An American bison in Yellowstone National Park.
A few miles up the road is South Pass City, which has been preserved by the state of Wyoming and is exactly the way it was 100 years ago. Most of the buildings are open for visitors to explore. Overlooking the town is the Carissa Mine. Like many old mining towns, South Pass City went from boom to bust to boom to bust as mines were discovered and eventually played out.
An eruption of the Old Faithful geyser.
After touring these ghost towns, I continued west on State Route 28 to Farson, and Farson Highway (U.S. Route 191) south took me to Dutch John, Utah, for a ride around Flaming Gorge Reservoir. U.S. 191 intersects with Utah Route 44 south to Wyoming Route 530 at the state line. The ride north offers beautiful views of the reservoir and the Green River Valley along with some nice sweepers and switchbacks. Then I headed north to Pinedale, Wyoming, to visit an old friend.
Snow at the Continental Divide.
Pinedale is one of those drive-through towns on the way to Yellowstone on U.S. 191, but I consider it and the surrounding area a hidden gem. At the north end of town is Fremont Lake Road, which is 15 miles long and ends at the Wind River Range trailhead. The ride offers great views of the lake and the upper Green River Valley, and there is a pull-off at the trailhead that offers one of the most scenic views of the mountains.
Located just outside of Yellowstone National Park, the Beartooth Cafe in Cooke City, Montana, is a great place to grab a bite before taking on the Beartooth Highway.
Early mountain men held their rendezvous at Fremont Lake, named after famed explorer John Fremont. While in Pinedale, I recommend visiting the Museum of the Mountain Man. And if you’re looking for something to eat, try the Wind River Brewing Company, which offers great food and tasty microbrews.
I spent two nights in Pinedale before heading north. After a relaxing, scenic ride through Grand Teton National Park, it was on to Yellowstone National Park, which had the usual traffic jams, or should I say buffalo/elk/bear jams, but then who cares when you are in such beautiful country? I recommend taking the Fire Hole River turnoff between Madison Junction and Old Faithful. The one-way road is only a 2-mile detour, but it’s well worth your time.
The Beartooth Highway, a highlight of this Wyoming motorcycle ride, winds through northern Wyoming and southern Montana, topping out at 10,947-foot Beartooth Pass. Charles Kuralt described it as the “most beautiful roadway in America.”
I spent the night in Cooke City, Montana, just outside Yellowstone’s northeast park gate. Most businesses here cater to riders. I left Cooke City with a plan to ride the Beartooth Highway (U.S. Route 212) across the pass to Red Lodge and then turn around, ride back over the top, and turn east toward Cody. On this day, the weather gods smiled on me with clear and sunny skies. Riding the Beartooth is a must any time you are in this part of Wyoming.
I have been asked which direction is best to ride the Beartooth Highway, and my answer is always the same: both directions. The Beartooth is designated as an All-American Road and for good reason. I had only ridden a few miles when I spotted two grizzlies alongside the road. These were young cubs, if you can call 250-lb bears cubs. They had been turned loose by mama this spring and would soon separate and go their own ways.
A group of riders enjoying the snow-lined curves near Beartooth Pass soon after the road opened for the season.
After enjoying the ride in both directions, I turned onto Chief Joseph Scenic Byway (SR-296), which took me from mountains to canyons and back to mountains. The scenery is epic, and the road has everything from open expanses to switchbacks and steep grades. After that, I passed through Cody, where I recommend you spend at least one day to visit the Buffalo Bill Center of the West and take in the rodeo in the evening.
These metal sculptures honoring Native Americans are located on Chief Joseph Scenic Byway (Wyoming Route 296).
After spending the night in Powell, I headed east on U.S. Route 14A to ride over the Bighorn Mountains, where you can easily spend a day exploring the great roads. On the way out of the town of Lovell, there is a large sign along the highway cautioning riders about steep grades and sharp turns 20 miles ahead, and the fun begins after crossing Bighorn Lake. U.S. 14A is a rider’s road for sure. After the climb to the summit, the road sweeps across the top of the Bighorns with a vista of green forests and mountain peaks.
U.S. 14A ends at Burgess Junction where it intersects with U.S. Route 14. If you turn left, the road will descend out of the mountains and take you to Sheridan, but I chose to turn right for more twists and turns in the Bighorns, taking me over Granite Pass and through Shell Canyon to Greybull.
Shell Falls is located on U.S. 14 near Burgess Junction in the Bighorn Mountains.
I rode south on U.S. Route 20 to Manderson and then cruised along SR-31 to Ten Sleep, a popular stop for riders, then continued east into Johnson County. The ride goes through the southern part of Bighorn National Forest, and I topped out at Powder River Pass, the highest point on U.S. 16 at 9,666 feet, which includes plenty of curves and views of high cliffs, pine trees, and rivers.
U.S. 16 took me to Buffalo, the seat of Johnson County. I recommend stopping at the historic Occidental Hotel – known as “The Ox” – to take in the history. Originally built of logs in 1880, it was a stop on the Bozeman Trail. A few years later, it was built into a grand hotel. The Occidental has had many famous guests, including President Teddy Roosevelt, President Herbert Hoover, Calamity Jane, and outlaws such as Butch Cassidy and Killer Tom Horn. If you go into the saloon and belly up to the bar, you will be standing in the footprints of these famous figures. While at the bar, look up at the bullet holes in the ceiling. Go ahead and have a cold one.
Riding through the aptly named Snowy Range Mountains on SR-130 in Carbon County, Wyoming, one of the most scenic rides in the state.
To close the loop of my grand tour of Wyoming, I rode south on State Route 196 to Kaycee, famous for the Hole in the Wall hideout where Butch Cassidy and other notorious outlaws hid from the law under red sandstone cliffs. From Kaycee, I continued south on I-25 to Casper for more Wild West history.
Casper is home to 12 museums, including the Tate Geological Museum, which houses a woolly mammoth, and the Fort Caspar Museum and Historic Site, complete with reconstructed buildings and artifacts from Casper’s first 100 years. After exploring the museums, there are many restaurants, craft breweries, bakeries, and lodging options for a meal or an overnight stay.
The author catches his breath at Snowy Range Pass (10,847 feet).
From scenic views and excellent motorcycle roads to historic sites and great food, this Wyoming motorcycle ride in the Cowboy State offers plenty to explore for a multi-day moto tour.
This is the aptly named Parowan Gap, which is located about 20 miles from my hometown of Cedar City. (Photos by the author)
Ten years ago, doctors removed my left kidney – and the golfball-sized tumor attached to it. To mark a decade of being cancer-free, I rode my Harley-Davidson Heritage Softail on a Utah motorcycle ride across the West Desert to Great Basin National Park in Nevada.
Had the procedure not been successful, I would’ve only had a 10-15% chance of survival. After my first follow-up appointment, when the surgeon told me I wasn’t going to die, I gained a new appreciation for living in the moment. Riding is the ultimate practice in mindfulness, staying focused on the immediate and appreciating what is around you.
I left early on a cool September morning, taking Utah Route 130 and catching the sunrise at one of my favorite places. Parowan Gap, located just off SR-130 about 20 miles north of Cedar City, has an amazing collection of petroglyphs dating back at least 1,000 years. I highly recommend stopping to read – and feel – the history.
Back on SR-130, I continued north to Minersville, a “sneeze and you’ll miss it” town. Over the next 20 miles, I only saw maybe three vehicles. Smoke from California wildfires obscured the mountains in the distance, painting them in layered shades of blue and purple.
Parowan Gap has many fascinating petroglyphs, rock carvings that were created more than 1,000 years ago.
State Route 21 took me northwest towards Milford, a small town with deep roots in mining, agriculture, and the railroad. It once served as the terminus for a Union Pacific-controlled company that served southern Utah, southern Nevada, and northern Arizona.
Past Milford, the next 80 miles are mostly long straights across desert valleys, interrupted by occasional sweepers as you traverse a few mountain passes. This is basin-and-range country, and it’s cool to ride over a pass and see the ribbon of highway stretching for miles through an empty valley before rising to the mountains in the distance.
Western Utah is a wide-open, desolate region with few signs of civilization.
This is also open-range BLM land, which means no fences but occasional cattle and deer. You might also see antelope, and a couple road signs warn of wild horses. With all this potential livestock and wildlife, long sightlines are appreciated, but riding at night is risky. I saw evidence of this: long skid marks followed by a maroon smear on the highway.
I only passed a few homesteads. Most were a good distance off the highway, and I might’ve missed them except for the clumps of trees in an otherwise barren landscape.
Great Basin National Park’s Wheeler Peak Scenic Drive lives up to its name.
Life in the desert follows water, and there isn’t much out here. About 10 miles from the Utah-Nevada border, I noticed a trail of green vegetation not far off the road that told me there was a creek out there.
In Nevada, SR-21 becomes Nevada Route 487, and 6 miles later in Baker, a left on Lehman Caves Road (SR-488) took me to Great Basin National Park. The two highlights of the national park – which doesn’t require an entrance fee – are the caves and Wheeler Peak.
Milford, Utah, is home to only 1,431 residents but was once the terminus for a major Union Pacific rail line.
Wheeler Peak Scenic Drive climbs 4,000 feet in just 12 miles, topping out at 10,000 feet. Here’s where you’ll finally get to lean your bike over a little. The speed limit is 35 mph with no passing. Traffic was light, so I could push my speed a little. But honestly, it’s a ride I didn’t mind taking slow considering how much there was to see over such a short span, with the muted grays and greens of desert sagebrush at the bottom giving way to the autumn reds and yellows of an alpine forest at the top.
The scenic drive is a seasonal road past mile marker 3, so check before you go. Parking is sparse at the top, but from there you can hike up another 3,000 feet to the summit of Wheeler Peak or hike among the Bristlecone pines, which are some of the oldest living things on earth.
Stalagmites and stalactites inside the Lehman Caves.
I stretched my legs hiking for about 30 minutes before winding my way back down the scenic drive to the visitor center to make my Lehman Caves tour reservation (something else to plan in advance). The ride down offered great opportunities to take in the amazing view for miles across the Great Basin Desert.
The cave tour was a pleasantly cool reprieve from the warmer temps on the bike. If you’re claustrophobic, you’ll probably want to skip this one, as there are several passages where you must hunch over to walk through. The caves are worth a visit, but they’re not particularly dramatic.
At 13,065 feet, Wheeler Peak is the second tallest mountain in Nevada.
As I made my way home, the smoke had mostly cleared, and as the sun started to dip, I could see farther into the distance. When I set out that morning with 10 years in my mirrors, I thought I would have some great revelation along the way about life and what it means to have come so close to death, but the truth is, I ended up doing exactly what I should’ve been doing – not thinking about much at all and just enjoying the ride.
Paul Dail, who was on Rider’s editorial staff from 2022 to 2024, was born again into riding when his brother held up his end of a deal, dropping off a Harley-Davidson Heritage Softail at his doorstep. Since then, he has enjoyed riding it around southern Utah and beyond.
Bringing you the Best Motorcycle News from Around the Web!
We use cookies to ensure that we give you the best experience on our website. If you continue to use this site we will assume that you are happy with it.
