Gila Bend and Painted Rocks...

It's a Gas gas gas... stop.

LAST year I tried to get to this site, home to the largest deposit of ancient Petroglyphs in the state.  I scouted a route SW from the city, down old US 80 and across country through Arlington.  Unfortunately, when only 27 miles from the site, I had to detour 20 miles in the other direction to get fuel.  My planned stop was closed.  This didn't allow me the chance to get to see the glyphs and I rode home, cold, in the dark and droning along at barely 50mph.

Very cool bridge off Old US 80

Having learned my lesson, (I don't need a boulder to fall on my head)

I headed out again but this time went directly to Gila Bend where I fueled up.  The glyph site is just out of GB, off I 8 and about 12 miles on an excellent sporty paved highway.

Pretty warm today.  Baja only 115 miles!

It was quite the contrast to last weeks ride to Prescott via Cow Creek/Wagoner rd and the Senator highway coming back.  It was a chilly 26.2F when I began loading the gear leaving my motel in Prescott and over 7000'

As you can see from the photo, Painted Rock was both lower and warmer.

My revised gearing came in very handy, I had no problem cruising at 60 mph which if nothing else, lessened my chances of ending up in the grill of an 18 wheeler!

I picked up old US 80 shortly after leaving Interstate 10.  I remember this road from 1998 when Deb and I departed Phx for our Baja adventure.  Then I was riding an XT 600 (which I still have) and today I was on the little brother 350.

Looked like a subdivision that barely got off the ground.

US 80 winds its way past run down farms, rusting equipment, a broken dam and a housing tract complete with gated entry, boat slips and palm trees, literally in the middle of nowhere that seems to not have gotten off the ground.  Didn't they get the memo that this is a 'desert'!

Complete with individual boat slips.

I fueled up in Gila Bend, a dilapidated town on the confluence between state highway 85 heading to Mexico and Interstate 8 to San Diego CA.

My tank range is normally about 180 miles to reserve and perhaps 30 more beyond that.  No problem making the trip topped up in GB.  I planned on returning via the loop I had been on last fall before having to detour for gas.

On the way back to Arlington, beautiful desert.

Made it!

It was hot at PR, a very pretty little place with a huge campground where I met Dale retired from the military (meet lots of Americans that served actually) and comes down from Oregon with his wife in the big RV to host at this out of the way campground.

Self guided short walk.

I thought I may have headed in that direction myself back about 10 years ago before I met Brenda and Anna... things certainly changed in many ways...

Yeah, no kidding.

Very interesting this...

Only shade offered.  Very good campsite and picnic area.

Parking the bike in the only shade offered, the covered picnic area, I removed my Icon boots, geared up my Canon SX20 and went for a walk, turkey sandwich in hand.  I met some nice folks from New Mexico who reminded me it was US Thanksgiving and after a short visit went on to snap a few photos of the 12,000 year old petroglyphs.

There they are!

I'd seen many such etchings before in Baja, of course they depict different creatures mostly marine vs desert.

 



Leaving, I took a chance and rode to the dam which has been closed to the public for many years now.  It was a short detour on a nicely paved road but unfortunately the access road was closed so I never got closer than 1/2 mile.  Once backtracked to PR, XT and I headed due west on rough, unmaintained primitive gravel roads that brought us back to US 80 after some 70 miles through beautiful desert scenery.  I passed a few miles south of Palo Verde looking at it from an angle most would never see, across a barren desert landscape.  This is the largest nuclear power plant in the USA generating some 3.3 GW of power, enough to feed power hungry Phoenix and area plus southern California including L.A.


Riding along standing on the pegs for much of the 70 miles, to gain stability I couldn't help but think what a great life I lead.  Honestly, I've never been too concerned about money or work, I always managed and I have packed much into my near 60 years, many memories especially sitting astride a MC. 

I did my freeway stint with a blazing setting sun to my back, this time much more relaxed than last year, when I had a dead battery, I was cold and it was dark.  traffic sped by me with at least a 30 mph differential.  This time round I didn't feel quite so vulnerable.

Appropriately it was Thanksgiving and let me tell you how truly grateful I am.

Did I mention what a great life this is...

Me...

... and Mr. T.

NOW before some of your devious minds get to work, let's make one thing clear.  Mr. T is not a fuzzy sex toy.

He is fuzzy, and he can be as playful as a toy, but I assure you there is NO sex involved.

Very young Phoenix, 'who goes there!'

Last year upon arrival after almost a two year absence, I had the patio doors wide open enjoying the pleasant fall temperature when a little tiny kitten jumped up the back of my couch. 

Phx when Anna first brought him 'home' to my place.

'Now where did you come from?' was my immediate thought...  after all there are plenty of feral and semi-feral cats around, but she was so gentle and friendly and beautiful, I thought she must belong to someone.

Turned out that 'Boo' belonged next door at Judy's place,  She'd come home one day under the hood of her son's truck and was so cute and cuddly, she was instantly adopted into the fold.  From the time I met her, she immediately, from that moment on, literally moved in.  Being a cat guy, you can imagine how happy I was to have this minute little kitten stay over for the 2 months I was here.

Mr. Tickles, his chair.

Judy and I keep in regular contact, she is a great neighbor, keeping an eye on my place while I am not here, just prior to my return for 2014, she tells me that Boo is hanging out on my welcome mat, seemingly waiting for my arrival.

Boo on the perimeter, 'all clear'

Patrolling the fence.

She moved right back in without hesitation, so for those that don't believe animals are attentive, intelligent and can remember things, I beg to differ.

Okay fast forward to 2014, I'm back. Boo is laying next to me and bingo... a scruffy male appears at the patio door, meowing very loudly and incessantly. 

Doing what cats do best.

 
Seems he belongs sorta kinda across the street from me and is a semi street cat.  It's obvious he's a scrapper, judging by the various scuffles I've seen him in and the plethora of continuous scuff marks and battle wounds.  He's really a very nice cat, territorial as hell, and a bit rough 'round the edges but very friendly towards me.  Seems between the two of us 'men'... one needs to be fixed badly though (the other has) something that may change his demeanor somewhat, as I've found numerous times in my personal experience.

her fountain.

Full name, Mr. Tickles... is happy being fed, having a patio chair so sleep on and especially getting some loving.  He will gladly hop onto my lap anytime I sit, and stay there... motor idling, until I have to move. 

I play a constant game of 'musical felines' between him and Boo.  Last year Boo had the entire yard to herself and had inherited Phoenix's tall tree.  This year with Tickles around it's been tough sledding for her, Tickles has no qualms about smacking her around and I've had to intervene a number of times.  To get Boo some outdoor time...

Playful furry creature.

... she loves patrolling my fence just as Phx did, I bring Tickles inside for a 20 or 30 minute stretch.  Sometimes Mr. T will be patrolling the yard or asleep on the ground or the aforementioned soft cushioned lawn chair and I can let Boo come and go from my entry door around the side of the condo. 

sitting on my lap, posing.

Most nights T stays the entire night, one thing this part of the world is good for, it really doesn't get very cold in winter most days and nights, so he seems quite content to lay out there snoozing the night away. 

Fuzz

There's even a third visitor that I call 'Fuzz' a female that could be sister's to Phoenix although I'm sure she's much younger, Phx now being 4 years.

Of course, this will all change after I depart, Boo will go back 'home' and Mr.  Tickles likewise.  I'll likely see them again next season.



So... even though I am 5000 miles from 'home' I still get my furry feline fix every day here in Glendale Arizona.

What's in a name anyway?

I was standing at the counter of Access PEI, getting my bikes registered shortly after the move.

Velo 150

We had to be patient, as with most DMV's things certainly don't move at light speed (unless the bulb is burnt out) I had sat... number in hand, on those uncomfortable chairs for more than an hour and I knew that day the wait may be shorter than the work.

PEI is a small place, in fact the entire Maritimes barely make a 1/3 of Alberta, size or population wise.  I had several sets of paperwork and was methodically presenting each in order, slowly.

Obviously some of my motorcycle models had never before been registered on the Island, because they had to be manually entered into the database where we ran into a bit of a snag.  DMV's and even the general public know most bikes by a model number.  For example, I was registering a Yamaha DT 50W, an XT 225D and an XT 600A.  This was fairly straight forward.  The time consuming conflict began with the Tomos Velo scooter.  She wanted to know the model number.  I explained to her that there was none.  She explained it to her supervisor who came back that there must be a model number.  'How can it be known only by the name?' I pointed out the company was situated in Slovenia and the bike was manufactured in China.  She was welcome to call Tomos and ask them the question directly.  Same issue with the Triumph Thunderbird.  It too had to be manually entered in the system.

Thunderbird 900

I thought about this at the time and again this morning.

There is something more exciting and personal about a machine being named, don't you agree?

I mean would you call your children, #1, 2 and 3?!

A CBR 900RR sounds much better if referred to as a "Fireblade,"  a VTR1000 as a "Superhawk", and  the old BSA parked in my home, the Thunderbolt 650.

Can you imagine a 5L Mustang being called a Ford D 4200 X or something just as foolish.



I'm not sure why it is but a name reflects the romance and personality of the machine. Take the Honda Passport sitting in my living room.

 


Charger      
Mustang
Corvette
MGB
Mini
Boxster

Spitfire
Hurricane
Gladiator
Flying Fortress
Liberator

Hustler
Ascot
Mach III
V Max
Bonneville

Doesn't the word Intruder sound much sexier and dangerous than the C-50?

It's been said...

"THE only thing to fear is fear itself..."

Seems like a simple enough statement for a rather large and complex issue.

There's fear of the known and the unknown.

Fear of what's under the water, fear of flying, fear of what we may find around the next corner.

Fear of failure, fear of success?

Don't confuse this with caution or respect or even common sense, those things are a different kettle of fish. 

Castle Creek rd Walker's Gulch connects to Buckhorn road.

When I am motorcycling the back country I respect it greatly.  I know the planet didn't set out today to kill me.  I know my skill level, my machine, my environment and it's hazards.  I plan and take precautions like letting Judy my neighbor know what my route is, just in case.



I know that there is always the unexpected lurking about, a simple crash at low speed on a Baja hillside for example, or a flat tire on the freeway.  There's always the "Murphy" factor to contend with.  That's a given, but even so we always have choices.

Do we do this or do we pass?

Castle Creek rd

In my riding career I've passed many times.  I remember trying to find my way several years ago across country along a deep sand wash, with a sore shoulder.  I turned back due to the pain and lack of strength I was feeling.  NO biggie, I recovered from that and went on another time to complete that route.  Other times, I weigh the challenge in front of me, compare it to what I have already been through and decide which way to go, ahead or back.  I don't feel any shame at all in turning back.



There's other times when I feel good both physically and mentally and will accept the challenge in front of me.  I get off the bike, walk the gulley or hill, see what's around the next corner.  Sometimes like the other day, I may do this every 1/2 mile as obstacles present themselves.

Castle Creek Road(?)

Last year I was in just such a predicament.  After twice missing completely the trail that showed on the map, I found it finally, unmarked and camouflaged by a small rise that looked nothing like a road.  I knew by looking it over on Google earth both maps and overhead what the general lay of the land was and it certainly didn't seem intimidating.  For example, the elevation was well below my trip through the Bradshaw's three years ago, the back way to Crown King.



I knew that the Wagoner road I was trying to reach was only 5 miles away, but after traveling 2.5 of those miles, I came to a very rocky, loose boulder-ed wash, with a tricky downhill crossing the stream-bed and a rocky uphill that turned 120 degrees left and continued up with loose rocks all the way.  It didn't look particularly daunting but it was getting late, my wrong turn detour had used up over two hours of daylight, and it was still a long way to go.  My shoulder was sore and I decided at that time to say "hasta leugo" and try it another day.

Castle Creek rd "Jeeps Only"

I thought about the short connecting route going north from the inverted U of the Cow Creek/Castle Creek roads, and the bottom of the U the five miles to Wagoner road that I was trying to reach.

Over the course of the year, I scoped it out on Google maps several times and was convinced I could do it if the weather hadn't wiped out the road completely, which in the desert is entirely possible.  Heavy rains or spring run off can seriously erode the surface of the earth and change entirely what was before.  There had been massive rains in Arizona this summer.  I honestly didn't know what I would find.  Asking questions at bike shops or from park officials and other users is usually a waste of time.  Most dirt riding here is on marked and mapped forestry trails, whereas this is actually a public road and off highway vehicles are not allowed on them legally.

Far as I got on the connector last year.

Not that anyone would know but still, most recreational riders stick to the trail networks. I can usually run much of the day without human contact of any sort.  You can always tell when humans have been about by the empty shell casings and litter people leave behind...



Using the Google tools I was able to map the route including actual distances, this no mean feat in itself as there are literally hundreds of unmarked trails going every which way out there.  I had rigged up a lighter socket as an emergency charging system for my GPS, printed maps and direction, bought a compass before leaving last year and was 93% confident I would make it this time round.

My turn back point.

Water packed, food packed, saddlebags containing warm clothing extra bungees and even tie downs straps packed, of course there is literally no way to get a rescue vehicle in here in any case.  About all you can do is call for a chopper...











I was on my way.

I hate sand

Cabot park PEI

DON'T get me wrong, sand can be good... like take a beautiful beach for example.  Sand is good there.  Or an icy road, likewise.  A horseshoe pitch, check... a kids playground, check check.

...but, when you are following a dry wash, and it's narrow, and it twists every fifty feet, and gets narrower, sucking you in, and you begin dragging your feet, slipping the clutch 'cuz it's now a foot deep, and then there's boulders so even if you had enough, you can't turn around.

You keep going, hoping you will climb out of it back onto solid ground, there are ATV tracks you're following, but then the ATV tracks peter out, no idea what became of them, sand so deep maybe the quad got swallowed up, and it's just you, your skinny tired dirt bike, sun beating down, the hills are getting higher and you are getting in deeper.

I 15 heading south

Finally you say...

"F it!"

Your patience has run out, your arms are beginning to feel like Gumby arms, your legs like Pokey legs, tired from constantly trying to keep you upright, you can't park the bike on it's side-stand without it sinking out of site. Even getting off and on requires extreme care, your boot disappears up to the ankle and the seat is several inches taller than your inseam...

After dragging, pushing, clutching, throwing rooster tails twenty feet high, with sand up to the rear axle... and finally getting turned around, you gulp down half your remaining water, you  re-mount and drape yourself over the handlebars, gasping for air, heart pounding.

Now, you have to re-trace your route, hundreds of corners, same axle deep sand for 3/4 of a mile until you hit solid ground again.

THIS... is when I hate sand.

I talked to a couple from Minnesota, who were camping for the winter in a huge RV towing a small pick-up and a large 4x4 Quad.  They tell me the riding is great back on the ORV* area, but I might not appreciate the sand.  I ask them if you cross the washes or follow them.  You see, crossing doesn't pose much of a problem, its when it suckers you in for miles at a time, hoping for a way out.  I've run into this in Mexico, on a mountain top in B.C. and of course here.

Like me, they are strangers to the hood and in truth have only begun exploring.  I chance it and immediately ride down a steep gulley I am pretty certain (99%) that I will not be able to ride out of.  I am in sight of the campers but still a mile away.  I find an alternate route out that says, 'Vulture Mine road alternate route .9m'  

Vulture mountain/peak in the back ground.

It's steep and rocky but I'm pretty sure more do-able than what I just rode down.  See, here... when you get to one of these places, once you've committed, you don't have a choice.  It's virtually impossible to S T O P re think and change plans.  The gulleys and ravines are too steep, too loose, too rocky, too washed out to change directions.

I rode out.

The highway was indeed 1 mile away and I was never so glad to be on blacktop as I was at that moment.

Then I found Vulture Peak road with a nice green Mile '0' sign and a wide gravel road, smooth as silk.

By the time I passed mile marker '3' and then somehow missed # 4 with my trip meter moving past mile 5 since leaving the highway, I got suckered!  Of course instead a single road, there are dozens back here.

Until then the 'road' had been nothing overly difficult, but then I dropped off into a ravine, crossed a dry stream bed and climbed back out onto the road.  Another half mile and down again this time round a bend, seemed okay, the stream bed was 25 feet wide here and easy to thread my way around the really deep sandy bits.  The little voice was calling me; 'c'mon... it will be fine, you can do it... sucker'

Deep, narrow sand wash, lost off Vulture Peak road.

Within another half mile the hills climbed over me, the stream bed narrowed to 15' then 10', then barely the length of the bike wide.  I was in.

I was so knackered when I climbed out of that first rough downhill, drenched in sweat, I just wanted to lay down and snooze.  I wished I'd packed my little one man/woman tent, that I had put out on my spare bed.

At mile 1, I saw a guy loading gear into a pick-up truck, obviously preparing to depart.  Normally I don't ride up to strangers in the back country but he had a Harley sitting there so I took a risk (oh what a surprise)



Larry was very congenial, he hailed from Nevada, was 69, left the US army at age 21 just prior to the first escalations of a police action in a place called Viet Nam, has felt guilty ever since, and at age 69 now explored the deserts, camped out in his Toy Hauler and rode his Heritage Soft tail around helmet-less.

I eventually regained some strength as the sun slowly sunk into the west, and shook hands and bid farewell to Larry.

Same mountain from closer and different angle.

From here on in I stuck to pavement passing through Wickenburg... a very neat little town, and didn't think twice as I passed the Castle Hot Springs turn off.  I would normally take this road from here all the way to Lake Pleasant.  This trip I rode the carefree highway (state route 74) all the way into Peoria.  I was too bushed to ride off road, and pretty pleased that my new gearing worked exceptionally well for me.

I could now cruise at 60 mph without feeling the engine was going to explode like my very first ride on the bike just before buying it, an in fact even saw 70 mph on the speedo for several miles.

When I pulled into Olive Green Villas at 5 pm in the fading light and cooling temperature, the odometer showed just over 130 miles and I had been on (or off) the road since 9 am.  You can work out the average miles per hour if you like.

*ORV off road vehicle

To the Vultures men!

Ummm, I mean Mine.  To the Vulture Mine.

WHILE scouting around through my library books (aren't libraries wonderful!) and wanting to test my new gearing on both pavement and off, I was looking for a route, a few days back that would give me some of both.

Beats me...flood of biblical proportions maybe?

Because its cooled off considerably these last few days, dropping 20F over twenty four hours, I wanted somewhere that was close enough but varied enough that I could leave mid morning, and be home before dark, which at this time of the year is about 5 30 ish.  The big Pacific cold front that rolled over the continent brought snow and minus 30C weather to the CDN prairies, close to freezing temps in the east and some snow as well.  The local weather channel has been warning for several days that snow and sub zero temperatures are expected north of Phoenix, east and SE at higher elevations.

Dec 2013

15 miles south of Prescott

As most of my riding is in various local mountain ranges and I can get as high as 8000' on some of the highest trails, at the very least it can be cold and like last year getting to Prescott via the Senator highway* I rode the last 15miles in snow covered switchback mountain road.  Not a whole lot of fun gang...

Go west young man, go west.

It never ceases to amaze me when people back in Canada hear that it gets cold here.  People think because this is a desert, it's hot like the Sahara, but that is far from the truth. A desert is defined as having little (usually less than 7 inches) of rainfall per year.  Although temperatures stay in the warm zone all winter down here at 1000' in the valley, you can ride your scoot all year round, anytime you head north or up in elevation, it cools considerably.  The Grand Canyon is snow covered much of the winter with sub zero temperatures.  Flagstaff, just a couple of hours north on the Interstate can have 20' high snow drifts and is popular with skiers!


Sure I could restrict my riding here to the SW which is typically warmer but there is little that attracts me besides an entry into Baja via Yuma, in that direction.  That and the fact I had hurt my back just days before, dictated a relatively short ride.  Eyeballing Google Maps, I found the Toyota proving grounds NW of my home.  It looked to be in a fairly well established sub division, laid out more or less on a grid, and if I followed the lines on the map, I could come out on the Vulture Mine road and hopefully visit the Vulture Mine ghost town.

THE Sub division. looked different on the Google map.

Their website was pretty interesting, it's one of the better preserved sites in the provin... umm, I mean state, and was about 50 road miles from me, the first of which is divided highway, giving me a chance to see what the new gearing could do without hindering traffic.  Route 60 was my entry into the greater Phx area when driving down from Alberta in the "old days" I knew it well and also knew it would be very busy.  After all, its the straightest route to Nevada and just across the border at Hoover dam, was Vegas.

Many abandoned homes.

If I pulled off 60 at Patton road, I was betting I could find my way through the subdivision to Vulture Mine.

Now of course, the big deal out there is the Toyota test facility, a restricted zone that the biggest manufacturer in the world uses to put various Toyota's through their paces.  From my understanding, there is a (very) high speed paved oval, off road sections and various other facilities out there in the desert.  I expected, like many other outlying communities that would be accompanied by wide four lane blvds, Lush green grass, golf courses, mega homes on mega lots with tons of toys in driveways, a couple of gas stations and even convenience stores.  I had rigged up a portable cigarette light from my battery so I could charge my auto/hand held Tom Tom and get used to using that moving forward.

Should read Wolsen road.  At least there was a sign.

I found Patton road and it was indeed finely paved at first, if only double lanes.  I followed it for several miles coming eventually to the gate at the Toyota facility.  Although the gate was open, signs warned of private property and restricted entry.


I knew I was looking for 299 th avenue and from there to Wolsen road, then west to Whispering Ranch road.  Piece of cake right... I even took a few minutes to shed my riding jacket and consult Tom.  Well Tom was no help at all, showing narrow lines with no names, so I went back to my compass and hand drawn map.  I back tracked to 299th and turned north on a dirt road and believe me, road is stretching the truth, it was more a dusty track.  I eventually made my way to 307th ave.

Forestry trail

There were no wide paved Blvd... no golf courses... no neat rows of pre-planned palm trees, no convenience stores and no gas stations.  What there was, were dirt tracks, going through sand wash dry creek-beds, hand made signs decayed and worn, derelict trailer homes, burnt out ranchos, two (not one but two) fiberglass hulks of 20 odd foot long boat shells that were either left there in the last great flood or abandoned many years ago.

I consulted my gps once again, drinking some water while doing it.  It showed my little blue Blazer, alone and forlorn with nothing, and I mean nothing, else.

I've tried to explain to people while riding in Baja that common sense, and a compass are still the only way round in places where even gps fears to tread.  Best thing I could do was follow my compass heading west and keep coming back to it.  I knew from google that eventually if there were enough tracks, I would find my way out to Vulture Mine road.

Once more, Gold will come outa them hills!

VULTURE Mine on Vulture Mine road, south of Wickenburg

And I did!

There across from me literally a hundred feet south was two tall poles with fake vultures resting atop and guess what... a closed gate.

Typical road sign...

Just inside, a short walk away, was a Rhino and a guy in hard hat and work boots, shirt sleeves rolled up putting up hardware for a new gate.  I slipped through the gap in the closed gate, hoping not to get shot at in the ass, running for all I was worth in my rather heavy duty Icon's, and approached cautiously.  I met the guy, who told me he used to work for California road crews but felt better at home here in small town Arizona, and he tells me the mine is no longer open for visitors, because it is back to work.  In fact, his father was inside bulldozing earth in an open pit.


Very congenial 23 year old Eric tells me he's always hankered for a dual purpose bike and was quite interested in my cross country route to get here.  He said he is buying an 1100 Shadow from a friend so he can get started on his biking career.

I did manage to take a few photos from a distance, no close-ups, before re mounting and heading north towards the town of Wickenburg.

Couldn't see much of the Best preserved  Ghost town in AZ.

Vulture Mine road is perfect pavement, smooth, follows the lay of the land unlike interstates that basically 'bore through it'.  The XT cruised right along at 50- 60 mph, sweeping curves like a sport bike, torque laden 4 valve engine needing little shifting.  I was very pleased with having found my way across and around desert hills and dry arroyos to get to the mine, even if I couldn't scout around the old site.

Some of the old Mine buildings

with my zoom lens.

Before reaching Wickenburg I detoured off onto the Vulture Peak road and followed that past numerous RV's camped out for the winter it looked like, with many atv's and side by sides in tow.  I'd heard people say they park in the AZ desert, set up their solar panels or generators and live there the winter months.  Canadian's of course and visitors from Minnesota, North Dakota, Montana and other northern states that are in themselves, snow birds.

Close as I'd get today.

After I passed mile marker 3, I obviously zigged when I should have zagged, and ended up riding down a gulley for about a mile, slipping the clutch in first, riding through foot deep sand and tiny gravel before I gave up.  I consulted the GPS again a couple of times and entered 'start here', which of course made no sense whatsoever to Mr. Tom Tom, here being nowhere, as far as it was concerned.  Just a blue little SUV in the center of the screen and still nothing else.



Finally finding a wide enough place I was able to wrestle the 350 around and eventually get myself out of that ravine.  Trust the Doc... a BMW GS anything, V Strom, 1190 KTM, or any of the so called ADV bikes, would have been torched on the spot hoping to attract a local Cessna or F 15 Eagle!  My 300 lb Yamaha was plenty to manhandle/ride out of there.  I could not even imagine a loaded 650 pound Adventure bike in here.  Ewen and Charlie would have been calling in the National Guard, with a chopper!

And the Earth shook!!!

*travel guide warns "Don't be fooled, Senator highway is really just a dirt track..."