Passes & Canyons Blog

The OFMC at the Grand Canyon.

People always want to talk to you when you’re out on motorcycles, have you noticed? Of course you have. They look at us wistfully and reminisce about when they had a bike, or how great it must be to just get out on the road and go, or whatever thoughts we stir. Bikers are so daring, so cute and lovable, right? How can you not strike up a conversation with them?

Usually those conversations go pleasantly and everyone parts with good feelings. Usually.

Then there was the time the OFMC was at the North Rim of the Grand Canyon, in the parking lot by the lodge (burned down in summer 2025!) when a family on vacation struck up a conversation. Cool bikes. Hey, would it be OK if our son climbed on board one? Oh sure, what the heck, no harm.

Well, no. The boy climbed on, wearing shorts, and managed to let his bare leg press up against one of the exhaust pipes. Blazing hot exhaust pipe. Yow!!!

OK, that didn’t go so well.

Then there was the time in Aspen when we struck up a conversation with a couple cougars who seemed to think we were of interest. Things went pleasantly right up to the point where I asked one of them if, way back years ago, Hunter Thompson ever had any chance of winning his run for election as sheriff of Pitkin County.

This was a simple question based on my honest interest in whether the answer was yes or no. You would never know that from the response I got. She replied scornfully that no, he never had a chance, and did we think they were all stupid? Well, I never suggested that, I was asking a simple question.

I did reply that it would be nice to have a sheriff who wouldn’t arrest anyone for simple possession of marijuana. She then got quite nasty, pointing out that marijuana was illegal (back then), whereas her drug of choice was alcohol (which was legal by then but back in the 1920s this was not the case). And by this point she had certainly had plenty of her drug of choice. We didn’t stick around a lot longer.

Fortunately, these less than great encounters are vastly outnumbered by the good ones. But the not so good ones make better stories, don’t they?

Biker Quote for Today

If you are going faster than everything else you only have to worry about what is in front of you.

How the heck do we get through this herd?

If you’ve been around the West much you may have encountered this sort of thing yourself: There’s a sheep herder moving his flock, or maybe it’s a bunch of cowboys moving a herd of cattle to new pasture. Either way, they’re taking up the entire road and you’re kind of stuck.

It happened to Judy and the kids on a summer camping trip many years ago. They were going along this little-used road when they came upon sheep. Everywhere. The sheep herder was apologetic and said he’d get them moved out of their way as quickly as possible but Judy and the kids were fascinated watching the sheep dogs do their work. Take your time, they told him.

It also happened to the OFMC one year. We were heading northeast out of Chama, New Mexico, toward Antonito, Colorado, over Cumbres and La Manga Passes when we encountered a herd of cattle. The cowboys and their dogs were doing their best to keep the herd moving but they could not have been less concerned about this group of bikers being held up by the cattle.

We didn’t see that we had much option other than to wait, but that might have been a long wait. Not certain what to do, we did nothing for a bit. Then a guy in a large pick-up came up behind us, sized up the situation, and pulled past us and started blowing his horn as he came up on the cows’ rears. They started jostling and pushing the crowd away, opening up a path for the pick-up.

We were thrilled. Let’s go guys, make some noise!!

We did our best to fall in behind the truck, though it got further ahead of us after a while and the herd filled in the space. All of us were blowing our horns, the Harley boys were revving their engines as loudly as they could, and we just counted on the cattle to get out of our way, which they did, sort of.

So we’re shoving our way through the herd and John, who was leading, took to pulling some shenanigans. We didn’t get it at the time but he told us later that he would deliberately ride through a cow pie and then rev his engine to break traction and–hopefully, for him–throw chunks of the cow pie up onto those of us behind him. Nice guy, John. Fortunately for the rest of us, his plan didn’t work.

This was slow going, and a good number of cows left the road and started climbing up the hill on the left or down the slope on the right. The cowboys and dogs kept busy guiding them back to the herd. And we finally got through. That was one unexpected highlight to this trip.

Now every time I go over those passes I wonder if I’m going to run into another herd. And I try to identify the stretch along which it happened but you’re out in the forest, you know, and one stand of trees looks pretty much like any other stand of trees.

But it makes a great story.

Biker Quote for Today

“What happened on the way, who I met, all that was incidental. I had not quite realized that the interruptions were the journey.” — Ted Simon, Jupiter’s Travels

When you have a group of bikers out on a road trip you end up with some group shots.

Do you ever just really want to get away from the guys you’re hanging out with? Like your riding buddies? Like you’ve been on a trip and while you love the trip you’re really looking forward to getting home so you won’t have to be with these guys for awhile?

I keep a journal and I’ve been reading back through it and there have been a number of times when I have remarked that I was really sick of being with the guys. Now, these are my best and closest friends–excluding my very closest friend, my wife–here in town. (I do have really close friends in other towns.) These are the guys I go camping with, play poker with, meet out for coffee. And after a week on the road with them I’m really sick of them.

Here are some remarks from my journal, circa 1992:

So I got really tired of being with XXXX but it wasn’t like last year when I came home with an active dislike for him. Our relationship really is shallow, to the point where we ran out of things to talk about and sat around bars at night not saying a word. This was a good trip but clearly I would rather have been on one bike with a lady friend.

Wow. Yeah, I guess just because you hang out with someone for a lot of years that doesn’t necessarily mean you are close to them. Doesn’t mean they’re not your friends. They are.

My good friend Jungle told me emphatically a few years ago that I need to get some new friends. But that’s the thing. When it’s these guys who you discovered the wonderfulness of motorcycles with, and they like to ride, you kind of go with the guys who like to ride.

Anyway, I know just from memory–I haven’t gotten that far reading my journal–that on most OFMC trips by the time I got home I was really glad to get away from the others. I always presumed they were equally glad to get away from me. It’s a test of any relationship to be together that much. In the early days we always, the three of us, shared one motel room. We were together all day, and all night.

So it was the desire to find some new riding buddies, people interested in riding more often, that led me to join the RMMRC. I do feel like I’m making friends in this group and like I’m a core member of the group. It’s good to have riding buddies. And maybe in 20 years I won’t personally be any closer to any of these new friends than to my old ones, but I will have been on a whole bunch of really good rides. With people I enjoy being with.

Biker Quote for Today

It’s a dangerous game we’re playing here. Walking the tightrope between nirvana and disaster, with no margin for error. But that’s when things really start to get interesting.

I’m definitely going on this trip but it’s going to cost me a bundle.

I told my wife, Judy, at lunch the other day that I had spent the morning spending an obscene amount of money. I was making my motel reservations for this RMMRC ride to California in April. I’m figuring that by the time you add in motels, gas, and food I’m going to be spending around $3,000 on this trip. Yikes!

Why so much? Mostly it’s motels. There are only four of us going and two have agreed to share rooms. I would have been fine sharing with the fourth but he prefers to have his own room. I have no idea why; I just know that some people do prefer their privacy, even if it means paying more.

What a difference from the early days of the OFMC. Back in those days, long ago, we were not anybody’s idea of flush. John and Bill and I would get into town, split up, and go check prices and availability at several motels, then regroup and choose. Most of the time we got rooms with two beds and we rotated whose turn it was to sleep on the floor. We also carried tents and sleeping bags to we could camp if we wanted to or needed to. We didn’t make reservations in those days so sometimes that camping gear saved our butts.

So affluence is a big part of this spending escalation. We never went the expensive route back then for the simple reason that that was money we did not have. Cheap was a necessity. Fortunately those days are over. I’m not crazy about spending so much on this trip but I have the money and it is money I can afford to part with.

The other thing is aging, although for myself that really is not an issue. The group of us who are going got together the other day to prepare and they all agreed that camping is well in their pasts. Gosh, I still enjoy camping, as does Judy. But beyond camping, these guys have certain standards for accommodations that rule out most of the cheaper places. For instance, we’ll be in St. George, Utah, one night and there are a lot of places where you can get a room there for less than $100. The place the group selected, however, runs about $200. This is one instance where I opted to stay down the road a couple miles and pay about $60 less. It’s still a plenty nice place and I don’t know what the reason was for choosing the higher-priced place but I just can’t see any reason to pay that price.

In other cases there really was no choice. We’ll be spending one night in Death Valley and there are not a lot of accommodations available in Death Valley. And then, the place we’re staying has much higher rates on the weekend and we will be there on the weekend. So I’ll pay about $270 for one night in a two-queen suite all by myself. The point here is that we’re going for the real Death Valley experience. I’ve never been there so I’m not sure what that consists of but I’ll pay the fee and find out.

So it ought to be a really good trip. And I suppose there is an off chance that some fifth person will yet show up who I can share rooms with. But I’m not expecting it. It’s just money, you can’t take it with you when you die, and I have no heirs. Why not spend it.

Biker Quote for Today

I don’t want to know how much your motorcycle cost, shut up and ride.

At the Grand Canyon on a different OFMC trip.

Sure any day on a motorcycle is better than just about anything else, but still, we all have had especially good days. So I got to thinking about what I would list as my best days riding.

The first one comes instantly and requires no consideration. This was the day Kevin and I rode a couple of his V-Stroms over Cinnamon Pass. This was a September day and if you have spent time in Colorado in the fall you know that there are some days in the fall when the sun, the air, and everything is so perfect it’s a true Rocky Mountain high. It was being here for a few of these days when I traveled for a year after college that persuaded me to come here when I decided it was time to put my roots down somewhere.

This day with Kevin on the V-Stroms on Cinnamon Pass was one of those incredible days. On top of that, Cinnamon Pass itself was beautiful. The fall colors were in full profusion and it’s a beautiful mountain location. The pass runs from Lake City over to the Silverton area, on US 550, the Million Dollar Highway. How could it not be an incredible ride? It was. I’ve never had a day on a bike I enjoyed more.

Another best day was really nothing special but circumstances made it special. This was in 1996 and the OFMC was heading out with Deadwood, SD, our destination for the first day.

The circumstances were this: I was married just a year at this point and, about six months in, my wife’s three kids became ungodly terrors. They hated me and made that utterly clear. And for the next seven years they made our lives a living hell, day after day after day. They finally all moved out, they’ve grown up now, and they are adults I actually like and even care about. But back then I was in shock.

John and Bill and I took off this day and as we rode north and I knew I would be away from it all for a week the anger and frustration melted away. I found myself riding along throwing my head back and screaming into the wind, “I love my motorcycle!!!” I will never forget that day. There haven’t been many days in my life when I felt that good. But for the next six years the situation with the kids made my one week on the bike trip something I longed for like crazy, and I was overjoyed each year when it finally came.

After that it gets harder to identify best days. I actually have to think about it.

I guess another best day was also one of the worst. It was at the end of the day when all the woes of the day were overcome that I felt absolutely wonderful.

This was on another OFMC trip, and I’ve told this story before. I had taken my bike in for some work and the shop promised me a dozen times it would be ready by the time we were set to leave. And it wasn’t. John and Bill left without me and we agreed to meet at the campground at the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. I finally got my bike and blasted off in that direction. After two days of very hard riding I got to the campground, found the campsite but no buddies, so I went looking for them.

Not finding them in any of the obvious places I considered the non-obvious. Perhaps they had ridden out to Sunset Point to watch the sunset. This point is about 25 miles out a narrow, winding road, max speed about 25 mph. I rode out there and they weren’t there so I turned around and headed back. Then my bike died. I was miles from nowhere and there was not another soul on the road. With all the other stress I’d been through up to this point this was where I broke.

Standing there next to my bike in the darkness on this deserted road I pounded on the seat of my bike screaming “God damn it!! God damn it!! God damn it!!”

Then it dawned on me that maybe I’d just run out of gas and I needed to go to Reserve. I flipped the lever down, hit the start button, it sputtered, and then fired up. Talk about exultation! I hurried on back to camp, John and Bill were there, I grabbed the last beer they had out of John’s hand and drank it down, and I felt great. I was with my buddies, all was well, and oh my god the horror was over. You don’t ever feel much better than I felt right then.

OK, that wasn’t quite what I had in mind when I started writing this but that’s where I ended up. Maybe I’ll come back to this topic if some good rides come to mind. Meanwhile, there surely must be some quote I could use that is appropriate to this piece.

Biker Quote for Today

The best moments are always unplanned.

Riding into town with a group this size and expecting to find rooms can be a very foolish thing to do.

There is a reason that in later years the OFMC planned out the year’s trip well in advance: try having 10 guys roll into town expecting to find enough rooms. Many times you’ll find them; sometimes you won’t. Make advance reservations.

In the early days of the group we didn’t even dream of such concerns. There were just the three of us–John, Bill, and me–and we carried camping gear. Good thing, because there were times we had to use it.

The earliest–and most famous and most clueless–time was 1991. We were headed for the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. There was a campground there. Not a problem. Right.

My bike was overdue from the shop so I did not leave with John and Bill. They got to the campground and told the person at the gate they wanted a campsite. What a joke! Do you not understand you need to make reservations a year in advance? Oh gosh, who do we do? And how do we get word to Ken, who was coming to meet them there. Then through a stroke of luck, someone called to cancel. The ranger called them over with the good news and all was fine. But in the days before cellphones, what would they have done to connect with me?

Then there was 1992. We decided to head north and got to Laramie. John and I had been there on an overnight the year before and had had a great time. What we didn’t factor in on this occasion was that Frontier Days was going on in Cheyenne and every motel room within any reasonable distance was booked. For the first and only time ever we rolled out our sleeping bags at a KOA. Not ideal but hey, it was late at night and all we did was sleep and roll out of there.

The next year Bill was unable to come so it was just John and me. At one point we rolled in to Pinedale, Wyoming, and surprise! The Pinedale Rendezvous was in progress. The place was swarming. Fortunately we found what we believed to be the last room in town.

After awhile we started thinking about festivals going on so we could avoid them. That didn’t help us the year we went up to Glacier National Park. This place is a major attraction at all times and we got into the little town of St. Mary, on the east side of the park, and once again we just lucked into the last room in town. Man, maybe we need to think ahead at least a little.

By 2000 we were thinking ahead. The group was now larger and as we headed out we planned to spend the night in Hot Sulphur Springs. John was supposed to have made a reservation but when he called to do so he had been told they always had plenty of rooms so no need for reservations. Wrong. We got there and the town was booked. There was a bicycle race going on that weekend and we were out of luck. We rode on to Kremmling and even there the motels were all full. The only place we could find was an old-style hotel in the middle of town, with bathrooms down the hall. At least they had beds.

We never went anywhere after that without reservations but sometimes things take an unexpected turn. In 2019 we were just down to three again, Bill, me, and Dennis. We were headed for Missoula but never got there. Dennis made a bone-headed mistake at a gas station and put diesel in his bike by accident. He was on an Indian and the nearest Indian dealer was in Idaho Falls. He got a U-Haul truck and we loaded the bike in. He spoke with the folks at the dealership and they said they would get to him right away the next morning, as long as we were there when they opened.

We got to Idaho Falls and for who knows what crazy reason there were no rooms to be had anywhere. But some local we spoke to suggested one other place we try, which the local Chamber of Commerce had not thought to suggest. We called and they had exactly one room. We got there and walked in and another couple came in right behind us. We got the room and they did not.

And that brings one other instance to mind. This was in 2015. We made reservations for our first night at Oak Creek, a bit south of Steamboat Springs. No problem. Well, we were comfortably ensconced when the skies opened up and the rain pounded down. Our cabin had eaves so we were enjoying sitting outside watching the rain. Then a motorcycle carrying a couple came slowly through the parking area, only to see the “No Vacancy” sign. And off they went through the downpour.

That’s how you learn, I guess. We sure did.

Biker Quote for Today

Been through a lot, my motorcycles and me. Heat, darkness, wind, rain, fences . . .