Two Brothers September MABDR Ride

Discussion in 'Ride Reports - Epic Rides' started by Krahe, Dec 7, 2019.

  1. Krahe

    Krahe Been here awhile

    Joined:
    Jan 2, 2008
    Oddometer:
    754
    Location:
    Midflat America
    NOTE: I will update this report (one post per week, 4 posts total) to help get you through the winter until riding season starts again. I will try and make the writing as entertaining as possible until the pictures start. Cheers!

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    //To be read in the voice of Hunter S Thompson.//

    The Beginning

    "The Tourist is passive; he expects interesting things to happen to him." -Boorstin 1961

    When spending their hard earned time away from the daily slog most people choose well worn paths to relaxation or mental oblivion. The internet is stuffed full of snapshots bearing sandy beaches, beer, sunsets, and hotel pools. A favorite of the upper middle class is a theme park vacation with plenty of pre-canned adventures for the family that will keep everyone blissfully snapping pictures with vacant smiles before their favorite character. They slap down their credit cards by the thousands, get their colorful regalia proving their consumer identity, and are sent home with memories of artifice and amusement. Smiles guaranteed. The iceberg of life calves off another block of time at the office to pay for it all.

    I had just terminated the connection to my brothers audio chat that allowed us to commune through a digital wormhole that penetrated the thousands of miles between his home and mine. Technology is a modern take on magic that perpetually shrinks the distance between members of human community. My voice was converted to electrons that were beamed by pulses of light to my computer which then converted those light pulses back into electrons. Those electrons were then converted through the system of my computer a dizzying number of times and spit out through my cable modem to the local communication junction box. This junction box then converted those electrons back to light and sent that light on to the local internet provider, which then bounced the beam through a maze of converters in Ohio, and thousands of miles of intervening fiber optics, just to repeat the whole process in reverse at my brothers end in Texas. We had engaged millions of dollars of modern communication wizardry and black magic so he could tell me I would be an uncle somewhere in the distant path of our orbit around the local star. Now that he was responsible for another life form it was time put our lives in the hands of fate over a course of a thousand miles of twisting roads, oncoming traffic, and loose gravel hairpins. It was the logical thing to do.

    We had been talking for a year about doing some big motorcycle ride. Just leaving the driveway would have a level of uncertainty that would cause the afformentioned theme park executives to have heart palpitations. From the moment spark was applied to fuel in the cylinders of my plastic clad Pegasus nothing would be guaranteed. But which path should we take? At first we had discussed riding the trans-america trail (TAT)...a meandering path from east to west across the nation using roads from before highways were a twinkling in Eisenhower's eye. Logistics proved insurmountable for the TAT. I could ride to the start easy enough, but it would mean days of riding for my brother to get to the start. What would we do at the end? We would both be hundreds or thousands of miles from home. Just the travel to and from the end points would require most of our vacation time, to say the least of the actual route itself. Shipping was pricey and I am not keen on handing my red winged steed over to a person whose job requires hammering down energy drinks at the rate an Apollo rocket consumes fuel. Images flashed in my head of the debris field of my rubber hooved mare across some remote desert stretch of highway side, the plastic and metal shards would begin at a twisted ball of metal surrounded by flashing patrol car lights. An officer would be placing the VIN plate into a plastic baggie and shaking his head while muttering "damned shame".

    Lucky for us the BDR team had alighted upon the rubbled steaming mound of the internet and blessed the ADV community with the MABDR the year before. I had stumbled across it and with a little map checking, was surprised to find both the start and end point were equally distant in riding time from my location. This would eliminate half the logistics problem, we would just need to transport my brother and his epic mount to and from the ends. I donned my helm of distant-communion and evoked the digital daemons that would elicit attention in my brothers keep in Texas. Now we would just have to figure out how to get him to the BDR, and get him a bike, gear, and luggage. That is where Terry came in.

    I had arrived home from work late one evening when horns sounded in the distance, the digital heralds had delivered a message from my brother. Once again I donned the plastic crown. The wormhole delivered his voice with uncanny acuity, the other half of the logistics equation had been solved. He had found a way to rent a motorcycle near the end of Stage 1 of the BDR from a local shop owner named Terry. My brother would board a plane and fly to Roanoke, stay the night, get a ride in the morning to Terry’s shop and pick up the bike he was renting. I summoned the public map program from the world weird web an checked distances. From the end of the route we could part ways and for him it would be less than a days ride back to the shop on the highway. Perfect. Time was getting short so I notified my boss about the plan. There was much weeping and gnashing of teeth but he ok’d the request for the time off. Life became a blur leading up to the final day before the trip, I quickly completed a round of duck duck goose at the lunch table and selected a poor soul to cover for me while I was gone. Having damned another soul with my burdens I let out a low rumbling laugh from deep within my smoldering core.

    To Be Continued Next Week...
    #1
    vfrpete, amyroukai, YellerDog and 5 others like this.
  2. Krahe

    Krahe Been here awhile

    Joined:
    Jan 2, 2008
    Oddometer:
    754
    Location:
    Midflat America
    Day 1: Mountain Bound and Down

    "Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow mindedness." -Mark Twain



    It was slightly chilly that September morning, dew trickled down the windows of my car. I had loaded the left pannier with tools, tubes, tapes, and tidbits for working on our machines. If any misfortune were to happen upon on mechanical means we would at least be able to limp to a nearby busy thoroughfare for extraction. The right side pannier had all my clothes and shaving kit. I had made a last minute purchase the night before of a dromedary bag and had hastily attached it to the tail of the my bike by stuffing the straps under the passenger seat and fastening it back down. This small bag would hold energy bars and water for the road ahead. Pack light, travel quickly is my philosophy. Was I going too light I wondered? The metal door of my garage rumbled as I raised it, the light inside pushing back the early morning darkness and creating a puddle of light. I pushed my machine out into this puddle like a person getting ready to step off a reef into the inky void of the great deep ocean depths. I took a moment to look up into the sky. When, or possibly if, I returned the stars would be slightly different in their position. I would return to a different place in time and space. I turned off the garage lights plunging me into a temporary blindness. Once my eyes adjusted I secured the garage door and turned to my bike.

    I grabbed the key, knowing that once I turned it I would put into motion a series of events that could lead me to happiness or to my doom. From here I would traverse south through the foothills of Ohio until I hit the border of Kentucky. From there I would follow that borders meandering path through the ridges and mountains until I crossed into Virginia where I would need to find lodging for the night. We had not booked hotels for this trip since it was to be an adventure, and one does not make detailed plans for adventure. One instead waves generally in the direction of their goal and pronounces they are to depart for that horizon. I turned the key. Electrical pumps whined and gauges flared showing the status of critical systems. The lump of metal and plastic fired with a low rumble that brought images of a giant panther to mind. The bike stopped being an inert piece of modern art and in that instant became an Africa Twin. I stepped onto the foot peg and the bike squatted slightly. After sitting fully it crouched down, ready for me to twist the right grip. It could sense this was not a normal morning ride. I pushed the D button and activated the first sport mode, the transmission made a slight click as it selected the first gear and ratio'd fuel into the engine in a manner more suited for traffic. I twisted the throttle and we both launched forward into the waiting darkness.

    I headed south, the darkness was gradually being replaced by the suns glow on the horizon. Finally the sun broke over the horizon and illuminated the golden soy bean leaves turning both sides of my path into a trip through some Oz'ian oil painting. The roads in farm country ran straight as an arrow with an occasional juke to switch between farm properties. Trucks were out on the roads now, the owners being legitimate users of full size truck platforms, no sitting in bumper to bumper traffic or running kids to soccer practice for these vehicles. These beasts of burden would work their entire life until the frame rusted through and they were sent to the great smelter in the sky, or they would sit behind some sun bleached barn until entropy had reduced their forms to dark brown patches in the soil. I passed through small town after small town where this same story was repeated over and over again. Till, sow, grow, reap. Ad infinitum.

    Gradually the terrain became more uneven until I hit the edge of Chillicothe. This town sits at the foot of the Appalachian range where glacial flats meet the ancient buckled crust of the mountains. Here one could see in the distance large not quite mountains in the distance. I stopped for a moment to look over this town, it was the farthest south I had been on the Africa Twin. Like the fictional Tolkien hero recognizing the farthest he had been from the shire, I too recognized a similar marker in this town. "Be careful when you step out the door Mr. Frodo." I thought to myself. I cruised through the edge of town, and in the interest of arriving at my goal before dark jumped on 23 headed south. Hours of mind numbing highway awaited me, or so I thought. Having never been this far south on the bike I did not realize this highway cut through the ridges and small ranges leading to the heart of Kentucky. At first the highway attempts to avoid these small peaks and winds through them like a snake elevated a hundred feet above the valleys on immense concrete pylons. The view is breathtaking as the mornings early light casts deep shadows across the tree'd peaks. The leaves had just started to turn color and the foliage looked like a giant patchwork quilt made by a madman who only shopped in shades of green and yellow. An hour later the highway had conceded defeat to the ridges and elected to carve its way through them rather than go up and over or around.

    The road twisted and turned, climbed and dived, like a 70mph roller coaster I dared not try to get off. Gas stations were few and far between, and there was no warning or exit ramps to turn into one of these sleep refueling points. I noticed the burning gaze of my low fuel light blink on and decided it was time to stretch my legs anyways. I had to grit my teeth and slam on the brakes when I saw the next turn off, I didn't want to know what kind of pileup I might cause but I had no choice. The gas station had two pumps and a tiny office. It was tricky getting the bike settled in front of the pump because the ground was not level. I came to the realization that the people of this area may not have any idea what flat level ground looks like, they had spent their entire lives fighting a silent battle with gravity in one direction or another. My second surprise came when I unzipped my jacket to get some cool air flowing around my body. It was easily 5 degrees warmer here than when I had departed. Looking around it made sense. The wind could not reach down into the valleys and hollows of the terrain I saw all around me. The air was still, hot, and humid. While the bike filled up I filled up with water from my tail bag, a good call to bring it with me as I took large gulps replacing what I had sweat out in the last our of twisty highway. Now I needed a fresh bottle of water though. I came to my second shock when I walked into the station office to buy another bottle of water and heard the distinct accent of Kentucky. Not quite a southern accent but definitely not northern. My entire life TV and movies had portrayed people with country accents as slow or not quite as smart. It was a stereotype that needed to be left on the dusty shelves of history. I came face to face with my prejudice on my first trip to a factory in Alabama, and realized just because their engineers had a southern accent they were not any different, they were just as smart as anyone else. I had to remember that to them I was the one with a different accent, and in all probability they looked down on me as one of those uptight northerners that was always in too much of a rush to be polite. I purchased my bottle of water and made sure to be polite. I would find out later that southern hospitality is real, a stark contrast to the tepid indifference of northern public behavior.

    Once we were both topped off with water and fuel the Africa Twin and I hit the highway again. I must have burned a gallon of gas using max throttle to get up to highway speed in the few hundred feet the shoulder allowed out of the gas station. I followed the highways south and then east, now running parallel to the ridges the highway had a vertical stone cliff face on the left side and was a shear 80 foot drop into the valley below. Left right, left right, left right for hours on end. The air was almost 80 degrees (F) and I now regretted bringing my fall/winter Zircon jacket. I unbuttoned the cuffs and collar, and opened my home made vents in the wrists and transformed into the Michelin Man as air found a way through the interior at highway speeds. Finally around lunch time I pulled off the highway at a small town and into a McDonalds. Stripping of my helmet and gloves I walked inside to find a small line of people. There were three men ahead of me, obviously skilled trades on their lunch break. The first one saw me walk up to the line and asked if I would like to go ahead since he didn't know what he wanted. I gladly accepted and took my place ahead of the men, only to instantly realize what an idiot I was. They were just being polite (that southern hospitality again). Here I was on vacation, and they were using their precious lunch break time to let me ahead of them in line. I should have politely declined but wasn't thinking, I was living up to the northern stereotype and would need to be more considerate in the future. I chowed down my lunch with the grace of a chipper shredder and hit the road again. The temperature only dropped once I crossed the first mountain ridge between Kentucky and Virginia, plummeting down to 70 degrees again I had to stop at the next gas station and button everything up again. Looking out over the valley from the top of the mountain, I was immediately struck by vast scope of the Appalachians curving away into the northern horizon. It was a taste of things come. I remounted and dove down the mountain roads into the valley, fleeing the impending darkness of the shadows being cast by the mountains in the late evening. I would follow the advice of another ADVrider inmate and seek a hotel in Abingdon. A stranger in a strange land I checked into the hotel and unloaded the bags from the bike to my hotel room. After a hot shower that felt like a small slice of heaven I crashed into the bed and slept deeply. I would not dream again for nine more days.

    To Be Continued...
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    #2
  3. Krahe

    Krahe Been here awhile

    Joined:
    Jan 2, 2008
    Oddometer:
    754
    Location:
    Midflat America
    Day 2: Stage1

    “You must ascend a mountain to know your relation to matter.” -Thoreau


    The next day I crawled out of bed and checked the window, sure enough the big red beast was still sitting in the parking lot waiting for me, fresh dew was sparkling on its synthetic hide. I threw some clothes on and wandered down to the lobby where I availed myself of a high protein breakfast. I checked my map and GPX files to get an idea of what lay ahead on the first stage. It would be about a twenty minute ride to Damascus and the beginning of the route.

    I returned to the room and put all my gear on, packed my bags, did a quick double check that nothing was being unintentionally abandoned and checked out. Re-mounting the bags I decided to wipe down the bike. I could hear the dull roar of a town populace rushing to work. I was thankful that today I would not be one of those people, watching as their life was being consumed by a red traffic light. Climbing aboard the bike I told the GPS to take me to the first point on the route, and hit the starter. The bike rumbled to life once again. There was no excuse now.

    Arriving in Damascus I stopped to take a quick picture of the local park board. It showed the start of the Appalachian trail and the town name. I fired off a quick text to my brother and parents proving my last known location, and got back on the bike. Damascus sits at the open end of a funnel shape in a small valley, and the route began at the throat of the funnel. It felt like I was leaving through the back garden gate. I mused that witnesses would maybe have a foggy recollection of seeing a red motorcycle before it entered into the valley like some sort of journey into Narnia.

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    It was immediately obvious this route was going to be amazing. The route immediately plunges into a winding mountain forest, accompanied by a tumbling stream. The early morning sun disappeared behind the steep mountains and I was plunged into twilight beneath the forest canopy. The scenery was haunting, left, right, left, right...a sign for a hidden lake…left, right. I passed out of the forest into another open valley full of fields. After a solid twenty minutes I realized I was not on the route any more. Checking the GPS I realized I had missed a turn in the forest somewhere, I was now in Tennessee. Backtracking I discovered that the sign for the hidden lake was where I was supposed to turn. Following the sign the pavement stopped and the road turned into a rough single lane up into the mountains through the dense trees. After a few turns onto new roads the trees thinned out and I began a hairpin climbing turn which led to the famous start of the MABDR…the waterfall. Except there was no waterfall, just a path of rocks. I would find out later that the summer had turned into a drought for the Appalachian mountains. Standing beside my Africa Twin, two girls in a Mercedes sedan passed by headed in the opposite direction. Where they lost? Ride right would be a critical rule to follow on these single car wide roads. I waved, probably looking for the most part like some sort of visiting spaceman in my gear.

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    I followed the route some more and came to a part where the mountain became too steep for roads and the local populace elected instead to cut a curved path through the rock. Hoping there was no oncoming traffic in the blind curve I entered at a low speed, stopping on the other side to snap a quick picture. The road continued for miles, its appearance like some sort of Tolkien-esque path bordered by trees, moss, and ferns. I encountered another car and pulled over to let them pass. I laughed realizing how many lifted trucks and SUV’s clogged the asphalt highways of my home state, and these people were doing just fine in sedans. Don’t tell the folks back home they don’t need a sixty thousand dollar penis replacement, it will ruin the auto market.

    The route continued higher and higher into the mountains, alternating with short stretches of pavement to cross open valleys full of bucolic farmland. The final trail of the day was a series of tight hairpin turns on rutted dirt roads. The mantra of ride right proved key as I made my way around one of these right hand hairpins, slowly hugging the rock wall to my right when halfway through the turn I was surprised to see the impending glare of a silver grille from a F-150 headed in the opposite direction. My brain cycled through the available options as the front fender closed in on me. I was already as far over as I could be and still be on the road…but there was a small one foot wide ditch between the rock wall and the truck. The ditch was the new path, I picked my line and dove into it, barely clearing the truck on the left and the rock wall on the right. The tires sank into the soft sand, pebbles, and leaves in the deep rut so I opened the throttle to counter the drag of the new terrain. This was life now, this was the path forward. After clearing the truck I angled the front tire towards the wall of the ditch to get good bite on the tire and popped up and out with no drama. I thought how much I loved this motorcycle, and headed into the next hairpin. The hairpin took me even higher above the white obelisk of a truck, who was now stopped in the previous curve. Looking down at him,I am sure he needed a change of pants and almost felt sorry for him. I had to deal with my path forward though and the next turn was upon me.
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    Up, up, up the road took me until it leveled out at a small wooded campsite. I decided to pull off here and take a rest. All the gravel turns combined with the altitude had worn me out. I parked the bike and wanted to lay down on the ground. I took a long draught of water and checked my bike. It was beautiful in this area, someone had set up a fire pit overlooking the valley below. If I had packed a tent this would be an amazing place to stay for the night I was sure of it. There was no sound beside the wind in the trees. Everything was at peace, well…before this rowdy guy on a motorcycle rolled up at least. After a dozen or so minutes I mounted up and began the long twisting descent downward, eventually reaching some amazing twisting paved roads that took me east of Pearisburg. I found a gas station next to the local highway and filled up. Checking my GPS, the town was a straight shot down the highway where I was to meet up at the motorcycle shop with my brother in the morning. Refueled I hit the road again until I saw my exit and cruised into Pearisburg proper where I started looking for a hotel for the night. Apparently there was only two hotels, I picked the nicer looking one. Pulling into the hotel parking lot I had barely dropped the kickstand when a woman came out of the office and handed me a room key. “Here take this, I will be back in thirty minutes.” she said dropping the brass and plastic into my gloved hand. “Uh OK” was all I was able to reply before she ambled into her van next to me and pulled out of the parking lot. Here was that southern hospitality again. I was a total and complete stranger and she gave me the key to a room…amazing. I dismounted and went up to the room. It was nice enough, but it was also apparent that many a traveler had smoked in the room. I knew this was not going to be ok. If I stayed I would be a weezing weeping wreck by morning complete with a raging headache. I waited until the lady returned and gave her back the key apologizing the entire time. I felt terrible since she had been kind enough to hand me a key without any verification of who I was. Hopefully this does not dampen that hospitable spirit that is so desperately refreshing in these times. I found another hotel in the town nearby, this time making sure it had a jacuzzi style spa pool to relax my sore muscles. I grabbed a quick dinner at the local pizza shop and headed back to the hotel where the hot water of the spa felt like liquid gold to my muscles. Afterwards I returned to my room and fell into a deep dreamless sleep once again.

    To be Continued after Christmas...
    #3
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  4. Krahe

    Krahe Been here awhile

    Joined:
    Jan 2, 2008
    Oddometer:
    754
    Location:
    Midflat America
    Day 3: Stage2

    “Try to enjoy the great festival of life with other men.” -Epictetus



    ‘I have never ridden a foreign bike.’ the man watering the flowers says. It is the next morning and I have stopped at the side of the street to consult my GPS, the motorcycle shop I am supposed to meet my brother at should be right next to me. When I pulled up a man is on a step ladder watering some flowers in a hanging basket. I have to process for a few seconds before I understand what he said. His southern accent is filtered through traffic noise, two inches of plastic and foam, and finally past my earplugs. So I am sure I have missed something since this statement does not fit in with amazing hospitality I have experienced up to this point. Finally after the referees get done reviewing the replay in my head I realized he didn’t say ‘foreign’ he said ‘touring’. ‘They are nice for long distance let me tell you.’ I smile and reply back.

    I look to my right, through the windows of the storefront next to me, hoping to see motorcycles or something resembling them inside. I only see drop cloths and paint cans as the shop appears to be in the middle of renovation. The man smiles as he sees my visible confusion. I ask him if there is a motorcycle shop around here and he directs me to ride down the street, take a right, and take the next right after that, cant miss it. I thank him and ride off following his directions. Sure enough the shop is on the back side of the building where I had stopped, and down an entire story. The mountainous terrain means that the streets change in elevation quite drastically compared to what I am used to, and the big elevation changes between streets remind me of the mountain towns of the German alps somewhat.

    In front of me now is a building that looks like a round aircraft hanger built on top of a cinder block base. Three large garage doors face the entrance and one of them is open, two men are standing inside drinking their morning coffee. This is the place. Gear Head Junction is the name of the shop and the owner, Terry, has provisioned a used KLR650 for my brother to ride the MABDR with. I pull up to the shop and park the bike aimed at the entrance. The two men greet me and ask if I am one of the brothers doing the MABDR. They tell me Terry has gone to Roanoke to pick up my brother from his motel and will be back soon. The discussion with the head mechanic Samuel quickly turns to motorcycles, it turns out Gear Head Junction is a Royal Enfield dealer, and they have the new Himalayan on the showroom floor. The Himalayan looks like a great starter ADV bike, if I were to start motorcycling today I would definitely consider it a top contender for my money.

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    Great conversation is had about motorcycles until Terry pulls up with my brother Rich in the passenger seat of his SUV. Terry is a really nice guy, very positive and energetic. He gets my brother suited up and points out the stuff he packed in the Tusk panniers for him in case we get in trouble. Terry has really gone to great lengths to make sure my brother is prepared for this trip, above and beyond for sure. Once Rich is all suited up he even offers to ride us to the start of stage 2 and grabs his bike, a suzuki dirt bike with knobbies. I thank the others and we head out. Terry takes us down dirt back roads and the scenery is beautiful. Bringing up the tail of the group I am quickly covered in dust by the time we stop at the beginning of the next stage, my brother and I step off our bikes looking like we just returned from a north African dust storm. We are covered head to toe in silty dust from the dozen or so miles on the dirt roads. We have a good laugh and Terry bids us good luck before he heads back to his shop. I am slightly envious that he gets to ride motorcycles as part of his job, and am grateful to get the local tour to the start of the stage. Heading into the gas station we grab a couple of bottles of water and the traditional bag of Combos for the trail.

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    Stage 2 is not quite as winding as the first stage but it is still beautiful. We begin climbing through the mountains when we come to the first hairpin turn. I call it out on the radio and get up on the pegs to ride out the washboard bumps inside the curve. Trucks and rainwater have cut the inside of the corner into a fairly deep wide rut that I want no part of. The Africa Twins DCT make the turn a piece of cake as it down shifts and the traction control keeps the back tire from getting too crazy. About 50ft from the turn I hear Rich on the radio “Shit, shit…shiiit.”

    “Are you ok?” I ask over the communicators. “No.” he replies.

    I stop the AT on the side of the road, put the parking brake on, and dismount. Looking back down the steep road I see my brother but no bike.

    I begin walking down (literally) the road to where he is standing and see the bike is in the deep hairpin rut at an upside down angle. He explains he went for 1st and got into neutral instead and the bike stopped…and over he went. As is tradition we get a picture of him with the downed KLR and proceed to get his bike back on its feet. The 2 to 1 shift over the wide neutral zone would be his bane for the trip and I have to be mindful that I can slow to a crawl on hairpins which is not so easy for my brother who has to manage power delivery in the traditional manner.

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    We eventually reach the top of the first mountain and stop at an overlook for pictures. Some craven animal has gated, fenced, and locked the entrance to the overlook. As if they could keep all of nature locked away only for themselves. We get what pictures we can over the fence. Amazing views of the valley below will become an every day occurrence to the point that we don’t even stop after half way through the trip. We utter “This is amazing!” so many times during the trip that it becomes a running joke after stage three. The mountains natural beauty is just the norm for the people living here. The route is mostly dirt trails with an occasional stretch of asphalt between. The paved sections seem to come at just the right time to give a bit of rest from the dirt sections. Hitting the pavement feels like heaven after after bouncing down trails for an hour or so.

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    There are no towns to stop at for lunch in the middle of stage 2 so we eat what we carry on the bikes. The temperatures vary from 70F up high in the mountains to 80F in the valleys. Being able to adjust my jackets venting on the fly is proving very useful. I wonder if it is just my imagination but I swear the GPX files have us doing U-turns occasionally. Tired and covered in dust we pull into the parking lot of our hotel about 5pm. Despite looking like we just stepped in from the Australian outback the hotel staff are pleasant and friendly. It becomes a priority that the hotels we stay in have a spa pool to ease our aching muscles at the end of the day. We begin the ritual of pulling our gear off the bikes, showering, resting and waking up to do it all over again the next day. Another night of dreamless sleep takes hold.

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    #4
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  5. MazztheSpazz

    MazztheSpazz Been here awhile Supporter

    Joined:
    Apr 21, 2006
    Oddometer:
    117
    Location:
    Steamboat Springs, Co
    I have to wait?! Thanks for posting, it's 14F and packed snow on the roads in Northern Colorado.
    #5
  6. vt700guy

    vt700guy Been here awhile

    Joined:
    Jun 25, 2017
    Oddometer:
    429
    Location:
    NW Oklahoma
    I'm in.
    #6
  7. Krahe

    Krahe Been here awhile

    Joined:
    Jan 2, 2008
    Oddometer:
    754
    Location:
    Midflat America
    Believe it or not I didnt take any pictures until I started the MABDR trail. I am am idiot I know. I threw in a picture at the end of post #2 just to throw you a bone, and you wont know the difference anyways. :)
    #7
  8. NSFW

    NSFW basecamp4adv Super Supporter

    Joined:
    Feb 20, 2007
    Oddometer:
    24,740
    Location:
    Burbank CA
    from another AT owner.....:lurk
    #8
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  9. chudzikb

    chudzikb Long timer Supporter

    Joined:
    Jul 17, 2016
    Oddometer:
    1,175
    Wow, just wow, most excellent writing!
    #9
  10. Krahe

    Krahe Been here awhile

    Joined:
    Jan 2, 2008
    Oddometer:
    754
    Location:
    Midflat America
    Thank you, with the lack of pictures I try to be entertaining at least. I keep catching spelling errors and having to go back and correct words, so maybe its not the best writing in the world.:type
    #10
  11. N0madic

    N0madic Adventurer

    Joined:
    Oct 31, 2019
    Oddometer:
    92
    Location:
    Appalachians
    Thanks! You have me researching this route now. :thumbup
    #11
  12. Bimski

    Bimski n00b

    Joined:
    Dec 5, 2016
    Oddometer:
    5
    Location:
    NE Pennsylvania
    A bit flowery for me.
    #12
    James59 likes this.