I NEVER FELT AS NAKED AND COLD AS I did riding through that snow storm last spring on the Arizona highway. I’ve been spoiled by the delicate California seasons and had never ridden through anything quite like that. I packed my F 650 GS, named Lady
Godiva by my mother because her simple body work reminded her of the famous streaker, three days earlier. Being the mid- dle of May, freezing temperatures and snow were not what I had in mind. I set out for Overland Expo West in want
of adventure and a little guidance. Being fairly new to the whole adventure biking scene, I decided to go hang with some of the experts and started fixing up my old F 650 GS a few weeks before the trip, relying on my bike-savvy dad as my mentor. I packed too much – as usual – and
finally hit the road. In no time I rode out of the Sacramento Valley and up into Tahoe. It seemed cold to me then, but little did I know what was ahead. US Highway 395 took me south and I spent the night in Bishop because of the storm warnings for the mountain. I rose early the next morning and headed toward Death Valley. My father’s voice echoed in my head:
“Make sure you fill up on gas at every single stop.” “Make sure you have enough water.” “Make sure your bike doesn't overheat.” No one told me to watch for some of the most beautiful and intimidating sights I would ever see. Although the horizon is drowned in
sand, there is still a lot of life scurrying all across that toasted land. I saw coyotes, cacti and birds of prey, but as it was moving into the afternoon heat, I decided not to dawdle. I booked it through the not-so-attractive deserts of Nevada and spent the night catching up with an old friend over a few drinks in Las Vegas. The next day, with an expensive hang-
over and an unexplainable Snapchat story- line, I flipped the city a mental bird and headed for the adventurer's dreamland awaiting me in Arizona. The snowstorm wasn't exactly the dreamland I pictured, but it certainly was an adventure. I took a wrong turn just outside of Flagstaff, and after about 17 miles heading away from salva- tion, I finally stopped and got some direc- tions at a Chevron. The guy at the station was not too amused with the drenched and shivering 24-year-old chick in her oversized
Kevlar and pathetic California weather garb standing in a fresh puddle in the middle of his store. “That road you looking for, sweetheart, is
all dirt, well, mud now.” I was too distracted by my temperature to
retort to his mocking “sweetheart” implications. “Yeah but I got a d-dual-sport, I'll be
f-fine.” He raised his eyebrows at me. “Girl, that road is gonna be two-foot-
deep mud, and I don't see you being with any other bikers who can save your sorry ass!” he said. I glared at him through dripping eye-
lashes and reluctantly walked back into the storm. I backtracked and took the more reasonable road. I arrived at the Mormon Lodge for Over-
land Expo West just after 5 pm, shaking like a Chihuahua in a big dog park. Somehow I got off the bike without dropping it and shivered my way to where I noticed a fire burning. Sympathetic strangers greeted me instantly and helped me remove my soak- ing gear, then sat me down by the fire. “Can I get you a drink? Whiskey?” I almost cried. “I'm on it.” One of the strangers ran
towards the bar while another grabbed my hands and started rubbing them between hers. I couldn't feel anything until the pain- ful sting set in about 15 minutes later. Well at least I know I don't have frostbite
now. I have never felt more compelled to hug
strangers. “Did you just ride through that snow
storm?” “Y-y-y-yes,” I responded through my vio-
lently shaking body. “By yourself?!” I shook in affirmation. My whiskey
arrived and in a few hours I was laughing and cheering with new friends. My butt was practically glued to the fireplace and no one could move me from this heaven. This was going to be a great weekend. Later that night, with a warm body and a
warm bottle, I headed to one of the class- room cabins, where I finally met some of the experts I rode there to learn from. I spent hours listening to their stories of crossing the Americas and the Sahara on their bikes. We passed wine and whatever else we had around until no one could
remember any stories – nor where they camped for that matter. We all passed out on the floor of the gloriously heated class- room. I woke up the next morning to the sound of heavy motorcycle boots stomping into the room for morning classes. A crisp morning complete with falling
snow blessed my throbbing head as I stum- bled back to my tent, which collapsed in the night under the weight of snow. I laughed, took a photo, shook the snow off and moved my tent to slightly sturdier mud, where it would hopefully dry off before I left on Monday. Overland Expo is just like Disneyland;
everything for purchase was too expensive for anyone not retired, but there were just so many pretty rides to try! I got to ride a beautiful new Zero and played with many wondrous and unaffordable travel gadgets. The best thing about Overland Expo, besides all the inspiring and educational presentations, was meeting and becoming friends with some of the most interesting and well-traveled people in the world. The weather cleared on Monday. I packed
my gear and took off with three new friends who convinced me to hit the Backcountry Discovery Route trails for a bit of off-road fun. Jeri and Dagowin are guys from the
Netherlands who stumbled upon the Over- land Expo on their way from Argentina to Alaska. My other companion, Jack Frost – no, seriously, that's his name! – is a double Iron Butt rider from Michigan who laughed as he described surviving an avalanche and thought crashing his bike was “fun learn- ing.” Naive little me thought, “What the hell?” Off we rode, following Jack out of Flagstaff. About 20 miles out of town, we turned onto a dirt road. Okay, this is pretty smooth, I thought. I've been off-road twice and both rides
were fairly short and on a naked bike. Godiva was fully loaded and we headed to the Grand Canyon on a 50- to 80-mile off- road route; this was definitely going to be a new experience. About an hour or so into the dirt, on one
of the many dusty corners, I slipped down a deep rut and was thrown into the bank. I quickly got my leg out from under the bike – thank God for all the crazy gear that I wear – and hastily made a mental check for any pain in my body. I think I'm good... wait, what's that smell?
December 2015 BMW OWNERS NEWS 71
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