A Big Bike, A Small Dog, and a Long Dusty Road

Adventure comes in all shapes and sizes.  Here in Arizona, it usually involves the search for a secluded waterway where one can attain a reprieve from the baking sun and wash off the dust from the trail.

When most folks think of the deserts in Arizona they imagine a parched landscape full of cacti and broken dreams.  They’re right, but there is also a thriving ecology closely packed around a surprising number of lakes and rivers.   And when you live at 7,000 feet above sea level in Arizona, it snows the night before you leave for a trip to the desert.

What else can you do, but layer up, press on, and keep a vigilant eye on the forecast?  As so many of us today are corralled into set schedules and pre-planned vacations, sometimes simply pushing on is all you can do.  Despite the snowflakes falling outside, my wife and I packed our Super Ténéré for a weekend’s adventure to take the back [read: two-lane, twisty-windy, dirt road, and generally awesome] way to Alamo Lake, AZ.  There’s a saying in Flagstaff that “If you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes.” And this once again proved true as we jumped on a break in the snowstorm and pointed our bike South toward warmer weather, sun, and miles of twisty-windy two lane goodness.

Our route would take us on two lane roads from Jerome, through Prescott, and toward Bagdad (AZ!), and on toward the middle of nowhere, which as it happens, is near Nothing, AZ.  We were so busy enjoying this wonderful ribbon of tarmac, we missed our turn, and were ‘lost’, round 1.  After consulting the GPS, we found an alternate route; a 33 mile dirt road that was supposed to be a well maintained, smooth cruise.  Not so much. We were lost again, round 2.

Pretty soon, the washouts, sand, and several additional wrong turns had us re-thinking ourselves.  “Keep going. There’s a darn lake at the end of this.  How far have we gone?  Only Three miles! This is going to be a long afternoon…”

Perseverance won the day however, and before too long, we were cooking along in 5th gear on a wide, well-graded dirt highway.  Sometimes, all you need to fix the roads is to cross a county line.

As the miles ticked by, we started to get into the groove again.  Things were looking up, and we had plenty of daylight, plenty of fuel, and we hadn’t lost our mascot, Tortellini the turtle.  (Editor’s note:  Tortellini is known to fly out from his perch on the authors Ténéré from time to time.  This most commonly happens on rough roads or at high speeds. –Chad)  Before we knew it, we were looking for a campsite and changing into our swimsuits.  We had made it to Alamo Lake.

After a quick dip in the lake, some warm food, and making a campfire, we were watching another world-class Arizona sunset and reflecting on the day.

It seems like the farther I can get away from civilization, and the closer I can get to undeveloped wilderness, the more content I am.  The trivialities of life fade into the background as I soak in my surroundings.  I’m dusty, I’m hot, I’m exhausted and I’m away from everything that makes home so comfortable, yet I feel more content and more joyful than I do almost anywhere else.  After all, I’ve got my wife, my dog, and my motorcycle – what more could I ask for?

Adventure

Adventure is a state of mind. A construct of our dreams, enthralled with passion, adventurists have found their place in life by chasing windmills of their own grand design. To find adventure with quickened breath and excitement struggling to be controlled, we must find our own personal definition of adventure. Once there was a time that mine were found only on the razor’s edge of calculated risk vs. lunacy. The whisper of death lingering in the air was ridiculed and the living danced on.

I was wrong

Shortly after the arrival of Scout, my only daughter and second child, and in the following span of a couple of short years, my understanding of what it meant to be an adventurist shifted. By 2014 the quest for more family time lead to career changes for both my wife and I. Gone were the higher paying jobs, salaries traded away for a rare commodity that cannot be bought in a store: time. My previous career paid out for accrued vacation and sick time up to a certain limit, which was still considerable, and for some reason my wife Morgan agreed that the family needed outdoors time, allowing me to use that parting check to purchase quality camp gear.

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The New Adventure

The shift to new outdoor family adventures brought new challenges, surprising challenges that as an avid and experience outdoorsman I could not have fathomed would be such a big deal: children. A certain pink cot sat outside the family camping palace, a large canvas wall tent, with a little pink camo-printed sleeping bag draped over a chair in the sun. Retired couples smiled knowingly at our traveling circus of a campsite, sometimes giving a wink and a nod as they walked past. They understood something I didn’t: with small children accidents happen and in a campground sometimes you have to publicly air out your dirty laundry, literally; but that wasn’t why they smiled at us. No, they smiled because they understood the real meaning of our adventure.

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My adventurist state of mind now relishes in the wide grandeur of breath taking vistas, longs for sharing those experiences with friends and family, and attempts to forge outdoor memories for my children’s future. An adventurist finds the adventure that they were supposed to have. My family discovered that ours are found in dew covered mornings, camp meals, and friends and fellowship amongst nature; even if those mornings are found in a less than magazine worthy epic camping spot. Just getting away and trading concrete for dirt trails is enough to bring the Zen-like bliss that every adventurist finds when stepping into their dream.

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Practically every three day weekend during the school year is found in a tent. Spring break, summer break, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Talk Like A Pirate Day…all spent in a tent somewhere.

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The glut of camping gear purchased with my parting payout check from the previous career? That is only the initial investment this family made in having quality preparations ready for our own adventures. The first year of the trials and tribulations from following our adventure-lust we found that a new family truckster was badly needed one that I would build and modify into the Family Adventure Van. The goals were simple and straight forward: the scenario of family camping in my mind for the build is driving across Big Bend National Park on an unimproved road to reach an out of the way backcountry campsite and be self-sufficient once there. If we can do that in vastness of Big Bend, we can do the same just about anywhere in the contiguous United States.

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Systems, items, parts and pieces were all modified via a specific build plan I devised for a finished vehicle; however, each one of those long weekends spent in camp, the trips, the travel, new places and new faces all gave way to exposing weaknesses in our plan and our gear. Unexpected changes were necessary to build a reliable, capable and safe vehicle to get my family to our dream destinations. Piece by piece, gradually, we refine the camp to better suit our needs.

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The Great Northern Expedition

This past June my family joined another family and a few friends on the family adventuring trip of our dreams. Five national parks, 5,350 miles traveled, twenty one days and most of the trip spent under the canvas roof of our wonderful tent. The duration of the trip is the longest we have taken as a family, the miles driven the furthest, the national parks in one trip the most we’ve attempted.

The chances of faraway campgrounds down dirt roads were nearly nil for the chance to see some of the grandest vistas the United States has to offer. A trade off of dirt roads for asphalt to see the same view millions of others had seen, the tradeoff is fair; these are epic vistas, grand mountains, steaming geothermal features, little kid friendly and easy access for happy memories.

The name is a historical throwback and a bit of a joke as the trip consisted of only two families of four with three other friends joining camp. No new land was explored, no scientific tests undertaken, a traditional expedition we were not, except that we were united as one team to experience some of the best the National Park Service has to offer in an attempt to build lasting memories and impressions for our children, happy memories as parents, and spark the happy calm of camp life to recharge our batteries.

“No new land was explored, no scientific tests undertaken, a traditional expedition we were not, except that we were united as one team to experience some of the best the National Park Service has to offer in an attempt to build lasting memories and impressions for our children, happy memories as parents, and spark the happy calm of camp life to recharge our batteries.”

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The trip was a wonderful success, but even with the high level of planning and preparation undertaken, issues arose. The aftertaste of adventure is one of lessons learned. Those lessons include new insight into our ever changing children, new introspective looks at ourselves, and some needed changes in what gear we use and how.

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If nothing changes, if no new gear is purchased, if no changes are made to the Family Adventure Van, we still hold the happy wonderment of an adventurist and will continue chasing our own windmills, longing for lazy afternoons in the woods surrounded by the laughter of our children, family, and friends, long dirt paths with high mountain tops, the Adventurist Zen, happiness evolving to bliss with each pop and hiss of the campfire.

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