I was jolted out of my musings by a gust of wind. It seemed you could get almost anywhere on a backroad if you knew which road to take. I couldn’t believe the network of dirt roads in this state. We’d already gone 100-some-odd miles and were only halfway. I looked down at my GPS and shook my head. Clouds grew darker and we could see the misty patches of distant rainfall. From time to time, we noticed the tracks of a bicycle picking its way through the ruts or a dirtbike skidding around unforeseen corners and we wondered when or if we would catch up to a fellow traveller on this remote section of the Continental Divide.Īs we neared the hills, the road began to climb, winding between huge sandstone boulders only to drop down again into the washed-out canyon of an arroyo. Aside from the few metal cattle guards and the road itself, nothing much had changed here. I tried to imagine what the country would have looked like to the early settlers. Along the way, we noticed weathered writing on a large rock near the road. We passed through gates into ranch lands without ever seeing a soul. Our bikes made a little dust on the hardened adobe-like roads as we rode fast across the winding, flat country that was dotted with ancient cinder cones. The setting reminded me of something out of the Old West that had now been forgotten and left to the coyotes. When we got nearer, I realized it was an old corral building made completely of stones that were perfectly placed atop one another. Not too far along, I saw a building in the distance. We sped off, dipping into arroyos and drawing closer to the distant hills.
We made our first turn onto a seemingly insignificant dirt road-it was really just two ruts that wound off into the desert. As we descended the other side of the mountain, the chill left, but the sky remained grey and foreboding.
Despite its dry and desolate appearance, this high desert was bursting with life and colour when we got up close. As the frigid wind whipped around me and threatened to knock our bikes over, I couldn’t help but stare at the panorama of sparsely vegetated land that spread out at every angle around me. Taylor to the 11,036-foot La Mosca lookout. That day was one of the most beautiful, isolated and awe-inspiring rides of this trip.
For their trip across the Continental Divide Trail, Marita rode a Yamaha WR250R with a 4 gallon tank while Graham rode a Suzuki DRZ400 with a 3.2 gallon tank.
0 kommentar(er)
