After spending the last few days rolling through West Texas, home of absolutly nothing interesting of note at all, I finally came back to where I belong; in the mountains, in the National Parks.
I stopped into the visitor center to get an idea of what the park offered, and to see about camping. I was used to parks like Glacier, where you sometimes need to reserve campsites weeks in advance, but not so here. It turns out that Guadalupe is one of the least visited continental US parks, it's constantly rated by backpacker magazines as the best place to go if you want solitude.
It was cheap, too; even the developed campsite was only $8/night, and had access to showers. But it was still early in the day, so I decided to do some exploring!
When in the visitor center, I was looking at the topographical map and noticed a road going deep into what looked like a deserted area of the park, marked with a big "HIGH CLEARANCE 4x4 VEHICLES ONLY". That sounded like an adventure! :D
(BTW, if it wasn't already abundantly clear, I might be an idiot sometimes)
I checked out the key to the gate from the clerk at the desk, and armed with a pamphlet and an undeserved sense of my own prowess at motorcycle riding, off I went down the highway to find the turn off.
Immediately off the highway is a the first gate you have to go through; the road first crosses about a mile of privatly owned land before it gets back onto National Park territory. I soon came to that second gate, and after closing it again behind me, I was on my way.
The road is 7.3 miles each way, and ended at the historic Williams Ranch house, one of the first homesteds ever build in the region. It changed hands a few times since it was built in the early 1900s and was aquired by the NPS in 1966, mostly because the land was no longer very suitable for farming or grazing. More info: http://www.nps.gov/gumo/historyculture/wranch.htm
The road started out okay, although it was a bit rough and going was very slow.
It did feel super-desolate; even though I was maybe 5 miles from the highway, it felt much farther. The view was amazing.
(That's a composite of I think 25 photos, and even at this size it's shrunk WAY down to fit it through the internet)
It quickly got much rougher though, but the roughness wasn't nearly as bad as the sizeable rocks. Those softball sized rocks, when combined with my smooth street tires and complete lack of off-road skill, served to . . . well, make me do this.
And then do it again . . .
and AGAIN . . .
AND AGAIN GODDAMIT STOP FALLING OVER.
I dropped the bike at least 7 times in just that 7 miles to the ranch house, but after the first few I was so tired of picking the thing back up that I didn't have the patience to take pictures. Now I realized that I really shouldn't have been on this road on this bike; maybe with knobbies it would have been okay, or maybe if I didn't suck at motorcycles.
By the time I actually go to the ranch house, the saddle bag supports were almost completely cracked in half, the bags themselves were punctured, the front turn signals were destroyed, the oil filter and exhaust pipe were dented and many little plastic bits were broken or scratched. But I did make it!
I was exhausted and overheated from riding out here and having to pick up the bike so many times, so I took off all the gear and wandered around a bit. Eventually I sat for a while on the porch on the west side of the house, and enjoyed the view.
Peaking in the windows, it looks like someone occasionally still uses the places. Probably the park rangers, I would guess. Maybe they let backpackers in there?
I really wasn't looking forward to the ride back; the bike was very worse for wear just having come out here, and now I had to do it over again. I got on my way and continued dropping the bike every so often, but every time it was getting harder and harder to pick up. Until finally, I dropped it here, and . . . and I couldn't pick it back up again.
It was partly my exhaustion, but it was also the way the bike was laying; you can see how the rear wheel is actually way higher than the saddlebag because the bike fell over into a ditch. I just didn't have the leverage to get a 450lb+ motorcycle back upright; my legs were already shot from picking this thing up ten times in the last couple hours already, but even then the ground was so crumbly that I couldn't get grip. I was stuck.
This was really bad. I could have camped the night here, but I was really low on water and there was no place around to get more. The rangers had said that especially at this time of year hardly any goes on the road; I was the only one who'd requested a key to it so far this WEEK. I was in the middle of the desert on a godforsaken road that no one ever goes on, on a motorcycle totally wrong for where it was and no idea what do to next.
So as I'm sitting on the other side of the road, stareing forlornly at my bike and wondering how the hell I'm going to get myself out of this situation . . . this guy shows up.
Quite literally the ONLY OTHER PERSON ON THAT ROAD THIS WHOLE WEEK, and he stumbles upon me within 15 minutes of when I direly needed him the most. With his help the bike was easily righted, he gave me some water and I was on my way.
I made it back to the highway with only a couple more drops, smooth tarmac had never before felt so good. it was dusk by the time I got back to the visitor's center/campground, and after setting up camp I parked my butt outside the visitor's center for a few hours, to make use of the free wi-fi :)
I stopped into the visitor center to get an idea of what the park offered, and to see about camping. I was used to parks like Glacier, where you sometimes need to reserve campsites weeks in advance, but not so here. It turns out that Guadalupe is one of the least visited continental US parks, it's constantly rated by backpacker magazines as the best place to go if you want solitude.
It was cheap, too; even the developed campsite was only $8/night, and had access to showers. But it was still early in the day, so I decided to do some exploring!
When in the visitor center, I was looking at the topographical map and noticed a road going deep into what looked like a deserted area of the park, marked with a big "HIGH CLEARANCE 4x4 VEHICLES ONLY". That sounded like an adventure! :D
(BTW, if it wasn't already abundantly clear, I might be an idiot sometimes)
I checked out the key to the gate from the clerk at the desk, and armed with a pamphlet and an undeserved sense of my own prowess at motorcycle riding, off I went down the highway to find the turn off.
Immediately off the highway is a the first gate you have to go through; the road first crosses about a mile of privatly owned land before it gets back onto National Park territory. I soon came to that second gate, and after closing it again behind me, I was on my way.
The road is 7.3 miles each way, and ended at the historic Williams Ranch house, one of the first homesteds ever build in the region. It changed hands a few times since it was built in the early 1900s and was aquired by the NPS in 1966, mostly because the land was no longer very suitable for farming or grazing. More info: http://www.nps.gov/gumo/historyculture/wranch.htm
The road started out okay, although it was a bit rough and going was very slow.
It did feel super-desolate; even though I was maybe 5 miles from the highway, it felt much farther. The view was amazing.
(That's a composite of I think 25 photos, and even at this size it's shrunk WAY down to fit it through the internet)
It quickly got much rougher though, but the roughness wasn't nearly as bad as the sizeable rocks. Those softball sized rocks, when combined with my smooth street tires and complete lack of off-road skill, served to . . . well, make me do this.
And then do it again . . .
and AGAIN . . .
AND AGAIN GODDAMIT STOP FALLING OVER.
I dropped the bike at least 7 times in just that 7 miles to the ranch house, but after the first few I was so tired of picking the thing back up that I didn't have the patience to take pictures. Now I realized that I really shouldn't have been on this road on this bike; maybe with knobbies it would have been okay, or maybe if I didn't suck at motorcycles.
By the time I actually go to the ranch house, the saddle bag supports were almost completely cracked in half, the bags themselves were punctured, the front turn signals were destroyed, the oil filter and exhaust pipe were dented and many little plastic bits were broken or scratched. But I did make it!
I was exhausted and overheated from riding out here and having to pick up the bike so many times, so I took off all the gear and wandered around a bit. Eventually I sat for a while on the porch on the west side of the house, and enjoyed the view.
Peaking in the windows, it looks like someone occasionally still uses the places. Probably the park rangers, I would guess. Maybe they let backpackers in there?
I really wasn't looking forward to the ride back; the bike was very worse for wear just having come out here, and now I had to do it over again. I got on my way and continued dropping the bike every so often, but every time it was getting harder and harder to pick up. Until finally, I dropped it here, and . . . and I couldn't pick it back up again.
It was partly my exhaustion, but it was also the way the bike was laying; you can see how the rear wheel is actually way higher than the saddlebag because the bike fell over into a ditch. I just didn't have the leverage to get a 450lb+ motorcycle back upright; my legs were already shot from picking this thing up ten times in the last couple hours already, but even then the ground was so crumbly that I couldn't get grip. I was stuck.
This was really bad. I could have camped the night here, but I was really low on water and there was no place around to get more. The rangers had said that especially at this time of year hardly any goes on the road; I was the only one who'd requested a key to it so far this WEEK. I was in the middle of the desert on a godforsaken road that no one ever goes on, on a motorcycle totally wrong for where it was and no idea what do to next.
So as I'm sitting on the other side of the road, stareing forlornly at my bike and wondering how the hell I'm going to get myself out of this situation . . . this guy shows up.
Quite literally the ONLY OTHER PERSON ON THAT ROAD THIS WHOLE WEEK, and he stumbles upon me within 15 minutes of when I direly needed him the most. With his help the bike was easily righted, he gave me some water and I was on my way.
I made it back to the highway with only a couple more drops, smooth tarmac had never before felt so good. it was dusk by the time I got back to the visitor's center/campground, and after setting up camp I parked my butt outside the visitor's center for a few hours, to make use of the free wi-fi :)
