Tim Notier's Blog, page 4

Blue Ridge Wisdom

The Notier NotesOur Sunday ScoopWe had just spent the past week rushing across the country, from Arizona to Georgia, in order to get from Overland Expo West in Flagstaff to the upcoming expo in the east. It was hectic, it was uncomfortable, and I was miserable.

The days had been long and exhausting, with my ears ringing at night from hours of my helmet being battered by highway-speed winds. Plus, the weather had been terrible. Starting with the hailstorm that hit us in New Mexico, to the high winds in Oklahoma, and then topped off with the torrential rains of Arkansas and Tennessee, by the time we arrived at Tim's uncle's cabin in northern Georgia, I was ready for a rest.

But with only a few days left to get to the expo in northern Virginia, we had to now make a choice - stay an extra day in Georgia and then take some grueling highways up to Virginia, or leave the next morning and ride a more leisurely road up north called the Blue Ridge Parkway. This was the watery view I had throughout Tennessee.My vote was to rest, and to then haul it north. I just couldn't picture myself packing up again in the morning - putting on my wet socks, my drenched rain jacket that really didn't do much anymore, then stick my hands into my sopping gloves, and get back onto my wet pillion seat for another day of rain. I didn't want to do any of that if I didn't have to.

But Tim was getting excited about this Blue Ridge Parkway. "It'll be nice and relaxing, just what we need," he told me.

"But look at the weather forecast," I replied, showing him the apocalyptic pictures on my phone's weather app of thunder clouds throwing down bolts of lightning for the next five days straight.

​Tim had to agree, the forecast was pretty dismal. And it didn't make any sense to leave a nice warm cabin when there wasn't any need to. This is my least favorite riding scenario.But as fate would have it, the decision was made for us, because we soon got word that some guests were staying in the cabin the next day, and we'd need to leave anyway.

And so I begrudgingly put on my wet socks, stuck my feet into my moist boots (they are waterproof, but water from a particularly bad storm got in from the top), and I got on the back of the bike, not looking forward to this at all.

But I should have trusted the whims and ways of this world. Because once we got on the Blue Ridge Parkway, even though it was drizzling, the sun would peek out in shimmering patches, and then disappear as we rode into a cloud of mist. And every bit of it was perfect.

The thing about the Blue Ridge Parkway is that it's a road built simply for the pleasure of being a road. It was made with soft, elegant curves, smooth asphalt, and it had very little traffic. And around every few turns there would be a hide-and-seek surprise of a lookout - a clearing between the trees with a view. And it was an incredible view of rippling mountains rolling off into the distance like the waves of a gentle sea frozen in time. Even when there wasn't a view, the road was beautiful. The trees were just turning colors, and every so often a leaf would flutter down. Everything about this journey through these ancient forests felt still, hushed, and captured in time, as if the rest of the world was zillions of miles and thousands of years away. It didn't matter whether it was sunny or foggy, I loved both. When it was sunny (which was quite rare), the heavenly rays would filter down through the clouds and treetops, speckling the road in intricate patterns, and shining on our faces through the leaves in intermittent flashing spurts. ​ But even more so I loved the mist, because it would waft around us like it had a mind of its own. It reminded me of ghosts that would drift between the trees to inspect us, and then move along to let us be.  Actually, it was not wrong of me to think that these crawling tendrils of mist were like ghosts from the past, because the Appalachian Mountains are the oldest mountain range in North America. They've been weathered down by the ages, beaten back by the erosion of time, but even so, they are mighty. In fact, over 450 million years ago, these mountains were the highest mountains on the planet. ​ But you can feel the age of this place in more ways than just through the geology of it. Because sometimes we would make a turn, and then see a little cabin tucked into a fog-filled field. Most of these cabins had been made in the 1800's, and had been constructed by hardy people who lived solely off of the land and what it provided them. Their mark on the landscape was just as apparent as how the land had shaped them and their lives. When building the Blue Ridge Parkway, they did not simply demolish these structures in order to construct the road. Actually, they incorporated these historic spots into the sight-seeing aspect of the journey along the Blue Ridge. At one place, there were even people demonstrating how they used the loom and spun wool on a spinning wheel (I used to do that!). It was fascinating to watch, and just another pleasure of being on the Blue Ridge Parkway. We spent three days on the BRP, and I never wanted the ride to end. Not only had the road put me in a better mood, it had been exactly what I'd needed, rain and all. And I think it taught me a very important lesson. Sometimes when we ride and the road is rough, I hold on tightly, fighting for control. I grit my teeth, I hunch over from the wind, and I put my head down through the rain.

But if I were to give up control sometimes and let the weather do what it will, and let the turns in the road take me where they want, I might actually enjoy myself a lot more. And I might rediscover all the things that I loved about traveling in the first place. In the next post, at long last we arrive at our final Overland Expo in Virginia, and have some truly life-altering experiences. And then... the Northeast BDR takes its toll on us. So stay tuned!

In the mean time, here is our latest video that captures the wonderful roads that we took through Colorado as we made our way across Utah.We were also lucky enough to be part of another podcast episode of Adventure Rider Radio!
Tim and I always have a good laugh while reminiscing about our adventures of the past and  what is still to come. Listen in to the latest episode for a recap of our travels from Kenya all the way up to our rides around the States this summer and fall! And finally, for those of you that would like to support our future travels (Alaska, Iceland, Europe, Mongolia...), we have finally set up a Patreon page.

There are a few different levels of support, and some of the perks of becoming a Patron of Notiers Frontiers is getting early access to all our video content (and of course having that overall feeling of awesomeness).Become a Patron! We can't thank you all enough for being a part of the journey with us! I hope you have a great week. See you next Sunday!Subscribe to Our Blog

10 Days, 2,000 Miles

The Notier Notes Our Sunday Scoop As we wrapped up our wonderful weekend at Overland Expo West, we now faced the daunting  prospect of what was next - traveling from Arizona to Virginia for the next expo in just ten days. Since these were overland expos, most people attending were in vehicles with four wheels, and if they were going to both of these, they'd be driving. That's still not a lot of time, but for us on a motorcycle, it was an even tighter schedule.

I find that motorcycle travel, though exponentially more exciting, is also more exhausting than traveling by car. The wind, the weather, the heavy gear, the sitting on a rattling machine in one position for so long... it all adds up to be more strenuous than going in a luxurious padded seat with armrests, drink holders, and windows to block out the rest of the world as it rushes by. 

​This is also one of the things we love most about motorcycle travel - the vulnerability of it. The way we're exposed to the elements, the way we're immersed in our surroundings as opposed to being in a bubble. But in this particular instance, I was not looking forward to the ride out the Virginia. And this was not only because we'd be taking highways, skipping all the sights, and having long days, but because the motorcycle hadn't always been working properly for us this summer. And we felt that at any moment something else could go wrong. We had a wonderful time at Overland Expo West. Even so, we left Flagstaff, Arizona in high hopes. We had just had a fantastic weekend of presentations and book selling, and we were super thrilled to be heading out East once again, and to attend an expo that we've never been to before.

But we weren't ready to say goodbye to the West quite yet. Because it just so happened that the road out of Arizona went by a place that I just couldn't pass up - the Petrified Forest. Even the name itself conjures up images of a mysterious enigma. It sounds as if this tropical forest of the dinosaurs had been cursed by an evil witch who turned it all to stone. And not just any old stone, but these rocks are gorgeous, sometimes crystalline from quartz, or green from copper, blue from chromium, and of course red and orange and yellow from iron. At times they have black streaks from a crystal called jet, or "black amber". And all of these colors can swirl together into a single trunk, displaying all the colors of the stones, while also showcasing the grain of the wood. It's a creature's life immortalized in a mineral canvas fit for the halls of dwarven kings. Coming into the park, we found plenty of pull-offs overlooking the carcasses of this forest massacre from 225 million years ago. But there was an added bonus of something I'd never heard about before - the painted desert. And unlike the petrified forest, the painted desert wasn't created in a single geological event, but it's almost like looking at a tapestry of time, stretching back to the very beginnings of earth.

We were loving every second that we had taken to explore yet another incredible National Park.
Once back on the road, we headed into New Mexico, and the weather turned on us. Actually, I shouldn't say it turned on us, since it didn't start out great in the first place. Flagstaff is high altitude and generally cold, and there was a bit of rain out there too. But in New Mexico, we hit the hills of the continental divide, and it started to pour on us. And then it hailed. Nothing like a good hail storm on an already strenuous journey.

But Tim is wonderful at getting us through these hail storms. I don't know how he does it, but he's usually as cool as a cucumber. But for me, it's unnerving to hear the sound of all that ice hitting my helmet, like the heavens are pelleting me with their heavenly paintball guns, aiming straight for my head. And then I watch the bits of ice start to collect on Tim's backpack, and I get fixated on them all, wondering when they will melt. Hoping the downpour won't get any bigger.

These hailstorms never last long, and it's quite the site to behold. I'm just always relieved when it's over. This hail was tiny. But still not fun to ride through. Even though we were just coasting our way through these states, there are certain things you can't miss about each one - the striking Native American presence in New Mexico, the smell of cows in northern Texas, or the battering winds of Oklahoma. But then some things are the same - the way the early morning sunlight sends the mist steaming up from the ground. Or the way I wake up in a hotel bed and think, "Where am I again?" But even if I can't remember, I look over at Tim, and I know that everything is just as it should be.

But then the bike started to act up again. Not in the way it had been before, this time it was the chain. Maybe we had neglected it, or hadn't changed it when we should've, but either way, it had now chainsawed its way through the plastic chain guards and was once again eating into the swing-arm of the motorcycle. Not good. This had happened to us once before, in Patagonia, and it had really soured the mood of our travels. But at least we weren't on such a time crunch then.

Now, with only a week remaining before we had to be in Virginia, we were concerned we wouldn't be able to make it. Not if we had to order new parts. And not if those parts were going to take two weeks to arrive. But then like always, something incredible happened. We called our wonderful friends Bill and Susan Dragoo who run the D.A.R.T. off-road training program that Tim took years ago, and they invited us to stay with them in Oklahoma City. And then, as Tim started calling around to different KTM dealerships in neighboring states and cities to see if anyone had a 2014 KTM 1190 plastic chain guard replacement, it turned out that someone did (this never happens). And they were the dealership in Oklahoma City!

We couldn't have been more fortunate. I mean, we have spent years traversing the world and going to KTM dealerships to fix our problems. And they NEVER have things in stock. That's just not how dealerships work these days. And they certainly never have things for bikes they don't even make anymore (they discontinued the 1190 years ago). But for some reason this dealership had exactly what we needed. And they were right where we were headed. They confirmed that they were the only ones in the country with such a part on hand. [image error] Us and Bill and Susan Dragoo, who are legends in the off-road motorcycle community. We got the bike all fixed up, and re-boosted our spirits during our stay with the Dragoo's. But with the tight schedule needing to be met, we headed on from Oklahoma soon after and continued east.

We barreled our way through the buzzing humidity of Arkansas, and then plunged ahead through the sweet-smelling hills of Tennessee. And by the time we entered North Carolina, we realized that we had done it. We were now only a few-days' ride from Virginia, and we had plenty of time to get there.

And so we decided to enjoy ourselves and take a road to the expo that is world-renowned - the Blue Ridge Parkway.

But more on that next time. So stay tuned, and we will be seeing you again next week. Subscribe to Our Blog And check out our latest video about a scary fall we had in Colorado. Gift Us a Gallon of Gas

Traveling Back in Time

The Notier Notes Our Sunday Scoop (Monday Moop, sorry!) [image error] I look back on the days when we were living in our house in Kenya, and how I would excitedly write up my Sunday Scoop blog post each week. I would have time to think about it, to write it just the way I wanted it, and to choose the right pictures... Those were the days.

Because ever since we've been back on the road in the US, things have been different. Our days are filled with getting miles under our belt, bracing the winds, or cold, or heat, or hail. Sometimes the bike would function, sometimes it wouldn't start at all. And all the while we were nervous about keeping to our strict schedule of Overland events. And we were nervous that we might never reach our destinations.

Even now that we're back in Chicago (we're settling here for the winter), I barely have a moment to write a blog post. So I apologize for the lateness of my stories, but this one I think you'll like. Especially if you know our origin story of Maiden Voyage, and how we took our motorcycle on its first trip out West to Colorado and Utah, you'll understand the significance of us revisiting some of those places. We had just faced another catastrophic breakdown in Idaho, and with the help of wonderful friends, we had been able to tow the bike to Salt Lake City where it was repaired. Then, to test its "repaired-ness", we had an adventurous weekend in Moab with more friends. Things were really looking up for us.

But we had a schedule to keep, because the next Overland Expo was soon taking place in Flagstaff, Arizona. So we headed south, but realized that we were exactly in the same spot as we were seven years ago during our Maiden Voyage. So we decided to take a little detour on our way to Flagstaff, and retrace our steps from that epic journey seven years ago.

The first place on our list was one of our all-time favorite roads - Route 24 and Route 12 that flows through southern Utah. This gorgeous piece of perfect pavement goes right through some of Utah's most jaw-dropping scenery - Escalante and its green Dixie forests, Capital Reef National Park and its red cliffs contrasting with white sandstone hills, and an area of gray sands that we like to think of as "straight from a lunar landing". The road and views were the same as what we remembered, but we were able to see things with a fresh appreciation, and with wisdom that we didn't have before. We've been on so many other roads now, we've ridden through so much other fantastic scenery, that we were able to compare it all. And once again, this road through Utah was up there with some of the finest roads this world has to offer.
​
And as an added bonus, we decided to see something that we had missed the first time - Goblin Valley. Even though it had been recommended to us previously, we had just decided to keep going, not knowing how much time it would need or how expensive it would be to see.

Well, it turns out that we shouldn't have overlooked the place, because it wasn't very far to go see, and it only costs $10 (for motorcycles)! And once the twisting road made its way up to the apex that overlooked Goblin Valley, we were speechless at the bizarre sight in front of us.​ It was like thousands of toadstools had been turned into rocks below us. Some of them were taller, towering into the sky above the tiny people amongst them, but some of them were small and squat, like a chair to sit on. Some of these strange rock-scapes had little windows through which we could see more other-worldly vistas. And I could just imagine myself as I child exploring this unbelievably weird landscape, and thinking that these things were trolls that had stayed out way past their bedtime and were turned to stone with the rising sun. The day after our trek through this utterly weird world of the goblins, we went to a place that had been a highlight of our Maiden Voyage (besides getting engaged of course) - Bryce Canyon. Seven years ago, Tim had prepared a very special treat for me - he had booked a tipi for us to stay in while at Bryce! He knew that I loved tipis, and that I had once spent a summer in one. And so this was the perfect treat.

Now, nearly a decade later, we pulled up to the same tipi that we had stayed in, just for the fun of seeing it again. It was the one with the turkey painted on it, I remembered, and seeing that nobody was inside, I popped my head in. It was just the same, like those seven years ago were just yesterday. Next we headed along the road that skirts the edge of Bryce Canyon. Apparently, Bryce Canyon isn't really a canyon at all, since it's one-sided. It's more like a step in a geological uplifting of the land, a place that the winds and freezing rains molded to how they saw fit. And these gods of nature must have liked the idea of making tiny towers of red and orange rocks everywhere, called "hoodoos". Actually, they're not really tiny (maybe to a god's perspective they are), but again, it feels like another world there - maybe a distant planet, or a fantasy place conjured up in someone's imagination. The colors are just too rich, and the shapes too strange, for this to be anything but a figment of someone's curiosity. A reflection of someone's dream. We took a hike into the spires, the same hike we had taken before, but this time in reverse. This was a conscience decision we made since we remembered how steep and horrible the final ascent had been. And although no ascent at high altitude is ever easy, the reverse way (going down Wall Street and up Queen's Garden), was much better.

But it almost felt like we had transported ourselves back in time to seven years ago, because everything was exactly the same. The log where we had eaten our snack, and the little fat chipmunk begging for scraps in exchange for posing for photos. The caws of the crows, the smell of the dusty oxygen-deprived wind that had a little bite to it, the weight of the sun's heat on our shoulders...

But most importantly, that same spirit of wanting to take a hundred pictures around every corner, and that excitement for what views would be around the next turn, it was all the same. From Bryce, we continued our trip down memory lane as we visited some dear friends of ours, Dana and Bill, who have been supporting us on our crazy journeys from the beginning. Dana had first lent us a helping hand at a Walmart parking lot near her home in Utah, and even though we refused it at the time, after a horrible three-day storm in the nearby mountains, we finally took her up on her generosity. And since then, they've been like family. Dana and Bill even attended our wedding two years ago.

​It was a wonderful reunion, and there's really nothing better than revisiting wonderful times, and reliving those moments of laughter with good friends. But we could not spend too much time with them, because before we knew it, we had to be in Flagstaff. Once again, this would not be our first time to the Overland Expo in Flagstaff. The first time for me had been four years ago, and even though several continents of travel separated these moments, when we pulled up to our camp spot amidst the pine trees, it felt like no time had passed. This was truly our own wrinkle in time.

And once again, we were fully booked with presentations, round tables, and book selling (we sold out of our stock and had to order more for the next event!). But those weren't the parts that made the event truly great. It was all the wonderful people we met, people who we'd met before, and people we were meeting for the first time. They were people who knew and loved our stories, people who were just learning about us, and people who shared with us their own tales. Nothing makes us happier than being able to inspire others, and to have that precious exchange with fellow motorcyclists and travelers that the Overland Expo can offer.  [image error] But once the Expo was over, our time machine sent us spinning back into the present, as we faced our tires in a whole new direction, for a whole new set of experiences - Overland Expo East in Virginia, and having to cross the country to get there in just 10 days. Would the bike make it? Would this crazy fast-paced, break-neck schedule of ours sour our taste for traveling by road?

If only we could slow time down again... or add an extra hour to our day, or month to our summer. Or year to our travels. If only...
Stay tuned for our next installment of our Sunday Scoop (hopefully it will come out on a Sunday this time), and thank you for staying with us throughout it all.

​By the way, the video from our documentary shoot in Colorado is out! It premiered at Overland Expo East to great fanfare. We love it, and I think you'll love it too. You can check it out below.

I'll see you next week. Subscribe to Our Blog PLUS, you can also watch our latest video on YouTube about some unbelievable mountain passes that we took through the Rockies! Also, I worked hard to get closed captioning on this one. So take a look! Gift Us a Gallon of Gas

Sandstorms in Moab

The Notier Notes Our Sunday Scoop Once again we had broken down, and once again, a dear friend was there to rescue us. This time we had a non-starting motorcycle in Boise, Idaho, and our savior was Brandon Lever. As I paced around fretting over our latest mishap, Brandon told me that everything was going to be all right, and that he had a good feeling about it. But I didn't believe him.

Since the mechanics in Idaho were all fully booked, Brandon offered to trailer us and the motorcycle down to Salt Lake City to the dealership there. And hopefully, if all the stars aligned correctly, they would be able to diagnose the problem, and the solution wouldn't require any parts to be ordered, because we had just a few days before we had to be down in Flagstaff, Arizona for the Overland Expo West. There was simply not enough time to get anything done besides a simple fix, and once again, we were alerting the heads of the Expo that it was possible we might have to cancel all our plans. I don't ever really like to see the bike in pieces. As we arrived at the KTM dealership in Salt Lake City, I recognized the building and the mechanics since we had just been there the week prior. And years before that, we'd visited two other times for minor repairs. This was now our fourth time with this motorcycle to that particular dealership, and I have to say, with quite a few KTM dealership experiences now under our belt from across the world, this one was our favorite. Every time we went there they were able to take us in right away, and they worked hard, with friendly smiles, and always did an expert job. So if there was anyone we could have faith in to do this miracle in the time it required, it was the wonderful people at the Edge dealership.

They immediately brought the bike into the back, and as we waited for the results, we said our sad farewells to Brandon. He had been a true friend, and had gone above and beyond what any average person would do. He had invited us into his home and shared his incredible life with us, and he had taken the time and energy to bring us all the way to another city in another state so that we could continue our journey. But perhaps most importantly, he had taught me an important lesson, that maybe it's not so useful to fret over every breakdown. But that I should trust my gut instinct telling me that everything is going to be ok. [image error] Us and Brandon at the KTM dealership in SLC. We spent that night at our friend Emiliano's apartment, and it was fantastic to see him again (we had met on the road in South Africa and traveled throughout Africa with him). It was also great to meet his girlfriend Melissa whom Emiliano had met in Africa as well (small world). But at the same time we were worried about the motorcycle, and worried that this would be our last stop in our travels with it.

But Brandon had been right. Because the next day, the mechanics gave us a call that they had not only diagnosed the problem, they'd fixed it! It turned out the the throttle bodies were out of sync (whatever that means) and they'd realigned them for us. No parts had to be ordered, and after cleaning out all the inner components of the engine that we could never get to, the bike now ran better than ever!

"It's like she's brand new!" Tim exclaimed as he took the bike for a test ride around town.

And now that we had a functioning motorcycle, and it was about to be the weekend, we all decided to go on an adventure and truly test her out. Emiliano and Melissa packed up their motorcycle too, and the four of us headed south to explore the desert canyons in Moab. Melissa and Emiliano packing up for an adventure with us! Tim and I had been to Moab before, seven years ago on our Maiden Voyage around the Rocky Mountains. We had just purchased the motorcycle just a month prior, and we were testing her out, as well as ourselves. We wanted to know if we enjoyed motorcycle travel together, and spoiler alert - we did.

At the time, we had almost no experience going off road, and we were woefully unprepared for the types of roads that Moab offered. Moab is Utah's outdoor adventure playground, the perfect place to get lost on ATVs, or go rock climbing, sky diving, slot canyoning (still not sure what that is), and anything else you can think of that involves being out in the great desert landscapes surrounding Moab. Being right next to two National Parks - Arches and Canyonlands - it's the perfect jumping off point to all of the adventures these parks can offer.

But as you may know if you've read our first book, Maiden Voyage, we headed into Canyonlands without the right gear, or the right skillset, having no idea what we were getting ourselves into. And we started down a steep and sandy cliff-edged pass called Shafer Pass, and wisely decided to turn back around after the first switchback. It was beyond us at the time. [image error] This is the tail end of Shafer Pass in Canyonlands. So this time around, Tim and I knew that we had to once and for all conquer Shafer Pass. And Emiliano and Melissa were more than happy to join us on this epic mission.

But as we entered the desert around Moab, we could see the dark brewing clouds of a menacing storm ahead. And soon the winds picked up, and red darkness enveloped the space. It was like the air became sand, and the skies became desert. Clouds of dust started whipping around us, and we braced ourselves against the sandy gusts that scratched at our eyes and noses. "This is awful!" Tim cried over to Emiliano.

"Yeah! Let's just get to a campsite as quick as we can!" Emiliano screamed through the wind at us. But as we headed down the road, we realized that even if we found a campsite, setting up in this weather was not going to be possible. Even just riding down the road was becoming treacherous as the winds knocked us from side to side. The darkness of the storm gathered around us, and the streams of headlights of oncoming traffic would break through the sandstorm gusts like ghost ships passing through the madness. [image error] After about 40 minutes of battling through this, we came into the town of Moab and saw a Denny's in the distance. And like a beacon of hope, we headed to it, no questions asked. Unfortunately, there was a "CLOSED" sing at its front door, but the door was open, so we headed inside in desperation.

"Sorry, but two of our chefs just quit, so we're closed," the woman at the front told us.

But as we took our helmets off and breathed in the tranquil air of Denny's like it was the first breath we'd taken in hours, the woman reconsidered. "Well, if you're just looking for coffee and a place to wait out the storm, I suppose we could let you sit down."

We thankfully did so, and huddled into a booth, holding those warm cups of coffee and tea like they were the best drinks we'd ever had.

I told Emiliano and Melissa, "Tim and I came to this same Denny's seven years ago when we were in Moab, and it was also a saving grace from terrible weather. But at the time we came here to escape the heat and the sun. I think I downed at least three glasses of cold water when we were here."

Tim smiled, and confirmed everything. "Yup, and now it's saved us again."

Thankfully, the storm let up, and even though we had to wait until dusk, we were eventually able to continue on our way to find a campground. [image error] There were some beautiful rainbows in the sky after the storm that evening. The next morning felt as if there had never been a storm the previous day at all. The skies were clear and blue, the waters of the Colorado River were placid. And little birds flitted from thorny tree to thorny tree.

First and last thing on the agenda of the day was to explore Moab's backroads, and most of all, to go down Shafer Pass. So we headed off to Canyonlands, and from the top rim of the plateau, we looked down at the weaving switchbacks of Shafer. And I remembered the steepness, and the loose gravel, but I had forgotten just how narrow some sections were, with an incredibly sheer drop-off to one side. This was not a road for those with vertigo. But we made it down the pass, this time with ease, and gave ourselves congratulatory high-fives at the bottom. Then we spent the rest of the day taking dirt roads through gorgeous ravines and canyons in the desert, and had lunch in a very picturesque spot. A pretty nice picnic spot. And to finish things off with a bang, we ended our day in Moab with a hike to some waterfalls. But after the falls, we had to say our goodbyes to Emiliano and Melissa, since they needed to go back to work on Monday and would try to get as far as they could down the road to Salt Lake City that evening. But our adventures in Moab had been incredible, not just because Tim and I had finally conquered our nemesis of Shafer Pass, but we had done it all in the company of incredible friends, friends whom we had made in other continents, friends for life.

​Because it's not all just about the views and the roads, but the people you share it with. It's always nice to end the day with a waterfall. [image error] Emiliano and Melissa on our evening hike. I want to thank Brandon Lever and his wife Katherine for all they've done for us, and also give a big shout-out to Emiliano and Melissa for being troopers during that crazy storm, and for being there with us for some of our best experiences in Utah.

Next time we'll tell you all about the Expo West in Arizona, as well as a few more journeys we have had recreating our steps from the past, as well as making new memories. So until then, have a wonderful week! Canyonlands is an appropriate name for the place I think.

The Highs and Lows of Idaho

The Notier Notes Our Sunday Scoop I used to think Idaho was just full of potatoes. In fact, I never gave much thought to the state until someone told me that it was America's greatest hidden gem. And then more people told me the same. It took me a while to believe them, and to be honest, I still held some skepticism for years, figuring I might as well just go and see what they were talking about for myself.

​Idaho's beauty may not be such a secret anymore, but it certainly still holds an allure created by legends of lost travelers who speak of this treasure of a state like it's a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. [image error] Tim and I had a dear friend in Boise, Idaho who we'd been meaning to visit. Brandon is a fellow motorcycle traveler and adventurer (and sometimes cowboy), and someone whom we had been in contact with for years. So this year, as we had a brief moment between Overland Expos to spend some time exploring out west, we decided to visit him and his incredible state.

We had just finished riding the Colorado Backcountry Discover Route through four fantastic mountain passes - Cinnamon, California, Hurricane, and Corkscrew. And since we were starting off in southern Colorado and wanted to end up in Idaho, we decided to ride through beautiful Utah along the way. [image error] Upon entering Utah, its strange and always stunning landscapes greeted us. We had technically been to Idaho before on our original "Maiden Voyage" from seven years ago, but we had only spent a couple hours just scraping the corner of the state. Still, we decided to retrace some of our steps by going to Logan, Utah, and eating pizza at the very same pizza joint that we had found seven years ago - The Pizza Factory. And it was just as good!

​We were eating our deep dish delight outside, when a passerby stopped to inquire about our crazy-looking motorcycle. As we proceeded to tell him about our travel plans, he stopped us in the middle and said, "But if you go that way, you'll be missing all the best stuff in Southern Idaho."

​It turns out that he was a bicyclist and had given tours in the region, and he certainly had a few bits of good advice up his sleeve. So after a lunch of re-consulting the map, we changed plans (we didn't know what we were really doing anyway), and headed off in our new found direction.

As we entered Idaho from Utah, the grasslands were sloping and hilly, rolling to and fro like giant ocean waves embracing the road. Cattle grazed like pods of distant dolphins, and old farmhouses dotted the landscape like intermittent islands. [image error] By the time we got to the flat plains above Craters of the Moon National Monument, and the wind picked up and tossed us around like a cat toy, I began to think that everyone who had advised us to go to Idaho had lost their minds. This was awful. There was a stark beauty to it all, and the black volcanic rocks and occasional ancient volcanic slope of a mountain in the distance did completely remind me of craters of the moon. But as the winds raged and rang in my ears, all I could think about was looking forward to next moment where we could find a shelter.

So we pulled into a gas station to take a breather from our losing battle with the winds, and a woman asked about our travels. We mistakenly informed her that along our intended route we were going through Idaho Falls, but what we meant was Idaho City. And apparently, there's a huge difference. This woman was from Idaho Falls just up the road, and corrected us to inform us that we would be heading through Idaho City instead, but she said it with a grimace. "But I don't like that place," she grumbled. "Too many trees."

"Too many trees?!" Tim cried, looking around him as if he actually saw one, he'd run up and hug it. He whispered to me, "Man, I would give anything to see a tree right now." Idaho welcomed us with winds and plenty of nothingness. Once the afternoon started to fade into evening, we were happy to finally find ourselves amidst wind-blocking mountains again. And it wasn't just a welcome relief, these mountains and valleys were some of the most picturesque and perfect places I had ever seen.

If you were to google image search "heavenly landscape", it's more than possible you'll find a few pictures of the Dolomites in Italy, or perhaps a few Swiss valleys - its green, lush, soft fields contrasting with the rough and jagged and mighty stone peaks of the mountains all around. That image to many people is as heavenly beautiful as it gets here on earth, and Challis, Idaho would fit right in. [image error] T5 is not a bad camp spot. Originally, we had planned to camp that night in Crater of the Moon National Monument, but the biker man had told us to stay the night in Challis instead, particularly because there were some hot springs at a campground there that were some of the best he'd been to. And I am so thankful he changed our minds. Because instead of a stark, hot, and windy lava field, we found ourselves that evening in a Garden of Eden campground of grassy fields, surrounded by both red sandstone and white granite peaks. We swam in a blissfully hot crystal clear pool of water that naturally sprang up from the earth as if it was there simply for our pleasure. And if someone had asked me to move there the next day and forgo all our other travels, I might have. [image error] But the next morning we forced ourselves to pack up and leave, because this day's ride was going to be through the famous Sawtooth Mountains of Idaho. Heading southwest from Challis, the road snaked its way along a path long ago carved through the mountains by a river, and as the pine trees increased (joy!) and the mountains heightened, we eventually found ourselves at the very same lake that Tim's brother had visited the year before, Lake Stanley. And we what a great recommendation to stop there! [image error] From that high point, we continued following the river down and through the mountains. The weather was perfect, the sun was streaming through the trees and sparse clouds, and the road was curving and paved. We kept pulling over to take pictures, but at one such spot, Tim turned on the bike to leave, and it just died. Our hearts sank.

This was the exact same problem that had occurred when the bike had broken down on the bridge over the Mississippi River. It was the same exact problem that forced us to get a tow from our friend Pete in Denver. We thought we'd fixed it by cleaning out a water-logged regulator, but clearly, there was something else wrong.

Luckily, we were able to get the bike started again, but as we headed down to Boise, our high spirits were now no longer so high. We pulled up to Brandon's house, and couldn't have received a better welcome. Not only was his hospitality and family wonderful, but he immediately put our worries at ease with his positive attitude. "The bike will be all right," he told us with his warm and infectious smile. [image error] Brandon, me, Tim, and Brandon's wife Katherine The next day we headed out to see more Idaho friends, the guys from Upshift magazine who we had written articles for and had been meaning to meet for years. Upshift is one of our favorite publications because not only is their content incredible, but it's all online and it's FREE! We love just sending the link to people to read on their phones or tablets, computers or TVs... If you haven't checked it out, and you like our blog posts, I would definitely recommend that you do!

We had a great time over there, talking all things motorcycle travel, and on the way back, everything was fine with the bike as if it had just had a little hiccup before, and had now forgotten all about it. But the following day, when Tim started her up to go out and get groceries, she died once again. And this time, the bike wouldn't start at all.

"Well, at least we're not on the side of the road," Tim told me with a voice that was trying to be cheerful, but was clearly heavy with despair.

"And at least we're not stuck on a bridge going over the largest river in the US that's under construction," I replied, feeling equally down.

Tim called the KTM dealer in town, but they said they had a backlog of seven weeks out. Then the Upshift guys tried to work their magic, and Brandon tried to pull as many strings as he could, but to no avail. Even the neighbor came by to test his hand at mechanically fixing the motorcycle, but it was as dead as could be.

But Brandon told us he had a good feeling that everything was going to work out. "We'll get this all sorted, I'm sure of it," he told us. But after having gone through so many breakdowns, I honestly just couldn't get myself to fully believe him.

But I guess that's the thing about Idaho. You have to see it to believe it. [image error] Since the Overland Expo West was coming up the following weekend in Flagstaff, Arizona, we didn't have time to wait for mechanics in Idaho. And so in a last ditch effort, we called the KTM dealership in Salt Lake City, the same place that we had gone to three times before on various journeys, and they'd always been able to work wonders. And they told Tim, "If you can get the motorcycle here, we'll take a look at it the moment you arrive."

"All right!" he cried. "Now we just need to get ourselves to Salt Lake City!"

And once again, Brandon's let's-get-it-done attitude saved the day as he offered to tow us in his trailer down to Utah the next morning. Now although we'd certainly had enough of being towed around, we accepted his generosity because this was the only way we'd even have a glimmer of hope that we could fix our motorcycle before the Expo West. And so we took him up on his offer, and headed down to Salt Lake City...

​I hope everyone finds themselves safe and comfortable, and with working vehicles! Stay tuned!

Until next time... Subscribe to Our Blog Gift Us a Gallon of Gas

Defeating the Mountain

The Notier Notes Our Sunday Scoop While we were making base camp with our friend Pete West in Denver, and planning our trip to Idaho, we were inspired to do a little detour. We met one of Pete's friends, Brady of MeerkatADV, and a fellow motorcycle adventurist like ourselves, and he had made videos of his time riding some incredibly high and gorgeous mountain passes in southern Colorado - Cinnamon Pass, California Pass, Hurricane Pass, and the toughest of the four, Corkscrew Pass. And when we saw the footage, our jaws dropped.

"It looks like Peru!" Tim cried with his eyes alight.

"Or Argentina, or Chile!" I said, grinning from ear to ear.

Considering that the mountain passes we did in those countries were some of our favorite riding on the planet, this meant that we now knew what our next adventure was going to be. Me, Lisa, and Brady But one of the things we loved about those passes in Peru, Chile, and Argentina was that they were tough. Really tough. And these four passes in Colorado were going to be no exception.

They looked steep, rugged, rutted, and full of loose rocks. And we were not going to be on your typical off-road vehicle, ATV, or motocross bike. We were going to be 2up and fully loaded on a massive KTM 1190 - quite the challenge indeed.

But with high spirits and a now newly-functioning motorcycle, we were emotionally excited to go. Yet before leaving, Pete and his wife Lisa advised me to get new boots. Lisa had broken her ankle wearing some similar boots earlier this year, and so Tim and I decided to invest in a new pair of boots that would be more suitable for off-road adventures, and with more ankle support. And although these new boots weren't cheap, I was hoping that they would be worth the money. With my new kicks on (Sidi Adventures), we headed south from Denver towards Lake City, where we found a free, roadside campsite to stay the night. It had views of the mountains, and the sound of a gushing river below, and even though we should've gotten a perfect night's sleep there, I kept waking up, too nervous about what was to come the following day. The next morning we packed up and headed off as early as could be, because we knew this was going to be one tough and exhausting day. But as we approached the first of the four mountain passes, Cinnamon Pass, we were greeted with a stunning view of a lush valley, a shimmering lake, and craggy granite peaks in the background embracing it all. And I remember thinking that things couldn't have started out better. Brady had told us that the passes got progressively more and more difficult, with Corkscrew being the most challenging. So as we started out with Cinnamon, it took a while for the pristine dirt road to even have any sort of bump or rock in it. In fact, the entirety of Cinnamon Pass was a very pleasant ride, and the only indication that things were going to get tougher were the groups of ATV riders, or people in 4WD trucks and vehicles that we'd pass. There were no low-clearance vehicle here, that was for sure. 
​
At the bottom of Cinnamon Pass, we encountered a fascinating surprise - a ghost town from the 1800's. It was built during the heyday of Colorado's gold rush, and had been a community of miners, all trying to eke out a living at 12,000 feet in altitude (3,600 meters). The buildings they made are beautiful and well-crafted, looking like they had been abandoned yesterday. Next we headed up to California Pass, which was where the real comparisons to South America started. We recognized the scrubland bushes of hardy plants that are trying to live in the tough conditions of brutal winters, intense sunlight of the summers, and low oxygen levels. And then beyond the treeline where plants could no longer grow, the geology of the area shined through with reds full of iron, or whites and grays full of granite, and the blending of all these minerals created a kaleidoscope of streaking colors. By the time we got to Hurricane Pass, we saw a mountain that looked just like Rainbow Mountain in Peru, or locally known as Vinicunca. In Peru, a stream of tourists make the trek and line up every day to take Instagram-worthy pictures of it... but here it was just us. Just us and the mountains. So far, we had dropped the bike zero times, and Tim and I were feeling pretty confident about our day. But at last it was time to. conquer the final pass - Corkscrew Pass. And a name like that wasn't all too reassuring.

In fact, when we first saw the beginning of Corkscrew Pass, it was such a steep road branching off from the main one, that I thought surely it was just some person's driveway to their farm or cabin. I thought maybe this farmer used ATV's or mountain bikes to get there (or maybe donkeys).

And then we noticed that the map indicated that we should go up this steep incline, straight up the side of the mountain. I muttered to Tim through the intercom system, "Seriously?! That's the road we're taking?" We were silent as we headed up it, not wanting to vocalize that fact that suddenly all the other traffic on the road had disappeared. There was not a single other vehicle, and that is never a good sign.

The problem with Corkscrew Pass was not so much the loose gravel, or large rocks, or tight switchbacks, or sheer drop-offs to certain doom. It was the steepness. Normally, a light-weight vehicle could use its brakes to stop, but we were so heavy, that by the time we reached the top and started heading downhill, our tires would lock up and we'd just slide down on all the gravel.

At one point, Tim took the inner edge near the rock wall instead of the cliff drop-off, when the back tire gave out. Tim tried to save it, but we slowly crashed into the mound of loose rocks beside us. It wasn't a terribly drop, but as luck would have it, a rock hit my foot, and it had twisted my leg back behind me and underneath the bike and pannier. Tim immediately asked if I was ok, but once seeing that my leg was twisted backwards, he let out a yelp of pure terror, since this was exactly what had happened when I'd hurt my foot back in Peru (and had to be on crutches for six weeks). I didn't feel any pain, and Tim and I worked as quickly as we could to get myself twisted back to a normal position, and we freed my leg from under the bike.

And once I stood up on both feet, I turned to Tim with a smile and said, "I'm fine! My foot feels 100% fine!"

I gave my leg and shake, and was immediately thankful for having purchased those expensive, but super rugged boots. Tim and I embraced, and took a moment to recollect ourselves and thank our lucky stars. Though the rest of Corkscrew Pass was steep and twisty, Tim did an excellent job of keeping the bike upright for the remainder of the day. And as we headed out of the foothill forest, and hit the perfect pavement of Colorado's Million Dollar Highway, we high-fived and felt like we had just climbed Everest.

We had done it - we had faced a huge challenge, and had come out victorious. And for us, this was what it was all about, not the easy days, not the smooth roads. But the difficult ones. We were a team, and we felt as if nothing could ever stop us. Unfortunately, as we headed from there into Idaho, disaster would strike once again, and we no longer felt so confident. But that's all for next week's blog, so stay tuned! Subscribe to Our Blog Buy Us a Gallon of Gas

Riding High in Colorado

The Notier Notes Our Sunday Scoop We were already feeling pretty much on top of the world after our incredible weekend at the Overland Expo Mountain West near Denver. We had just spent four days meeting wonderful people, sharing stories, and it was a real honor to be given such a spotlight as the only presenting representatives of international motorcycle travel. 

But this feeling of euphoria was about to get even better as we headed off with a film crew from LA into the mountains to do a shoot on us!
I know what you're thinking... what???! Yeah, that's what we were thinking too.

We had been told that the Overland Expo wanted to do a short documentary series on overlanders that would come out monthly called Why We Roam. It will be produced by John Kingston of Roaming Lost, and we had been recommended to be a part of their second episode!

Each episode is only going to be about six minutes long, but the way I see it, they are like extended commercials on what it's like to be a full-time overlander, focusing on what inspires us, and what challenges we've faced. I believe the purpose is to get people excited about hitting the road by whichever means they have, and to showcase several different ways of doing it.

​But when we signed up for this, we didn't really have any understanding of what we were getting ourselves into. Was this going to be weird, awkward, exhausting, or amazing?

Well let me just put it this way - it BLEW OUR MINDS, and was one of the coolest things we've ever done! Jackson, Kingston, and Kat, oh yeah, and Shadow... First of all, we got introduced to the "crew" - Kingston and his wife, Kat, were part-time overlanders in their 4x4, and have been interested in possibly upgrading (Unimog maybe?) and hitting the road full-time in the near future. Their friend and co-filmmaker, Jackson, also enjoys a life on the road, and it was fantastic getting the chance to pick their brains about the photography and videography equipment they used, and the entire world of film and commercial production.

​Oh yeah, and then there was Shadow, a gorgeous Australian Shepherd who, not surprisingly, also enjoyed a life on the road just as much as his owners. We met them at the Expo, and followed them out to a dispersed campsite in the mountains, arriving in the night. The next morning, we got straight to work bright and early in order to get the first rays of sunlight (golden hour), which makes good lighting for shooting.

First they did an interview of us, which I was surprisingly nervous for. My voice kept cracking (it was still quite early in the morning), and since I'd not even looked in the mirror yet, I later realized that my necklaces had been all messed up the whole time... Oh well. There's nothing we can do about that now. But they said that the interview was usually done first so that they had a backbone from which to focus the rest of their shots.

As we made our tea and coffee back at camp, they'd take amazing artistic b-roll of the steam coming from cups, or of Tim lighting our MSR stove. It was so cool to see the small little things that they would pick up on, but also a little weird to have a silent camera man following you around while you did your daily tasks. Jackson getting a side-view mirror shot. But then once the morning light streamed into full-on daylight, the work stopped. And it was time to wait until evening.

This siesta time was wonderful, because as you can imagine, Tim and I were pretty tired after the Expo weekend. But this also gave us a chance just to sit back and enjoy the mountains, along with our new friends from LA. These were some of my favorite moments of our time out there - just chatting about how we all make our crazy lifestyles work, and throwing balls for Shadow to fetch. I came to really respect everything that the three of them were doing, and their artistic eye and talent for taking ordinary things and making them look extraordinary on film. Sitting around the camp is nice just by itself. Tim and I have been recording our lives for many years now, and it's hard work. We don't record everything, just the things that matter to us, but even that is tough. Getting the right shot, the right audio, then organizing it all and creating something that makes sense out of it (for example - our YouTube videos, this blog and its pictures, our website, social media posts)... it's all a full-time job in many ways. But no matter how hard we work on it, it will never be anything close to the real thing - to actually living our dreams, and to how we feel as we get up that mountain pass, or soar down those twisties.

But as evening approached that first day, and we went out for a ride into the mountain roads, this was the first time in my life that I felt that maybe some of what we do had actually been captured in a proper way. Because as Jackson and Kingston would show us some of their raw footage of us going down a trail, or bouncing over rocks, I was just stunned at how gorgeous it was. In my head, listening to the music in my helmet, I feel like I'm my own protagonist of my own movie. But now it was like that movie was real, and actually playing out in front of my eyes! Tim turned to me and whispered, "Man, that footage of us on the dirt roads was so good, I hope they end up using a bunch of it." But what happened next, made him take back his last statement.

Because Jackson strapped on a crazy gimble thingy to the back of his car, and then a super nice camera onto that. And while Kingston drove, Jackson controlled the camera while we rode right behind them on a gorgeous paved road high up in the mountains. Oh yeah, and it was sunset, with sunlight streaming through bits of clouds like god rays... it couldn't have been better. We had to stay as close as we could to the car due to the wide angle lens (to capture the views). "The closer the better, but whatever you're comfortable with," they told us. Well, a motorcycle can brake faster, speed up quicker, and be more maneuverable than any car, so yeah, we were close. Like six-inches close to their car, going at a good speed down the highway. It was a little scary, but totally thrilling! And when they gave us a glimpse of the footage on their phones afterwards, even the raw, flat, colorless footage, Tim and I were speechless. It looked like we had just starred in our own KTM commercial! It was a scene out of a Marvel movie, it was a dream sequence from heaven... You have no idea how excited I am for this video of us to come out. Once again, Tim turned to me and said, "Ok, forget all that about the dirt road footage. I hope they use more of this in the video!"

We spent a total of three nights camping out there, and after the first full day, the rest was pretty relaxed. They took some shots of us breaking down our camp, but mostly they were busy shooting another overlanding couple for the third episode of Why We Roam. This couple was Eric and Brittany of Hourless Life, with their young son Caspian, who was adorable. They've outfitted an awesome Jeep Gladiator which has become their new home, and in it they travel the country while raising their child on the road. Brittany of Hourless Life. Caspian and his artwork. We had wonderful evenings talking about all our travels and plans for the future, but at last, it was time to leave our little idyllic world in the mountains (besides the fact that we ran out of water and food, and I desperately needed to shower).

So now we're back in the real world (Denver), and making preparations for the next leg of our journey - Idaho! I hope you are all well, and I'll see you next week with plenty more adventures, I'm sure... Subscribe to Our Blog Buy Us a Gallon of Gas

Overland Expo Mountain West

The Notier Notes Our Sunday Scoop Photo by Richard Giordano of Desk to Glory / Expedition Portal This is what we've been waiting all year for... No, actually, we've been waiting two years for it - the Overland Expo.

For Tim and I, the Overland Expo has been our inspiration for traveling by motorcycle since the very beginning. When Tim first attended as an audience member in 2017, he was starry-eyed and bursting with excitement for what our potential future could hold. He met some of the moto-travel greats - Sam Manicom, Lisa and Simon Thomas, Ted Simon, and so many more... And he began to wonder, "What if I could do this too? What if I could also travel the world by motorcycle and one day stand up on a stage to inspire others with my stories?"

​Well, I can't even believe I'm able to say this now, but our dreams just came true. And then plus some as well! Us with a wonderful group of fellow two-up riders! You might recall that last week we had a major breakdown while heading out to Colorado. We didn't even make it over the Mississippi River bridge to Iowa before the bike just cut out mid-ride, and wouldn't start again. But after being saved by our dear friend Pete West who drove through the night to pick us up with his truck and trailer, things have been looking up for us. And we're beginning to once again believe that we are the luckiest people on earth.

Now with a functioning motorcycle, we pulled up to the Expo in Loveland, Colorado early with Pete, and set up camp in a grassy corner to prepare what would be our home for the next four days. Since everything at the Expo had to be virtual last year, people have been waiting a long time for its return, and we could feel the excitement in the air as people talked to one another in line while purchasing their tickets. And our jaws dropped as we realized that every single person who had a weekend pass or specialty ticket was given an Overland Journal magazine free with their entry ticket - the very same issue that we had an article featured in!

Once camp was set up, Tim walked around the venue grounds, and was getting stopped by random people who would say, "Hey, you're the guy in the magazine!" What perfect timing for that article to come out, and we couldn't have asked for better promotion! This was the beginning of our article in the Overland Journal. Thursday was just a day to get things set up and settled in, because Friday was when the real work began. That's because this time we were no longer just audience members who could walk around and mingle, but we were now presenters with a full schedule. Plus, every moment that we weren't presenting, or teaching a class, or being a panel member on a roundtable, was spent selling books at our book booth. And even though it was non-stop, it was incredibly fun meeting new people, sharing stories, and reconnecting with old friends. And... we nearly sold out of books!

Sadly, because many of the British "motorcycle travel greats" could not come this year, we were placed front and center as the only representatives of international motorcycle travel on the ticket. This put the spotlight directly on us in a huge way, and even though we had really big shoes to fill, it was such an honor to be given the chance to do so.

There was another new thing this year since there are normally only two Expos per summer - Overland Expo West in Arizona, and Overland Expo East in Virginia. But this time they've added a third one - Mountain West in Colorado! This was the first one of the season, and everyone was excited for this new location. Us riding around the Expo. The venue was wonderful, the grounds were accommodating, and since every ticket was sold out, the turn-out was fantastic. The event went incredibly well, and we had the time of our lives. Our roundtables were filled with laughter, our presentations flowed flawlessly, and even though I was skeptical at first that anyone would show up for our 2up packing demonstrations, they did! Some people even took notes! 

The Overland Expo is not just about motorcycle-related travel, but it includes 4x4 vehicles as well (but not RVs). In fact, the four-wheelers make up the bulk of the Expo, though I do completely believe that motorcycles steal the show. There's just something a bit more rugged and crazy and "putting yourself out there" about motorcycle travel that people seem to respect and be drawn to. They may not want to do it themselves, because they understand that it's a risk, and a challenge, and there's nothing easy about it. But at the same time, people realize that it's all those challenges that make the experience worth it.

Over the course of the weekend, we got to meet lots of people who were interested in our journeys, but we also got to inspire a few who had never heard of us, or had never had any interest in motorcycle travel before. And for Tim and I, that's our favorite part - inspiring others, and I'm not talking about getting people to follow us or be interested in us... it's all about inspiring others to find whatever it is that brings them joy in life, and to motivate them to go out there and do it. Here we are with Eric Melvin of Adventure Riders of Colorado. Two of our newest friends (and fellow overlanders) - Richard and Ashley Giordano of Desk to Glory. The entire Expo was unbelievable, but something particularly special happened on Saturday night at the Moto Party. This is an event for motorcyclists that includes a dinner and raffle, but before the raffle got started, our friend Azure, the Overland Expo Events Coordinator, got up at the front with the microphone and asked, "How many of you here experienced a motorcycle break down?" At this moment, Tim got out the GoPro camera, and my heart began to pound, because I knew what was about to happen.

Azure went on to talk about the break down that Tim and I had over the Mississippi River, and she told the audience about how she received a call from Tim saying that there was a good chance we wouldn't be able to make it out to Colorado. And therefore we wouldn't be in attendance at the Expo.

But then she told the story of how Pete West saved the day, and Pete, who was sitting right beside me, started getting all teary-eyed. As she called him up to the front to receive his Spirit of Overlanding Award (along with some comp tickets to next year's event and a bunch of great prizes), the crowd hollered "You're a super hero!" Pete got up there and made a lovely speech about how any one of us would've done the same. And although I'm not so sure how true that is, I do believe that there is something special about the overlanding community. Tim and I discover time and time again that when things go wrong, there's always someone out there with a friendly smile and a helping hand. Pete getting up to receive his award. Speaking of miracle workers giving us a helping hand, we cannot thank everyone enough for all the gallons of gas we have received. So thank you to Karen Hochman, Don A. Riedel, Duane Northrop, William Peterson, Robyn, Travis and Chantil (who are undertaking their own incredible travels, find them at viajarmoto), and as if they weren't already on our list of guardian angels, Pete and Lisa West. Also, we send out a huge thank you to everyone else who has supported us anonymously, and who has purchased our books... we couldn't be doing what we love to do without you all!

And those gallons of gas have been put to good use so far - because directly after the Expo we headed off with a film crew from LA to do a short docu shoot on us, part of the series Why We Roam. Plus, we'll be heading out to Idaho in the next week... but more on all that in the next blog post.

​Until then, stay safe, and thank you everyone! Subscribe to Our Blog Buy Us a Gallon of Gas

When An Even Worse Disaster Strikes...

The Notiers Notes Our Sunday Scoop You may recall from our previous post that we had a bit of a problem last week - the bearings on the front wheel of our motorcycle blew up. And we naïvely thought that this might be the worst of it. That once we fixed the bearings, then we'd be able to ride from Chicago to Colorado with no problems, and attend the Overland Expo there in high spirits.

But we may have been a bit too optimistic. Besides the bearings, we had also been dealing with a few other minor issues, such as a broken fuel line connector, and the bike's electrical system shorting out sometimes, which rendered it unable to start for a scary moment. But nothing seemed catastrophic, so we figured we'd get out to Colorado as soon as possible, and deal with these little repairs once there.

But Tim says he had a feeling that something awful was going to happen to us, and that we might not be able to make it. I had no such feeling. So I just blindly hopped onto the bike a week ago in Chicago, said goodbye to Tim's dad, and headed west thinking that all would be well. We had a great time in Chicago, including seeing our motorcycle traveling friend who we'd met in Africa, Emiliano! Last week, I had been very proud of Tim and I for dealing with the bearings issue with level-headedness, and a sense that "all will be alright in the end". But I was afraid that if anything else major happened to us in the near future, it might just be the straw to break the camel's back...

We left Chicago feeling good, or at least I felt confident. The weather was gorgeous, and after stopping at my parents' for a lovely lunch on our way out of the city, we hit the corn fields and silver silos, and the vast skies of the countryside. Our destination that night was a campground in neighboring Iowa, and as we came up to the huge bridge leading over the Mississippi River that carves our continent into partitions, we got really excited. In general, I love seeing the Mississippi. Having always been a fan of Mark Twain, it conjures up feelings of a bygone era of steamboats and blues musicians. But as we cruised up to the bridge, suddenly the engine died, and we stalled out.

We knew we had to pull over, but to make things worse, the bridge was under construction, and so this narrowed the traffic down to one lane in each direction, with concrete barriers on all sides and in between. It meant we had to pull off into the construction area while semi trucks zoomed past us just feet away. We got off the bike to survey the situation, and unlike the other times when there had been an electronic failure to initially start the bike, this time it had happened while riding. And now the bike simply wouldn't start again.

Tim tried everything he knew how to do. It was a process of elimination, and he was able to eliminate a few things - it wasn't the Power Distribution Module, and it wasn't the kickstand sensor. But now he was starting to be at a loss. And then his worst nightmare happened - by trying to start the bike so many times, he drained the battery, and the bike was truly dead.

And the most ironic part of it all is that we have traveled for the past four years with an external battery jumper, and never needed to use it. But right before we left Chicago, Tim was testing it, and it malfunctioned. So for the first time ever, we left without one.

Now we were in one of the worst spots we could imagine to break down. And the bike had truly flatlined. Several construction workers came by to ask if we were all right, and to give their support. But strict working schedules and regulations meant that they couldn't just drop everything to help.

We couldn't turn around because the concrete barriers had blocked the way to the other side of the road, and the bridge was enormous. It would be a long, treacherous journey to the other end by pushing the bike, but it seemed we had no other choice. Tim tried everything he could think of... At long last, a very kind worker named Justin was ending his shift, and helped us push the bike most of the way across the bridge. At one point there was machinery blocking the way, and he said that we'd have to get the state troopers involved if we needed to block off traffic. But luckily we got around the machinery in a gap between the cars zooming by, and pushed the bike past the apex of the bridge and onto the slope downwards. Even so, we still weren't in either state - neither Illinois or Iowa. We were in no-man's land.

Tim tried to call U-haul or a tow company, but nobody could hear him due to the loud traffic beside us. But again, we should never doubt the kindness of strangers, because Justin soon pulled up in his truck to take Tim into town, leaving me and the bike to wait on the bridge. Justin pushing us along the bridge. I don't know how long this bridge was, but it felt a mile long. I was there for hours. My phone said the temperature there was 94˚, humidity high, and all the noise and construction dust being whipped around by the semis speeding by didn't help. But hey, at least it wasn't raining.

At last, Tim returned to tell me that he'd hired a tow truck that could bring us to the nearest hotel. And that a miracle had happened - he had called our friend Pete West who lives in Colorado and who we were going to visit. He'd called him just to see if Pete knew of any people out in Iowa. Pete is a wealth of knowledge in the motorcycle community, but then he said without even thinking about it, "I'm coming to get you."

Tim said, "What?! No, you're in Colorado. I'm in Iowa, that would be crazy!"

But the truth was, we were in a bit of a bad spot (not just literally, but figuratively as well). And even if we could get the bike back to Chicago, we would have had to cancel our presentations at the Overland Expo in Colorado. Pete lived less than an hour from the Expo, and insisted on coming to get us. A true hero. Plus, Pete and his plethora of motorcycle-knowledgeable friends might be able to diagnose the problem that would allow us to go to the Expo on our beloved KTM.

And so the impossible happened. We actually got picked up by our guardian angel, Pete West, who drove all the way from Colorado to Iowa, only to drive us all the way back to Colorado. Unbelievable... Pete West Jr. and his wife Lisa are two of the greatest people we have ever met. Pete, Tim, and the bike strapped to Pete's trailer. I can't even begin to explain how grateful we are to all the helping hands that have reached out to us along our travels. Each and every one has turned our dreams into a reality, even when reality starts to tear apart our dreams. But it's through these people's generosity that we can keep going, and for every one we are thankful, though perhaps maybe none more so than to Pete West. 

While I sat there on that bridge, alone, covered in dust and sweat, trying to block out the noise and chaos swishing past me while the bridge's concrete trembled beneath me, I wanted to cry. I knew it wouldn't do any good, but that's what I wanted to do.

But when I heard that Pete was coming out to get us, my jaw dropped while my heart rose. It was hope, that just like always, everything was going to be ok. And that on the other side of every storm there's a rainbow. Sunset over eastern Colorado. The views while we drove out west. James and Tim working on fixing our bike. So now we are here in Colorado, and just like we had hoped, Pete and his friends have gotten the bike to start again. We're still not 100% sure that we've solved the main problem (there was fluid in the regulator, how it got there, no one knows), but we're definitely problem solving. And the important part is that we'll be able to go to the Expo!

Thank you to everyone who has bought us a gallon of gas, and has helped us along the way. We hope to bring you happy stories from the Expo on our next blog post, but until then, stay safe everyone! Subscribe to Our Blog Buy Us a Gallon of Gas

When Disaster Strikes

The Notier Notes Our Sunday Scoop As with anything in life, traveling by motorcycle can sometimes test your patience. There are times when Tim and I feel like the world is plotting against us, and as if everything that could go wrong does go wrong.

There are times when we scream and shout and end up upset with each other for no good reason. There are times when if we could watch a recording of ourselves a day later, we'd be completely ashamed of how childish we'd acted.

It's in these instances that we know we are truly being tested, but of course, we always forget about how poorly we're failing the test when we're in the moment. Only when we take a step away and look back at what has happened, can we appreciate how with every miserable break down, and every seemingly insurmountable obstacle, something marvelous was just around the corner. If only we could have known. But this time, on our way up to Chicago after our visit to Florida, and something went wrong once again, we didn't curse the road gremlins for making our lives miserable. We didn't shout and scream (ok, Tim let out one loud expletive, but that's forgivable), and we didn't turn on each other, which is an evil tar trap that we all-too-often fall into.

We actually tried to solve what we could, and accept what we couldn't.

​We had just had one of the most remarkable weeks of our lives. We had reached the southernmost point in the US by motorcycle at the Florida Keys, we'd then had an unexpected private flight to the Bahamas with an old friend, and then on our last day in Florida, the state had an extra surprise in store for us.

We were visiting one of Tim's brothers who lives in the Daytona Beach region of Florida, when we noticed an interesting picture on his wall. It was of a gorgeous old tree with crooked, gnarly, wizard-like branches, matched only by the Spanish Moss hanging from them like wispy wizard beards. We were told that this tree was not too far away, and it was estimated to be about 2,000 years old. It was called Fairchild Oak, and there was a scenic road around the area known as "the Loop" that we could take if we wanted.

​Well of course we wanted to take it! This tree is truly 2,000 years old. It may have been as hot as the surface of the sun as we rode around, and as humid as the bottom of the ocean, but that couldn't dampen our good moods as we took the Loop around Fairchild Oak and the surrounding forests. We saw a friendly tortoise crossing the road. He blinked his reptilian eyelids at us, pulled himself out his shell once he felt safe, and dragged himself through the dirt like he couldn't be bothered with us. When we got to the tree, we realized that it was truly a couple millennia old. A plaque by it read, "This live oak has withstood hurricane winds, fires, droughts, wars, and all the follies of mankind for centuries." And for some reason, the expression all the follies of mankind really stuck with me.

I kept pondering the idea that this tree had seen generations of people and animals come and go, and yet despite all the changes that this world has gone through, if the tree had a brain, it probably wouldn't think things are too different now than they've ever been. It lives in its little grove that now has a wooden fence, but is still mostly just forest. Squirrels, birds, and lizards live in its branches, along with thousands of insects, like they always have. And it made me smile.

I'm not really sure why, but the thought of the permanence of this tree really comforted me. We left the Loop in high spirits, taking the oceanfront road that ran along the Atlantic. We rode north to Georgia, stayed in our favorite little RV Park along the way, and even had a wonderful night at a family member's cabin. But it was after Tennessee that our blissful journey suddenly flushed down the toilet.

We were on the highway going at a pretty high speed, and Tim and I could both feel that there was a strange wobble to the bike. Some construction on the road made us slow a bit, and the wobble seemed to worsen. The right side mirror trembled like it was frightened, and Tim told me, "There's something wrong with the front tire. I'm pulling over."

Though I could see nothing wrong, Tim immediately diagnosed that it wasn't the tire that was the problem, it was the wheel. And to be more specific, one of the front wheel bearings blew up, completely pulverized to smithereens. Doesn't look like much to me, but apparently this is awful. Normally when something like this goes wrong, we go into freak-out mode. We both pace back and forth in disbelief at our incredible misfortune before we can collect ourselves enough to start problem-solving. And sometimes we don't ever even get to that point.

But this time was different. Tim let out that one roar of a scream, but then proceeded to explain to me how this wasn't good in simple motorcycle terms that I could understand. But he was calm, and that made me also calm. And we looked at each other, and gave each other that knowing expression of, "We'll get through this, just like we always do." It's the confidence I guess you get from being on the road together for so long.

​We were able to get the bike off the highway, and we pulled into a country church parking lot to reassess our options. Since this exact same thing had happened to our friends, the Adventure Haks, when we were in Bolivia, Tim immediately gave Brendon Hak a call. He did his best remote diagnosis, and although he confirmed that damage had definitely been done, he also said that since the wheel didn't have any side-to-side movement, riding the bike at low speeds to where we needed to be that night was probably doable, and our best option.

In some ways we were lucky. Tim had another family member who lived about an hour away. I had a family member come and pick us up and bring us (and the messed-up tire) back to Chicago. And since then, we've been able to get new bearings, and with the help of our friend Aaron, get them properly installed. So now the front wheel spins again, but like all things in life, with the good luck comes the bad. There's a short somewhere that won't let the bike start sometimes. And when removing the tank, Tim accidentally stripped the fuel line... this past week has been quite the roller coaster. Our bearings literally turned to metallic dust. Even so, we need to get ourselves and the bike to the Overland Expo in Colorado where we'll be giving speeches in just a week. So despite all the problems, we're going to have to push on.

But I'm proud of how this has all gone, not because we've been unlucky with all that life has thrown at us, but because we've taken it all in stride. We've reacted to it all with a clear mind not overcast in frustrations, and with the knowledge that just like that old oak tree. hurricanes come and go, followed by plenty of rainstorms in between. But that the sun will shine upon us soon enough.

We're leaving tomorrow to head west, so wish us luck. Subscribe to Our Blog Buy Us a Gallon of Gas