3 Days in the Dirt

Saw a brochure at last year's motorcycle show on the WABDR, and decided this was just the thing to take my Husky on. I waited and waited and waited for Sportsguy or EscapeArtists to stop talking about getting an ADV bike and pony up so I'd have some company, but seasons came and went, and I decided to just make my own plans.

Got about 12 or so fellow Microsoft employees to join up and commit, and over the course of two months we met and laid out plans. We'd start from Conconully, WA and take the 5th, 4th, and 3rd sections of the route over three days, which worked out to around 350 miles, about 25 of which were paved. The rest was a mix of forest roads and dual or single track, with elevations as low as 500 feet and as high as 6200 feet.

We'd camp along the way and haul our own stuff. At least that was the plan, but when I got my gear all organized and eyed the itty bitty luggage rack on the Husky, it was clear I'd have to improvise.



If Charlie and Ewan could bring several support trucks, surely I could stack my camp gear in the Toyota FJ that decided to join us. Others saw the same opportunity, and soon the rig was packed.



We had about 5 hours of travel to get to Conconully, and my wife agreed to to trailer mine and another bike up while the larger bikes rode up Hwy 20.



Conconully is a podunk little place about 40 miles northwest of Okanogan.



We got there close to midnight and quickly set up camp at the state park. One of the riders made it in past midnight, as his DRZ400 was stolen that morning and he had to scramble to ready his KTM 950. The bike was later recovered.

We awoke to clear skies and plenty of deer droppings all around our tents.





We rode to the trailhead and headed out for the first leg, about 110 miles south and ending in Chelan.





Just after crossing Highway 20, we got halted for a while by the logging traffic, but managed to squeeze by.





I had a fanny pack with a nice Camelback H20 bladder and snacks for the day. Way better than a backpack, given the heat was approaching 90 degrees.



By this time, the group had re-arranged itself according to speed and skill. I moved up to 3rd or 4th, mostly owing to the Husky's better off-road abilities than to any skill. The road opened up and we started to climb quickly in elevation.

The roads were a mix of hard packed gravel, turning rutted or rocky, and certain sections, lots of loose shale or boulders. On the hard packed parts, you could really fly.







There were lots of great single tracks to detour from:



but the views from the main route really encouraged you to stay on course.



We kept climbing higher and higher, and pretty soon, you could see all around.



We could see Chelan in the distance, and hunkered down over several ridges to make it to camp at a reasonable hour.



Rode into Chelan a bit later than expected, and stopped off at the ATM after realizing I had no cash, only plastic.



We were pretty parched and hot, and ended up at the local pub for refreshments and grub.



The big GSA wouldn't start, and it took a while to diagnose a bad battery.



A trip to NAPA cured that problem, and we made for Chelan and 25 Mile Creek. The camp site was fantastic, right next to a creek.



Lake Chelan was few hundred yards away, and after parking the bike and setting up the tent, I literally ran to the shores and jumped in. 55-60 degrees of cold water never felt so good.



That night, around the fire, the stories and banter started flying as the night wore on and the beer was consumed.



Laying down in the tent later on, the sounds of the rushing water in the nearby creek quickly lulled me to sleep.

Thanks for the appetizer, can't wait for the main course.

Very nice! Miles per tank = ?

Great report so far. Good to see another FJ rider fly'n the Husky dual sport flag. :yahoo:

You get hard-man points for doing it on the stock seat.

Definitely time for a dual sport...then I can really hurt myself!

Looks fun Hudson, thanks for sharing the ride.

--G

Great Report. Very envious. Looks like a blast except for the camping part.

One question- how did the bikes without panniers carry their camp gear? Did that FJ trail along all the way?

dcarver said:

Very nice! Miles per tank = ?

Click to expand...

I never fully drained the tank, but went 70 miles with about .5 gallons left. That's about 80 miles reasonably safely, about 10 more than I expected

UberKul said:

You get hard-man points for doing it on the stock seat.

Click to expand...

The only way it worked was to get up on the pegs a good chunk of the way. We spent lots of time climbing, so it was pretty much necessary. Standing on pegs for 50+ miles while riding varied terrain is very tiring.

Barabus said:

Great Report. Very envious. Looks like a blast except for the camping part.

One question- how did the bikes without panniers carry their camp gear? Did that FJ trail along all the way?

Click to expand...

I had a "barry sized" REI sleeping mat, 3.5" and never felt so much as a pea. Surprised how much I enjoyed the camping part. The FJ trailed the whole way, but had to detour on several sections as you'll soon see.

Day 2.

We were up, packed, and headed out for the next 100 or so miles by 9 a.m. Immediately we went from lake level to 3000 feet, over some rough and tumble terrain that had me standing on the pegs and leaning way forward, while nursing the throttle. The Husky was an absolute champ, chugging like a tractor down low, and winding out when pushed. A really great all-around ride.

Greg, one of the other riders on a F800 GS, also made good work of the trails.





But about 20 miles into the ride, his F800 started acting up, not wanting to shift. We troubleshooted a while, and couldn't find a cause.



It was an intermittant thing that plagued him the rest of the trip.

The noobie of the group was nice guy riding a WR250 supermoto, outfitted with hybrid style tires: not street, not knobbies, and not really tractable. He fell quickly the first day, and several more times throughout the trip. We all encouraged him to stand up on the pegs, and today, he finally took our advice. His speed immediately improved, and he seemed to be having way more fun.

We headed off toward a section of the route called the jungle.



This youtube video is pretty much what we faced during this rough section.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jztbh6WR9Xo

It was hard to see the road, hard to determine harmless branches from harmful branches, and my grip on the bars increased to the point my fingers quicky went numb. It was "fun" in a weird sort of way, but I was very happy when we crested and I could pull over, rest, and get some circulation back into my hands.



Looking back at Lake Chelan, it struck me how far we'd actually ridden in the past few hours.



The next 30 miles were a blast, we made great time moving through the ridge, and I was looking forward to getting to Ardenvoir, a little town, to gas up. But we missed a turn, kept going a few miles, and when we realized our mistake and turned back, we were a group of three separated from the other six. We backtracked, waited and waited, and figuring we were far ahead of the others, left a marker in the road they couldn't miss:



Turns out they were actually ahead of us, having made the right turn. We met them up at Ardenvoir's only cafe and wolfed down the best BLT I've had in a while, then headed back out. It was hot, over 95, and we tried to make up the lost time. One of the riders, a really bright German who graduated from MIT and Harvard, rode a very safe and sane speed, never standing on his pegs despite our encouragement, but never crashing either. He was routinely 5-15 minutes behind:



Slow and steady may complete the race, but my motto is more like: if you don't crash once, you're not riding hard enough."

We crested the tallest part of the route, and saw this awesome single track route to the top. Three of us decided to go for it: the KTM, the 1200 GSA (driven by a terrifically nutty Swede who really knew how to ride his steed), and me.





I stood up, leaned forward, pointed upward, and laid on the throttle till I hit the top.



At the top, I looked back. It was a seemed a lot more impressive from the top:



Just when I was feeling a mite smug at my skilz, the second KTM rider came around the bend, looked up to see us, never stopped, and climbed twice as fast and way more spectacularly than I had, in a bike that was twice the weight as mine and loaded with panniers.



This is pretty much how I feel every time I go riding with Auburn on the dirt, and Fairlaner on the street. I swear my junk gets smaller...

I didn't wallow too much, cause the view from 6200 feet was pretty awesome.





I looked around and wouldn't you know, that

got stuck in my head.










The FJ did some cool low speed manuevers on the road leading up to the crest, and soon joined us. Slowly but surely, the WR250 and the Harvard MIT guy showed up too.



The crazy swede balanced precariously off the side to get a group shot.





It was getting late, however, and we had to make it to Cashmere before the Country Boys BBQ closed. We put the hurt on the remaining 15 miles, and it was during our descent that I hit a gnarly deep rut, bottoming out the front suspension and popping off the rut hard. Several miles later, I looked down and realized I had made my first involuntary sacrifice to the WABDR gods.

My GPS was not in its RAM mount. ****.

I backtracked the prior 5 miles with the crazy swede helping out, but we never located it. Sigh. I should have been more pissed, but I was generally having such a great time, and I was really only out $150 since I got it at an REI closeout.

Plus, there were more important considerations. Like dinner.



Sorry, no food **** pix. I horcked the whole plate down, ribs, pulled pork, and chicken, cornbread and beans, and washed the gullet with some sweet tea. A nice large belch rounded out a great meal.

Thanks to Wingshot, we scored a site at the Cashmere fairgrounds, got the tents situated, and proceeded to attend to the two cases of beer sitting in ice in the KTM's panniers.



Since it was the second night, we'd pretty much dropped our pretenses and had fun just being guys, teling inappropriate jokes, and generally hassling each other. Except the Harvard Mit guy. Pretty uptight, and I don't think I heard a single cuss word. We ribbed him too. When he let it slip where he went to school, I replied, "Well, I know one thing you didn't learn there. How to stand up on your feckin pegs...."

what an awesome ride!

Great RR Dave, I would love to do that some day.

Day 3

The beer and late night carousing didn't slow us down, and we were up, fed, and ready to head out by 8. Today was the "workaround", as a washout allegedly made the route impassable for the FJ, and we didn't know whether the bikes would get through.

I headed up the road to do some scouting.



It didn't look too bad, so I waved everyone to come on through.



Then things got a bit gnarlier.







Then a bit tighter.



The route left no room for the wide pannier'd GSs', and no option to walk the bikes because the path was too narrow. You'd have to slowly feather the clutch, stand on the pegs, and navigate the bumpy narrow trail. If you stalled and tried to put your foot down, all you'd find was 4 feet of air where the road used to be. If you made it through, you had an sudden uphill climb, then a sharp turn right and through a muddy creek, then up the side onto dry land.

My skinny italian Husky had no issues, but next up was the crazy swede. We held our breath.



We needn't worry. Everyone made it through (though I had my worries about the WR rider).



We moved out and proceeded to regain our lost momentum. A thousand feet later, we were again stopped.



The crazy swede wasted no time roosting the GS and lifting his tire to clear the log.



He didn't get too far before we chipped in to assist.



The road kept going, and pretty soon, we spotted this interesting single track detour.



According to the GPS (not mine, of course, which was probably enjoying the view somewhere near Cashmere), we'd save lots of time if we took this route. The KTM rider, the GS rider (not the crazy swede), and I decided to go for it. It looked pretty tame.



The WABDR gods grew angry at our hubris. A hundred yards later, the GS rider inexplicably grabbed a handful of front brakes as we rounded into a tight corner, and low sided, denting his tank and tearing off a PIAA light. We helped him up, got the light secured, and headed out, but the gods were not appeased. They grew even angrier.

Less than a mile after the first spill, on a tough rutted climb uphill, the GS rider grazed too close to a felled log. It caught his nicely mounted aluminum pannier and tore it clean off, sending the contents flying until they resembled a WABDR yard sale. The GS rider kept the bike upright, but the pannier was toast.



It took my considerable Hudson girth to stand and jump on the side to force the pannier from its newfound trapezoidal shape into the correct rectangle from whence it started. We managed to get it reasonably secured.



Surely, the sacrificial pannier and my GPS would appease the WABDR gods, and the KTM rider and I would be spared. We crested the hill, got back onto the route, and stopped to assess ourselves. The KTM rider looked over at my Husky and smiled. "Your fork seals are shot." I looked down, and saw the fork oil oozing out the top and bottom. F#$!....



We headed out to Beehive lake to meet up with the rest of the riders.



Regrouping, we figured we'd make Cle Elum in an hour or two, and headed out to climb the last big peak before getting to Mineral Springs and the short climb and descent.





We passed some old squatter's cabins across from a glorious meadow that looked like the set of Bonanza.





With 30 miles to go, it seemed we'd conqueured the route with no real mishaps, and kept the WABDR gods at bay. Or so we thought.

Five miles after the meadows, we'd again spread out, and while in the forest I got lazy, lulled by the trees and the shade. Chugging along, I got a glimpse of movement ahead, and thirty feet in front of me, a giant Elk bounded out of the trees, flying across the road. I had only time to drop my boot on the rear brake lever before he was gone, and I was struck by how close I came to becoming a WABDR casualty.

At the next checkpoint, the KTM rider behind me didn't appear. A few minutes later, another rider joined me, and informed me the KTM rider had hit a series of whoops. I saw these and slowed the Husky to bound over them, but the KTM rider was carrying a bunch more speed, and on the third whoop, his front tire caught and he knew it was over. He purposely ejected the bike from the side and slammed hard into the ground and watched as his gorgeous 950 did a few cartwheels before coming to rest on its side. According to those behind him it was "an epic ******* crash!!!" that ended in a cloud of dust.

The WABDR gods had got their revenge on all three of us who dared to depart the official route.

We carefully nursed our way into Cle Elum, stopping to bend the KTM rider's shifter back into place, watching our speed, and regrouped at the bottom near Cle Elum. 350 miles later, we'd all made it, a lot dustier and with no real casualties save a very sore KTM rider, and some general damage to a few of the bikes.

About fifteen minutes later, the Harvard MIT rider came along, slowly putt-putting in on his DRZ, his *** cheeks firmly planted on the seat, and not a scratch, dent, missing item, or leaking fork seals to speak of.

*******...

Dr. Hudson,

Excellent RR, buddy!

Things I Learned About the WABDR

Should any of you decide to do your own adventure, take heed of my lessons learned:

1. Don't wait. Just plan it and do it. You don't need to go around the world to have an adventure, but you do need to get off your keyboard.

2. 350 miles on dirt is a long way. Way longer and more tiring than 600 miles in one day on pavement.

3. Hydrate frequently. You need at least 3 liters a day.

4. The one tool you will need is the tool you didn't pack. You won't need the tools you do pack. Discuss amongst yourselves...

5. Discuss and then stick to plan on what to do if you get separated.

6. Have someone in the group bring a SPOT. Cheap piece of mind.

7. Something will break or wear out on your bike. It's the cost of the adventure.

8. Tether your GPS.

9. A friend with an off-road rig is just as desirable as a friend with a dual sport. Maybe even more so. Just don't do this by yourself, and if you decide to anyway, not without a SPOT.

10.Get up on your feckin pegs for chrissakes. You look like a dork climbing hills sitting on your ***, and everyone in the group is silently cursing you.

Tempt the gods, but have a backup plan. Enjoy your own adventure.

(I'm looking at you, Sportsguy.)

I love it! Really wanna ride WABDR soon. I'm hoping to look for a decent dualsport next year.

Watching the news just now, I am saddened to learn now of the Taylor Bridge fire, at the very end our 3 day adventure route. It started Monday and has already burned 60 homes, killed hundreds if not thousands of horses, dogs, and other wildlife, and it not close to being contained.

Thoughts and prayers are with the people of Cle Elum. This is beautful country, and the people there are hard working, salt of the earth types. They deserve relief and aid.

Fanfreekintastic ride and report. Sorry to hear about the devastation.