Is a GS a dirt bike?
By Ron Schmidt

On November 5^th -7^th, 2005, eight BMW GS riders who, by all other accounts, are reasonably intelligent people, left for the beauty of Southern Utah and a ride to find out if a GS is really a dirt bike. Our intention was to leave at 7:00am sharp, and at that time five of the group was in Motorcycle Repair and Rendezvous’ parking lot, waiting to begin. Capital Reef National Park, Burr Trail, Hole in the Rock Road and wilderness camping were beckoning, reminding us that the season was late and the time to go was now.

Paul Baird, Troy the Welder, and I were ready to go on our 1150’s, Tom Foster on his 1100, and Thane Beckstrand on his old F650ST were almost pacing, waiting for Dave Ganansky on his F650GS and Erik Reid on his 1150 to arrive. We were to meet Gary Atkinson nearer his home in Spanish Fork for breakfast at Trails End Restaurant at 8am.

Now, Erik, one of my very best friends but not the most organized guy on the planet, was having quite an ordeal just trying to leave his driveway. He had loaded both of his saddlebags full the night before in the comfort of his home, forgetting that the bags BOLT to the mounts from the inside, so he had to unload the bags to bolt them on the bike that morning. Once he had the bags bolted on, he realized that his helmet was inside the house. The keys were also inside the house, so he had to break into his own home to get on the way. Must have looked like a Three Stooges act. But, compared to Dave, his morning was going well.

Have you ever had to pass a snow plow? I wonder if you can get a ticket for that if it is over the snow covered double yellow line? Dave said the snow plow driver looked surprised and amazed when he passed by him on Parley’s on his way down from Park City. He was still shaking from the adrenalin rush when he arrived, still beating Erik by over 15 minutes.

We met Gary for breakfast at the Trails End and it was good. We discussed the trip, who would be able to ride all three days and who would have to be at work on Monday. We also cheered Troy Roper’s continuing recovery and the fact that he walked six steps the day before all by himself. Certainly, nothing we would do on this ride would be as monumental as that!

As we traveled down 89 South a group of about a dozen elk decided to play dodge-bike as they let the first 4 riders go by before jumping in front of the rest of us. The grace and agility of these critters is astounding. They ran across the road, then up a very steep bank and jumped over a barbed wire fence like it was not there. Well, all with the exception of one little female, who got stuck in between the top two wires and did a head plant right onto the ground. She struggled for a bit, and just as I was getting fully stopped with intentions of cutting her free, she managed to untangle herself. She appeared no worse for the wear and bolted up the hill to join the rest of her group.

A bit later we stopped at a point’s location for the MCRR Autumn Ride so a few of the guys could get the needed pictures of the Redmond Post Office. Most of us took some of our cold riding gear off as the weather had warmed substantially from the morning chill in Salt Lake.576

We rode right by the Diablo Restaurant in Torrey, missing the opportunity to spend $50 a plate for a fantastic meal, knowing that the trail food in our bags would be better yet when we stopped for dinner along the unbeaten path we had come to experience. We continued through Torrey to the Capitol Reef National Park. If you have never ridden through Capitol Reef National Park, put it on your “Must Do” list. The majestic red rock formations there are, well, majestic, and they claim to have the cleanest air in the USA. There would be no argument from us that day as it seemed you could see forever.

Just past the end of the park we turned onto Notom road. Lore has it that the name was No Tom for some argument between the settlers in that area decades ago. Who knows! Notom road starts as a paved road, but eventually relinquishes that foolishness for the dirt we had come to ride. We all stopped at the end of the pavement and lowered our tire pressures to dirt specs. Like so many dirt roads, Notom was wash boarded and sandy in many areas. I settled into a 50mph pace, knowing that it was twice as fast as some of our group wanted to go, and ½ as fast as some of the others would prefer.

The front of the group stopped at the junction of Notom Rd. and the Burr Trail to wait for the more cautious riders. About 15 minutes later, the rest of the group showed up. Paul Baird had tipped over some ways back and was not hurt, but had made his Aeroflow windshield disappear and bent up some of his PIAA lights. He was in very good spirits even with this oops; just what would be expected of the hardy type of riders on this kind of tr

The switchbacks on the Burr Trail are not hard to ride at all; in fact I suspect a mini van full of kids with a frazzled mom driving would have no problem negotiating it. The amazing thing about the switchbacks is to think about when they were cut into the side of the mountain. They were carved into the mountainside by people without power tools, and those frazzled moms were driving horse pulled wagons. I managed to get there enough in front of the rest of the group to get pictures of most of them as they were riding up those switchbacks. The pictures came out nicely; making the trail look a lot harder than it really was so when the guys show their friends the friends will be more impressed with what amazing riders they are!

A few miles further up Burr Trail we came to the junction for Wolverine Road and Little Death Trail. Here the “road” is a well defined two track on a mostly rocky bottom, more technical, bumpier and tighter than Burr Trail. It might be the perfect GS road as the bikes can be ridden pretty aggressively there without using up their entire (minimal) suspension, making us feel like we were Jimmy Lewis even though all of our skills together do not make up what he has in his left pinky finger!

Just past the Little Death junction we found a level place with an amazing view that was large enough for 8 tents and bikes. Before the sun set, all the tents were up, many stoves were heating water to make the delicacies of the dried foods we had carried in. Well, all except for Erik, who had three steaks and the coolest tool to broil them on and was taking bids or bribes for who would get to eat the other two! He, Troy the Welder, Gary and maybe a few others set up the most well stocked bar I have ever seen on an off road adventure, cigars were passed around, farts were let and heard, stories were blown out of proportion. Dead timber was found and burned; more lies were invented and told. All in all, the perfect guys camp. Thane was the first to call it a night by about 8:30 pm (it is essential on any guys trip to bring at least one true gentleman to keep things in control, Thane was ours!) The rest of us were enjoying the shooting stars show, the immenseness of the Milky Way and the sliver of a moon. The coyotes were singing, owls hooting. Nature was happening right there for us to observe and enjoy.

I awoke to the muffled sounds of Gary and Thane getting ready for breakfast. It was a bit chilly as I crawled out of my down sleeping bag’s warmth. I was pleased to see that my water bladder’s contents were still liquid. Thane said his thermometer showed 20 degrees F. As I poured the water from the bladder into my aluminum cooking pot it immediately turned into slush, so I guess Thane’s thermometer was not far off! Hot coffee was soon made in my Lexan French press, but the pot was not as large as the group’s wants for coffee, so several extra pots were made as we broke camp. Leaving camp was fun. The “road” there was actually just a trail through an old stream bed that actually had some water in it. It was easy to pretend we were on some great African adventure, riding through piranha infested rivers. In reality, a slow mouse might be in danger of drowning, but we at least got to get our tires muddy enough so it looked like we were truly great adventurers!

Too soon we were back to the Burr Trail, headed toward Boulder, UT for breakfast. The last part of the Burr Trail before Boulder is probably one of the most beautiful red rock rides anywhere. The gravel becomes tarmac once again so it was easier to look at the scenery because you do not have to pay 100% attention to the road surface as you do in the dirt. The twists and turns between the hundred plus feet high vertical walls are truly mind blowing. I am so often amazed that Utah is really one of the planet’s most fantastic places and WE LIVE HERE!

My expert planning left us in Boulder with no open restaurant, so we all proceeded toward Escalante. Part way there we came to a little place that had an air compressor, so Paul, Tom and Thane stopped there to re-inflate their tires for their pavement ride back to SLC.

By the time we reached Escalante, breakfast hours were over. The waitress said they stopped serving breakfast at 11:00. It was 11:10, we were the only ones there and we were hungry, so we had lunch. The help was very unfriendly, the food was not great. Unfortunately, the little café, the Golden Loop, where I usually go and get wonderful service and good food was closed for the day. So, we were forced to go to the big hotel restaurant just because they were the only thing in town. Too bad the little guys who really care were closed!

After “lunch”, we said goodbye to the poor trio who had to go back to civilization and the rest of us headed to Hole in the Rock Road just east of town. We filled our tanks there in town, and a few minutes after I filled, the cashier came running out to give me the change from the $20 bill I gave her. She was very insistent, but I told her that the other cashier had given me the change back already. Quite a difference from the folks at the restaurant down the street.

We found the first 50 miles of Hole in the Rock Road to be horribly wash boarded and in some parts the blow sand was several inches deep, so between the bumpy ride and the dust, the first 50 miles left much to be desired. The other 4 guys rocketed off, leaving me in the dust, trying to maintain 45 mph. Usually this stuff does not affect me much, but on that Sunday I got all psyched out. At one point I even stopped and had a good talk to myself about knowing that a higher speed would be better and that I should stop being a big wuss, but to no avail. I was stuck at 40-45 mph and not having any fun at all. About 25 miles up the road, Erik had stopped to wait to make sure I was still alive and he gave me a little pep talk and led us up to a more reasonable speed. He said he had not seen even a dust cloud from Gary, Troy the welder, or Dave for several minutes. A few minutes later, we came up to Gary who had stopped to get our pictures as we rode by. We suspected that Dave and Troy were probably already to Lake Powel!   Gary took off, Erik in his dust and I trailed behind them about one dust cloud back.

About 15 miles later, as I crested an up hill, I saw what you really do not want to see on any ride. Erik’s GS was upside down off the road. Erik was just getting to his feet as I slowed and yelled the normal “are you OK?” as I slithered to a stop. He was fine. His bike was not. He hit a very large rock head on and collapsed the A arm of his GS (like it is supposed to do on a hard hit), rendering the bike all but impossible to turn. After we unpacked the bike so we could turn it back right side up, Gary came back to help as we lifted it up out of the deep sand. Erik was shaken, but he has crashed his mountain bicycle so many times that he was not totally freaked. It was just that this bike was about 600 pounds heavier than his mountain bike. Now decisions had to be made. Could he ride the bike at all, just to get to a paved place where we could leave it and get a truck to take it home? It was all but impossible to turn the handlebars due to the front lower ball joint being smashed, but Erik is a very strong guy and he was determined to ride it out. We convinced him that heading out right then was not as good as spending a good night camping and heading out Monday morning, fresh from the rest and having enjoyed the camping evening, so he decided to stay. We rode about another 2 miles and found a great red rock natural amphitheater that had been used as a corral at one time, beautiful to see and perfect to camp near.

Erik and Gary decided to set up camp there; I was going to ride on to find Dave and Troy to make sure they were OK and to show them where we were to camp, since it was about 1/4 mile off the main road and invisible from view from the road. I had barely returned to the road when Dave came into view. He had tried to follow Troy the Welder, who was riding 80+ mph as a normal speed, with blasts up to over 100mph and had finally given up the chase an hour earlier. The last 7 or so miles of the Hole in the Rock Road are very technical; Dave had come to the same rock step that stopped me two years earlier, tipped over there and spent ½ hour trying to get his F650 right side up so he could ride back and try to find the rest of us. Dave suspected that Troy was probably swimming in Lake Powell and maybe had found a wife and had kids by now. So, I told Dave where we were camped, filled him in on Erik’s mis-adventure and we then decided to go together to make sure Troy wasn’t lying under his GS somewhere along the technical part of the trail. We figured that with two of us, we could at least get the F650 over the step that had foiled both of us, and then get to Lake Powell to see Troy and his new family.

We had only traveled a few hundred yards and Troy came bounding down the trail. He had in fact made it over the dreaded step alone, hiked down the Hole to Lake Powel, cooked his dinner and eaten it. He said he was beginning to worry about the fact that we had not made it there yet and was coming back to see what was up. I thought that if Erik had been injured, we would have had him back to LDS Hospital by helicopter by now, and Troy was just now getting worried? Sometimes traveling with Superman can be frustrating, because he never even gave thought to the step, the high speeds on the sand or anything else; it was just another day ride for him.

So, now with our group assembled and darkness approaching, we set up camp and shared our stories. It is amazing how each of us had such a different day. After I got my head on straight I enjoyed the views, Erik had been enjoying them maybe too much and that is why he rode off the road to begin with, Dave had seen no views at all because he had been focused on trying to keep up with Troy and missed it all. Gary had enjoyed pushing himself to within his safe but exciting limits, and Troy, well as I said earlier, to Troy it was just another ride.

Chef Erik cooked up a batch of clam linguini; we all split up our treats of apples, olives, salami, hot pepper jack cheese and various alcoholic drinks. It was quite a spread for being in the middle of nowhere, to be sure. We all managed to stay awake until nearly 9pm, being the party animals that we are, before hitting the hay for the night.

Monday morning, 7 am, we were all up and deciding what to do about getting to the end of Hole in the Rock Road, seeing where the Mormon’s had lowered the wagons and stuff down by rope and tackle a century plus ago, but most importantly, I needed to get my GS over that #@$%# step that intimidated me 2 years ago when I was there alone, and had defeated Dave just yesterday. Also, we had to decide what to do about Erik and his predicament.

Erik REALLY wanted to make it to the end and see the Hole, so we decided to leave camp set up, unload the bikes to their minimum weight and get on our way. Erik would see how his bike would do at the 15 mph and less that this technical section would allow and just go as far as he could. If it proved too much, he would turn around and ride back to camp, break his camp and start out to Escalante at a slow pace, and the rest of us would catch him hours later.

The first part of the technical trail is over huge sections of slickrock, very tight and with steep parts that had perfect traction, but the 1150’s stupidly high first gear resulted in lots of clutch slipping and paddling with both feet on the ground, walking the bikes through. Dave’s F650 faired much better, and Dave’s riding skills off road were improving by the second, so he was having a great time watching our beached whale 1150’s struggle.

Then came the step. Two summers ago, on a solo ride, I came to this step and watched a 4wd truck work for 45 minutes trying to get over it. Finally with some come-alongs and a lot of work, the truck managed to get over it, leaving many metal scrapings and about ½ of its smoking tire’s tread on the slickrock. I gave it a half hearted attempt then, got totally stuck and had to turn back with my tail between my legs and admit defeat. It has bothered me for 2 years now. The step is just not that big, but it really is intimidating. There is a way around it, but if you miss by 8 inches on the left, you are going to fall off of a 10 foot vertical wall, miss the same amount to the right and you will end up in a 40 foot deep ravine.

Troy, of course took that line, made it look like a walk in the park and stopped at the end to see us follow. We were not interested in tempting fate that far into nowhere, so the rest of us studied the step like a trials rider looking at a scored section. I went first, adrenalin pumping like I was being chased by an IRS agent with an Uzi, the other 4 guys standing two on each side to catch me if I failed, and managed to actually ride over the step, only to stall the engine just past it. No problem though. Jimmy and me, we’re mates now! Dave was next, his F650 and his skills just rode over it, no problem. Gary told us that he was only going to ride up close to the step and then the 5 of us could lift the bike over it and he would ride on from there. But, as he rode up to the step, when we were ready to grab the bike and start grunting, we heard him gas it hard and bounce right up the thing like he was Sammy Miller, recognized as the worlds best trials rider. When he got off the bike, he was trembling visibly, like we all were after we conquered the step! Go Gary! Erik did just ride up to the step and we hefted his 1150 over it. My hat is still off to him though; just getting this far on a bike that is very hard to turn the handlebars on was amazing.

The ride from the step to the Hole in the Rock was easy, and we made good time. The Hole is a natural wonder to be sure, dropping vertically several hundred feet between two solid rock walls only yards apart, but the realization that the Mormons put wagons and horses and children down it byropes and tackle boggles my mind. It is amazing what humans can do when they are convinced that God is telling them to do it. I was in awe, at least.
Troy decided to hike down and get a swim; the rest of us started our way back to camp. We had no difficulty going back, and we had barely started breaking camp before Troy had joined us.

The rest of the trip was mostly uneventful, except that one of Troy’s plastic saddlebag brackets broke off and resulted in the bag tumbling off at 90mph, unknown to him! Dave found it along the side of the road and tethered it to his bike, returning it to a surprised Troy in Escalante.

On Sunday on the way home, Paul had filled up with a load of bad fuel and limped into SLC at low speed, but Tom and Thane had stayed with him into town to make sure he was OK. Amazingly, the ride over the choppy dirt road back to Escalante had worn the rubbing parts of Erik’s front end enough to allow him to steer it a bit easier, so he rode it all the way back to SLC at a bit slower pace than normal, but he got it home without a ride in a truck. Dave and I followed all the way in, getting the highest fuel mileage ever recorded, just to put a positive view on it.

This kind of trip really forges great friendships. Defeating obstacles, sharing great laughs, watching over your friends with mechanical bike problems, sharing food and telling lies; I think this is what motorcycling is really all about.

As to whether or not a GS is a dirt bike—all I can say is that ours were all at least dirty bikes, and that is enough for me!