Photo by Sylvia

That was the plan. The plan changed for the first time at breakfast. The look of the sky and reports of mud on the Gateway-Moab road changed our mind about heading up John Brown Canyon. We decided to skip the mostly unpaved route to Green River. We would reverse our 2-day route and continue on CO141 to Dove Creek, then US491 to Monticello, Blanding, Hite, Ticaboo and the Burr Trail where we would camp somewhere in the warm dry desert rather than on a cold wet mountain.

That was the second plan. It changed when we refueled at Dove Creek. An unfortunate incident on the road had transformed Mike's camping gear to mostly molten fragments: his Dry Bag, packed with new sleeping bag, tent, clothing, etc., came partially loose, dropped down over the exhaust outlet which promptly melted a hole through dry bag and all contents then proceeded to transform the high-tech, better-than-down stuffing of his sleeping bag into strange, alien-like, hard and sharp-edged formations. But this was not the reason we decided not to camp. For sixty miles I had been thinking camping was a bad idea. What's the fun in setting up tents in the rain, each of us spending the next 12 hours in our individual one-man tents until morning, then packing our wet gear to ride home. And what's the point of getting stuck? Wet roads, light rain and an ominous sky suggested we would be wise to avoid riding any unpaved roads on our heavy machines. After assuring Mike the change in plans was not caused by his misfortune (and it's true: we wouldn't have camped anyway), we decided to go to Bluff, get motel rooms, then go to Monument Valley for dinner at Gouldings.

That was the third plan. It changed at Blanding where we stopped for discussion. We faced the biggest, blackest storm of the day headed our way from the vicinity of Bluff. Promptly it started raining hard. It was cold. Mike didn't have rain pants anymore. Jeff had extra rain pants because his regular riding pants were not as waterproof as they were supposed to be. Nevertheless, Jeff insisted Mike wear the rain pants; he didn't tell Mike that he, Jeff, was going to have a wet crotch without them. Nice guys, all of them. We all would have done the same. The rain lessened. We decided to continue to Bluff.

That was the fourth plan. It changed when we stopped, wet and dripping, to use the computer at the Twin Rocks Cafe and check the National Weather Service. The sky was still very black, the rain steady and the 120 mile round-trip to dinner at Gouldings no longer an attractive idea. I call such rides, "Adventure short-tripping." However, adventure should come from unexpected occurrences after careful planning not inevitable discomfort because of bad planning. A warm dry place to spend the evening and night seemed like a good new plan. We skipped the cafe and rode to the Recapture Lodge in Bluff. They had rooms available. I asked about their rental houses. The least expensive was rented for a week but the renovated 112 yr-old Adams house was vacant. Certain they would never rent a house on the National Register of Historic Places to four dripping motorcyclists, I ask the price. The lady's smile stayed in place and she never blinked, "Two-hundred for one day" (the price is seasonal -- lower in the winter, higher in peak tourist season). It was a four bedroom, two story house with livingroom, dining room, kitchen, big enclosed back porch, covered front sitting porch and all the amenities of home. Fifty dollars apiece. A regular, small motel room would be $45 each and where would we gather to eat and visit? This decision was a no-brainer.

That was our last plan and the best plan. The house was a delight, the large, enclosed back porch the perfect place for four wet motorcyclists to remove their gear. And of course, we had no more than got ourselves dry and warm when the clouds swept away, the sun came out warm and clear. It was a beautiful late-afternoon and evening. But the house was lovely and comfortable and we weren't going anywhere. We ate our camping food at the large diningroom table but had the benefit of stove, microwave, refrigerator, dishes, silverware and glasses for our wine. The front porch in early evening and the living room in late evening served our usual lively conversation well. For one night we were the Adams Family (as Mike observed) in a delightful old historic house from the late eighteen-hundreds. How could anyone improve on that?

The sun rose to clear skies. Hot showers in a warm historical house rather than cold washrags under a dripping Ponderosa Pine got the morning properly launched. Jeff, who owns stock in Starbucks, made the coffee and it was good. We took our time, visiting again at the diningroom table, then packed our motorcycles for the ride home. We had breakfast at the Twin Rocks Cafe where unfortunately -- and uncharacteristically -- Mike was served bad ham. He had only a bite or few but it was enough to cause him problems later in the day, thus continuing his unfortunate string of bad luck. But Mike never stops smiling and enjoying the ride. At breakfast, we decided to go home by way of McElmo Canyon to Cortez, CO145 to Telluride.

That was the last chapter of our last plan and another good decision. Jeff, Ken and Mike had never experienced the splendor of McElmo Canyon and it's always a joy to ride new roads. While it had been raining in Utah it had snowed in the Colorado Mountains so Lizard Head Pass, although the roads were now dry, was otherwise a winter scene, beautiful in the bright sun. At Placerville, Ken turned right to continue over Dallas Divide; Jeff, Mike and I turned left through Norwood and Naturita to reverse our previous day's ride on CO141 through Dolores Canyon. Naturally, we stopped for a late lunch at the 141 Diner. Mike had his usual Bob's Burger with pepperjack cheese. Jeff had a chicken sandwich which he proclaimed the "best damn Chicken sandwich I ever had," a comment which just might make the next printing of the menu. I had the Atomic Chicken sandwich which is Jeff's chicken sandwich with some powerful enhancements -- my current favorite sandwich.

Something over six-hundred miles for me, less for Jeff and Mike, more or less for Ken. Except for breakfast at the 141 Diner, we did nothing on this ride we intended to do but, in my opinion, what could have been one of the worst rides was instead one of the best. It's good adventure when the unexpected heightens the experience rather than diminishing it.