Last year there were five us on a ride from Green River across the San Rafael desert to Hans Flat, down the Flint Trail and out through the lower desert to Hite. All were on big bikes but me; I was on a KLR650, lighter and more appropriate for my age. We made it a two-day trip from our homes in western Colorado. This year there were only two riders: Billy on the same DL650 V-Strom he rode on last year's ride, me intending to ride a DR650 dual sport. Shortly before the ride I bought a new DL650 V-Strom and put my DR650 on consignment. This precipitated a string of decisions on my part such as, "I'll do it anyway just to see if I can do it on a big bike" and "Let's do it in one day (I did it easily in one day when I was 30 years younger). I thought it was doable. These desert roads vary from year to year, storm to storm. Last year the sand wasn't bad.

Consequently we were on a tight schedule, both of us needing or wanting to be home by late afternoon or early evening. We met In Delta, Colorado at 8:00 A.M., rode to Green River by 10:00, refueled and headed south across the San Rafael Desert. The first 30 miles is mostly good gravel, rock or dirt with ever-increasing patches of soft sand after 20 or 25 miles. Billy was leading. He is much faster than me but we both like to go fast on dirt and gravel roads. Very fast. I'm sure we both nudged 90 or 100MPH on our speedometers a time or two while off pavement. About 35 miles in, at the first junction, we took the correct fork. At the 2nd Junction, a few miles farther, we took the wrong fork -- or so I believe. I thought Billy's track went the wrong way but the sign was missing, I didn't have a map, Billy was out of sight and anyway, one desert road is a good as another. Immediately the sand got serious and I slowed to a crawl. Later, after topping a rise offering an expansive view of the desert ahead, I was certain we were on the wrong road and on a road I had never been on before. I know the area and had a good idea where this road went and we decided to continue. After 15 miles or so we came to a sand dune covering the road. Billy thought he could cross it and did easily, perhaps partly because of knobby tires but no-doubt largely due to good throttle control. I thought I wouldn't make it and didn't, perhaps partly because of street-oriented tires but mostly because I'm not nearly as good a rider as Billy.

With Billy's help, I could have gotten the V-Strom over the dune but for what? More and bigger sand dunes perhaps. We were fifty miles into the San Rafael desert. Our schedule was already shot, thanks largely to my slow progress in sand. We decided to retrace our route. Billy helped me turn the heavy V-Strom around, doing most of the work himself. On the way out, we stopped to eat our lunch where the shade from an overhanging rock offered relief from the 90 degree heat.

It wasn't a bad ride. The day was beautiful, the scenery desolate but stunning. We rode 100 miles of San Rafael desert, about what we intended to do in the first place. We just didn't go where we intended to go. We had the desert all to ourselves, seeing no one the entire 100 miles -- well, I saw no one. On the way out, I was leading (we take turns) and Billy was lagging back far enough to escape my dust. He saw a couple motorcycles come off a side road and head our way. Billy blitzed them and I guess we left them behind.

The days ride: 9 1/2 hours including a leisurely lunch, 427 miles for me, another 20 or so for Billy, of which 100 miles was unpaved San Rafael desert road, 40 of that sand varying from shallow but squirmy to deep and dangerous, and one ride-ending dune. I didn't drop my bike so it was a good ride. Would I do it again. No. That's my last San Rafael desert ride. Aware of this on the ride out, I had an emotional moment when I topped a rise and saw a grand desert view before me. I slowed, waving Billy by. It had been 25 years since I last traveled north on this road. The view, magnificent but mostly unfamiliar after all those years, stirred nostalgia, especially knowing it was probably the last time I would see it. I remembered what I believe to be the last time I traveled north out of the San Rafael desert -- not on a motorcycle but in a Toyota Land Cruiser. I later wrote the following paragraph for an article about circumnavigating Canyonlands off-pavement, published in the October 2000 issue of Dual Sport News:

"Some people may find the San Rafael desert boring. I like it. It's a big place with very little human activity. Once, about midway across this desert, I paced a small herd of wild horses. They were running fast on a parallel course — not too close, but close enough for me to sense the powerful muscles of the proud white stallion in the lead. Big desert, no fences, pure freedom. Soon, they veered off behind a butte and were gone. A dreamlike image I'll never forget."

I haven't seen any wild horses in the San Rafael desert since that time and the road, once a 4WD trail, is now graded and groomed with bridges over the deeper arroyos. Other than that, not much has changed. But I've changed. I was well past age 40 when I saw the wild horses 25 years ago. I'm ready to quit riding deep sand. I don't like being the guy who can't keep up. A little slower is okay; it's not a race. Being one of several slower riders is okay. But being the one slow rider who holds up the group is not okay with me, even if the group includes only one other rider. In this case it was okay as Billy is a good friend, we are well aware of each other's abilities and I'm not embarrassed by being slow in the sand. That's why I chose to do this ride but now it's time to concede to a younger generation. It's Billy's ride now. He knows the way but perhaps I should give him the map I failed to bring.