By  Paul Blezzard, in TRAIL BIKE MAGAZINE (England) Jan. 2000

INTRO:

        As the British winter drew in last November, Paul Blez chased the sun to the Wild West for six days trail riding in the mountains and deserts of Nevada and California. One of a group of eight British trail riders in the care of Matt Ernst, of Nevada Motorcycle Adventures Inc. Matt's been living in Nevada for over 20 years and running his trail tours since 1992. Our six day trip was the last of his 99 season, but was only one of more than a dozen different routes he's mapped out to suit all tastes and weather conditions. With his boots, hat and rifle he looks and talks more like a cowboy than most of the native Nevadans, and he'd kindly taken us to see some of the sights of Reno the night we arrived...

GAMBLER’S PARADISE:

        Reno is best known for its quickie divorces, but it's also a sort of Las Vegas in miniature, with casinos  and slot machines in every bar. Nevada is the only state in the Union to allow gambling throughout its territory. You might associate Nevada with burning hot deserts, but Reno is actually further north than San Francisco. In November it's pretty chilly in the mornings, regardless of the weather conditions. Matt had warned us to bring thermal underwear and I was glad I had it on as we pulled out of his HQ in Sparks on a sunny Wednesday morning.

DAY ONE – WEDNESDAY

          Within half an hour we were on our first trail. Matt broke us in gently, with nothing too testing for the first morning's ride. Compared to my own XR600 the DR350 felt a little twitchy and gutless at first, but I soon got used to it and the more I rode it, the more I liked it - especially that magic electric button. There were brief stops for breathers to admire our first views of the mountains and another at an old mine works, something which Nevada is absolutely full of.

          We had lunch in what was once one of the richest towns in the Wild West. Founded in 1859, Virginia City quickly expanded to become a town of over 30,000 souls thanks to the gold and silver in the Comstock Lode on which it was built, and which also provided much of the wealth to build San Francisco. Sam Clemens arrived here as a reporter on the local paper in 1862, and left as the author Mark Twain a couple of years later. In fact, he wrote a book, (Roughing It) about his experiences. Yet by 1930 there were only 500 inhabitants left, and it was almost a ghost town. Today Virginia City is still very much alive and retains the trademark covered board walks that you’ve seen in countless westerns, along with all sorts of tourist shops and attractions from a museum to a gold mine and a gen-yoo-wine bit of old western railroad.

        Back on the trails we soon came to the multi-storey concrete hulk of a huge derelict smelting works out in the middle of nowhere. It looked like a post-apocalyptic film set - bizarre. There’s not a lot of water in Nevada, but we followed the route of an old railroad along a sizeable river and met up with Matt’s back-up truck by an old bridge. This was handy because Jeff Philp (of Adventure Tours) had already suffered a freak mechanical problem when a flying rock had bent his front disc, but he was able to swap to one of the spare bikes on the trailer.

        The terrain changed completely later in the afternoon as we climbed through thick pine forest and saw our first snow on the trail even though the sun had been beating down all day. Nigel Copp, the least experienced of us, was struggling a bit on the tougher terrain, but soon got going and his riding visibly improved every day. I dropped my own bike on one really tight uphill hairpin but was pleased that the going was tough enough to provide a challenge.

        As the sun disappeared over the horizon we finished the day with a really whoopy trail that rose dramatically between twin mountain peaks that were silhouetted against the fading light. It was dusk by the time we got to town, with the odometers showing 111 miles from Reno.

DAY TWO - THURSDAY

        It was cold again when we set out next day, but we soon warmed up on some sandy going which had the less experienced riders struggling for the first few miles. Having done a few beach races over the years I knew the essential formula, of stand up, keep your weight back and keep the power on. I really enjoyed wrestling with the DR as it tried to slip and slide away from me as we approached a long red escarpment that reminded me of Morocco.

        The riding got easier when we joined a dirt road. It was superb fun, although there was one tight downhill right hander which caused a few moments of buttock-clenching for big Tim Lusher.

        We headed off the main dirt road and up into the hills via a tight and winding gully which would have made an ideal spot for an injun ambush. We were back in mining country again and one trail up to a dry lake became so steep and winding that I had difficulty imagining anyone getting any kind of horse-drawn vehicle up it, let alone heavy equipment.

         As became customary on many occasions, some of us had a go at a steeper and more challenging route up the hill which really tested both bike and rider to the limit. I was really impressed with the way the DR climbed to the top, although the ride back down was pretty hairy. We also had some fun riding up and down an old slag heap in the middle of some old mine workings.

        The last trail before lunch wound its way along the side of a mountain and provided fantastic views.        We checked into our scenic lakeside motel in mid-afternoon, but the highlight of the day was still to come. The lake was surrounded by mountains, and the highest, at over 11,000 feet, towered right above us. The trail to the top was almost 20 miles long. Access was restricted by locked gates, but Matt got the key from??

        As we turned off for the final trail to the top of the highest mountain it reminded me of the famous Pike’s Peak dirt hill climb, and again it was fantastic fun to ride. The track ended a few hundred feet from the summit, but there was a rocky footpath to the old look-out post right at the top, which a few of us climbed up to. As soon as we got off the bikes you could feel the altitude starving your lungs of air. By the time we’d clambered to the look-out point my heart was really pumping - and not only from the lack of oxygen - it was one of the scariest walks I’ve ever undertaken, with hardly a firm foothold anywhere and very windy. But the view from the top was absolutely magnificent - at least 50 miles in every direction. 

        By the time we got back to the bikes the sun had disappeared behind the mountains but there was just time for a final shot of the glorious sunset.

 DAY THREE - FRIDAY

        With the sun still blazing beautifully, we set off to where the most ancient trees in the world are to be found - some 5,000 years old. It was surprising to see a 70mph speed limit on a simple two-lane tarmac road - the countrywide 55mph restriction imposed during the 70s fuel crisis and still retained elsewhere, is nothing but a distant memory in this part of the USA.

        The first real trail took us to the top of another 10,000 foot mountain, and the climb up provided the most prolonged challenge of the trip so far, since it was both steep and very loose in places and lasted for several miles. The Doc struggled a bit to keep up, but he got there in the end, which was actually no mean achievement considering he’s a hard-drinking, chain-smoking, 49 year-old who weighs about the same as the average supermodel. Once more there were fantastic views from the top of the mountain, and we could see right back to the lake and the peak that we’d climbed the afternoon before.

        Later we came to a huge dried-up river valley which once more reminded me of North Africa - it was what the Algerians would call a oued or wadi - and riding the trails up its sandy bed was great fun. There was a minor hold-up when Nigel’s footrest bolt snapped clean off, but ever-prepared, Matt had a spare in his rucksack.

        The last twenty miles up the canyon road to a ghost town was one of the highlights of the whole trip for me. It was one long, mostly dried-up canyon, with high sides for much of the way, and a bumpy, rocky road surface. I actually had the whole road to myself all the way to the state line, and an absolute blast to ride on the little DR. Once a bustling mining town of several thousand souls, its mines produced a hundred million dollars worth of gold. Unlike Virginia City, all the inhabitants eventually left and have never returned. In fact the last few hundred all departed on the very same night in the 1930s, leaving their homes full of furniture, magazines, gadgets, games and even vehicles, giving the place the feel of a sort of terrestrial Marie Celeste. We spent a fascinating hour or so walking around, feeling as if we’d stepped back in time by at least 70 years.

        After lunch we headed out and took a trail across a meadow that reminded me of Switzerland, before turning steeply up another mountain. I was amazed, about twenty minutes later, to find myself looking back down on a tiny shrunken town, as if we were in an aircraft.

        A few of us did another optional hill climb, which actually had me cursing furiously as I stalled the DR half way up after being distracted by the sun in my eyes - that’s my excuse anyway. We retraced our steps back down the mountain, and I rode alongside Bill for the first time on the twin-track trail. The only American in our group apart from Matt, he was also the oldest at 52. He used to be a professional motocross, dirt track and road racer back in the 70’s, and by golly it showed! I could keep up with him on the easy sections, but when the trail descended really steeply, he maintained almost the same pace with the sure-footedness of a mountain goat, while my well-honed sense of self-preservation made me back right off. I had a fantastic solo ride down the steep and winding hard-packed dirt road to our overnight stop. Our hotel that night was quite extraordinary. It had a real wild west feel to it, with wonderfully chintzy interior decor and was stuffed to the gunwales with early 20th century bric-a-brac.

DAY FOUR - SATURDAY

        There was ice on the bikes the next morning, so I was glad that I’d brought my Widder electric jacket. It was still pretty chilly at 11:30, but then we warmed up, having climbed a seemingly endless but beautiful gully to the top of another mountain. Another fantastic view across the top of the Sierra Nevada range, which runs most of the length of the California/Nevada border. Sierra, in Spanish, means rugged mountain range. Nevada actually means snowfall. So Sierra Nevada could be translated simply as The Snowy Mountains.

        There was another great optional hill climb on the far side. This one I managed feet up all the way! Although I thought the DR was going to run out of steam at one point, it just kept chugging away. Once again, Bill made us all look like novices as he somehow managed to maintain more momentum and find more traction than seemed humanly possible on a humble DR.

        We passed the remains of another gold mining town, where there was nothing left but a couple of ruined shacks. We came onto a dirt road which followed the side of a valley for several miles and once more there was great fun to be had drifting through the bends. The last trail before lunch took us down a valley which had a good amount of water in it, and we had to splash through several fords along the way.

        We’d crossed back into Nevada by now, and our lunch stop was once again like walking back in time at least 70 years. In fact a plaque out front on the wooden balcony explained that the shop had been in continuous use since 1873. A sign on the door proclaimed, Rural Nevada - keep it that way!

        Meanwhile Jeff’s bike was back in the wars, and while we ate in the 70 degree sun Brock fixed his front wheel puncture. Matt and everyone we met kept telling us how lucky we were to be having such warm weather - apparently we might well have been riding through snowdrifts any other year!

        In the afternoon there were more great climbs and views - and some challenging descents - but at the end of the day we also had our first real taste of twisty tarmac. It was ten miles and ten minutes of pure motorcycling nirvana. Even on trail pressures the Pirelli near-knobblies gripped the twisty tarmac road amazingly well. As I carved through the turns I was reminded of the canyons of the Alpes Maritimes in the south of France and the glorious last two days of the Monte Carlo motorcycle rally, way back in 1988.

        From the bottom of the pass, it was just a few minute’s ride to our destination for a memorable Saturday night. A very small town, the bar of the hotel is practically the only place to go. It’s also unusual in having several hundred items of ladies underwear stuck to the ceiling! The building itself was historic, a plaque on the wall described how it was originally erected in 1862.

        There was also a sign warning not to feed the bears! We heard an amazing tale of a bear who broke into the general store opposite and raided only the chocolate milk from the fridge - nothing else! Shades of Yogi bear and Boo-Boo. Anyway, the food and company were excellent, and the night was also enlivened by watching the Holyfield-Lewis world championship fight live on the bar’s TV, with the locals rooting for Holyfield and we Brits for our victorious champion Lewis.

 DAY 5 - SUNDAY

        Sunday dawned sunny, but the coldest yet - minus ten degrees(C) at first light. Fortunately it was well above zero by the time we got going, for another short, but very sweet session on tarmac on a super-sinuous highway. British Telecom executive Gary Growns had fitted a video camera to his helmet for the occasion. A sign at the bottom of the valley warned of the 24% gradient, (1 in 4) and steep winding narrow road next 25 miles. I followed behind Matt for the first few miles and was impressed with his smooth riding on the twisty tarmac. As the road rose higher through the forest there were a few treacherous patches of ice to watch out for in the shade, and some incredibly tight and steep hairpin bends where we were practically down to walking pace in first gear.

        We stopped after about 15 miles at a beautiful, snow-surrounded reservoir, before turning around to do it all again, but this time downhill. While we were admiring the view a group of Sunday morning sports bike riders came past on the latest exotica, but they might as well have been on cruisers for all the use they were making of them. Mind you, I was glad to be on the DR rather than a big road bike on the tightest hairpins - they were as hairy as anything I’ve ever seen in the Alps!

        Back on the trails, it was interesting to see, for the first time, a sign saying Not suitable for autos - the US equivalent of our own unsuitable for motors, which as we all know really means, great for bikes!

        For the first time we were carrying our packed lunch with us, rather than rendez-vous-ing with the support truck, and we ate it right on top of the mountains. We also saw some genuine trail riders for the first time and a couple of impressively driven four wheel drive vehicles - they succeeded in getting up a steep climb which defeated their companions on a pair of old 500cc motocrossers!

        We ate dinner in a Basque restaurant (Nevada is full of Basques, believe it or not, and I don’t mean the exotic ladies undergarment) and then adjourned across the street to a bar with the most amazing collection of memorabilia and photos of the wild west. There was everything from pictures of notorious gangsters to famous cowboy movie stars, Indians and boxers along with all the tools of their trades in glass cabinets or just hanging on the walls.

DAY 6 MONDAY

        With our numbers reduced (Jeff was suffering from self-inflicted alcoholic over-indulgence), we set off up into the mountains for the last time and the sun was STILL beating down! We had the option of trying the toughest hillclimb of the trip that morning. It was not only steep, but loose-surfaced and also had some really tricky opposite-camber turns as it slalomed up the hill-side and I very nearly came to a grinding halt within the first hundred yards, but somehow the trusty DR found enough grip to keep lugging away in bottom gear, and I finally regained enough momentum to get almost to the top of the trail. Needless to say, I still didn’t get as high as Bill!

        After lunch, I suddenly started recognizing places as we back-tracked along some of the same trails we’d ridden the first day. We turned onto the old road which used to be the only way up to Virginia City from Reno and the north. It was so steep, that in the old days, Matt told us, they used to cut down trees to drag behind the wagons to act as auxiliary brakes. At the top we stop to take pictures of a few of the 800 wild horses which thrive in the area.

        We rode the last trails back to Reno in the gathering gloom, and by the time we got back to Matt’s base it was dusk. It had certainly been an eventful, but extremely enjoyable trip. If you ever feel claustrophobic in our crowded little island, I can’t recommend anything better than getting out into the wide open spaces and high mountain trails of Nevada! PAUL BLEZARD