Alvord Desert, Oregon: Blood, Sweat, and Gears

It wasn’t the sound of a Honda Africa Twin booming across the Alvord Desert in 103 degrees that got our attention. Nor was it the cloud of dust rising from the long, sweeping powerslides its rider was performing. It was the abrupt stop. The absolute silence. When the dust cleared, Rick was lying face down and he was not moving. The rear wheel of the Africa Twin spun slowly to a stop. All seven of us dropped our popsicles in the dust and ran to his aid.

If America has an equivalent to the Australian Outback, it is most certainly this part of southeastern Oregon. One year prior, an unnamed rider in our group was taking the long way home to Portland, OR, from the Bonneville Salt Flats. Okay, his name is Steve. His journey took him through Denio Junction, NV, and he stumbled across the Alvord Desert. It was mid-September and he was riding alone. Smitten with the landscape, he thought to himself: “I wish our whole group could experience this together!” So, he sent us plans for next year’s trip and, by April, we were all in.

We booked our travel tickets and hotels, deciding to meet up in Boise, ID. There, we’d rent dual sport bikes and go desert sledding. The instructions were clear—arrive Sunday afternoon. Our riding buddy, Mike, who’s a doctor and doesn’t read or listen to mere men, arrived Monday afternoon.

Five of the group were on BMW GSs rented from a great business called Riders Share. Lance was on an R nineT that was not supposed to see dirt. I rode my trusty Ducati Multistrada from Colorado to Salt Lake City, UT, on a weekend moto date with my wife. Lesa got off to spend a few days with her girlfriend. Joel met me there and we made a beeline for Boise. I-84, windy all the way, scenic and uneventful. No tickets.