The trail less traveled
This story mainly takes place in a small mountain range in North Western Nevada. It is June, and I’m headed towards a small remote town called Jarbidge, NV. Which is a town I almost didn’t make it to.
This town is special for two reasons. It marks the end of the Nevada Backcountry Discovery Route (BDR) that I have been riding. The town also boasts the title of the most remote town in America, with only dirt roads and trails leading to it.
My day began in Austin, NV and was riding towards Elko, NV. This section of trail is about 220/354 mi/km. It was sure to be a long day in unsheltered terrain. The heat wasn’t terrible, but I was saturated in sweat most of the day. The riding itself wasn’t very arduous except for a more challenging section up and over Overland Pass.
I arrived in Elko feeling exhausted from the days of travel. The sun was still out as it was only about 4pm. I fueled up my bike and decided I would stay in a hotel for the night. I normally camp as much as I can, but I felt it was probably time for a shower and a good night of sleep. Plus I only had one more section to accomplish. I figured arriving in Jarbidge would be best seen during the day. Plus the little cafe/bar I wanted to stop at would definitely be open.
The town of Elko is a larger town than what I normally see on these backcountry routes. Elko was a bustling town. For a Wednesday afternoon I figured this was all normal. I mean this place even has a Walmart supercenter, if that gives you a better idea. But for now, the search for a hotel begins.
“Sorry we’re completely booked”, “Sorry we’re completely booked”…
What in the world is going on? I ended up riding to one of these hotels that I thought absolutely had to have a room available. And I wanted to talk to someone in person. This is when I learn a little more about the town itself. Not only was there a major school graduation happening that week. I learned Elko is the heart of the NV gold mining industry, and this week is their annual mining expo.
The whole week was completely booked out. Everywhere.
I wasn’t even sure what to do with this information. But I did see a Mexican food joint across the road that would at least provide a meal and some air conditioning. This was probably the best thing I did that day other than riding. Slamming an entire plate of mole’ enchiladas, beans and rice. And maybe a special drink that has limes in it.
A massive painting at this Elko restaurant. They must have loved it.
This time of the year the sun sets around 730pm. The last section of riding from Elko to Jarbidge was a mere 97/156 mi/km. I could surely make that. So I made the call to keep riding. I made a call to the tiny hotel (also a part of the cafe/bar mentioned earlier) that had about 6 or 8 rooms total. They told me they had room available but I need to arrive before 10pm or no one would be there to let me in. That settled that. I was pointed North for Jarbidge, NV tonight. One final push.
For the whole trip through Nevada, I almost never seen another rider on the route. I had one instance early on where I met a group of great guys that were just beginning their journey. Other than that, it felt incredibly alone. For hundreds of miles I would see only a single motorcycle track in the dirt. It was difficult to judge how old the track was. It could be a week old, or a day. Either way, this ghost of a rider was my only company.
Until about 3/5 mi/km away from the town of Jarbidge, I spotted a man setting up camp down near a river. He was riding a heavier 1200cc Adventure bike, fully loaded. I waved as I passed, then turned around and went to go greet this man. He seemed pleased to see me as I’m pulling into this lush grassy campsite. As I’m parking I spot his tires.
The ghost rider, it’s him.
A simple man, also riding solo. We were both on similar, yet different journeys. Yet here we converge on the same trail heading to Jarbidge. He informed me that the road was blocked just South of town by a huge tree and a massive pile of snow. This was slightly bitter news, but after getting this far into the trip, I was feeling energized.
We discussed potential routes to get to Jarbidge. He was pretty set on heading back the following morning. Utilizing the highway and riding all the way around into Idaho and coming in from the North. That much highway riding did not excite me as much as building a route through a trail system I’ve never ridden. With our numbers exchanged, he continued on building his campsite for the night. I told him if the trail was not as expected, I would just turn around and come camp with him.
The only safe spot to take a photo. 7:42pm
The route I decided to scout was only about a 14/22 mi/km detour. If it was unrideable I would just turn around and camp for the night. Pretty simple plan.
The trail invited me in with open arms. Subtle and playful with an array of great views and mild trails. The occasional hillclimb would keep you on your toes. Views of the valley at the top take you hostage searching for more. A couple minor creek crossings reminded you to be weary. The ride was going smoothly. Too smoothly.
The first leg of this trail runs North/North East. Slightly heading away from Jarbidge. It follows the lowlands of a river with multiple river crossings the farther you go. The river was pretty high at this point, and solo river crossings didn’t seem like a good idea. My map was showing me a higher route that surpassed most of the crossings, but was less traveled. This point in the trip is where I traveled through terrain that was so technical, I never wanted to do it again.
High flowing creeks with black belts in martial arts continually put me on my ass. Soaking wet, I pushed on into off camber rocky terrain. Where dropping the bike in the wrong direction would require a mountain rescue. I fought my way up hills and discovered a few Elk, bugling at my demise. While I bury myself in marshy mud. I kept going, and the only way out of this mess was forward.
So it seemed.
At a certian point, a series of forest service roads connect back West into the town of Jarbidge. I had reached that point of this trail. Seemingly more than halfway to my destination. The road splits and the real shit show began.
Within 200m of entering the first new trail, I’m met with my first real hill climb. I had been challenged earlier, but this was raw. Achievable nonetheless. I knew the trail slowly rolled into a ridge style trail that meandered through the hills. So there was something to look forward to. My first attempt at this hill was unsuccessful. After a series of dragging and picking my bike up on the hill and attempting to complete it, I deemed I needed a fresh start. I rolled back down the hill and charged at it again. Success.
The darkness was creeping upon me and the trail that rolled through the mountains was astonishing. Views I could never have imagined seeing in Nevada. Especially after so much desert riding. The ridge riding ended up going slower than expected because of how deep the ruts were along the trail. But it was a welcome challenge comparatively. A few annoying bike drops here and there were nothing to write home about.
The ridge trail starts to conclude as it drops back into the forest. I check my gps and I am about 1.5 miles away from Jarbidge. The end is literally near. I’m absolutely exhausted, and running out of water. But I’m almost there.
Dropping into the forest, the darkness tucked me in like an infant. I start to see forest service road markers reflect back at me that boost my confidence. A gentle hill emerges in front of me, so I charge at it as normal. Limited visibility with my headlight bouncing on a narrow forest trail in the night. The steepness continues and the trail becomes relentless. Logs, planted rocks, uneven terrain built to keep you out. Topped with the steepness of a hill that does not want you to succeed.
I eventually dump my bike. Scrambling to keep my footing as I’m sliding down and trying to control my bike and myself. Coming to a stop, I look up in disbelief. Tired, dehydrated, and absolutely confused on how this could be labeled a forest service road. I was able to drag my bike into a good position to where I was confident it’s not going to cartwheel down the hill. It was time to take a break.
This break was needed, as it started off with multiple levels of cursing into the night. I took my helmet off and sat down. Checking my gps to ensure I hadn’t made a mistake. But there was I was, right where I wanted to be. I got my headlamp out and took a look around, trying to see how much more of the hill there was to conquer. This is when the real test happened.
A hill built like a gift that keeps on giving. A hill that took no prisoners, it was out for blood. I knew I wasn’t going to make it up this hill. Sitting with my thoughts on being so close, but seemingly still so far. An insurmountable obstacle lay in my path. Should I abandon my bike and walk a mere mile to town? Should I camp on the side of this hill and figure it out tomorrow? I did recall a split in the road before I went up this damned hill though.
I researched this split with my gps. It was longer, but it connected. Continuing on, I gathered a couple items and left my bike on the hill to scout this potential bypass. A round about trail by any means, and yet another hill lay in my path. My headlamp lit the terrain revealing another challenge. A challenge that I could surely succeed.
I headed back to retrieve my bike. Nothing short of a delicate ballet was in store to turn my bike around on this hill. I’m not a great dancer, and luckily the choreography didn’t kill me. Coasting down the hill in the night felt equally as treacherous. The long way around proved to be the right decision, as if I really had a choice in the matter at this point. Gaining more ground on the last bit of this trail. It was not without it’s nuances. A couple downed trees, some mud, and then the trees parted and the terrain fell away.
Tiny lights could be spotted in the deep blackness of terrain. I knew it was a small town, and the amount of lights surely reflected that. The last little trail leading into town, I finally made it. Couldn’t be that easy right?
Starting the descent down the hill with the end in sight. This was new terrain I had not yet encountered. The steepness was noteworthy, but the loose rocks seemed impossible. A whole road width of loose rock ranging in size from watermelons to softballs. Motorcycle tires banging back and forth, wedging into the rocks every few feet. I wasn’t counting, but I was sent over the bars at least six times in this endeavor. Picking my bike up as it pours fuel from the fuel cap, only to loose my footing and drop it again.
Finally getting it back upright, cursing into the night again, and again. I throw a leg over the bike to gain another few feet. Reaching down with my foot to only discover the absence of footing, and toppling over. One of these over the bar gymnastics tricks also broke my gps mount. The only reason I was able to find it was because it was at my feet, and I thought that a black square rock seemed very strange.
Finally rolling into town, feeling broken and defeated. Equal parts dehydrated and dripping sweat. The air is cool and I start to get the chill of cooling wet clothes. Jarbidge is asleep and eerie. Nothing is open and I could find no signs of life in the night. It was about 11:30pm anyway.
Sourcing water from a random spout near a fire station. I slammed water and started searching for somewhere to stay. A little nook behind the bar, next to a shed and a big wood pile seemed sufficient. I parked my bike and started using it as a clothesline to hang wet clothes. Getting into dry clothes was crucial, and all I wanted to do at this point was sleep.
With my sleeping pad and bag laid down, I drank some more water and called that a night.
It was hard to wake up that next morning. I was beat. The cafe however, proved to be sufficient motivation for investigation. It was early, but they were open! And this is where I spent the next few hours. Eating food, consuming copious amounts of coffee, and talking with the nice local lady running the cafe.
We chatted about the route I took into town, and my questionable decision making. She then explained to me that there have been multiple rescues on that road. From people abandoning their vehicles, to air lifts because of injuries. And of course the mention that they always try to do their best to discourage people from attempting to come in from that route.
After a couple of hours of being a zombie in a cafe, I see another bike roll into town. None other than the ghost rider. Well rested and ready for the day. We also chatted about the nonsense, and we were both just glad we both made it to our destinations.
I feel like I’ve done some difficult things in life, but that night really tested me. A night I reflect on often. Could it have gone better? Yes. Could it have gone worse? Also yes.
Not only posed with physical challenges, but challenges that test your decision making skills and ego. And I think that’s important. A humbling experience to say the least.
I’m not sure if there’s a moral to the story. I’m not going to write that out for you.
Just go ride.
