Exploring the wonders of the American Canyonlands.

You just don’t leave an item on your bucket list when you have a chance to cross it off, do you? The majestic Monument Valley was on mine, and Las Vegas was on Aidan’s. So my partner in crime and I conceded to make a detour from our southward journey along the Pan American Highway and turned inland toward Yosemite National Park. 

Warm sunshine lit up the yellow aspen dispersed between evergreen pines as the road wound in gentle curves through the mountains. Giant grey rocks silently towered over Yosemite Valley and the crystal-clear lakes beckoned for a swim. But we weren’t fooled. It was mid-October and the water was icy cold. Winter was hot on our heels, and we were hoping the weather would hold just a little longer.

RANDOM TRAVELLER

At just over 3,000 metres, it’s pretty cold on Tioga Pass and we stopped to don a few layers. Another traveller pulled in, his silver teardrop-shaped caravan bouncing over the gravel behind his 4WD. He was fascinated by Aidan’s ratty 2004 BMW F650GS and just had to take a photo of it. White hair protruded from under his grubby red cap and his mustache was fast becoming a full-on beard. I got the impression he’d been on the road for a while. 

He told us how he’d met a British couple on BMW motorcycles in India in the ’70s, and we exchanged stories of riding in the Ladakh region of the Himalayas. Like us, he’d come to the conclusion that the more you explore, the bigger the world seems to become, because you always discover yet more places you want to see; and so, he was still travelling now.

The trees thinned out, disappearing altogether by the time the road descended toward Mono Lake. Nestled in a basin of loose volcanic gravel, the lake, with its white island in the middle, peacefully reflected the bright blue sky. Signs advised that camping was not allowed where we had ridden down to the shoreline, so we retreated to the quiet solitude of the pine-studded gravel plains a little further along California State Route 120, a.k.a. Tioga Road.

The wide-open spaces and long distances of Nevada caught us off guard. By the time I realized how far from anything we were, it was too late, and my little Honda NX250, with its small nine-litre tank, soon ran out of petrol. Luckily Aidan’s range is greater, so he went off to get some gas while I waited, watching birds of prey soar over the dry landscape of yellowish grey rocks and sage-green shrubs. The vast, dry landscape didn’t change much until the…