Note from BTA:

As the heart of winter beats with a cold, relentless rhythm, a group of daring motorcyclists gears up for the ultimate challenge: a journey across the vast and ever-changing landscapes of the American Southwest. Driven by a spirit of adventure and camaraderie, these Harley-Davidson Pan America enthusiasts embark on an expedition that promises to be both a demonstration of endurance and a discovery of the unyielding beauty of the desert. With the horizon stained by the looming threat of a winter storm, their journey is set to be a blend of wild nature and motorcycling passion, a tale of exploration and friendship forged on the less traveled path.

Fat purple clouds hung pregnant on the jagged peaks, poised, waiting for their water to break covering the region in an early season deluge. Beautiful though, as we raced up the highway. I couldn’t help but to marvel at the starkness of this beauty, so unique and screaming its personality with its ocherous hues contrasting with the heavy purples and blues. There is something truly enchanting about the desert. Rough and threatening, sharp and unforgiving, mashed full of contrast and intrigue; the bright orange, tan, browns and yellows of the rock especially more vibrant now damp, contrasting with the precipitation producing pastels above echoed the conflicting emotions of sheer excitement and yet heavy pessimism swirling in my mind. The pressure of all the decisions that had been made the previous week of planning pushing down on my shoulders. I shrugged, smirked and twisted the throttle; we were in it now.

The echo of eager exhaust notes bouncing off the cliff walls forced me back into the moment as our pack of Harley-Davidson Pan Americas pushed on towards Payson. I’d seen the highway message board warning of heavy snow and closures shortly after we’d turned out of Fountain Hills heading up Arizona 87. It wasn’t an entirely easy sell to convince our group that heading straight into the biggest and baddest winter storm of the season was the right way to kick off this epic early February expedition. Yet, my bets were placed, fueled by a gut feeling that sometimes staring the giant down and rushing right into the beast would, if nothing else, provide and immediate and unavoidable sense of adventure!

Glancing into my mirror, I could see all the lights of the team perfectly staggered. I looked over my right shoulder to see Shawn on his red rocket. His headed bobbed enthusiastically to a soundtrack I could only imagine. Behind me, I could just make out the silhouette of Josh, off to his right, Larry. Bright aux lights peeked out from behind Josh occasionally and another set, furthest back, was nearly centered between the two rows. I guessed that Jim had slid up out of sweep position and Justin was filming from the rear of the pack.

The anticipation of the journey ahead was palpable. The excitement was high and bubbling higher as the roadway kept climbing closer to the cloud ceiling. The temperature was manageable. I’m sure everyone had their heated grips on though. I did not. Being the only one in the group riding a Pan America Standard, my bike wasn’t outfitted with such luxury. As my fingertips had just sent my mind to thinking about that little missed comfort, I wondered how high this pass would get before we got to the junction of Arizona 188. I studied the clouds on the ridges and tried my best to read the landscape. I could see the snowline from the previous night’s accumulation hanging about a thousand feet below the cloud ceiling. We seemed to be racing right up on it. I secretly questioned my plan as a first shiver slipped up my spine.

Justin’s voice shattered the pseudo silence over the comms, “my bike just went into ‘Snow’ mode,” he chuckled, “there’s a big snowflake and 37°F on my screen.”

A couple, “yep me too,” crackled through the comms.

“Must be nice having those heated grips blasting,” I said.

“Not me,” I heard echo back.

“Who’s that?” I asked. A little surprised since everyone else was riding Pan America Special models that came factory-equipped with heated grips.

“Shawn.”

“Why don’t you have heated grips on?” I pressed.

“I gave them up when I switched out to this ProTaper handlebar and motocross grips,” Shawn said through the highway speed wind noise, “I don’t ride in ‘Snow’ mode much in Tennessee!”

“Well, I’m hoping we’ll be cresting this pass soon, I definitely wish I’d put my rain gear on.” A few drops had splattered my windscreen. The road was still dry but it was obvious we’d climbed a bunch since we started only 45 minutes or so earlier. I was still banking on us cresting the this little spur of the range and from what I’d remembered, 188 would dive back down into a valley bringing us down to Theodore Roosevelt Reservoir and Salt River.

It was all a crap shoot really. I’d been studying the forecasts and radar maps hard, multiple times per day, diving deep into WeatherUnderground. Ever since we got word that this trip was a go, we’d been trying to understand what we’d be able to do, really.

We knew as a team that the original objective of running a Backcountry Discovery Route from end to end just wasn’t possible in February. So why February? Well every single one of us on this mission work in the motorcycle industry. And unfortunately what that means is that in just a few short weeks our pre-seasons kick in and within what will feel like a matter of moments we will all be full-on into work mode. We will undoubtedly be out riding motorcycles, yet all in varying capacities as our modes shift to work from pleasure.

Three of us will be managing dealerships, two of us will be racing back and forth across the country, promoting Harley-Davidson Pan America from event to event, and the last… well he will be documenting and telling the story through his unique lens. All of us, will be completely inundated making a living doing what we can to help keep the motorcycle world we all love so much ticking along and growing as best we can.

So this is the time of year, no matter the challenges it presents, that we could all commit. The rough idea, as it was presented to me, was to get the group out on a BDR and dive deeper into the world of Adventure. ADV if you will. Adventure Motorcycle touring.

Most of the guys in the group are relatively fresh to ADV. As fresh as the Harley-Davidson Pan America. The rest of us have varying levels of ADV experience, from a handful of years to much more. The high-level objective was a bit more existential, a meeting of the minds, if you will. Drawn together by Harley-Davidson entering into the ADV community, we are all focused on our collective passion for the success of the brand in this segment. Pan America opens up the allure of adventure motorcycling to a broad pool of Harley-Davidson loyalists, who until now mostly found themselves pounding pavement bound to the more well-traveled thoroughfares of motorcycling culture. Ultimately, this is a summit of sorts. A collective of individuals who have been bitten by the ADV bug, infected by the passion that sweeps over us who ply the backroads collecting dust and dents and dings as the badges of honor pushing us into those spaces less traveled.

Close-up of Ducati DesertX Rally's high front mudguard and wheel.

In the most basic summary… the idea was to get out and “DO IT”, load the bikes up and disappear into the dust. A quest to dive deeper into the passion and live off the bikes for a bit. Stack the cordwood, find the kindling, nurture the spark and fan the flames of stoke on this ADV fire, so we can carry that forward into our respective corners of the industry with memories of this journey fresh on our minds to inspire on. Getting out and walking the walk for a moment, knowing that in just a few weeks it would be back to the grind to do our jobs; talking the talk.

When this was presented to me, the grizzled voice of reason, I have to admit, groaned internally under obvious challenges immediately stacked up against a straightforward plan.

The biggest challenge was simply the timing. Early February in the American Southwest desert is a particularly nuanced challenge.

While February flirts with splendid sunny, clean sky days, it is still plagued with long, long very dark and frigidly cold nights. February simply makes motorcycle camping in the desert a pastime reserved for those happy to be relegated to late mornings and early evenings. Camping when the daylight hours are eclipsed by those of dark makes everything a little less comfortable. Winter camping is for the hearty. It is an activity for those individuals that enjoy challenge much more than comfort. It is for those who don’t mind frozen fingertips and a constant chill. It is especially suited for those who love to rise before the sun and delight in shaking the frosty crust from the rainfly and revel in stuffing cold damp nylon into stuff sacks with numb frozen sausages for fingers and cramming the bounty of tools of survival into stiff, unyielding frozen saddlebags. Winter camping is for smashing down re-hydrated, flash frozen meals while still boiling hot before a moment’s distraction steals a warm meal back to cold mush. Those starry-eyed ideas of clinking cold ones around a blazing bonfire sharing recollections from the day’s trail, glowing smiles of accomplishment relaxing under the open heavens are quickly frozen out by the reality of wool and mittens. I tried my best to paint a picture of the winter camping realities I knew too well to be convinced that those who’d never camped off their bikes before in the desert west might lured into conjuring in their fantasies.