My first crack at enduro was a 630-mile dirt bike tour across the Mojave. Although it was late October, the desert sun was still quite hot as the bikes were wheeled off the trailer. We gathered around the tour leader, Steve Walker, who went through the plan for the day. I tried to focus, but the nagging doubt I’d been suppressing since signing up was now at the forefront of my mind: “What was I thinking? I’m totally out of my depth!” The one and only other time I’d ridden a dirt bike was a three-day intensive course in Wales three years before, where I fell off a lot.

“Any questions?” the talk was over. I had a ton of questions, like, “How do you ride in the sand again?” I glanced across at my new companions, but they had confidently headed for their respective machines, and soon the air was filled with the exhilarating braap of six four-strokes. We fell in behind Steve as he headed into the desert scrub with John Sides as sweep. It just got real: five days riding over the stunning Mojave Desert, and virtually all of it off road.

Coyote Trail Adventures

Two of my mates, Mike and Sergio, had recently completed a dirt bike tour in the desert with an outfit based near Los Angeles. After talking with Mike about their trip, I texted Steve, the owner of Coyote Trail Adventures, to ask if he had an opening for one. The response was immediate. Yes, that Friday, an advanced-level, five-day tour, and my choice of KTM, 350 or 500. Yes, “advanced.” I might have exaggerated my skill level a tad.

After just an hour in, my forearms were pumped. This wasn’t riding, it was hanging on, and I realized I wouldn’t make one day, let alone five, if I didn’t relax. At the first break I took the opportunity to get some tips from John. He’d been watching me and recommended I straighten my legs, bend from the waist, get my elbows out, and counterbalance my weight through the turns on the outside peg. Looking back, I realized we were still plodding at that stage. Four days later, I’d be flying down the famous Mojave Trail at 45 mph, dodging cacti and Joshua Trees, confident, well balanced, completely at ease on the 350, and with a whopping great grin on my face.

A Steep Learning Curve

Both John and Steve have been riding and racing in the Mojave since they were kids—supremely confident riders and navigators of this challenging yet beautiful terrain. As a novice on dirt bikes, it’s great to learn from such talented riders. Our tour had been orchestrated by two brothers. Amit, from Tel Aviv, had some serious experience riding in the deserts of Israel. Alon, a Los Angeles resident, completed the annual LA–Barstow to Vegas race on a KTM 990. No small feat, I would learn, when we rode Red Rock Canyon, an infamous section of the course. The last of our group, Brian, was a British ex-pat living in Florida. At 62 he was the oldest but had spent half his life in motocross as a rider and mechanic.

Steve and Brian resting with a view of Badwater Basin.

We had covered nearly 100 miles when we arrived at the first night’s accommodation. The Coyote Trails chase truck carried two spare motorcycles, a full set of tools, endless supplies of drinks and energy bars, and our lunches. Home for the night was a group of cabins sitting in the cool shade of Homeward Canyon. After a huge steak and a few beers, we were starting to feel like a group rather than a collection of strangers. Brian had worked for the Honda Factory Team and told some great stories as the crackling fire and a generous bourbon warmed the cool, starry night.

John and Alon discuss the view during a break in the Panamint Mountains.The new day brought fresh trepidation, compounded by the news that it would be 150 miles with some challenging technical sections. We set off for the rugged Panamint Mountains and, following John’s advice, I was starting to get a better balance and feel for the bike. I had my first off on a steep climb. With no harm done, I fought the bike up and took the next climb at higher speed and with greater commitment.

During those first two days, my focus was wholly dedicated to staying on the bike, and during the breaks, as I massaged some life back into my forearms, I took in the scenery around me and began to appreciate the incredible diversity of the desert landscape: the strange Trona Pinnacles, rising like stone geysers from the desert floor, and the view across Striped Butte Valley from the Geologist’s Cabin, as the sun lit up the butte in all its various colors. The terrain got tough climbing the Goler Wash, but I was coming to grips with the awesome capabilities of a 350. I was also beginning to understand why enduro is regarded as one of the most physically demanding sports.

Our persistence paid off at the top with an awesome view over Badwater Basin, the lowest point of North America. We worked our way down the other side into Death Valley National Park, making our rendezvous with the chase truck. Relieved for the break, we collapsed into the camp chairs, bantering about the morning’s challenges. Lunch over, we were back on the bikes, but not before following the example of the desert veterans and spraying our goggles with furniture polish to prevent the relentless dust from clouding them. The afternoon started with a tricky section, a seemingly endless narrow trail called the Goat Track. It was tough, highly focused riding, where the rear wheel often had a mind of its own. I learned to relax and ignore its random trajectory, soaking up the wild motion with my legs.

Alon picking his way through Red Rock Canyon.

Finally, just a dry lakebed remained between us and our motel in Tecopa Hot Springs, offering our first deep sand. Amit was in his element. No stranger to sand, he rode onto the virgin lakebed, the throttle wide open, sailing past us throwing up a huge rooster tail. Tecopa Hot Springs is a quirky little town of pure Western Americana. As the name suggests, visitors can bathe in the hot springs, the perfect remedy for aching muscles. That night Steve posed a question to the group: “Did we want to ride the infamous Red Rock Canyon?” There were two excellent reasons why we shouldn’t: One, it is a difficult, technical (mental), rock crawl; and two, it was situated more than 60 miles to our northeast, making our third day another big one. But three beers in, you’ll say yes to anything.

Beware the Noseeums

Feeling a lot less brave, we set off as dawn broke. Day Three was a turning point. I was developing a feel for the bike and mastering the sliding turns with both feet on the pegs. As our pace picked up, Steve had warned us to keep an eye out for “noseeums,” buried boulders that look like harmless stones at a distance but will violently fling your front wheel off track. It’s an alarming experience and one noseeum caused my only big off. Luckily no real damage was done, and thanks to the Nitro Mousse, there were no concerns over the tire.

As we rode into the western entrance to Red Rock Canyon after lunch, I became aware of our proximity to Las Vegas. As we crested the last technical climb, we dropped into a stunning canyon of dark red rock, contrasting with the bright green shrubs that filled the dry riverbed below. Buzzing with adrenaline, we had another 50 miles to cover before reaching our hotel in Primm, making it just before sunset.

Full Throttle Down the Mojave Trail

Day Four, by design, was the least demanding. I wasn’t the only one struggling with muscle fatigue, so the fast gravel and hard-packed tracks were a blessing to all, and an opportunity to take in the desolate beauty of the desert. But we still squeezed in some technical riding as we climbed a pass in the shadow of Spirit Mountain, ending up on the edge of a mighty rift, which afforded a panoramic view of Lake Mojave and Arizona beyond. Arriving at the hotel early, we took full advantage of the bar and pool area. Our final day would be a wild ride, straight across the Mojave Preserve on the Mojave Trail, 80 miles of varied terrain and the highlight of a fantastic adventure.

Striped Butte Valley and the Geologists Cabin.

Well rested, and with confidence abounding, I tore across the quicker parts of the Mojave with the others, the Joshua Trees a blur and the dipping sun turning the distant mountains the color of blood orange. It was the kind of riding that leaves you buzzing for hours afterward. Growing up in rainy Warwickshire, England, I dreamed of deserts like this. The Mojave is everything and more. Vast, strange, hot, and amazingly varied, and there is no better way to explore its most remote corners than on a dirt bike.

CoyoteTrailAdventures.com

Guy Pickrell’s first two-wheeled adventure occurred one summer morning when his friend, eager to try out his new bike in earnest, suggested they ride to a town called Henley-in-Arden. By the time they completed the 36-mile round trip, half the village was out looking for them. They were only nine years old at the time. That illicit journey ignited a passion for travel and adventure that has never waned, and to this day Guy continues to spend all the time and money he can in the pursuit of speed, solitude, adventure, and discovery. Originally from Warwickshire, England, he now lives in Los Angeles, California. PetroSpirit.com.