LET THE ROAD TAKE US
PHOTOGRAPHY BY MONTI SMITH
FROM A ROAD TRIP…
When you need to be 700 miles away and both parties involved have an Indian Motorcycle in their garage, you’re not flying commercial. You’re flying that two-wheeled highway cruiser and getting in the wind.
After three good days on the salt of Bonneville, we had our last meal in Wendover and walked out of the Salt Flats Café to our bikes. Monti was on his beautiful red Chieftain Dark Horse, and I was riding my Sport Chief. Our mates Jack and Stacia had a couple more days in town, so we hugged and said our goodbyes, all knowing we’d see each other again before too long. Monti and I tightened our cinch straps and pointed our bikes east toward Salt Lake City. Monti had spent a lot of time in Utah growing up, so he was happy to play tour guide.
Riding out of Salt Lake City, the only really bad option is the most direct one. Take your time, soak it up, and try to get lost if you can. We were only on the interstate for twenty minutes before cutting east at Spanish Fork and moving south along Highway 89. Rolling hills of green, cliffs of orange and red rock, lakes, rivers, and ponds interspersed — twisty roads inspired spirited riding, but the scenery demanded time and attention.
I’m not a religious man, but it’s hard to call this anything other than God’s country.It’s just otherworldly; like another planet compared to the urban jungle of Los Angeles that we were heading back to.
Despite having over 4,000 miles on my new Sport Chief, I hadn’t done any major trips. I wasn’t worried, and the Sport Chief proved I had no reason to be. “Sport” is often the opposite of “touring,” but here, the bike did both very well: long miles of straight highway were eaten up like a snack and twisty canyon roads gave the bike a real chance to shine, even with my luggage strapped to the back. Monti was all smiles, singing in his helmet and cruising along on his Chieftain Dark Horse, but it was no surprise that he was only a little ways behind me in the canyons, as well.
Rain started to hit as we neared Bryce Canyon, but we weren’t going to wait, so we just plowed on through. As I write this, the trip was a few weeks back, but I hardly remember the cold and the wet. The views? I still see those like a photograph in my mind.
In the National park, we hit every vista we could and just sat there in silence. Rain and thunderclouds in the distance prompted our departure. I could have sat on that ledge looking down at red rock spires for hours longer, but luckily, the ride out was a slow transition back to civilisation, crossing through beautiful mountains and insane red rock cliffs before we rolled into Cedar City. We pulled into Cedar City and sat on the corner of the gas station for half an hour watching the sunset over the mountains. We still had 170 miles to get to Las Vegas and temps were dropping quickly, so the rest of our ride would be blasting highway miles and getting it done. We just sat in silence without acknowledging it … melancholic … we both knew it without talking to each other .... tomorrow was the day to return home.
The next morning we were on the road twenty minutes after waking up. All of a sudden! “Morgan, Jack and Stacia are up at Forest Ranch up the 395, wanna roll?”
“Oh dude, not next door but the weather only gets better if we head over here — and maybe we can do one night of camping on the way?”
We continued to chat through our Cardo and tried to find a reason not to go home. There’s always another stop or another place to stay — but there’s always the next trip, too. Take the trip if you have the opportunity. Take as many friends as you can. Make it longer and explore new places.
That’s really what our bikes are for.
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