The fourth of July weekend is typically crammed with three-day holiday seekers toting all of their earthy possessions in their camper/trailer/RV to some nearby oasis resulting in clogged roads, clogged canyons, clogged campgrounds and clogged boat ramps. As a result, it'd been years since we strayed from home during this hectic weekend of patriotic celebration. Not since the famous Yellowstone Ride of '02 had we left the confines of home.
This year, however, we would. The Speed Triple had its paintwork completed and a week long road trip would commence a few days after the American holiday. The triple had not been started, or even rolled out of the garage since winter and some sort of shake-down tour would be required to ensure the bike would be able to venture out across the Nevada Desert and the fine state of California on our way to the first American Moto GP race in ten years; but that's another story…
In order to avoid the worst of the holiday traffic we'd decided to take an unconventional route, a day later, to a much closer destination. Vernal beckoned. The last time we had been in Vernal on a motorcycle was for Danny and Loretta's wedding in 2001, four years ago. So with the destination set, we set out. We all met up at Einstein Bagels for a quick breakfast – all of us being, Kris and I along with Mikey on his Franken-Triple and of course Eric and Dawn. Scott, his wife Paige and his daughter McKinley would also be in attendance.
The night before had been spent trying to solve a handling issue with the Monster, loose headset, incorrect ride height and poor suspension settings had degraded into a high-speed wobble that could strike fear into the best of sport-riders. I thought I'd solved the problem, but upon riding to Einstein's I noticed the problem was still there, likely a cause of too-tight headset and not enough weight on the front of the bike.
In a fit of extreme frustration, I stomped into a nearby ACE hardware and purchased a hammer and a screwdriver and proceeded to bang the headset loose by about 1/8 th of a turn. Then after Eric and myself took a few short test rides we also lowered the forks about 5mm's, all in the Einstein Bagels parking lot. The problem seemed to have abated so we finally started out. Kris claimed that after our parking lot adjustments, the bike handled better than it ever had since owning the bike.
Racing up Parleys Canyon , a super-high-speed sweeping interstate canyon, the Monster appeared to be rock-solid-stable again. Phew! What a relief. But riding the Speed Triple again, after several thousand miles on the diminutive Hawk GT, I was having a bit of a hard time sorting out my own problems. The bike felt enormous and over-powered. One small throttle input and I found myself rocketing forward at eye-ball flattening speeds. Whoah! That's going to take some getting used too.
Parleys Canyon behind us, we hurried our way past Park City onto Highway 40 that connected to Highway 248, past Jordenelle Reservoir to the town of Kamas . You could tell that it was a holiday weekend because it was hard to see the Reservoir because of all the boats in the way.
In Kamas we turned right on Highway 32 for the better part of a mile before making the left hand turn at the four-way stop onto Highway 35 and Wolf Creek Pass, a favorite road for all of us.
A few days earlier, I had shoe-horned a set of Continental Road Attack's onto the Triple. Having never been on these tires before, and re-learning how to ride a liter bike again, I was shakey at best. Nervously entering corners and gently accelerating out, I clenched every time the bike leaned, wallowed or bobbed. My confidence was nonexistent, but I forced my eyes up and continued to the far side of the canyon. Passed the town of Hannah the road opens into 20 miles of extraordinarily gentile and slight sweeping corners that suited my frayed riding style nicely. I was able to relax and actually enjoy the riding and regain some confidence again.
We stopped briefly in Duchesne for gas before tackling the arduous Highway 40 on our way to Vernal. I was running with my GPS for the first time in awhile and as we entered the Ute Indian Reservation town of Roosevelt , named after the President of that time by the town's founder's spouse, oddly enough. I noticed a series of smaller back roads that would take us off the traffic congested Highway 40. Entering Roosevelt , I was engrossed in the GPS as I led the group at 40mph into town. A local Sheriff, spied the group of motorcycles, flashed his lights at us and motioned, emphatically, for us to slow down. I was bewildered as we were traveling 5mph below the posted limit of 45mph. I anticipated some unforeseen road hazard that never materialized. Maybe that “start seeing motorcyclists” bumper sticker is working too well.
In the middle of town, I slipped a quick left turn onto Highway 121, heading north for several miles before making a 90-degree turn to the east, then south again, before making another 90-degree turn east again; a bit confusing, but there was zero traffic. A straight road with not traffic is, at least, a little better than a straight road with lots of traffic. A few miles later, however, I was pleasantly surprised when Highway 121 dumped into a large ravine resulting in a handful of sweeping corners cresting gentle ridgelines and banking through dry river-bottoms. I was delighted by this unexpected road condition. An empty sweeping road is much better than a traffic-laden straight 
one!
A few miles later, the road grew straight again and we inside the city limits of Vernal proper. Vernal is one of the very few cities in the state of Utah not settled by the Mormons. Brigham Young reportedly sent a scouting party to the area who, upon their return, declared the area “good for nothing but nomad purposes, hunting grounds for Indians and to hold the world together." However, President Lincoln set the area aside as the Uintah Indian Reservation and Fort Ashley sprang up and evolved into a town, by 1880 the post office renamed the budding community Vernal. (Vernal means youthful, suggestive of youth; vigorous and fresh – extra confusing when you visit this high-desert community). Then in 1948 they discovered oil in the land that was described at good for nothing. Recently, more oil was discovered in the area and some experts are claiming that Vernal could become one of the largest cities in the state of 
Utah within the next ten years; I don't know about that, but we'll see.
Because it was a holiday weekend Kris had reserved two of Econo-Lodges finest rooms. We promptly proceeded to the hotel, checked in, and decided to do a bit of sight-seeing. Vernal has been dubbed “ Dinosaur Land ” because of all the dinosaur artifacts that have been found in the area. The National Park Service even has a small Monument just outside of town which, incidentally, was going to be our first stop for the day.
Riding out of Vernal towards the cleverly named town of Dinosaur , we made a left turn in Jenson towards the Monument. It was a hot afternoon with dark clouds looming over the High Uinta mountain range to the north. We were happily surprised when the Ranger at the gate allowed us to ride our motorcycles straight to the open quarry visitor's center instead of having to park and take the bus.
We wandered about the quarry looking at dinosaur bones and teasing one eight year old boy about a non-existent shark in that we claimed was living in an empty aquarium. He caught onto our ruse and would pinch his face at us when we'd loudly discuss the shark in the 
aquarium.
A quick chat with the gal at the visitor's desk revealed a very interesting road that wound its way to the highest elevated point of the Monument. Having never taken this rode, it was decided that the trip was to take place. Back on the bikes, we returned to Jensen, then turned east and rode into Colorful Colorado; making Mikey an interstate motorcyclist for the very fist time. Finally arriving at the cleverly named town of Dinosaur , we found the road that would take us to the heights of Dinosaur National Monument . The road was quite bumpy, quite twisty and littered with Mormon Crickets desper
ately trying to cross the road before falling victim to our tires.
These vile and huge bugs are famous for plaguing the first Mormon settlers in the Salt Lake Valley until fasting and prayer resulted in a flock of seagulls arriving from nowhere. These gulls are claimed to have proceeded to gorge on the crickets, fly to a nearby depository, vomit the exoskeltal-critters and return to gorge again, thereby saving the Mormons from a plague worse than the Locusts of the Bible. This story is about as plausible as Paul Bunyon and a giant blue Ox named Babe creating the Grand Canyon by dragging his axe on the ground, but woe to the individual who tries to tell a local that this legend is fictitious.
Currently, these evil looking crickets are making new problems in Utah . Their numbers have risen so sharply in recent years that they are becoming 
downright destructive and are known to amass themselves in such numbers that vehicles will slide clean off the road when passing over them. This knowledge kept me as clear as possible from them in corners, but Eric, unaware of the stories was attempting to kill as many as possible until an unexpected slip stopped his euthanizing any more crickets than necessary.
The view from the top was a bit anti-climatic, but we did notice a small sticker affixed to a garbage can proclaiming a Colorado sport-bike groups “no sniveling” ride. Inspiration struck and Canyon Chasers stickers were designed and ordered a few days later. While Eric was taking his sweet (smelling?) time in the “facilities”, Scott and his wife Paige set into a heated discussion on whether or not they should take the Caponord and F650 back to Vernal on dirt-roads. Pavement was the final decision after much pleading on Paige's behalf, although Scott looked absolutely heart-broken that his Caponord would see no dirt today.
Back down to Dinosaur we traveled. The gas light on Kris' Monster light up before we had even reached the top and now the ride back town was going to test how far a Monster can go on a tank of gas. Fortunately, we never found out as we arrived at the gas station in Dinosaur before the Duck sputtered its last mile.
Directly west of the gas station we spied an Ice-Cream shop and promptly trundled over as strong winds picked up, scattering dust everywhere. In the shelter of the ice-cream shop, that looked to have once been a classic 1960's gas station, complete with tilted floor-to-ceiling windows, we watched as a dusting of rain cooled the hot asphalt. Only the brave, Mikey and myself, left the shelter for the cooler patio, while the rest of the group huddled in the confines of the ice cream parlor.
Once the storm had passed we returned to the bikes for the trek back into Utah and Vernal. Back at the hotel, we parked the bikes, shed our gear and began a short walk to the Dinosaur Brew Haus where we feasted on Burgers and beer while we watched Paul Sr. scream at Paul Junior over some chrome laden chopper than needed to be completed before Sunday (or something).
The next morning we awoke and wandered back into the heart of town to find breakfast. We found ourselves at the 7-11 Ranch Café (not in an old 7-11 amazingly – it's in an old Arbys building). The pancakes were great, but Scott had left his key on and after filling his tummy with bacon, eggs and toast, found his battery dead. Kris, Mike and I tried to push start the behemoth V-twin to life with no success while Paige watched, obviously frustrated with the situation. Scott then informed us that he had a battery charger on the bike so we pushed the bike behind the restaurant and plugged it in and waited for it to build enough charge to be able to fire the Italian back to life.
Once the Capo was among the living, we returned to the hotel to check out and begin the ride back to Salt Lake . We'd be taking a different route through Flaming Gorge National Monument and some great corners were promised for today's riding. One of my favorite things about Highway 191 that runs north out of Vernal, past Steinaker Reservoir, is the ten switchbacks that lay in between the valley floor and the mountain pass. But better than the sweeping, and tight corners are the signs that inform travelers of “10 more”, “9 more” and so on.
Only a few RV's stood between us and an unhindered ride to the top, but they were easily surpassed by our superior power to weight ratio and exuberance. I was finally starting to understand the Speed Triple again and was starting to find my riding legs again. As we neared the top, the clouds grew dark and heavy with rain, but since we had no rain-gear we would have to proceed regardless. Large heavy dollops of water plunked onto the faceshields as Kris and I found our way past the town of Dutch John to the turn off that would take us to the Flaming Gorge Dam and hopefully a dam tour of the dam area and maybe even the dam itself.
Because it was a holiday weekend, we were greeted with a dam tour every dam 15-minutes. So we all signed up, left our 
camera's knives and machine-guns on the bikes so we could make it through dam security. The dam tour guide walked around the dam building and past some dam stairs that had to be abandoned for security reasons, dam shame, and past the dam cranes, down the dam walkways, past some dam leaks (where dam water works its way through the dam rocks and spill out on the other side of the dam) to the dam elevator, where we rode down the dam elevator shaft to a dam hallway filled with dam photographs documenting the dam construction. We walked passed the dam turbines and out to the dam patio, where we bought dam fish food and threw it into the dam water to feed the dam fish. McKinley, the eight-year old, constantly scolded us for our dam language, but we were like sixth-graders, giggling at our brilliant humor.
We went back through the dam doors, back into the dam hallway, back up the dam elevator, back out to the dam walkways, past the dam cranes and back into the dam visitor center, returned to our bikes, parked safely in the dam parking lot and rode away, leaving all that dam stuff behind us. It was dam fun!
We rode through sprinkled wet roads to the town of Manilla where we gassed up at the towns only gas station before we headed west on Highway 43. Just as we left the gas station, one of the most torrential cloud bursts I had ever seen opened up on us pelting us with huge rain drops with the occasional spurts of hail; dam weather! The rain was so intense that it stung through my thick leather jacket and made my knees numb. But no sooner had it started and we were just starting to get miserable, it ended and we were 
once again riding under a clear blue sky towards the town of Mountain View . As soon as we crossed into Wyoming , Highway 43 becomes Highway 414, and as soon as it becomes 414 the scenery disappears into bland, sagebrush desert with few curves in the road.
We passed through Mountain View and stopped at the four way intersection with Highway 80 (that eventually becomes Interstate 80), but noticed that Eric was no longer behind us. So we waited and waited, as our damp levi's dried in the sun. McKinley decided that a face-down nap on a parking curb was a fine idea. After about 20 minutes we started to worry and were considering sending out a search party, but no sooner had we came up with the idea, a lone, single round headlight appeared, revealing Eric and Dawn. Eric, apparently made the left turn in Mountain Green and rode until the asphalt disappeared to gravel before realizing his error.
United again, 
we turned west and eventually got onto I-80 into Evanston Wyoming , where we stopped briefly for gas and a lunch-stop at a Sonic Burger where they utterly and completely botched our orders. Apparently there are two western-bacon-cheeseburgers, be sure you order the right one and express clearly which western-bacon-cheeseburger you want.
After a disappointing lunch we started south on Highway 150 that would take us up and over Mirror Lake Highway, a brilliant road that very well may be the highest road in Utah, it certainly feels that way. For the first part, the road is uninterestingly straight and bland, but as you near the border to the Wasatch-Cache National Forest the road begins to climb and twist its way up through the trees until you find yourself in a pristine alpine setting. Grey rock replaces the grasses and tree's become as scarce as the oxygen as the road winds through the middle of hundreds of small alpine lakes. The road is host to some of the most spectacular sweeping corners in northern Utah but heavy traffic prevented our unabated forward progress. Additionally, the high-altitude was affecting the power output of Kris carbureted Ducati to the point where she was pedaling to keep pace with the FI-blessed bikes.
As we dropped down the other side, traffic grew increasingly dense until passing was abandoned. Why pass when the cars stretch out endlessly as far as the eye can see? Mirror Lake Highway deposited us back into the town of Kamas where we stopped briefly in front of the local coffee shop, that had just closed up for the day. Here we discussed the highlights of the past to days and said our goodbyes before splitting up and heading for home.