The Hardest Miles Are the Most Beautiful

Trans America Trail : Days 17–21

Colorado passes, desert miles, and the legendary White Rim Road

Day 17 – Trinidad and the Rockies in Sight (130 miles)

Feeling fat, happy, and refreshed, we rolled down Raton Pass into Trinidad to stop at Topar Racing for a new set of tires. Our Shinkos still had around 30% tread left, but we didn’t want to tackle the Colorado passes with that. Topar and their owner are legendary in the TAT community, and they lived up to their reputation—dropping everything to get us in and out within a few hours, all for $50 each. For comparison, getting tires mounted back home before the trip had taken three weeks and cost $220. Quite the contrast.

As we left town, the Rockies loomed closer on the horizon. To say we were excited is an understatement. Colorado gravel treated us kindly for the most part, letting us ride at higher speeds and make up good ground despite our late start. Later that afternoon, we entered San Isabel National Forest and got our first taste of real altitude, climbing close to 11,000 feet. Even under a sunny sky, it was chilly, but the views and the riding were unbeatable.

We eventually found a primitive campsite that was perfect—stream running through it, a well-established fire pit, and plenty of wood. It turned out to be our favorite campsite of the whole trip. The only downside: we were still at 10,400 feet and knew it was going to be cold. We were right.

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Day 18 – Cold Reality (223 miles)

Waking up to 34°F in August was surreal. I had gone to bed in a puffy coat, long johns, and wool socks, yet still froze through the night. Greg ended up wrapping himself in his heavy riding gear for extra insulation and fared better than I did. Both of us had packed 40-degree sleeping bags, figuring 95% of nights would be hot and the rest manageable with extra layers. Turns out, our math—and our clothing—were wrong.

Greg made hot coffee in the morning, and I actually joined him for a cup. Normally, I drink cold brew all summer, but this morning was an exception. We set out early, riding west with the sun at our backs, eager to leave the shade of the forest. Dropping below 8,000 feet helped tremendously, and soon we were back in Colorado’s dry valleys among cattle and farms.

Crossing another range, we met our first fellow TAT riders—Joe and Dewey. We chatted for half an hour, swapping stories of the previous weeks. It was refreshing to talk with people who truly understood the challenges and triumphs of the trail. We parted ways, assuming we’d never see them again, but sure enough, while gassing up in Salida, they zipped past us with a honk and a wave.

After filling up, we were craving Mexican (as usual) and found a spot on Google—only to walk in and discover Joe and Dewey again, with two seats open at their table. Lunch with new friends was a welcome surprise.

That afternoon we tackled Marshall Pass. It was exciting but uneventful, which left us feeling confident about the three bigger passes planned for the next day. (That confidence wouldn’t last.) Later, we found another primitive campground in Gunnison National Forest, complete with a stream. The altitude meant another cold night, so we hung a bear bag, ate ramen, and put on nearly every piece of clothing we owned.

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Day 19 – The Passes of Colorado (134 miles)

This was the day—the one we had dreamed of and dreaded. When you imagine the TAT and watch YouTube videos, the Colorado passes are what draw you in. You think you understand the scale and difficulty, but until you’re staring straight up a switchback, wondering how you’re going to get 800 pounds of man and machine to the top, you can’t truly grasp it.

We started with another cold pack-out, descending 30 miles into Lake City for the best breakfast of the trip at Wagon Wheel Feed Co. In hindsight, a double breakfast smashburger before the hardest ride of the trail wasn’t the smartest choice. Marshall Pass the day before had left us feeling unstoppable. We soon learned otherwise.

Leaving town with full bellies and full tanks, we began climbing Cinnamon Pass. Not long in, we passed Joe and Dewey again—they looked like they were rethinking their life choices, and soon we knew why. Around the next corner, the trail turned brutal: 35-degree inclines, ledges, stair-steps, loose boulders, and sheer drop-offs. Greg went down first. I somehow stayed upright through what can only be described as a “send it, hold on, and pray” moment.

At the top, we looked at each other and said, “What in the F*** was that?” We regrouped, watching side-by-sides climb with ease while our bikes—Larry and Claire— (More on their names later in the journey) struggled for breath in the thin air, their horsepower halved. We weren’t doing much better ourselves.

California Pass came next—equally difficult but stunningly beautiful. We made it up safely, though luck played a big part. Storm clouds were rolling in, so we pushed on, hoping to beat the rain. We didn’t. The descent turned slick and nerve-wracking.

We regrouped in Silverton, waited out the weather, and then headed for Ophir Pass—my kryptonite. The climb was manageable, but the descent felt like riding on broken dinner plates. I went down twice within minutes, once leaving my bike inverted down a slope. That mishap let air into my rear brake line, which I didn’t realize until later when I discovered I had no rear brake. Greg and Claire fared much better, and I was grateful for his patience and help picking Larry up.

The rest of western Colorado should have been challenging, but after those passes, it felt like a walk in the park. We camped at Groundhog Reservoir, had a celebratory beer, and rode out an evening windstorm in our tents.

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Day 20 – To Moab (221 miles)

Our goal was Moab, Utah—221 miles of ever-changing landscapes ahead. We left camp around 8:00 a.m. and soon found ourselves back in what we jokingly call “terrorist gravel” (credit to a YouTuber). To be clear, these roads are fine for cars, but on motorcycles, the thick, freshly grated gravel made the bikes squirm and slowed us down.

The scenery shifted from mountains and forests to mesas and high desert as we reached Monticello for yet another excellent Mexican lunch. Afterward, the ride turned flat and monotonous—long stretches of desert, half gravel and half asphalt.

We made good time and spotted out-of-place mountains ahead, which of course Sam routed us through. That detour took us into Manti-La Sal National Forest, where we climbed above 10,000 feet again, surrounded by pines and aspens. It felt like central Colorado all over again—beautiful, exhilarating, and thankfully not too difficult.

Descending into canyon country was like flipping a switch. The red desert landscape was stunning. I quickly fell in love with the American West. A minor crash on a rock step reminded us how fatigue leads to mistakes late in the day. Fortunately, no harm done.

By evening, we rolled into Moab—the off-road mecca. Knowing we’d stay two nights to tackle White Rim Road, we chose an established campground with showers and, best of all, a pool.

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Day 21 – White Rim Road (118 miles)

The White Rim Road gave us what I believe is the most beautiful landscape in the country—along with some of the most challenging riding of the trip.

We got a late start around 9:00 a.m., figuring it was just a 100-mile loop. You need a permit (limited to 50 per day, available only 24 hours in advance), but getting one was easy. After 20 miles of pavement, we entered Canyonlands National Park, stopped the bikes, and just stared. Thousands of feet of mesas and canyons stretched before us, with a zig-zagging road carved into the cliffs.

We descended Shafer Trail and began the loop. The early miles were fun—fast rock and dirt, every bend revealing new canyons and the Colorado River below. But by noon, we’d only covered 20 miles. The terrain was slower than expected, and we couldn’t resist stopping for photos.

After a snack, we hit our first major challenge: a long, steep sand-and-rock climb. Greg went first, barely making it. I followed, and halfway up clipped a rock that kicked me toward a thousand-foot drop. I shifted hard to the right peg and throttled out, eyes half-closed, hanging on for dear life. By the sheer grace of god, I made it to the top, shaken but intact.

Another rider warned us that a tougher section lay 20 miles ahead. Sure enough, we soon faced a brutal climb of ledges, switchbacks, and loose rock. I dropped Larry hard, breaking a fairing and the windscreen. Thankfully, I was fine, and we pushed through.

The final stretch was a mix of sand, rock, and desert heat. Low on water, we crested the last climb and passed rusted cars scattered on the canyon floor—a stark reminder of the risks. Exhausted, we limped back to camp, jumped in the pool, and finished the day with pizza.

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Takeaways from Colorado to Moab

• Photos and videos can’t capture the reality of the terrain. It’s harder—and far more beautiful—than you expect.
• Choose your bike and gear wisely. If we did it again, we’d go lighter and carry less. That said, plenty of riders tackle the TAT on big machines.
• Build in time for side adventures. For us, it was White Rim Road. For you, it might be Crater Lake in Oregon or Luray Caverns in Virginia. Make the journey your own.