6,500 Miles, 15 Days, and One Hell of a Ride

There are motorcycle trips, and then there are the trips you know you’ll still be talking about years from now.

This was one of those.

Dad and I set out from Indiana with the motorcycles loaded, a rough route across the country, and about two weeks of riding ahead of us. By the time we were done, we had covered roughly 6,500 miles, crossed somewhere around 15 states, visited some incredible places, survived temperatures over 100 degrees, dealt with two motorcycle breakdowns, ridden some of the best roads in America, and collected more stories than I could possibly fit into a single photo dump.

The goal wasn’t just to get somewhere.

The ride itself was the trip.

Indiana to the Southwest

We left Indiana and started making our way southwest through Oklahoma and into Texas.

And it was hot.

Not “summer is kind of uncomfortable” hot. Temperatures were pushing past 106 degrees, and on motorcycles there isn’t exactly an air-conditioning button hiding somewhere on the handlebars.

We stopped constantly for water and tried to stay hydrated as we crossed what felt like an enormous outdoor oven.

It actually got hot enough that the adhesive holding Dad’s communication system to his helmet gave up on life completely. Somewhere along the highway, it detached from his helmet and disappeared.

One minute we had communication.

The next minute, Dad’s headset had apparently decided it preferred Texas.

We made our way through Amarillo and stopped at Cadillac Ranch, because if you’re already riding across Texas, you might as well stop and see a line of Cadillacs buried nose-first in the ground.

From there we headed into New Mexico, where we stayed with my uncle Ron, Dad’s brother, and Kevon. After several long riding days, it was nice to slow things down, have dinner together, spend time with family, and enjoy being somewhere that didn’t require checking the next fuel stop every few hours.

A Stop in Madrid and a Little Wild Hogs History

One of the more fun stops on the trip was Madrid, New Mexico, where parts of the movie Wild Hogs were filmed.

I’ve always loved the movie, so obviously we had to stop.

We visited Maggie’s Diner, which was built as a movie set for Wild Hogs. Despite the name, it was never actually a working diner. Today it operates as a souvenir and gift shop.

It was one of those completely unnecessary stops that somehow becomes one of the memorable parts of the trip.

And from there, the riding started getting seriously good.

Gila National Forest

Before hitting the Devil’s Highway, we rode through Gila National Forest, and it was incredible.

Beautiful scenery. Endless curves. Switchbacks climbing through the mountains.

And cliffs.

Lots of cliffs.

With absolutely nothing between you and a very long drop.

Guardrails apparently being an optional feature in that part of the country.

It was one of those roads where you want to look around at the scenery but also very much need to concentrate on the several thousand pounds of motorcycle, rider, and luggage currently negotiating the next hairpin turn.

Somewhere along the way I also found myself briefly racing three baby deer.

I did not initiate the race.

The deer were surprisingly competitive.

Thankfully everyone, motorcycles and deer included, eventually went their separate ways.

The Devil’s Highway

Then came one of the roads I had really been looking forward to: U.S. Route 191, better known as the Devil’s Highway.

The road earned the nickname because this stretch was once designated U.S. Route 666 before being renumbered.

The name may have changed, but the road absolutely lives up to its reputation.

Switchback after switchback.

Huge elevation changes.

Mountain views stretching forever.

Dust.

Cliffs.

And mile after mile of some of the best motorcycle riding I’ve ever experienced.

Between Gila National Forest and the Devil’s Highway, this part of the trip alone would have made the whole ride worth doing.

But we were barely getting started.

Petrified Forest National Park

Next we made our way through Petrified Forest National Park in Arizona.

The landscape is completely different from the mountain roads we’d just been riding. Wide open desert, strange rock formations, layers of color stretching across the horizon, and petrified wood scattered through the park.

It was another reminder of how quickly the landscape changes when you’re crossing the country on a motorcycle.

One day you’re riding mountain switchbacks through forests.

The next you’re crossing the desert.

Zion and Our First Motorcycle Problem

From Arizona we headed toward Zion National Park.

Somewhere along the way, my rear tire decided it no longer wanted to participate in the trip.

Flat tire.

Dad and I pulled over and did a roadside repair, got the tire holding air again, and continued toward Springdale.

By this point we were running late.

Very late.

Which is how I accidentally ended up riding through Zion National Park in complete darkness.

There are probably calmer ways to experience Zion.

We were riding through the park with nothing but our headlights cutting through the darkness. Animals were moving around us. The road twisted up and down the mountains with switchbacks disappearing into the black ahead.

During the day, those roads are breathtaking.

At night, they’re breathtaking for entirely different reasons.

Eventually we made it into Springdale.

The next morning I rode down to Zion Harley-Davidson to get the tire properly repaired.

They were fantastic.

They got me in immediately, and because I had Harley-Davidson ESP along with the Wheel & Tire coverage, the damaged tire was replaced with a brand-new one.

No drama. No long delay.

They got us back on the road quickly, and we were able to spend the rest of the day exploring Zion and riding around the surrounding area.

One Night in Vegas

From Zion we headed toward Las Vegas.

Yes, Vegas.

No, not that Vegas experience.

No all-night casino story. No missing motorcycle. No mysterious tiger appearing in the hotel bathroom.

We spent the night there and continued west the next morning toward California.

Yosemite National Park

Our base for Yosemite was an Airbnb in Mariposa, California, which turned out to be a great place to stay.

The ride into Yosemite was beautiful, winding between mountains with incredible scenery throughout the area.

There were also fire crews working in several places, wrapping up operations from wildfires nearby.

Yosemite itself was probably the one national park that didn’t quite live up to what I had imagined.

That’s not necessarily Yosemite’s fault.

We visited later in the season, so many of the famous waterfalls weren’t flowing the way you normally see them in photographs because most of the snowpack had already melted.

It was also a holiday weekend.

Which meant people.

Lots and lots and lots of people.

Traffic inside the park was a mess, and the crowds made it difficult to really enjoy some areas.

Still, we had a great time, took some incredible photos, and spent the day exploring.

Even when a destination isn’t exactly what you expected, you’re still standing in Yosemite National Park after riding there across the country on a motorcycle with your dad.

Hard to complain too much about that.

Tioga Pass and the Loneliest Road in America

Leaving Yosemite gave us another fantastic riding experience: Tioga Pass on California Route 120.

As we climbed higher into the mountains, the temperature dropped dramatically.

We had gone from riding through temperatures above 106 degrees earlier in the trip to watching the thermometer fall into the low 50s.

Motorcycle touring apparently includes experiencing every possible season in approximately four days.

Tioga Pass was incredible.

Mountain views, elevation changes, cold air, curves, and some truly spectacular scenery.

From there we headed toward Elko, Nevada, spending part of the route on U.S. Route 50, famously called The Loneliest Road in America.

And the name isn’t marketing.

There is nothing out there.

Then more nothing.

Then, just when you think there couldn’t possibly be any additional nothing…

More nothing.

Miles and miles of open road, desert, mountains, and almost no civilization.

It was strangely beautiful.

And on a motorcycle, it gives you a real sense of just how enormous the American West actually is.

Yellowstone

From Elko we headed north toward Yellowstone National Park.

Yellowstone ended up being my favorite park of the entire trip.

It is enormous.

Roughly 3,472 square miles, stretching primarily across Wyoming with portions extending into Montana and Idaho.

You can look at photographs of Yellowstone before visiting, but they don’t really prepare you for seeing it in person.

There are landscapes that almost look artificial.

Mountains, rivers, geothermal features, wildlife, huge open valleys, forests, and scenery that looks like someone typed a ridiculous prompt into an AI image generator.

Except it’s real.

We saw Old Faithful, explored the park, and rode through some of the most incredible scenery of the entire trip.

Yellowstone is absolutely not a park you should try to experience in a single day.

You need at least two or three days.

Realistically, you could spend considerably longer there and still not see everything.

Unfortunately, Yellowstone was also the location of motorcycle problem number two.

After watching Old Faithful, Dad’s motorcycle started making a metal-on-metal noise.

That’s generally not a sound you want coming from a motorcycle.

We managed to make it out of the park and eventually reached a place where we could safely stop and investigate.

That’s when we discovered that a significant portion of Dad’s front wheel bearing had come apart.

That motorcycle wasn’t going anywhere.

So we called for a tow and had the bike taken to Yellowstone Harley-Davidson.

Once again, we somehow landed at another fantastic Harley dealership.

They got Dad’s bike in quickly, replaced the failed bearing, and got us back on the road.

While they worked on his motorcycle, I wandered around town, did some shopping, and generally participated in the ancient motorcycling tradition of spending money while waiting for someone to repair something.

Sturgis and the Black Hills

With Dad’s bike repaired, we headed toward Sturgis, South Dakota.

Obviously, if you’re riding motorcycles across the country and you’re anywhere near Sturgis, you’re stopping.

We explored the town, grabbed some excellent local coffee, and visited Harley dealerships around the area to collect shirts and poker chips.

Then we rode some of the roads and landmarks that make the Black Hills such an incredible motorcycle destination.

We rode Needles Highway, which absolutely earns its name.

Narrow roads.

Tight turns.

Rock tunnels.

Massive granite formations.

And sections where the available pavement seems designed specifically to make you wonder whether someone in the highway department had a personal grudge against large touring motorcycles.

We also visited Mount Rushmore and Crazy Horse Memorial and spent time simply riding around the Black Hills.

After thousands of miles of rushing between destinations, it was nice to spend some time just enjoying the area.

The Ride Home

Eventually, every road trip reaches the moment where the GPS starts pointing toward home.

From South Dakota we rode to Des Moines, Iowa, which became our final overnight stop together.

The next morning Dad and I split up.

He headed toward Marion.

I headed back toward Fishers.

After roughly 6,500 miles and 15 days on motorcycles, the trip was over.

Would I Do It Again?

Absolutely.

Without hesitation.

But I’d probably change one thing.

Time.

We covered an enormous amount of country in just over two weeks. We saw incredible places, but there were plenty of times when I wished we could have stayed another day instead of packing the bikes again the next morning.

If I planned the trip again, I’d either make it longer or trailer the motorcycles west and begin the ride from there.

That would leave more time for places like Yellowstone, Zion, Yosemite, the Black Hills, and all of those roads you discover between the destinations.

But I wouldn’t change the experience.

We rode through temperatures over 106 degrees.

We crossed deserts and mountains.

We rode cliffs with no guardrails.

We fixed a flat tire on the side of the road.

We dealt with a failed wheel bearing hundreds of miles from home.

We rode through Zion in complete darkness.

We crossed the Loneliest Road in America.

We rode through forests, mountain passes, tiny towns, huge national parks, and roads narrow enough to make a touring motorcycle feel approximately the size of an aircraft carrier.

There were close calls.

There were breakdowns.

There were long days when we were exhausted.

And there were moments where we’d come around a corner, see the landscape open up in front of us, and neither of us needed to say anything.

That’s why you do trips like this.

It wasn’t just about Yellowstone.

Or Zion.

Or the Devil’s Highway.

Or Sturgis.

It wasn’t even really about the motorcycles.

It was about riding across the country with my dad.

Thousands of miles.

Hundreds of turns.

A few mechanical problems.

A ridiculous amount of gas.

And one hell of a story.

I’d do it again tomorrow.