By Solana Kline — A lifelong dog-rescue advocate and avid back-country motorcycle adventure rider
“One for you…” Betty’s sleek silver terrier ears at full attention, pink tongue lolling out before she wolfs down the crispy fry. “And one for you…” Mickey’s gentle-giant, sloppy boxer/pit lips swallow my hand along with the fry. “And one for me!”
I sit on the sidecar step and sink my teeth into the pack’s favorite local beef burger from Wil’s Grill in Flagstaff—our final stop before heading north on our two-month backcountry motorcycle side-car trip across the West, visiting no-kill animal shelters along the way! Our trip began at 5pm last night- doggies harnessed and goggled, quadruple checks on Darlin (the 2018 Ural from Prescott’s own Kalaber Creations!). Throttle on and glimpses of Prescott are blotted out by the fiery Spring sunset in the side mirror as we roll ahead into the delicious sniffers, curves, and vistas of Mingus Mountain.
I’d never considered hamburgers to be a safe space before, but they became our saving grace along this journey, showing up just when we needed them—hot, cheesy, greasy goodness filling our bellies, rekindling our adventure sparks and warming our hearts and souls. And this one in Flagstaff was our trip’s bottle-of-champagne-christening. Tomorrow morning, we’d head into the great wide open, into the unknown, into adventure and courage and exhaustion, new trails and happy tails, the biggest heart smiles ever known, and some very interestingly configured tent snuggles in the wilderness!
Early season 100 degrees and driving winds challenged our route from Flag to Kanab, Utah and the Best Friends Animal Sanctuary there (bestfriends.org/sanctuary). The heatwave bore down, swallowed us up in the Southern Utah desert, miles, and piles of foot-deep, blowing sand on the serpentine dirt crossing from Kanab to Escalante—sheer drop-offs and off-camber descents had my full attention. Pups, meanwhile, sniffing carefree, heads up, evaporative cooling vests wet and working!
We push through and finally Utah highlands peak onto our horizon—where the snow is still melting and the grasses are sprouting. I point and cheer, jubilant and relieved. “Into the mountains, Beast Brigade!”
We lose the sun behind Loa, Utah—gateway to the mountains—into the tails of Utah Winter, exchanging sweat for shivers. As we make the final turn into Loa, a double-decker fish bus painted psychedelic comes into view, and a weathered wooden sign telling us how far Kona, Hawaii is, that-ta-way, and how far Dublin, Ireland is thatta-other-way. We had arrived at the Double-Decker Drive-In, or it had found us. Either way, Betts pokes her face out through the tonneau breather hole, wiffs the broiling meat, and the hounds lazily meander around the lawn, keeping a side-eye on the drive-in window.
Orders up! Fresh-cut fries and a double-decker burger—sizzling dripping cheese and tomato innards, the perfect ratio of mustard to pickle to bun to local beef! We round-robin chomp it down and git the heck outta Dodge before our potential tent spots are swallowed by darkness.
On moto trips, it’s always the little things that make the trip—the quirky bits of the backcountry, like an old phone booth up a deserted two-rut road, or the lonely, full-sized, white kitchen refrigerator on the side of the road North of Loa, its hand-markered sign reading: “Worms.” No houses in sight, nowhere to park to acquire advertised worms. One helluva long extension cord I’d reckon.
We pass the worms, and glory awaits us as we set up camp at a trailhead to the Great Western Trail North of Loa—a thing of offroad atlas lore until now!
The sage, crisp air follows us up through the mountain spines of central Utah, cold biting deep, but I smile knowing the pups are in a toasty snug side-car nest full of down and hot water bottle, and the chugging Ural engine. I, on the other hand, have every single bit of gear on and am still a human icicle. Only thirty degrees for the last three hours this morning; snow drifts and icy lakes and sweeping single lanes. Micks is intrigued and braves his head out the tonneau—hand-crocheted gator and puffy coat, lips flapping.
Last turn into Coalville, Utah, and like an oasis mirage there she is: KJ’s Catch n’ Snack, Scofield, Utah, where Mud Creek births the Scofield Reservoir. Seems like there’d be some worm fridges round here. Instead, the greatest backcountry score of all backcountry scores.
I unfurl the tonneau at the gas pump for the pups to sunbathe. Frozen, I hobble into KJ’s, hands held out, tractor beaming into an unknown radiating heat source on the back counter.
Two fishermen at the table laugh in understanding and shout, “Hey Nancy, get her a burger!”
Nancy hands me a dish with two raw patties and all the buns n’ fixins. My defrosting brain doesn’t comprehend. The fishermen point at my newfound blasting hand heater. “It’s a do-it-yourself burger broiler! Throw those patties and bun in there.”
I look closer. There’s one slower broiler conveyer for the burgers, and one faster conveyer for the buns, timed to absolute perfection so they all drop at the exact same time! I smash the steaming double cheese together and am filled with pure joy, an unshakable grin wrapped across my face as I run out to show the pups our spoils!
Sitting on the sidecar step, Betts and Micks drooling over each shoulder, I hand out bites and have this overwhelming feeling that this is what life is supposed to be—sharing sizzling meat with our comrades, smiling in the sunshine, accepting the kindness of strangers, feeling the cold on our wet nosers, taking in every new sniffer as if it were our last, and deeply being present with those we love in this world.
Ahead, another five hours in the 35 daytime degrees (with a promise of below-zero overnight temps) and an executive decision carries us happily to our first of two hotel stays of the two-month trip. Dreaming doggie woofs and tail thumps on our luxurious king-size white linen; they’ll sleep good tonight.
Reviewing our route before bed, tracing the cartoon lines of the atlas, but what lies ahead could never fit in those pages. Wyoming tomorrow, and on to Idaho to the most incredible no-kill shelter: Animals Need Help of Bear Lake (anhbearlake.org). I fall asleep with pitty Micks wedged in behind my legs, and a Bettis ball in my face on the pillow, knowing this right here is the true burger and worm fridges of life!
Until next time, happy tails and happy trails!
~Solana, Dr. Sausage, and Dr. Wiggles
