By Solana Kline — (lifelong dog-rescue advocate and avid motorcycle adventure rider)
There’s a freedom and deep joy we see and feel in our dogs- a presence, a passion for each little sniffer, seemingly boundless energy and the intelligence to take naps as often as possible and to NEVER pass up a delicious snackie. They are gurus to life (except when they eat impossibly disgusting things). Their spirits are wild and their hearts kind. Our own wild spirits and kind hearts are set on fire when we adventure with our pups, when we see them at full speed and agility, connecting with our own need to be free wild animals, longing for the adventures and sniffers ahead on the trail!
The wild and free doggie spirit is what brought me and my dog pack here: somewhere in Flaming Gorge, I am soaked to the bone from the last six hours in forty-degree, driving Utah rain, outrunning the blizzard coming in from Idaho. There’s a sunhole in the storm so I pull us over at a little creek—the purple sky and peeking sun exploding the burnt orange cliffsides above.
I dismount Darlin, the 2018 Ural offroad motorcycle-sidecar rig, peel off the way too large, recent (and godsent) purchase of the bright yellow boat captain’s slicker, and make it over to the sidecar (also called sidehack). Unsnapping the waterproof tonneau cover, the first black nose pokes out: Betty, the terrier terror (aka Dr. Sausage, Falkor, Little Baby Mountain Goat); followed by a bigger black nose: Mickey, the pitty/boxer loverboy (aka. Dr. Wiggles, Señor Lioness, Wiggu-Beef)—my doggie comrades.
They are bone dry and groggy, lulled to sleep by the pitter-patters of rain on their sidecar roof, the warmth of their sardine-sleeping situation, and the hot-water bottle sandwiched between them. This was old hat for them by now after almost three weeks on the road. They yawn and sit up, assess if the weather is to their liking enough to get out and sniff around. They agree it is and hop out, start down the trail, looking for fish off the bridge and galloping around the fresh tall grasses.
But the black clouds amassing behind the mountains are our cue to hit the road, and fast. The pups sense it too—the way the air’s energy shifts when lightening is coming—the ominous and regenerative processes of high elevation Spring-time. Snow and lightening ahead, and we have no choice but to move through it. It’s in these moments where one reflects on the life choices that brought them to this moment and why I’m not instead in a sun-filled chaise lounge reading Edward Abbey and sipping hot coffee, with the pups sound asleep in pillowy goodness. This was not the first or last time I would contemplate this along this adventure….
“Load up!” I shout through the wind.
Mickey lofts up into the sidecar first, then Betts follows—their self-organized protocol since the start of the trip. As I tuck them back in under the tonneau, I’m overwhelmed with amazement and gratitude, knowing all that brought us here and how far these pups and me have come to be on this incredible adventure.
Every time I see them in the hack together I can’t help but smile, they are incredible. I’d dreamt of this trip my entire life—ever since seeing Harrison Ford and Sean Connery on the big screen outrunning Nazis on a BMW sidecar-rig back in the ‘80s. But with a sidecar filled with pups grinning ear to ear and donning dog goggles. And here we are, living the dream, literally.
A few years ago I made a deal with the dogs: as soon as I (or more appropriately, we—they earned their honorary doctorates for putting up with me for five years as a crazed PhD student) finished the PhD, we were venturing on our own moto-sidecar, exploring the backcountry of the West from Arizona through Utah, into Idaho and Wyoming, and back home through Colorado. We would be on dirt roads and camping, exploring new trails the whole way, and—most importantly—visiting local no-kill doggie rescues along the route to raise funds and awareness!
I found our first sidecar rig in 2021 just outside of Skull Valley, Arizona. This led us to the kind folks at Kalaber Creations, the Ural dealer in Prescott, Arizona who helped me learn some Ural mechanic skills and get a newer fuel-injected Ural that would be more reliable for the high altitudes of this trip. And boy, are we grateful for this new rig and our sure and fast exit right about now!
In the sidecar, I pull Betty’s crocheted ear cover/gator up to her eyebrows. Looking into her golden lemur eyes brings me back to the first day I saw her at her foster home in Oregon on a Christmas tree farm seven years ago—her terrier mustache growling at me from under a pine tree. She was an ex-street dog from Sacramento, nabbed by the puppy police right after having a litter in the streets and rescued from the gas chamber of Sacramento high-kill shelters by the angels of Oregon Friends of Shelter Animals (ofosa.org).
I move over to Micks and tuck the sleeping bag back in around him best I can, his heavy gentle head not protesting the cozy pillow laid under it. I hold his head in my hands for a minute, amazed at how different this boy is since we freed him from his two-year stint at the Nevada Humane Society in Reno (nevadahumanesociety.org). An ex-junkyard and fighting dog, he went from fearing and attacking other dogs to snuggling and playing with them in just a couple of years.
The healing powers of love and nature-time together as a pack are absolutely undeniable. So here we all are, together, midway into our two month backcountry motorcycle sidecar adventure.
Just over this snow-packed mountain is Vernal, Utah, where our second of two hotel-stays of the trip awaits: hot showers, hot chocolate, crisp white linen, a king-sized bed, all you can eat cereal, and HGTV!
I breathe deep, smile, and pat the tonneau cover. As I swing my leg over Darlin, the weeks passed and the weeks to come on the road flash through my brain—adventures of a lifetime, pup-centered adventures of a lifetime….
Until next time, happy trails and happy tails!
~ Solana, Dr. Sausage, & Dr. Wiggles ~
