motorcycle-tours

What ADV Boots Do Pros Actually Use?

Sat, 24 Jan 2026 19:40:00 GMT

The boots we use and recommend for ADV riding...

There are so many opinions on adventure motorcycle boots floating around the internet that I wondered if writing out ours was even helpful. But every training we teach and every tour we lead, the “Best Gear” conversation will eventually come up. I’ll assume you’re looking for something the gear sales websites and "sponsored" influencers can’t give you: unbiased preferences from guys who spend a lot of time in their boots.

Our trio consists of three guys who professionally ride motorcycles for a living. We spend more time in the saddle than most riders, averaging about 30K miles per year on the road - or off-road. And over the years we’d be embarrassed to tell you how much money we’ve spent finding the right boots.

The interesting part? We rarely agree on gear, and this is no exception.

We have varying levels of technical riding skill, different weights of bikes, and we’re comfortable at different speeds. Even our risk assessments - the internal voice that tells you whether to send it or scout it - are different too.

Because we are so different as riders, we look for different things in our gear. The following is our collective list of boots that have earned full-time status in our garage:

SCOTT

Stats: 6’2 260lbs: Mid-life crisis Dad-bod. Boot Size:13 | Off Road Riding Style: Technical trails, rocky and loose with a higher risk threshold. Tends to end up on the worst line and just plows through it - don’t follow him; 2025 Tenere 700 | On Road Riding Style: Long distance touring, 12+ hour days; 2018 Honda Goldwing

Recommended Offroad Boot: Alpinestars Tech 7 Enduro

Why: For off road my priorities are full coverage… but i won’t give up comfort. I used to wear a low boot by Forma, which I liked, but as my skills improved so did my speeds - that increases risk - I wanted something stiffer, with an ankle hinge to help offset that. I really like the boot’s shape over the boots with Goodyear Welted soles. The Tech 7s have a more narrow toe box design (shaped more like a shoe than a fat round boot) that allows me to fit my size 13 under the shifter more easily. The first time I tried them on in store, they had an instant secure but comfortable feel; they felt broken-in out of the box and got better after a day of riding.

A couple months back I got reminded how heavy a motorcycle can be. When I crashed, the bike landed right on my ankle. I was limping for a few days and had moderate swelling, but the Tech 7s did their job. That, 100% would have been a break, in a less protective boot.

Recommended On-Road Boot: Sidi Adventure 2 Low

Why: I was always a motorcycle shoe guy on road. I love the look of Icon. They’re comfortable, waterproof, all-day walkable, and no one stares at you if you wear them to work. Several years back I learned that the number one injury in moto-crash statistics are feet/ankles and it got me thinking… Maybe I need more protection. After several purchases of low boots that got close but didn’t nail it, I landed on the Sidi Adventure 2 Lows. They run more narrow than big rounded tow American-style boots (Forma); which fit my feet perfectly. That profile feels like a normal work boot on my foot. But, I get a fully protected hinged ankle and even with the buckles (instead of laces), they fit under riding pants or straight leg riding jeans. The Sidis are comfortable enough to walk around in at stops and even short hikes if you choose. And they’re waterproof; simple, classic and top quality.

MATT

Stats: 5’9” Walrus-like - numbers aren’t important are they? Boot Size: 10.5 Wide. | Riding Style: Primary Sweep Rider, 12+ hour tour days, high speeds on groomed dirt, smart and calculating line choice when things get technical. Riding a 2019 BMW R1250GS, 2024 Yamaha Tenere 700, 2013 Honda Forza.

Recommended Boot For Everything: Forma Terra Evo Low

Why: I know that there are many boots out there that are definitely more protective. You can hear most of them as riders get off of their bikes and walk anywhere! The squeak, squeak noise draws attention to them as they walk like they just took their skis off and are going into the lodge for a cup of hot chocolate. I have no doubt that in a serious crash with broken bones, they will have much prettier ankles than I will, but if you do any crash stat research, the advancement of better riding boots didn’t eliminate lower leg injuries, but rather shifted the injury up the leg.

The Forma fits my wide-ass caveman feet. I tried the Forma Adventures and they may as well have been sneakers masquerading as an ADV boot. My ankle had WAY too much movement and I got tired quickly standing on the pegs because there was no stiffness to the sole. When moving to the Terra Evos I found them to have almost the same comfort while walking.

As an overthinker, I focus on realistic, daily use scenarios. As far as comfort, I could ride to an event like Sturgis or Daytona and walk around in them most of the day. If I have a flat tire and have to walk… I can walk to a main road without needing 2 extra gallons of water because I’m working super hard to walk in stiff boots. The most likely scenario is that I wanted to ride out to an old cemetery I found on a map, and come to find out, it’s a quarter mile up a steep hill to hike there. When it comes to comfort, the Terra Evo Low works for me.

As for safety, they have enough ankle and foot protection that, at the speeds that I tackle the challenging lines, my ankle will be okay. I have crashed several times in the sand and ruts with loose rocks, and the speeds were appropriate for my age. I am not a “when in doubt, throttle out” kind of guy. I practice, I calculate my lines and I challenge myself. That’s not to say that I never ride fast, I do, but when I dump the bike because I ran out of talent, it has been at slower speeds. My favorite safety feature is the mid-sole steel shank because it takes a lot of pressure off of my feet when I’m standing on the pegs. This allows me to ride longer through the day without getting as tired and that is a feature of boots that most riders don’t recognize. We make better decisions when we’re less fatigued (we can all agree), and your boots play a huge role in that equation.

KEITH

Stats: 5’11” 230lbs: Ragnar the viking if he let himself go in his later years. Boot Size: 11 | I’ve owned and ridden most of the ADV bikes out there. Currently on a T7. Riding Style: Lead Guide, always willing to push the pace and ride whatever line it takes to get the job done. Currently #1 in Rever Pass Climber Challenge.

Recommended Boot For Everything: SIDI Adventure 2

Why: I’ve spent the most time in the Alpinestars Tech 8s as my primary boot. They offered good protection but I wasn’t a fan of the inner bootie design and steel toe cap. I tried the Forma Adventure because it’s apparently mandated by the Geneva Convention for ADV riders. But they felt like they had the protective properties of an al dente lasagna noodle. After that I fumbled through a host of short lived, completely inadequate offerings. Seriously, the money i’ve lost on sub-par boots…

I eventually found the SIDI Adventure 2 (tall). I’m an endorser of the inner and outer solid hinge design. This provides plenty of toe up and down movement for shifting and even walking without allowing hyperextension in either direction. It eliminates side to side rolling motion completely. They are waterproof and easy to get in and out of with the two buckles and velcro closure. Are they as protective as a full motocross style boot? I would say better than the cheap motocross boots but not as good as the top-shelf ones. But they check all the boxes I need. I like them so much I found them on sale and have three pairs waiting in the closet for the current pair to wear out. Also, they last a long time. I get several seasons out of each pair.

Think of the foot like an airplane in flight (obviously because ADV riders are bad-ass, mine is a fighter jet); with pitch, roll and yaw. No boot protects you from yawning motion - that’s why tib/fib fractures are so common off-road. But, you want a boot that allows plenty of pitch movement while protecting from hyperextension and completely locks down roll movement.

Am I Really An Intermediate Rider?

Sat, 10 Jan 2026 21:45:58 GMT

How to Rank Your Skill Level for Adventure Riders...

It's a big chart and probably hard to see on your screen so click the button below to download it for yourself.

First off, what does “intermediate” even mean?

If you ask 15 ADV riders what their riding skill level is, chances are you’ll hear “intermediate” at least a dozen times. But what does that mean? If you ask that, you’ll get a dozen different responses. We're pretty bad at communicating our skill level to others. It’s not completely our fault; there aren’t really any objective standards to go by.

This can be a real world problem when building a tour, planning a group ride or even finding an appropriately skilled riding buddy online. My idea of intermediate and your idea of intermediate can be worlds apart. And THAT could be a disaster if the more skilled rider is picking and leading the trail that day.

I came across this chart a few years ago and it has somewhat helped solve that problem. I wish I knew who created it; I would love to thank you and give you credit for its creation. It’s a motorcycle take on a chart that will look familiar to mountain bikers and skiers. Those sports use green triangles, blue squares and black diamonds to communicate the difficulty of trails. This one uses A, B, and C from enduro racing to define exactly what a trail looks like, who it's for and what skills are required to navigate it. If you’ve ever seen an enduro race, the colored backgrounds on number plates signify what class the rider is in.

Typically, A riders are the best (although the AA riders would disagree..lol). B riders are “intermediate” and the C riders are novices. This chart further breaks down those categories and is very helpful when creating routes for others. It keeps the route architect and participating riders on the same page. It manages expectations, helps to prevent injuries, and overall keeps you from ruining a perfectly good riding day.

Using the chart is straightforward and simple. If you read the row C+ from left to right and think “easy enough” then move up to read the B row if that row gives you pause at any point you’re solidly a C+ rider. Just keep moving up the rows until you find where you get uncomfortable and see where you land.

I noticed something as I studied this chart... it feels like intermediate riders are significantly more skilled than most of us think. The average weekend warrior on a large ADV bike (1200+) is likely riding at the C or C+ level (beginner to beginner + trail difficulty). I speculate that after riding those trails for a few years, you don't feel like a beginner anymore so that must mean i've become an intermediate rider. But look at the chart again. A low level intermediate trail means you could barely get a GSA1250 through the "grapefruit sized rocks that are impossible to avoid".

I would love to see the ADV community come up with a trail standard, like other industries have, to help us riders gauge trail difficulty. Getting everyone to agree on one might be the challenge but if a well respected industry powerhouse *cough BD *cough R *couch* were to endorse a standard, make it open source to trail map makers and app developers, we've got a really good chance at having a common language to assess ourselves. We're all still going to lie... but at least we know we'll be lying.

Historical Sites on ADV Bikes: Apache Leap

Fri, 26 Dec 2025 03:50:40 GMT

Tired of riding the same routes each month? Get out and explore Arizona's rich history with our series of Historical Sites for ADV Bikes!

Apache Leap (shown above) is visible to see from the highway in Superior; look up and East. There you go! The route up Picketpost is off-road and we'd rate it a 2 out of 5 in difficulty; big bike friendly. Once you peel off pavement, you’re on rocky desert two-track and graded dirt that ranges from pleasant to suspension working overtime. Expect loose baby-head rocks, embedded stone, washboard, and occasional erosion ruts. It’s easy to moderate in dry conditions, but rain turns sections slick and sketchy fast. Totally manageable on mid-size and big ADV bikes big bikes.

Enjoy the history:

In the heart of the Superior Arizona, landscape, two geological giants stand as silent sentinels of the past: Picketpost Mountain and Apache Leap. If you’ve ever driven US-60 between Phoenix and Globe, you’ve seen them - one a solitary, flat-topped butte that looks like a fortress, the other a massive, jagged escarpment that glows deep crimson at sunset. These are not just beautiful formations for hikers to conquer; they are sites steeped in a complex, tragic history where Native American endurance, military strategy, and mining booms collided.

The Sentinel: Picketpost Mountain

Picketpost Mountain is an unmistakable landmark. Rising 4,375 feet above the desert floor, it looks like a natural castle guarding the town of Superior. Long before it was Picketpost, Spanish and Mexican explorers called it Tordillo (Grey Spotted) Mountain. Its current name was born from the Apache Wars of the 1870s. General George Stoneman, a prominent military figure (and later the Governor of California), established an infantry camp at the mountain’s base in 1870. The mountain served as a "picket post" - a military term for a sentinel or lookout position. Soldiers were stationed on the broad, flat summit to signal movements across the desert below. Because of its height, it later became a vital link in the heliograph network, a communication system that used mirrors to flash Morse code across Arizona’s mountain peaks.

A Volcanic Giant

Geologically, Picketpost is the remnant of a massive volcanic vent. Over millions of years, the surrounding softer rock eroded away, leaving behind the hardened "latite" lava that forms the mountain's formidable cliffs. This geological "hard-headedness" is what gives Picketpost its iconic, impregnable look.

The Legend: Apache Leap - The Leap of Honor

Directly to the east of Superior lies Apache Leap, a stunning vertical cliff that forms the edge of the Galiuro and Superstition transition. Its beauty, however, is inseparable from a haunting oral tradition. According to the legend, in the early 1870s, a group of Pinal Apache warriors were surprised by U.S. Cavalry troops in a pre-dawn raid. Outnumbered and backed toward the edge of the sheer 1,000-foot precipice, the warriors faced a grim choice: surrender and face life in captivity, or die on their own terms. The legend says that nearly 75 warriors chose to leap to their deaths from the summit. It is a story of profound sacrifice and refusal to yield.

The Apache Tears

Local lore links this tragedy to a unique geological feature of the area: Apache Tears. These are small, translucent pebbles of black obsidian found in the perlite deposits at the base of the mountain. The story goes that the wives and families of the fallen warriors gathered at the base of the cliff to mourn. Their grief was so great that the Great Father embedded their tears into the earth as black stones. When held up to the light, these "tears" are clear, representing the sorrow and the spirit of those lost.

Superior: The Town Caught in the Middle

The presence of Picketpost and Apache Leap defined the fate of the town of Superior. In 1875, silver was discovered at the foot of Picketpost Mountain, leading to the creation of the Silver King Mine - the richest silver strike in Arizona history. The boom town of Pinal City sprang up at the mountain's base, housing figures like Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday. When the silver eventually ran out, the focus shifted to the copper veins beneath Apache Leap, giving rise to the Magma Mine and the modern-day town of Superior.

Today, these landmarks are at a crossroads. The proposed Resolution Copper mine project aims to tap into a massive copper deposit nearly 7,000 feet beneath the Apache Leap area. This has sparked a deep conflict between the economic potential of the mine and the cultural sanctity of a site that many Apache tribes consider sacred ground. Whether you see these mountains as sources of mineral wealth, military history, or spiritual significance, there is no denying their power. Standing in the shadow of Picketpost as the sun sets behind Apache Leap, you can almost hear the echoes of the "picket" guards and the mournful winds of the legends that define this rugged corner of Arizona.

Historical Sites on ADV Bikes: Sunnyside

Sat, 20 Dec 2025 19:17:35 GMT

Tired of riding the same routes each month? Get out and explore Arizona's rich history with our series of Historical Sites for ADV Bikes!

Getting to Sunnyside we'd rate at a 2 out of 5 difficulty rating. It's a great offroad section that easy enough for beginners with one mild technical dry creek crossing. The road is big bike friendly. If you continue past Sunnyside, you'll run into slightly more technical terrain, but again, nothing we'd consider difficult, even on the largest ADV bikes. Enjoy the history:

In the rugged, pine-scented folds of the Huachuca Mountains in Cochise County, Arizona, lies a history that reads more like a screenplay than a municipal record. Long before the suburbs of Tucson adopted the name "Sunnyside," a different community by that name thrived in a remote canyon, born from the spiritual fervor of a reformed sailor and sustained by the "common purse" of a communal mining experiment.

The story of Sunnyside, Cochise County, is a tale of religious zeal, copper dreams, and a specific brand of frontier socialism that existed nowhere else in the Wild West.

The Founding: Samuel Donnelly’s Revelation

The origin of Sunnyside is inseparable from its founder, Samuel Donnelly. Born in Scotland in 1852, Donnelly was a man of extremes. He spent his youth as a merchant seaman, allegedly living a life of "worldly" vices before a transformative experience at a Salvation Army meeting in San Francisco. Donnelly became a "two-fisted preacher," a charismatic figure who believed that the corruptions of the city were the greatest threat to a Christian life. In the mid-1880s, looking for a place to establish a utopian community, Donnelly turned his eyes toward the newly opened territories of Arizona. He wasn't just looking for a pulpit; he was looking for a livelihood. Donnelly acquired an interest in a mining claim on the western slopes of the Huachuca Mountains. By 1888, he had led a small band of followers—later dubbed the "Donnellites" by outsiders—into Sunnyside Canyon to build a town where work was worship and wealth was shared.

Operation: The Donnellites and the Communal Mine

Unlike the lawless mining camps of nearby Tombstone or Bisbee, Sunnyside was a model of sobriety and order. The town’s operation was built on three core pillars: mining, communalism, and strict moral discipline.

The Copper Glance Mine: The economic heart of Sunnyside was the Copper Glance Mine. While many residents also worked at the nearby Lone Star Mine, the Copper Glance was the community’s project. Every man in the camp worked the mines or the sawmill. There were no private accounts. The profits from the ore were placed into a "common purse" used to provide for everyone’s needs, regardless of their specific job or status.
Social Life in the Canyon: At its peak, Sunnyside housed between 80 and 100 residents. Life was simple but surprisingly rich in culture.Most meals were eaten together in a large tent or timber-framed dining hall. This fostered a sense of kinship that was rare in the highly individualistic West. Donnelly forbade saloons, gambling halls, and "camp followers" (prostitutes). To those living in the violent shadow of the O.K. Corral era, Sunnyside was a peaceful anomaly. Despite the remote location, the community valued refinement. Families owned instruments—including at least one rosewood piano hauled up the mountain—and children attended a one-room schoolhouse that doubled as a chapel.
Religious Structure: The Donnellites practiced a form of "Primitive Christianity." There was no formal church building; instead, the canyon itself was the sanctuary. Donnelly preached daily, emphasizing that the physical labor of clearing rock and timber was a spiritual duty.

The Collapse: Floods and Failing Health

The fragility of a utopian community often lies in its dependence on a single leader or a single resource. Sunnyside had both vulnerabilities.

In 1898, a catastrophe struck the Copper Glance. Miners accidentally breached an underground aquifer, causing a massive influx of water that flooded the shafts. In an era before high-powered electric pumps, the mine became a watery tomb for the community's primary source of income. Without the "common purse" to sustain them, the Donnellites began to drift away. The final blow came in April 1901, when Samuel Donnelly died of Bright’s disease. Without his charismatic leadership to hold the commune together, the religious experiment effectively ended. By 1903, the town was nearly a ghost town.

The Second Life: Ranching and the CCC

Sunnyside didn't disappear immediately. In the 1910s and 20s, the area saw a small revival as a ranching community. A post office was established in 1914 and operated until 1934, serving the rugged homesteaders of the San Rafael Valley. During the Great Depression, the area's operation shifted again. The Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) established a camp nearby in 1933. These young men built the roads and fire lookouts that still exist in the Huachucas today, living in the same canyon where the Donnellites had once sung hymns.

Sunnyside Today: A Modern Ghost Town

Today, Sunnyside is located within the Coronado National Forest. While most of the timber structures have rotted away, the stone foundations and the ruins of the "Hot House" remain as silent witnesses to Donnelly’s dream.The town remains a destination for hikers and history buffs, particularly those trekking the Arizona Trail, which passes near the site. It stands as a reminder that the history of Cochise County is more than just gunfights and outlaws—it was also a laboratory for those trying to build a better world in the middle of the desert.

Historical Sites on ADV Bikes: Mt Lemmon Prison Camp

Mon, 01 Dec 2025 19:17:35 GMT

Tired of riding the same routes each month? Get out and explore Arizona's rich history with our series of Historical Sites for ADV Bikes!

Getting to Mount Lemmon Prison Camp we'd rate at a 1 out of 5 difficulty rating if you only take the highway up and down. With 26 miles of curves each way; it's the perfect summer ride in Southern Arizona because of the massive drop in temperature towards the top. The prison camp is at mile marker 7 as you ascend the highway and is a great place to camp if your planning an overnighter. Weekends get busy on the mountain, as you might expect, and slower moving traffic doesn't seem to recognize what the multiple pull-outs along the highway were designed for most of the time. For maximum enjoyment, we recommend riding Mt Lemmon on weekdays.

To make this ride dirty, ride the offroad section on the backside of Mt Lemmon from Oracle! Maps call it the Arizona National Scenic Trail. Difficulty peaks at a 3.5 out of 5 and we recommend you be an intermediate rider or better if you're attempting it on a big ADV bike. Most of the way up the mountain it's an easy, well groomed, road but as you start climbing in elevation the road turns rocky and loose in sections. Riding this road up or down the mountain is spectacular but this road does close for the winter months so check with locals for when the gates open/close. May to October it's usually open.

Enjoy the history:

In the rugged Santa Catalina Mountains overlooking Tucson, Arizona, the winding Catalina Highway leads travelers through a dramatic transition of ecosystems—from saguaro-studded deserts to pine-scented forests. Thousands of people drive this road every week to reach the cool summit of Mount Lemmon, but few realize that the asphalt beneath their tires was laid by men who were imprisoned for their conscience.

At Mile Post 7, a quiet campground and trailhead now bears the name of one of these men: Gordon Hirabayashi . The site of the former Catalina Federal Honor Camp serves as a solemn reminder of a time when wartime hysteria eclipsed constitutional rights, and one man’s "stupid honesty" became a beacon for American civil liberties.

The Man Who Said "No"

Born in Seattle in 1918 to Japanese immigrant parents, Gordon Hirabayashi was a senior at the University of Washington when the world fell apart. After the attack on Pearl Harbor in 1941, the U.S. government issued Executive Order 9066, which eventually led to the forced removal and incarceration of over 120,000 people of Japanese ancestry—two-thirds of whom were American citizens.

Hirabayashi was a religious pacifist and a member of the Quaker-inspired Mukyokai movement. When the military imposed a curfew specifically for Japanese Americans and later ordered them to report to "relocation centers," Hirabayashi felt a fundamental conflict. "If I were to maintain my integrity in terms of my belief that I am a first-class American citizen," he later wrote, "but then accepted second-class status, I would have had to accept all kinds of differences."

He refused to obey the curfew and refused to report for internment. Instead, he walked into the FBI office in Seattle and turned himself in. He wanted a "test case" to prove that the government could not legally imprison citizens without due process based solely on their race.

The Long Road to Tucson

Hirabayashi’s legal battle went all the way to the U.S. Supreme Court. In a landmark (and today, widely criticized) 1943 decision, Hirabayashi v. United States , the court unanimously upheld his conviction, ruling that the curfew was a "military necessity." Hirabayashi was sentenced to 90 days in prison. However, because he was in Washington state and the nearest "honor camp" with space was in Arizona, a logistical problem arose: the government didn't want to pay for his train fare. In a display of character that seems almost unfathomable today, Hirabayashi offered to get himself to prison. He spent several weeks hitchhiking 1,600 miles from Spokane to Tucson. When he finally arrived at the gates of the Catalina Federal Honor Camp on Mount Lemmon, the guards couldn't find his paperwork. They told him to "go into town, catch a movie, and come back later." He did exactly that, returning to the camp once his papers were found to begin his sentence. The camp where Hirabayashi served his time was not a typical prison. Established in 1937, it was a "prison without bars," designed to house low-security inmates who provided the back-breaking labor required to build the General Hitchcock Highway (now Catalina Highway).

Life on the Mountain

Inmates lived in wooden barracks at about 5,000 feet of elevation. Their days were spent:

Blasting Rock: Using dynamite to carve through the granite of the Santa Catalinas.
Manual Labor: Clearing brush, moving heavy stones with sledgehammers, and operating jackhammers.
Survival: Facing Tucson’s extreme temperature swings—from scorching summer afternoons to freezing winter nights.

The "Tucsonans"

During World War II, the camp’s population shifted. Alongside traditional inmates were "resisters of conscience." This group included:

Japanese American Resisters: Men like Hirabayashi and a group known as the "Tucsonians" who protested the loyalty oaths and internment.
Jehovah’s Witnesses and Quakers: Conscientious objectors who refused to serve in the military on religious grounds.
Hopi Indians: Tribal members who refused to register for the draft, citing their own sovereign status and religious beliefs.

These men formed a unique community of intellectuals and believers, often spending their evenings discussing philosophy and the Constitution while the mountain wind whistled through the barracks.

Vindicated by History

After serving his time in Arizona (and later another year in federal prison for refusing the draft), Hirabayashi went on to have a distinguished career as a professor of sociology. However, the shadow of his criminal record remained for four decades. The turning point came in the 1980s. Legal researcher Peter Irons discovered evidence that the government had suppressed its own intelligence reports during WWII—reports that stated Japanese Americans posed no actual threat. This "prosecutorial misconduct" allowed Hirabayashi to reopen his case. In 1987, the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals vacated his convictions. The court noted that "the government’s position was based on racial prejudice and wartime hysteria rather than military necessity."

The Ultimate Honor

In 1999, the site of the old prison camp was officially renamed the Gordon Hirabayashi Recreation Site . Hirabayashi himself attended the dedication ceremony. In 2012, shortly after his death, President Barack Obama posthumously awarded him the Presidential Medal of Freedom, the highest civilian honor in the United States.

Visiting the Site Today

If you visit the Gordon Hirabayashi Recreation Site today, you won't find many buildings. Most were razed in the 1970s. However, the spirit of the place is palpable. You can still walk among the concrete foundations of the mess hall and barracks. Detailed panels tell the story of the camp, the construction of the highway, and the struggle for civil rights. Standing at the site, you can look up at the towering cliffs and down toward the Tucson valley, reflecting on the fact that the road you traveled was built by men who were held here for simply believing in the promises of the Constitution.

The Legacy of "Stupid Honesty"

Gordon Hirabayashi’s father was often teased by his peers for being baka shojiki —meaning "stupidly honest." He didn't hide the best lettuce at the top of the crate; he was exactly who he said he was. Gordon inherited this trait. He could have easily "gone along to get along," but his refusal to compromise his identity as a "first-class citizen" eventually forced a nation to confront its own failures.

The next time you drive the Mount Lemmon highway, take a moment to stop at Mile 7. Listen to the wind through the oaks and remember that sometimes, the most important roads we travel aren't made of asphalt, but of the courage to stand still when everyone else is being forced to move.

Historical Sites on ADV Bikes: Lochiel

Sat, 15 Nov 2025 19:17:35 GMT

Tired of riding the same routes each month? Get out and explore Arizona's rich history with our series of Historical Sites for ADV Bikes!

Reaching Lochiel ranks a 1 out of 5 difficulty rating unless it's rained and made a mess of the road... then it becomes a 2; still beginner friendly just be vigilant. After leaving Patagonia, pavement fades fast, replaced by wide dirt roads, washboard, loose rock, and the occasional sandy section; making it ideal for riders who like their scenery remote. The route flows through open ranch land and high-desert grasslands with long sightlines, minimal traffic, and plenty of free-range cattle that couldn’t care less about your travel plans. It’s not a technical beatdown, but it’s remote, quiet, and unforgiving if you’re unprepared, ending at the eerie border ghost town of Lochiel where history, isolation, and a strong “don’t break down here” energy collide.

Enjoy the history:

The Silent Sentinel of the San Rafael: A Journey to Lochiel, Arizona

Deep in the rolling grasslands of the San Rafael Valley, where the golden grass waves like an inland sea against the backdrop of the Patagonia and Huachuca Mountains, lies a place that time hasn't just forgotten—it has intentionally left it alone.

Lochiel, Arizona, is more than just a ghost town. It is a hauntingly beautiful border settlement that serves as a living museum of the Old West, a testament to the boom-and-bust cycles of American mining, and a quiet witness to centuries of international history. To visit Lochiel is to step out of the frantic pace of the 21st century and into a landscape of profound silence and immense sky.

A Geography of Isolation
Lochiel sits directly on the United States-Mexico border, approximately 25 miles east of Nogales. However, those 25 miles are not a quick highway cruise. Reaching Lochiel requires a journey down Washington Camp Road, a winding, unpaved track that snakes through the mountains before spilling out into the high-altitude prairies of the San Rafael Valley.

This valley is one of the most ecologically significant landscapes in the Southwest. Because it sits at an elevation of roughly 4,700 feet, it avoids the scorched-earth heat of the lower Sonoran Desert. Instead, it offers a temperate, "Sky Island" environment that looks more like the steppes of Central Asia or the plains of Montana than the typical Arizona cactus-scape.

The Rise of a Border Hub
In the late 19th century, Lochiel was far from the silent cluster of ruins it is today. Founded in the 1880s, the town was originally named Luttrell, but it was renamed by rancher and businessman Colin Cameron, who established the famed San Rafael Ranch. Cameron, a man of Scottish descent, gave the settlement the name Lochiel after his ancestral home.

At its peak, Lochiel was a bustling port of entry. It boasted: two general stores, three saloons, a boarding house, a post office (established in 1884), and a customs house to monitor the flow of goods and people between the U.S. and Mexico. The town served as the primary supply hub for the nearby mining camps of Washington Camp and Duquesne. While the miners pulled silver, lead, and copper from the hills, the ranchers in Lochiel raised some of the finest Hereford cattle in the Southwest. For a brief moment in history, Lochiel was a vital artery of commerce, vibrating with the sound of wagon wheels and the multilingual chatter of border life.

The Architecture of Memory

Today, only a handful of structures remain in Lochiel, but they are among the most photographed and evocative ruins in the state.

The Lochiel Schoolhouse: Perhaps the most iconic building is the one-room schoolhouse. Built with sturdy red brick and topped with a peaked roof, it stands as a symbol of the community's former permanence. Though its windows are now vacant stares into the valley, the craftsmanship remains evident. It served the children of local ranchers and customs officials well into the mid-20th century.
The Customs House: The old U.S. Customs station is a reminder of a different era of border security. In the early 1900s, the "border" was a much more fluid concept. The building remains a stark, utilitarian structure that once housed the officials responsible for patrolling the vast, open stretches of the valley.
The San Rafael Ranch: While technically just outside the town proper, the San Rafael Ranch is the heart of the region. This Victorian-style ranch house is so architecturally preserved and the surrounding landscape so pristine that it has served as the filming location for classic Westerns like Oklahoma! and McLintock!.

Fray Marcos de Niza: A Monument in the Middle of Nowhere
One of the most surprising sights in Lochiel is a large stone monument dedicated to Fray Marcos de Niza.

In 1539, de Niza, a Franciscan friar, is believed to have entered what is now the United States through this very valley. He was the first European to explore the American Southwest, searching for the mythical "Seven Cities of Gold." While he found no gold, his journey paved the way for the Coronado Expedition a year later. Standing before the monument today, it is staggering to realize that this quiet, dusty corner of Arizona was the literal gateway for European exploration of the Western United States. The monument was erected in 1939 to mark the 400th anniversary of his arrival, and it remains a lonely sentinel in the grass.

Pancho Villa and the Ghost of Revolution
Lochiel’s history isn't just one of quiet ranching; it has seen its share of violence and revolution. During the Mexican Revolution, the border was a flashpoint of tension. Legend has it that Pancho Villa and his revolutionaries frequented the area, occasionally crossing into Lochiel to procure supplies or evade Mexican federal forces. The town lived in a state of perpetual readiness, with residents never quite sure if the dust cloud on the horizon signaled a friendly neighbor or a revolutionary raid. This period of instability contributed to the town's eventual decline, as the once-porous border began to harden.

Why Visit Lochiel Today?
You don’t go to Lochiel for amenities. There are no gas stations, no gift shops, and no cell service. You go to Lochiel for the experience of the void.
The silence in the San Rafael Valley is physical. Without the hum of electricity or the drone of distant traffic, you hear things that are usually lost: the dry rattle of grass stalks, the cry of a hawk, and the wind whistling through the eaves of the abandoned schoolhouse.

For birders and nature lovers, Lochiel is a pilgrimage site. The valley is home to the rare Baird’s Sparrow and serves as a corridor for jaguars and ocelots moving between the mountain ranges of Mexico and Arizona. It is one of the few places left where you can see the landscape exactly as it appeared to the Apache tribes and Spanish explorers centuries ago.
The light in Lochiel is a photographer's dream. During the "golden hour," the sun hits the yellow grasses and the red brick of the schoolhouse, creating a palette of ochre and crimson that feels like a painting. The lack of light pollution also makes it one of the premier spots in Arizona for astrophotography.

Essential Tips for the Modern Traveler
If you decide to make the trek to Lochiel, you must be prepared. This is "Old Arizona," and it does not suffer fools.

This area is generally suitable for large ADV bikes however, while the road is often graded, summer monsoons can wash out sections of the path, and winter snow can turn the dirt into impassable "gumbo" mud.
Pack more water than you think you need. Patagonia is the last reliable place for fuel and food before you head into the valley.
Respect the Border. Lochiel is located directly on the international line. While there is a vintage cattle fence marking the boundary, it is a patrolled area. Be mindful of private property and federal regulations regarding the border.

In the eyes of a developer, Lochiel is a failure - a town that disappeared. But in the eyes of a historian, an artist, or a seeker of solitude, it is a resounding success. It remains a sanctuary for the spirit of the frontier. Standing at the de Niza monument, looking south toward the blue peaks of Mexico and north toward the endless Arizona prairie, you realize that Lochiel isn't just a ghost town. It is a bridge between nations, between centuries, and between the wild world and the one we have built for ourselves. In the tall grass of Lochiel, the past isn't dead; it isn't even past. It’s just waiting for someone to drive down a long dirt road and listen to what the wind has to say.