One of the best parts of adventure riding is meeting up with other likeminded riders at rallies, but also getting out to explore with old riding buddies. The Dusty Lizard Camp Outs hosted by Mosko Moto are perfect for that. We’ve been to a few since they launched, including Joshua Tree and Moab, but this time we headed to a new spot: the Sawtooth Wilderness in central Idaho.

I recruited a few friends for this trip and we made the two-day trek from Southern California, eager to sample some of Idaho’s best terrain. I’ve been to the state to ride a few times but never this particular area. I’d heard it has a diversity of terrain to explore — alpine forest, high desert, 10,000‑foot passes, and technical single‑track. Whether you’re on a big GS or 2-stroke 300, there’s something for everyone. And since we’d be heading there in the early fall, that meant fall colors too. 

We rolled into the venue at May Family Ranch near the town of Clayton, Idaho Thursday afternoon to find about 100 people already set up. Attendance would grow to a few hundred by morning but there was still enough space to spread out your camp. As expected, there were all the amenities of a typical Dusty Lizard, including a stage for a band, an area with couches to relax (the Lizard Lounge), plenty of good food, cold beverages, vendors with special discounts for those looking for gear, and hot showers available to everyone. And of course, Mosko’s pre-scouted array of routes awaited. After a star-filled sky, we hit the sack ready to see what the Sawtooth mountains had in store for us. 

The next morning we thawed out from a chilly night of tent camping with hot coffee and a hearty breakfast. The forecast called for a beautiful day with mild temperatures, so we checked the board to see what routes were available. A total of 30 routes were provided, all color-coded by difficulty (Purple = Easy, Green = Fun, Blue = Technical, Red = Expert/Not Big Bike friendly) and with detailed descriptions provided for each. After the long drive from California, we were looking for something mellow, scenic and relaxing. I ran into Black Dog Cycle Works owner, Kurt Forgét, at his booth and he suggested we head east into the Salmon-Challis National Forest for a taste of the high desert.

Our group started out with seven riders but as more people started asking “where are you riding today?” that group suddenly ballooned into 20-plus. The gas station turned chaotic trying to herd cats with everyone fueling up, grabbing snacks and airing up… you know the deal. Our SoCal crew was finally ready and we were just about to take off when one rider I’d just seen a minute ago (Tavo) vanished. I told Kurt to head out and we’d catch up later as we had to track down one of our guys. We looked in the store, the bathrooms, the air pumps, back at camp and he was nowhere to be found. All we could do at this point was send him a text telling him to meet us at the predetermined lunch spot in Mackay. 

We took off to catch up to Kurt’s group, bypassing the first short dirt section to make up time. From the road, I could see a line of bikes kicking up dust, which didn’t look like much fun for those in the back. Everyone wants to ride together but sometimes it’s best to split up into smaller groups. After catching them at the next turn, it was clear that this was too big of a group to ride in, so we held back a bit and took a few photos, then would catch up every so often on the route. At some point, they went off the track and we lost the group though. Around this time, we got a signal and received a message from Tavo. It turned out he’d followed one of the many riders wearing the same orange Mosko outfit I was wearing at the gas station, thinking it was me. It wasn’t until the group of riders got on one of the “Red” technical single track with some gnarly whoops that he realized, “Wait, that guy is on a KTM 2-stroke dirt bike, not a 390 ADV R.” At that point he was already miles away in the opposite direction. 

The wide-open trails through the foothills offered sweeping views of the surrounding mountains and familiar terrain for us Southern California riders. Before long, our “scenic” ride turned into twisting throttles, sliding through corners, jockeying for the lead, reliving our glory days. We crossed a large open landscape with views for miles, hitting triple digits on our way to Mackay for lunch. 

After an hour, our buddy Tavo was still a no show, so we texted him our intended route into the Mt. Borah area. Here the terrain turned from open desert to pine forests with jagged mountain peaks. We traveled on forest roads that circled around the backside of Mt. Borah – Idaho’s tallest peak at 12,662 feet – before dropping back down to the high desert again. This is when things got a little interesting. After spending most of the day on easy terrain, suddenly we were on a beat up trail that looked like a large herd of cattle had crossed over it. We then arrived at a creek crossing that didn’t look like anything out of the ordinary, so I offered to go first. It was a little muddier than I’d expected but no drama.

Carlos went next. He’s an experienced rider and an old racing buddy, so I wasn’t expecting anything other than a good splash photo. Instead, he went down in the middle of the deepest section, engine revving to the moon. Like a comedy reel, he jumped up quickly to try to pick up his bike, then slipped and fell down once again into the murky cow water. We all cracked up laughing for quite a while before helping him out.

We soon noticed there was something wrong with his Aprilia Tuareg 660 though. While going through the creek, a slightly loose chain had picked up some plant material in the rear sprocket, which pushed the chain off, causing Carlos to lose momentum and suddenly fall over. We quickly got to work pulling out the tools to get the chain back on when we noticed another problem. The upper fork leg looked like it had been hit by a bullet, right where the fork seal sits. Throughout much of the day he had been riding slightly staggered behind me, trying to stay ahead of the dust. My bike must have kicked up a rock. We’ve ridden like this for countless miles over the years and this is the first time I’ve seen this happen. Oil was beginning to ooze out of the fork leg but it seemed like a slow leak, so we kept on. 

Later, I decided to swap bikes with another friend who rides a KTM 690 Enduro. I wanted to see how it compared with the 390 Adventure R I was riding. The additional suspension travel and higher-end componentry was immediately apparent as I blasted through rocks, whoops and crud with ease. Just as I was admiring how good it felt, I suddenly began to notice the unmistakable feeling of a front flat. I tried to get the attention of the two riders just ahead of me as they turned, but they disappeared off in the distance.

One of those riders had the electric pump, which we unfortunately decided carrying one was enough (my first mistake). I still had my CO₂ cartridges as a backup though, so I wasn’t worried. Normally, I fix my own tire but I got the flat on my buddy’s bike so we sort of worked on it together. As they say, too many hands in the pot spoils the broth, which rang true on this repair.

With the Sun quickly receding, we were in a bit of a rush too. After we got the new tube back in, my next mistake was forgetting to put the valve stem core back in before popping the CO₂ cartridge. It quickly rushed out as fast as it went in as I fumbled around trying to find the valve stem core. After reinstalling the core I filled it with a new CO₂,  only to hear all that precious air come straight out again. “Damn it! We pinched the tube…” With only one CO₂ left, we were hoping our companions would return any second with the electric pump. After replacing the tube once again, we waited around another 15 minutes but they never arrived.

Unbeknownst to us, up ahead they were dealing with their own problems. They probably rode another 15 miles or so before realizing we weren’t behind them. And at that point they only stopped, Carlos’ fork tube was starting to gush oil, which got on his brake disc, drastically reducing his braking performance. Plus, his kick stand return spring self-ejected, which triggered the engine kill switch.

Figuring we were all riding together, those guys relied on me for the majority of tools, including zip-ties and tape, so they could ride a little lighter. So it turned out we were miles apart, both needing each other’s tools we were carrying. By the time they had MacGyvered a solution together for the kick stand, they headed back to look for us about 10 miles and didn’t see us, so they headed for the highway expecting we had done the same. The lack of a cell phone signal to communicate in these remote parts was definitely a problem. There was good reception back in town, but service drops off quickly once you’re out on the trails. 

After waiting a bit for those guys to show up, I decided to use my last CO₂ cartridge. It was good for about 10 psi and we were back on the trail, slow and careful but moving forward. We enjoyed the last rays of sun on the way back to camp. Jagged mountain peaks revealed patches of snow from last winter, still hanging on in the shadows above 11,000 feet. It was a solid day of riding – around 175 miles of mostly dirt.

As we rolled into camp, we got the scoop on what had happened to everyone and were surprised to find out that Tavo never showed up. Just as it was getting dark, we got a text message from him saying he got a flat tire and was on his way.

After getting cleaned up, grabbing a cold one and a plate of food, still no Tavo. It was getting late into the night, the band had already played and went to sleep, and still no Tavo. At this point, we had a last known location and his intended route, so we started packing up the truck ready to begin a search and rescue party. 

Minutes before departing, he finally showed up. Apparently, he’d gotten a second flat after that text, causing further delay and he had no signal to let us know what happened. Despite riding alone, being dusty and tired, Tavo had a big smile on his face. He had covered some 230 miles on his KTM 890 Adventure R, and he proclaimed “it was a great day!”.

The next morning, Tavo and the rest of the guys were a little slow rising. Tavo had ridden the last 20-mile stretch on a flat front after having struggled with the stiff sidewall on the Tusk 2Track tire during the first flat, and not wanting to go through that again in pitch dark. Carlos’ bike was out for the count as well with the fork issue and no kickstand, so just a few of us headed out for a ride in the morning. Our plan was to go up RailRoad Ridge where aftermarket lighting company Ruby Moto was sponsoring their Ruby Refresh Station meet up at the top of the mountain.

On the way there, we rode through a beautiful valley with fall colors on full display along the shores of the Salmon River’s South Fork. At one point, we stopped for a herd of bighorn sheep. We didn’t see any of the males with the bigger horns ramming each other but it was pretty cool watching them climb up impossible vertical rock formations and quickly disappearing off in the distance.

As the trail started to get rough, we passed by some old mining ruins from the old Livingston Mine, defunct since around 1950. There looked to be more than a few dozen cabins from the old mining camp and some type of big mill structure that would be interesting to go explore some day. The more we climbed, the rougher the trail, but the more spectacular the views. This was considered the easy way up. For those on small bikes, the big challenge was to take French Creek single track, rated red. We were just fine though with the purple-rated RailRoad Ridge trail that was quite steep and rocky near the top. 

Reaching the top, it was definitely worth the climb, with cold drinks and endless views your reward for making it. This point is the highest motorable road in Idaho and it looks like a lunar landscape high above the treeline at 10,400 feet of elevation. Eerily the place was covered with large black crickets that looked like aliens. I passed on picking one up. We admired the views of ‘Chinese Wall’ and the little alpine lake at its base for quite some time before heading back down the mountain to meet up with our laggard friends for lunch.

Back at camp, we grabbed a bite and rallied the troops to explore Pinyon Peak to the west. We heard there’s an old fire lookout there that has quite the view. Our plan was to get back before dusk to enjoy nearby Slate Creek Hot Springs. After a short highway ride, we entered the forest and this became the most scenic part of the trip for me. The further we traveled, the more lush the pine forests got. We passed by incredible towering peaks overhead until eventually we had climbed up to those heights. Deep in the forest, old-growth trees lined the trail, and we passed by several creek crossings and the occasional camp site.

As we got to within a few miles of the lookout, the trail started to turn rocky, which was a nice challenge. After slamming through the rocks for a bit, I decided to take a break to check on everyone. Normally, Tavo is right on my tail but this time he was noticeably lagging behind. He showed up about 15 minutes later and I asked, “what’s the problem?”. He replied, “Another flat!”. 

At this point it was already getting late and any delay would put our plan for going to the hot springs in jeopardy. I began to pull out my tools when Tavo said, “maybe I can ride on it.” This sounded impossible since we were about 50 miles away from the hot springs. But Tavo explained that the previous day he’d ridden some 20 miles on a flat and it wasn’t a problem. He also mentioned that it was a real bitch changing tubes with the rock-hard sidewall and he’d prefer not to do it a third time. It seemed unlikely, but we decided to give it a go. Perhaps we could find a signal at the top of the hill and get Carlos, who’d stayed behind, to come meet us with the truck.

We began riding at half-speed and surprisingly everything was going fine. Tavo didn’t seem to mind much and neither his tire or rim were showing any signs of damage. Not long after, we made it all the way to the highway. Still no signal, so we jumped on asphalt. To my surprise, Tavo was doing 50 mph with that tire. Not the smartest thing probably but he’s ridden on more flats that he can remember down in Baja. Mile after mile, The 890R kept rolling down the road and the tire didn’t fall apart.

We finally made it back to camp but by this time we’d missed our window for the hot springs. Cold beers and a hot plate of food were awaiting us at the Dusty Lizard Lounge, so we cleaned up and headed over for a final night retelling our day’s adventure over the campfire.

We re-learned a few lessons on this trip: everyone should carry their own tools, don’t rely on a cell signal out in the wilderness, and remember to bring heavy duty tubes! Once again, the Dusty Lizard delivered good times, despite our missteps, as well as an opportunity to ride with old friends and make some new ones.

Looking forward to doing another one in 2026, but which one? This year they’ve got Moab, Romania, Colorado, and Idaho again… It’s hard to choose but I’d definitely be up for exploring more routes in the Sawtooths, and finally taking a dip in those hot springs. Hope to see you out there on the trail!

Photos by Rob Dabney, Ken Morse, Vladi Gergov, Gustavo Uribe

Author: Rob Dabney

Rob Dabney started a lifelong obsession with motorcycles at the age of 15 when he purchased his first bike – a 1982 Honda MB5. Through his 20’s and 30’s he competed in off-road desert races, including the Baja 250, 500 and 1000. Eventually, his proclivity for exploration led him to dual sport and adventure riding. Rob’s never-ending quest to discover what’s around the next bend has taken him on Adventures in Latin America, Africa, Europe, Asia, and throughout the American West. As a moto journalist, he enjoys inspiring others to seek adventure across horizons both near and far.