Chances are, you’ve come across photos on the Internet of the beautiful swirling sandstone formation in Northern Arizona known as “The Wave.” It was a little known spot in the northwestern corner of the Vermilion Cliffs National Monument up until 2009. That was before Microsoft launched Windows 7 with a stunning desktop wallpaper image of the place that intrigued everyone with its undulating labyrinth of orange and pink striped rocks. 

Suddenly, The Wave’s popularity exploded as everyone wanted to get a picture of themselves at this otherworldly site. What was once a hidden gem visited primarily by locals, was now overrun by tourists, leading to the eventual implementation of a strict permitting system to protect the unique landscape. These days it’s nearly impossible to visit The Wave. You literally need to win the lottery, permit lottery that is. Chances of winning are said to be 2% and even if you are among the lucky few chosen, you’ll still need to wait four months before you can visit. 

So what’s the alternative if you don’t have the patience for that sort of thing? Well going there without a permit could land you a $10,000 fine and a month in jail. But don’t despair, there’s another doppelganger of a site within the Vermilion Cliffs, just five and a half miles away as the crow flies, and it doesn’t require a permit. It’s called White Pocket, and while perhaps not as mind blowing as The Wave, it has a striking resemblance. Even better, you can ride right up and park in front of it, sparing yourself a 6.7-mile hike in motorcycle boots. And since it’s still relatively unknown and difficult to reach (more on that to come), you won’t find throngs of influencers there with selfie sticks waiting in line to take a photo.

White Pocket had been on our bucket list for some time but there seemed to be few ride reports of the area online to aid our planning. The ones we could find mostly came from Jeep sites. KTM hosted their US Adventure Rally near there in 2023 but curiously, tracks from the event skirted around the Vermilion Cliffs and never ventured inside. We’d seen reports of deep sand but that’s fairly common riding anywhere in the deserts of the Southwest, so we figured we’d manage it like we always do. We’d soon find out it would be a lot more challenging to reach on big Adventure Bikes than we expected.

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The day of our ride would finally arrive in late autumn, just as the crisp cool air of Winter began to replace the punishing summer heat. Our group would be riding a range of different ADV Bikes including an Aprilia Tuareg 660, BMW F800GS, KTM 890 Adventure R, with me trying out the new 1,151cc Moto Guzzi Stelvio for the first time. Not known as a particularly adept off-road bike, but with tons of low-end grunt from the big V-Twin and a fresh set of Pirelli Scorpion Rally knobbies, we figured the Italian beauty would be able to blast through any tricky sand sections we encountered.

Up at dawn on a below-freezing morning, we were greeted by snow flurries as we finalized strapping down all the gear we’d need on our bikes for the journey. Setting out on what felt like an arctic expedition, it didn’t take long to reach the last sliver of civilization we’d see for the next few days in the form of a gas station on Fredonia’s South side. We filled our tanks and stocked up on provisions to keep weariness at bay and energy reserves high. The clerk indicated if we intended on riding further South, we’d hit a foot of snow that had piled on the road overnight a few miles ahead. Perhaps this was the first hint that our journey into the Vermilion Cliffs might be a slightly ambitious one.

Not long after, we avoided the snowy pass by turning off the main highway onto a dirt road that seemed to stretch on for eternity, eventually disappearing into the rising terrain far beyond the horizon. Here the Stelvio’s generous windscreen paid dividends protecting me from the biting cold through this barren stretch of land. While I had chosen to wear lightweight enduro gear for this trip, my Alpinestars Hyde XT shell kept my torso surprisingly cozy, despite not wearing an extra thermal layer. My only mistake was forgetting to bring a neck buff, which allowed too much air in around the neck. As the hills in the distance drew nearer, I constantly switched between sitting and standing to stay under the wind protection as much as possible, all the while getting familiarized with the largest adventure bike I’ve ever ridden in the dirt.

In what seemed like a flash, we found ourselves at the foot of the once-distant mountains, scaling a set of switchbacks to take us above 6,500 feet efficiently. This was the first real test of the Stelvio’s off-road chops with the numerous ruts and rocky track sections. While far from a single track, this section of Winter Road had seen better days; paired with my lack of experience on a bike this large, a mistake could have easily ended in disaster. I picked smart lines to the top, where things mellowed back out across the plateau. 

The formerly barren landscape gave way to an elevated plain speckled with pines, their growth stunted by the lack of oxygen and moisture. Still, the contrast was oddly calming as thick clouds loomed overhead, with the constant threat of new snowfall not a particularly distant thought. Soon, though, we began to descend toward a valley with the promise of a warmer climate.

A Fortress Of Red Rock Cliffs

As the road dropped down toward Vermillion Cliffs National Monument, its condition quickly deteriorated into a flume of rounded-off rocks that slipped into a maze of shallow ruts decades of monsoonal thunderstorms had created. The result was a feeling through the bars that I can only describe as “floating,” yet despite my reservations, the Stelvio walked down the choppy sections with little effort. It wasn’t long before we found ourselves on flat ground, looking up at the stunning red mountain fortress that marked the beginning of Vermillion Cliffs National Monument. We decided to pause for a moment for a breather, and as we did, the thick layer of gloom finally broke, giving way to warm, life-giving rays of sunlight. Not all victories are without casualties, though, as we soon discovered ADV Pulse Senior Editor Rob had suffered a puncture from a massive screw in his rear tire.

While we didn’t time the repair, we were back on track within about 20 to 30 minutes thanks to the tubeless cross-spoke wheels on the Tuareg — a good thing, too, as the road ahead had some surprises for us. After a few miles, we turned off the graded House Rock Road towards Paw Hole to get our first glimpse of the unique swirling red rock sandstone formations the area is known for. As the red cliffs and sands around us drew nearer, it became more and more evident that this would be a bit more challenging than a smooth doddle up a gravel track. We crossed a wash that marked the end of the packed dirt and the beginning of the sand; to most, this would have served its purpose as an omen, but nay — we plowed ahead, determined to reach the geological feature awaiting our arrival. 

My limited experience in the sand is well documented, but for those not aware, I’m not an expert. Toss me on a bike that teeters at nearly 600 pounds loaded with gear, a 19″ front wheel and it would be pretty easy to assume the eventual outcome. I rode ahead and managed well enough and certainly far better than I ever expected I would, but this was far beyond a few short sections of deep sand I’m used to dealing with. 

Eventually, as the trail climbed and we rode across a bottomless pit of talc-fine, pinkish-red sand, my lack of experience finally began to show in the form of my first tip over. With the ship quickly righted, we continued, and though the struggle bus didn’t wane, one thing surprised me. Namely, I wasn’t the only one struggling to make headway on my large adventure bike. 

Rob unsurprisingly rode ahead as though the sand were a gravel driveway, though that’s the byproduct of racing Baja for longer than I’ve owned a motorcycle. ADV Pulse contributor Mike Massucco, on his trusty BMW F800GS, was well behind; the only hint he was still moving was the faint echo of his Rotax engine humming away in the distance. Eventually, we all ended up back together, where Mike was quick to say a few expletives and “subtly imply” that what we were doing was stupid, and he wasn’t entirely wrong.

At this point, any doubts I had about wearing enduro gear disappeared now that this ride had turned into a much more athletic pursuit than expected. Where normally I might have begun boiling in a heavy Adventure suit, shedding layers and opening all the vents, the lightweight enduro gear kept things from becoming a sauna by just opening the back vents.

Not ready to toss the towel in yet, I continued, following the track Rob had laid down minutes before when he disappeared into what I can best describe as Tatooine’s Dune Sea. A seemingly endless slalom of steep, sweeping, sandy turns later, I caught up with Rob, who had enough time to unsaddle, remove his gear, and get ready for the hike into Paw Hole. A few minutes later, both Mike and our photographer Miguel joined. And so began a short but rewarding hike through Paw Hole.

Exploring Paw Hole

As you trudge through the deep sands, the destination quickly reveals itself through countless protruding spiral-shaped cones. They looked as though they could be made of soft serve ice cream from afar, though closer inspection reveals them to be much less edible than they appear. Mike elected to stay back and remove some layers while Rob and I shuffled through the sand and scrub brush for a better view. We reached a point where going further would put us in the permit area for Coyote Buttes (A.K.A The Southern Wave), so we opted to enjoy the view from afar, gazing at the magnitude of what tens of thousands of years of wind erosion had created.

Once we had gotten our fill of geological wonders, we hoofed it back to the bikes for the ride back down, which was by and large much easier than the ride in and up. In the hopes of finding a more-direct route to White Pocket, and hopefully more hard-packed terrain, ride leader Rob led us up another track that looked even sandier. Due to my inexperience, I requested he take the Stelvio, as it was reasonable enough in my mind that if he thought it too much work on the Moto Guzzi, it would be too much for me. Riding his Tuareg, I followed as he slalomed, slid, and dabbed his way up this seemingly unending hill of sand — only to eventually find myself stopped and devoid of momentum as he continued to the top. 

A short while later, he came back down, helped me flip the Aprilia around, and we rode back down together. Thankfully, Rob admitted that the track didn’t improve, and having me ride the Stelvio through such a thing would probably have been a bad idea. The several miles or so of sand back to where we started seemingly passed by in an instant, which was good since we had yet another setback awaiting us.

As I waited by the main road, I noticed the other guys had stopped a couple hundred yards further back. Giving it some thought, I realized there must be another problem, which turned out to be another flat. This time though, it was Mike’s 21″ front that decided to unseat itself and burp out all of its precious pneumatic lifeforce. This repair took quite a bit longer than the tubeless rear tire plug repair on the Tuareg, as Mike’s front sealed tubeless spoked rim setup was being a stubborn ass, refusing to seat the bead. The winds eventually turned favorably, though, and after what seemed to be about an hour, we were back on the road.

By this point, it was nearly 3pm in the afternoon, and though we had some sunlight left, late Fall’s cold hand reminded us that if we went much farther, we’d be setting up camp with the frigid night nipping at our heels. Rob turned off the main road on the way to a potential campsite, and I followed and waited by the edge so that Mike & co. would see where to go next, but for some reason — whether it be the angle of the sun or weariness from the riding, they both rode right past me. I flailed about and blasted the horn, hoping they’d notice, but they carried South into the sun. The only way to right this would be to, for the first time, test the Stelvio’s speed capability on the smooth dirt road.

Entering a cloud of dust, I cracked the throttle and slowly fed into it as I adjusted to the Stelvio’s 115 horsepower. With the speedometer quickly cresting 60, 70, and eventually 80 miles per hour. After quickly catching the pair, we turned back to meet up with Rob. Lo and behold, Mike’s front tire again forgot to have air in it. After assessing the situation, we decided it would be best to find a place to camp in the immediate vicinity so that we could make the necessary repairs and be ready for a full day of riding the following day.

As luck would have it, we spotted an area along the road a half mile away with a collection of rocks that formed a protective barrier around a spot big enough for a few tents and a fire ring. We pulled in, and it became clear that this would be about as perfect a spot you could ever wish for with incredible views of the surrounding landscape. We decided it would be prudent to make this our basecamp for the next two nights so we could drop our camping gear and explore the sandy trails of the Vermilion Cliffs with a lighter load.

We all began unpacking, except for Mike, who quickly got to work removing the valve stem on his faulty tubeless front wheel and inserting a traditional tube. However, this became increasingly more challenging with the nighttime temperature quickly dipping to around freezing. We had already started a fire, so I suggested we post up on the edge of it to keep some warmth in the tire and our fingers. We had the valve pulled and the tube inside the rim a short while later. After finishing up, we celebrated with dehydrated meals, a splash of whiskey, and a light dusting of snow to remind us that nature was still very much in charge.

On A Mission To White Pocket

The following day, we awoke after a night of 15-degree weather. A thin layer of frost had accumulated on every exposed surface, binding the prior night’s snowfall into a crunchy layer of frigid ice. By the time we finished breakfast and geared up, the air temperature still hadn’t reached above freezing, though the sun’s warm rays offered relief. After some effort, the bikes fired up, and we quickly set off for one of the region’s most profound geological wonders, White Pocket. First, though, we’d have to tackle dozens of miles of track, the condition of which remained a complete mystery.

Turning off the main road onto a long, straight stretch of desert two-track soon brought the uncertainty of the path ahead into plain view. In an instant, the trail was in much of the same condition as the prior day’s path to Paw Hole. This meant I’d have more time to grow familiar with wrestling the Guzzi over miles and miles of deep sand.

On the way, we received occasional relief from a few yards of exposed sandstone, but we rode nothing but deep sandy tracks for the next 20 miles. Tipovers quickly began piling up, starting with Mike speeding past me on his F800GS, only to get crossed up and end up in the center track. I hopped off and assisted him in getting the BMW back upright, though this seemed to have tapered his courage as his pace decreased significantly after this little mishap. I managed well enough for the remainder of the stretch, with just a couple of low-speed tipovers myself — the horizontally mounted V-Twin aiding in keeping the bike from falling flat in the sand and making it relatively easy to get back upright. There were times when the 19″ front wheel simply refused to go in a straight line but eventually, things sorted themselves out with a dab of rear brake and a splash of throttle — needless to say, it was an experience. 

After a few hours of riding, exploring, and taking in the scenery, we finally pulled up to White Pocket — the geological wave Instagram forgot about. Formed over millions of years of seismic activity and various types of erosion, White Pocket is an extensive collection of exposed sandstone that takes several different forms, all in one area. In some spots, it looks like you’re walking on the back of an ancient and massive dinosaur, while right next to it, numerous formations seem to flow like water.

There are also balanced rocks, trees growing out of the rocks, white rocks that look like cauliflower, and other mind boggling formations — an incredible place to see and experience in person. We spent a couple of hours walking all over, and were it not for the fact that days are much shorter this time of year, we’d have likely spent even more time wandering through all the different slides, slots and obstacles. Unfortunately, we’d soon have to start returning to camp.

Unexpectedly, the way back seemed a more significant struggle than the way in. I suspect it had to do with the sun blasting the slight moisture from the sand earlier in the morning.  Midday temperatures were now in the low 60s F, warm enough for me to open up the front zipper vent on my jacket for some extra cooling. By the time we made it back on solid ground, I found myself adequately exhausted. On the other hand, Mike had found a groove, and Rob was properly in his element. 

When Mike, Miguel and I elected to head back towards camp, partly due to it being late but also because we had had our fill of sand for the day, Rob decided to split off and scout more tracks to the east. He’d later report that the roads were all much of the same (sand) for many miles, albeit in worse condition as these were far less trafficked. 

By the time Rob returned to camp, the sun had practically set, and we had already gotten a fire going. Another long night of food, spirits, and laughter followed, with a cozy stay in my tent. We turned in earlier this night than the first but stayed up until after 10. Previously, I’ve camped with temperatures dipping to right around freezing, but never significantly lower. Knowing that we’d be encountering particularly frigid weather on this trip, I planned and purchased a new sleeping pad with an R-rating above six and ensured to pack my 20°F comfort-rated bag and fleece liner. Typically, I’m the one who wakes up and complains about how cold the night was, so it was nice to be the one cozy and unbothered by an icy night’s sleep for a change.

We woke up on our last day, determined to quickly backtrack toward Fredonia, as I had an evening flight to catch out of Los Angeles. We made good time packing up and were fed and riding by 9 am. A quick stop at a nearby geological feature to check out some cool rock formations was all that stood between us and the way home. As we began tracking toward the pavement, we treated the packed gravel road like a rally stage. One thing became clear, though; when you crack open the throttle on that Stelvio, the damn thing moves. I own a Tuareg, and the bike is not a slouch, but Rob had no chance of keeping up each time I opened up the throttle body on the long straights.

We quickly tackled the same roads we came in on two days prior. Although, I found myself riding at a much more spirited pace and having much more fun on the Stelvio. We stopped for a few photo ops on the way, and even with that, we knocked this stretch out in half the time it took us coming in. 

Back on the pavement, I set the adaptive cruise control, adjusted the electronic windscreen height, and tossed on the heated grips as we set sail for Kanab, Utah. On the way, I had some time to recall the last few days of riding.

In a way, the Stelvio is a bumble bee of sorts — it does many things it “shouldn’t” and many of them, it does quite well. It tracks wonderfully on gravel roads, and even when you push it over, and through things, it probably wasn’t designed to tackle, it handles them with a level of competence you wouldn’t expect from this class of motorcycle. We quickly found that it enjoys flying more than landing, but for the most part, this new Moto Guzzi did nothing but exceed my expectations over the weekend. 

And like the motorcycle I was saddled, Vermillion Cliffs was a gift that kept giving. It turned out to be more of a challenge than any of us expected but what adventure is complete without a few obstacles to overcome? Our only real complaint was that we lacked the time to explore it at greater length. If we could do it over, we’d likely have given ourselves three to four full ride days so we could attempt to reach the eastern cliffs overlooking the Paria Canyon and all the other incredible hidden gems the National Monument has to offer. But even with two and a half days on a tight schedule, we were able to see some spectacular scenery. Sure we would have tackled more ground on smaller, lighter bikes, but making it to White Pocket on a liter-class adventure bike, as a relative noob sand rider myself, made it all the more fulfilling.

Maps and GPS Tracks

Want to do this ride? A large interactive map and downloadable GPX Tracks are available free.* Note: Zip downloads don’t work with the Facebook app. Download using a regular browser such as Chrome, Safari etc.

* Terms of Use: Should you decide to explore a route that is published on ADV Pulse, you assume the risk of any resulting injury, loss or damage suffered as a result. The route descriptions, maps and GPS tracks provided are simply a planning resource to be used as a point of inspiration in conjunction with your own due diligence. It is your responsibility to evaluate the route accuracy as well as the current condition of trails and roads, your vehicle readiness, personal fitness and local weather when independently determining whether to use or adapt any of the information provided here.

Photos by Miguel Santana, Rob Dabney and Martin Ruegner