The pre-dawn air was cold and still damp from the previous night’s storm as we loaded Stacie’s 2011 Husqvarna TE 310 into her red, 1970 Ford pick-up truck for a day of desert riding and for a visit to the fabled Huskey Monument. Still half awake, we headed out into the desert, past by the old-west store fronts and collapsed homesteads that make up the living ghost town of Randsburg, CA. If not for the scores of desert motorcyclists who converge here year round, Randsburg would be truly dead, leaving the 19th century mine works scattered around it’s perimeter completely forgotten, rusting back into red stains of elemental iron.
Leading the way on my BMW R1200GSA, I began to imagine what Randsburg was like in 1896 when it was still called Rand Camp. With the discovery of gold here mining had begun in earnest, transforming a collection of canvas tents into the town that’s still visible today. In every imaginable condition, most of the houses, store fronts, barns and workshops are as they were when originally built. Many still standing, fewer inhabited and others little more than heaps of dry, brittle lumber, sprouting with rusted square-head nails still bent in place from the carpenter’s hammer that pounded them in one-hundred-and-thirty years ago.
Huge tailing piles and mine works surround Randsburg. Look’s like Stacie is ready to get going.
Randsburg’s appeal is in it’s authenticity. It’s not the “site” of a ghost town, reconstructed to approximate an ideal of the past. Instead, it is the past and exists today for the most part, as it was. A quality that is as rare as the precious yellow metal that brought people here in the first place.
Milkshakes are a popular item at the Randsburg General Store’s Soda Fountain.
Making our way South on the 395 to meet our friend Eric who would be leading “big-bike” friendly ride through the northern Mojave Desert to a place known as the Huskey Monument. Little known outside of the Southern California desert motorcycle community, the monument is a memorial shrine to deceased off-road enthusiasts.
Randsburg’s old Post Office.
We had heard that there was an actual Husqvarna 390, buried there. Someone even said there was a man buried there. Like Randsburg, the Huskey Monument is an out of the way place you’re not likely to stumble upon. it’s destination you need to know you’re headed to, so Stacie and I were both excited be guided there.
Huskey Map Our Route to the Huskey Monument began from the South. Download the Track here.
Link: https://www.dropbox.com/s/ndu6qta1r9u7cjf/Husky%20Monument.GPX?dl=0 Google Earth
As we were unloading Stacie’s Huskey, we got word from Eric that he had broken a shock on his bike that morning and wasn’t going to make it. We decided at once that with or without a guide, we were going to find the Huskey Monument on our own. We had come all the way out here and weren’t going to let a little thing like having no idea where we were going stop us.
Sand, sand and more sand. If you’re going to do any off -road riding in the Southern California deserts, you’d better get comfortable riding on it. Lighter machines like Stacie’s Husqvarna TE 310 (left) have an easier time negotiating loose terrain than the super heavy BMW R1200GSA (Right).
Sitting on the tailgate of her 1970 Ford, laptop tethered to an iPhone for internet connectivity I downloaded Eric’s GPS tracks for the ride he was going to lead. The files however weren’t assembled as single route. Instead, they were a mess of broken up, unconnected routes. While I was struggling with unfamiliar software to stitch the tracks together and get them loaded onto my GPS, we lost an hour before I was able to get something that looked like a route. But it still wasn’t right. The route would only load backwards on my GPS and any attempt to reverse the direction would re-route us to paved roads. Frustrated and tired of sitting around we left the truck behind and struck out into the desert.
The desert around the Huskey Monument has numerous, ancient petroglyph sites to discover.
By early afternoon the route was beginning to become interesting. Traveling northward through the desert, we past mineral mines and ancient lava flows made up of strange, porous rocks that up close, looked like solid blocks of carbonated red softdrink with their tiny bubbles held frozen in the stone. We rode past prehistoric petroglyphs etched into red stone and crossed vast sand-filled washes and dry lake beds.
Jim and Stacie pause for a selfie in front of one of the many lava flows that cover the desert.
When the GPS indicated that we were getting close to the Huskey Monument the trail got more challenging. Turning to the west we ascended for miles through a pass with long sections over lumpy undulations on the trail, known as”whoops.” Each lump three feet apart and three feet high . To keep the heavy BMW’s suspension from bottoming-out at the bottom of each rolling whoop I needed to slow down. But for Stacie aboard her lighter and more nimble Husqvarna, speed was her friend.
Stacie rips into the distance on her own “Huskey.”
Flying past me her wheels easily skipped across the tops of the rolling terrain. She was getting a feel for her bike and I was having a hard time keeping up. Even with my suspension set to it’s highest ground clearance, the bashplate on the bottom of my engine was slamming into each relentless depression with enough force to bounce my feet off of the foot pegs.
Low cumulous clouds linger from the previous nights storm as we arrive at The Huskey Monument.
Stacie was riding great and as long as she didn’t stop, her and the Huskey seemed unstoppable. Her Husqvarna is amazing save for one problem. When seated on the saddle, Stacie’s feet don’t reach the ground. So coming to a stop, especially on uneven ground would often lead to her topling over to one side or another. Fortunately, it’s light enough for her to easily lift back to it’s “wheels-down,” posture.
This cross dedicated Thomas E. Purvis, reveals some clues about his preference for motorcycles and hard liquor.
We found ourselves lost again when the GPS track terminated at a place some 10 miles away from the Monument. Undeterred we pressed on, finding our way by manually entering the coordinates of the monument into my GPS: N 35 Degrees 12. 951′ W 117 Degrees 19. 059′. The “direct” route from the coordinates had me guessing about which trails to take and and we found ourselves threading through webs of difficult and rocky, single track trail. The final two miles had us scrambling up steep boulder strewn berms and sliding down into silt filled washes. Stacie’s Huskey gobbled it up and my the my big BMW tractored through all of it. We knew we were close giving our progress new momentum.
The sheet metal American flag sculpture is the tallest of the individual shrines erected at the Huskey Monument.
We crested a final rock-covered berm and came upon monument grounds below . Riding down into the clearing that surrounds the place, we made a lap around it before hopping off our bikes to celebrate. Stacie danced about and I fished out a warm beer I’d stashed away for the occasion. The winter storm had come through the night before left the desert sky filled with thick, boiling clouds and the air was crisp and refreshing. Expecting to find little more than a rusted-out motorcycle half-buried in a sand patch, we were taken aback the truth of what the monument actually was.
Jim “Jerickson” Erickson’s Husqvarna (Huskey) 390 is the original relec at the center of the Monument.
Set in a stone ring the monument is made up of dozens of hand crafted memorials to deceased riders. Each completely individual and intimate. At the center of the ring rests the original Huskey 390. Erected in 1987 in memory of Jim Erickson whose love for riding his “Huskey” in this desert compelled his family and friends to permanently set his motorcycle in concrete and spread his ashes here.
Earnie Gerloff’s who made his final Sunday ride in the Desert aboard his Husqvarna at the age of 69, is also memorialized along with dozens of others here at the Huseky Monument.
Nearly thirty years later many more shrines have been placed on this site and the ashes of numerous others gathered on what is now hallowed ground.
The shrine laid for Charlie Morris displays personal articles and a convenient place to set down a can of beer.
In one section of the stone ring, motorcycle forks with handlebars and number plates attached stand like crosses in a triad. In another, motorcycle boots sit empty, ensconced in a shallow square of cement. A passed rider’s helmet rests atop a pedestal and fuel tanks, wheels, fenders, frames and sprockets come together in a remarkable and considered way.
Pancho, Big Neal, Little Neil and many more are remembered here with cross-like handlebars.
Brass plaques, eulogise past riders with personal words making the place emanate the serene reverence of a cathedral or military cemetery. Even the empty beer brought out to toast passed friends, fathers and brothers are left behind in an orderly, respectful way. Somehow, all of the completely unique tributes placed here, each handcrafted crafted in workshops or garages, come together as a singular expression. As if a single artist had been commissioned to create it.
After a long day of desert riding, discovery and adventure, Stacie and I make our way back to the highway.
Like the nearby, living ghost town of Randsburg, the Huskey Monument is authentic. While Randsburg preserves the physical past, the Huskey Monument preserves the memories of individuals. Each with a shared passion for this desert, the hidden beauty, adventure and history it offers-up to those intrepid enough to come here.
Photo Credits Copyright 2014: Jim P. Downs
You can find more great stories from Jim Downs on his site: Moto Stella
