V 1.0 2026 JAZ Ride Recap
We rolled out of Tucson while the desert was still half asleep under a gray, grumpy sky. Dale and I were pointed east for Joey’s annual JAZ Ride. Joey + Arizona still equals JAZ, even if the route has quietly expanded into New Mexico and Utah over the years. The name stuck, and nobody felt like arguing with it.
Five years ago my BMW R 1250 GS looked fresh off the showroom floor. Joey was on one of the very first KTM 890 Adventures to reach North America. That orange bike showed up early because demand was crazy and KTM rushed a small batch in spring 2020. Joey, of course, made sure he was first in line.
The morning air carried the usual creosote scent. Our two big BMWs woke up with their familiar boxer rumble. Helmets clicked shut, gloves went on, and we headed east like a couple of middle-aged guys who still believe part of the adventure is mostly just showing up.
We linked up with the fire guys at the Best Western — retired Southern California firefighters now enjoying motorcycle adventures. Solid people and steady riders.
The 2024 JAZ Route (straight from the GPS)
Day 1: Tucson → Douglas, AZ
~118 miles • ~4,200 ft gain • ~2,800 ft loss
(Supposed to be an easy warm-up. The Mule Mountains had other ideas.)
Day 2: Douglas, AZ → Quemado, NM
~280 miles • ~11,500 ft gain • ~9,800 ft loss
(Long day crossing into New Mexico with plenty of wind and open country.)
Day 3: Quemado, NM → Panguitch, UT
~320 miles • ~14,200 ft gain • ~10,900 ft loss
(High desert climbing into higher country. The GS felt happier once we gained real altitude.)
Day 4: Panguitch, UT → Kanab, UT
~65 miles • ~3,800 ft gain • ~4,500 ft loss
(Short day that still delivered some proper red-rock curves.)
By the second day the usual ride stories were already circulating. One has officially joined the permanent JAZ collection.
The Cursed Cowboy Hat
(as told by Joey)
“I bought this cowboy hat from a little girl at the mission on vendor day. Seemed harmless enough at first. Then the day started unraveling.
The gas cap on the bike jammed shut — never happened on the old 890. I had to pry it open with a tool, then set the tool on my bags and watched it disappear somewhere down the road.
The little French bulldog figurine my brother gave me before he passed was riding shotgun on the bike. Nice reminder. But the rest of the day kept stacking up.
I dropped my phone while stretching and cracked the screen. At the next gas stop I paid, pulled out, and realized I’d left my card inside. Then the cord from my heated jacket got sucked into the sprocket and destroyed the plug.
Later the gas cap vibrated completely off. My old bucket hat, clipped to the bike for years, snapped loose and vanished into the desert. All the while that cowboy hat kept twisting around my neck like it was trying to finish the job.
When we finally reached the hotel in Mexican Hat I told Kent the hat was clearly cursed. Without missing a beat he grabbed it and dropped it straight into the trash can. From that exact moment everything settled down. No more problems.
Just one of those days that reminds you adventure riding comes with its share of odd little glitches.”
We had three father-son pairs riding with us this year, which added a good feeling to the group.
The full group left Douglas in the usual mix of bikes and paces. Some riders liked to push ahead, others kept it steady in back. We wound through Bisbee and into the Mule Mountains where the road finally woke up — good curves, elevation changes, and the big GS felt right at home.
The Sonoran Desert spread out with its saguaros and long views. We rolled through Tombstone at an easy pace, exhaust echoing off the old buildings, then continued south on Highway 80. The sweepers and climbs kept things interesting, including one short stretch of loose gravel that kept everyone honest.
Douglas met us in that soft golden afternoon light. Four dusty bikes parked near the plaza. We had been looking forward to the historic Gadsden Hotel — maybe for a meal or just to soak up the old character — but the doors were locked. The place had closed without any notice. A quiet disappointment after the ride in.
When it came time to find rooms that evening, most of the group ended up at the Best Western. Dale, me, and the guy on the Gold Wing who was pulling a small trailer with his two stray Labs landed at the Motel 6. It was basically the only other place open in town. Nothing fancy, but the rooms were clean, the price was fair, and we had easy parking right out front for the bikes and trailer. Sometimes that’s enough after a full day in the saddle.
The next days carried us deeper into the trip: across the border into New Mexico toward the quiet high desert of Quemado, then climbing into Utah’s red-rock country on the way to Panguitch, and finally the shorter, scenic run to Kanab. Each day brought its own mix of elevation, wind, and open pavement.
Evenings stayed relaxed and mornings were straightforward. The group rode well together — no one pushing too hard, just steady miles and quiet coordination built on trust rather than words.
The ride did its usual quiet work: pulling us out of everyday noise and reminding us why we keep showing up for these trips. Nothing dramatic. Just good roads, decent company, and the simple satisfaction of rolling through new country on two wheels.
If that cowboy hat ever surfaces again… we’ll probably just let it stay lost.
Ride safe out there,
Ralph
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