Day Seven - Kansas Crosswind

I had arrived in Colorado Springs the previous evening after having watched the sun dip over the horizon just west of Pueblo, Colorado. On arriving I inquired about recommended eating spots and was directed to a Subway a couple of lights down. I had been determined to get a good meal when I arrived in this town but things worked out such that it would not be possible so Subway it was. Fortunately, the Subway store was in the same strip mall as a state store so I was able to pick up some barley and hops with which to wash down the sandwich.

I took my time eating and whiled away some hours thinking about the mountains and all that is left unseen. Finally I got myself in bed and zonked off into a night of deep sleep – which I needed considering I had a little over 850 miles to do the next day.

When I woke up in the morning I had no desire to leave, no sense of urgency and moved at the speed of a sloth. I did not get on the road until a little after 8:00 and that meant that it was 9:00 where I was going; I already was two hours late getting on the road plus an hour with the time change across time zones ........... I was agitated from the start.

Leaving town in a state of agitation, I paid more attention to the traffic than the road signs and missed my turn, realizing only about 10 minutes later that since I was back tracking through Colorado Springs all of this should look familiar and none of it did. I was on a divided thoroughfare so I had to look for a side street at a light for an opportunity to turn around. I soon did so and was back on my route having killed an additional half hour.

The ride across Colorado was sad. coming out of Colorado Springs I was afraid to look back at the mountains around Pike’s Peak for fear that they would draw me back. Though sad, it was an uneventful crossing; the speed limit was 75 so I had the cruise set on 85 and was making good time.

Over the border into Kansas what had been a light breeze from the south turned into a rather determined crosswind. I was not sure how long this was supposed to go on but I hoped it would not be for too long.

The winds became stronger rather quickly and I leaned the motorcycle into the wind in a effort to maintain a straight line. As the speed of the wind picked up it moved up the scale from a minor irritation to a major annoyance and pretty soon I was being buffeted by strong gusts. I was now pissed off and really not looking forward to several hours of this.

It was at that point that Mother Nature served up a surprise in the form of a gust that blew me from the line along the right shoulder across two lanes of interstate to the left shoulder. My first instinct was to brake but you do not want to do that because you have to save all available traction for steering and control.

I checked my mirrors and was glad that the traffic was low enough that I could not even see headlights.

I pressed on and two minutes later, the same thing happened just as I was about to pass a camper traveling on the right shoulder well below the speed limit with its flashers giving warning to approaching motorists.

Okay, now I was scared. In Kansas, everything is miles and miles apart and should anything happen to you it is almost certainly guaranteed that the response time will be far greater than 30 minutes. I slowed down and tucked in behind the camper but after a couple of minutes of chugging along at 45 I decided I could do okay at 60 so I passed it and went about my business at 60 +.

The struggle continued, gusts of wind were tossing me about and causing semi-trailers to weave all over their lanes. You could tell which ones were empty because, like the trees, they leaned with the wind. I stopped at every rest stop (thank goodness there are a bunch of them in Kansas) over the next couple of hours before I stopped for lunch.

At one of the rest stops I saw another BMW pull in as I was getting ready to leave. That same motorcycle was across the street gassing up where I had decided to fill my tank so I went across and pulled into the pump next to him. I turns out he is from BMW Motorcycles of Grand Rapids, MI and used to work for the guy that sold me my bike. I told him that I have dear friends in Spring Lake, MI and I would make it a point to stop in on my next trip.

We talked about the wind and how it was knocking us about. Being that he was headed for Michigan, he decided to go north to see if the wind died down some. I told him that with reservations made in Saint Louis I would soldier on in the wind and contact him in the near future to see how his trip went.

With food in my belly, more water and a little rest I paid a little closer attention to the winds and gusts and soon picked up on a pattern that I was able to accurately read proactively or preemptively prepare for. Pretty soon the winds became a second thought as the motorcycle held true to its course after I let go of the death hold I had on the grips.

Although the motorcycle held true to its course it did so at the expense of my head. The windshield can be moved up or down for added or decreased wind protection and unfortunately the winds were strong enough that prior to lunch I did not feel at all comfortable with the windshield up because it acted like a sail and helped with tossing the motorcycle around.

As time wore on and I learned more about how the gusts hit and the dynamics of the bike I was able to ride with it in my normal highway position but with the wind coming from the side the windshield provided very little protection from it. Having learned to hold the motorcycle in a straight line I also learned that some part of this moving unified object had to absorb the energy of the blasts of wind and that moveable part turned out to be my head. Each gust buffeted my head from side to side like a pendulum and they came along fast enough to get under the helmet and make my eyes water. I was just happy that it was not raining too because that would mean that I would have water inside my helmet and that would make for an even more miserable ride.

I was already tired after a couple of hours of this and realizing that I had several more to go I really strongly considered canceling my hotel in Saint Louis and just calling it a day. Then I thought about chilling out in some roadside motel in the middle of Kansas watching a lone tree swaying in the wind and the prospect of a few more hours of bobble head riding was significantly more appealing.

One thing I do know about winds in the plains is they are strongest in the afternoon and then they die down as the sun lowers in the west. With that knowledge I kept moving with the anticipation that this would only last a few hours longer; I had many more than that to ride and focusing on that might help with the fatigue.

Anyone who has ever been on a swimming team knows that the part just before the middle of the race is always the worst. It feels like you have forever to go before the end and that all your energy has been used up so you just wonder how you are going to get it done. That is how it felt. The mid-point of the trek across Kansas is Salina and that was my psychological hurdle. When you have a big job the best way to approach it is to break it up into little pieces. The first piece of this trip was to get across Colorado into Kansas. The second was to get to lunch. The third was to get to Salina and the fourth to Kansas City. I would deal with the rest as it came up.

The stretch from lunch to Salina was three more hours after lunch and I have to say those are the three longest hours I have spent on a motorcycle. So many times I approached an exit and was so tempted to just give up and call it a day but there was always this little voice that told me to get to the next exit.

I blasted passed Salina and the wind died down significantly between Salina and Kansas City. On reaching Kansas City I went into Cracker Barrel and had a great meal, saving the biscuit and corn bread muffin for breakfast the next day.

Leaving the restaurant I pulled out my heated gear so that I would not have to mess with it on the side of the road. I made one stop for gas around eleven or twelve and on getting back on the road there was wind coming up my pant leg and I did not want to have to deal with that distraction all the way into Saint Louis so I took one glove off, stuffed it under me and proceeded to adjust my pant leg. When I went to put my glove back on I realized that it had blown away.

Temperatures were dropping into the low 60’s and the thought of traveling on for another three hours really was not in the least bit appealing but one thing with the cold air hitting my fingers I certainly did not feel all too sleepy anymore.

I took off the remaining glove and rode the rest of the way with my fingerless gloves. When the distance markers indicated I was under a hundred miles to Saint Louis I started to perk up even more and sang along to whatever songs played on the radio – even if I did not know the words, I was just a carrying on like a lunatic. Good thing nobody could hear me murder those lyrics!!

I finally crossed the Missouri and Mississippi rivers and was over the border into Illinois with less than ten miles to the hotel. I turned off the radio and forced myself to pay full attention to the task at hand because this is where accidents happen on a trip – so close to the end that the focus shifts from driving to what will happen at the destination.

It was a little after 2:00 am and I had made it all the way to the hotel without a problem after about 15 hours on the road. The lady at the front desk was amazed that I had ridden all the way there from Colorado Springs in one day. She said her boyfriend has a motorcycle and sometimes they go out for rides when it is in the 60’s but only for a few miles at a time. I showed her my heated gear and she wrote down the name so that she could bring it up with him to see if he would be interested in making her rides more comfortable.

She was so nice and agreed to let me park the motorcycle on the sidewalk next to the front door. I got the motorcycle situated, dragged all my bags inside and was barely out of my clothes when I let myself collapse on the bed in a ragged and worn out heap before pulling the covers over myself and snoring off into a deep, deep sleep.

More To Come

Though I am home now, there is still more to write about on the trip. There is the long ride from Colorado Springs to Saint Louis, there are musings from the road as well as lessons learned and how I would do things differently next time. I am half way through the Colorado Springs to Saint Louis ride posting and that should be up tonight and the others will come during the week.

Day Six - Mountain Crossings

I had over four hundred and fifty miles to cover before sundown today and with a day of that kind of mileage I normally like to be on the road at first light. But, with the rear tire shredded I had two choices, first, ride slowly and hope the tire makes it to Colorado Spring where the BMW dealer will replace it or, second, go to the local repair shop where I had made the 9:00 am appointment. Knowing that my ride would take me over some great mountain roads I did not want to short myself the opportunity to ride these roads as they should be ridden so I chose the latter.

I had spent the night in Bloomfield, NM and this corner of the state is a rather ragged looking dusty little place with ragged little houses, carcasses of old cars in most yards and a pale brownish-yellow worn down sameness to everything. My hotel was right on the intersection of routes 44 and 64 and appeared to be the stopping point for a lot of semi-trucks. There was a large dusty lot adjacent to the hotel that had mostly filled with trucks by the time I found my way there.

I filled up at the gas station next to the hotel and, as had been happening over the past couple of days, I had trouble using the card at the pump and had to go inside to pay. I figured that because I was buying gas several times a day in different towns and different states with no apparent pattern they must have thought that the card was stolen. It was good to know that they were watching over it and but it was annoying nonetheless and did not do anything to improve my downcast state of mind.

Being bummed out slows you down and I arrived for my appointment about 15 minutes late but Richard was chatting to a friend of his and they seemed to be having a decent time. He greeted me jovially, opened the shop door and told me to bring her on in. We got the bike situated and he proceeded to do his thing.

The name of the repair shop is Righteous Richard’s Repairs, named after the owner who is the friendliest and most welcoming mechanic I have met. He kept calling me bro but it sounded closer to the southern California version; brahw with a really weak and almost silent “w” at the end. As people popped in and out of his shop that morning he called all of them the same thing so I figured that was just his standard greeting.

We chatted as he worked about bikes, mountain roads, how life is hard and throws you some terrible curve balls but also how many really nice people there are out there. Good people who are just living life and eager to do anything they can to make yours a better day when you encounter them. I told him about the other motorcyclists on the road who took the time to look at my tire, discuss the situation and make recommendations based on their experience.

He told me about his motorcycle, how he bought it when he was 16 and how it had been his primary source of transportation ever since. As you can see in the photo below it really is a neat machine with a cobra headed suicide shifter, crazy cool paint job and little trim pieces that you cannot see in the photo such as a little skull knob for the fuel shut-off valve, a bicycle pedal for the kick start lever and clear green grips to match the paint.

The conversation eventually wound around to how he ended up in the area and it turns out that he is from a little town here in Northern Ohio and I have spent a couple of nights in that little town. The vast majority of people have never heard of Tiffin, Ohio let alone been there and he was so excited by it and since I had spent a couple of nights there on a cycling vacation I remembered part of the layout of the town and described the different places I ate and enjoyed beers.

He told me about his family and how his mother now lives the neighboring town of Bascom, Ohio. I told him that since it was so close to Cleveland and I had room on my bike if there was anything he would like to send home I would gladly take it and deliver it to his mother. He was so thrilled but could not think of anything right at that time so he said he would think about it as he worked on the tire.

Once he was done with the tire we got the bike down off the rack and he took it for a test ride just to make sure all was good. When he came back he was grinning from ear to ear and it was quite clear that he had fallen in love with the bike. We decided that we would take a photo of us in front of his shop to his mother, showing up and surprising her with the photo.

He told me that he comes home every Christmas and brings his bike along so that he can ride on the days that allow it. I told him that I would keep in touch and when he comes up I would like him to take my motorcycle out on a good day-long ride so that he could really get the true feel of it so we have that reunion to look forward to.

With that done, we settled the bill and I was on my way. New motorcycle tires have to be scuffed in order to provide the maximum traction and the normal rule is about 100 miles but he told me the Righteous law was 150 miles so 150 it would be.

I left town headed east along route 64 with the intent of riding through the San Juan Mountains to Taos, New Mexico and then on to Raton before heading up interstate 25 to Colorado Springs. Route 64 started out rather flat but soon became a little twisty with long sweeping turns and I turned up the heat enough to make me smile but not enough to break the Righteous Law of Tire Scuffing. I was feeling great about having spent that little time in the morning with Richard and also thrilled about having a tire that would allow me to really enjoy these roads.

Just as I reached the Carson National Forest and was ready for a break I saw two motorcyclists taking a break along the side of the road so I stopped to join them. They were from Pagosa Springs, Colorado and were out enjoying the first day with no rain forecast in a while. We chatted about rides and roads and I told them about Righteous Richard and encouraged them to stop in and chat with him if time allowed and they said they might do that. They asked where I was from and what my planned route and destination were for the day. On telling them that I was headed to Colorado Springs and was worried about getting there by sundown, they agreed that it was an aggressive schedule and they suggested an alternate route that would still take me through some beautiful mountains but cut an hour off my travel time. They also suggested lunch at a roadside kitchen at a gas station just outside Dulce, a few miles up the road.

Lunch was a fry-burger provided by some enterprising Navajo and they must have been a relatively long standing business because while I was there quite a number of locals showed up to grab a quick bite and some of them just showed up, exchanged greetings without specifying what they wanted but their meals were prepared, offered and accepted with the familiarity of regulars at a local diner. It was nice to be standing around chatting to folks as they waited for their food, good folks just taking a break from the hard work that made up their long days. Some of them wore cowboy hats and had good brown western boots with mud from many hard days’ work on them.

One Navajo about my age was chatting to me about the motorcycle and told me how his brother had just bought a Kawasaki and had gone to Taos to get the registration. Another showed me his scars from a crash many years ago when he was doing 110 and wiped out. While I was enjoying the conversation I had to be on my way so I bade them farewell, threw my leg over the motorcycle and headed north for the Colorado border.

As I headed into Colorado I got some pictures of the San Juan Mountains in New Mexico as well as the peaks in the Rio Grande National Forest which is also in the San Juan range. One strange thing about riding into Colorado was as soon as I crossed the state line, my until then clean windshield started catching bugs at an alarmingly fast rate. I rode over 200 miles in New Mexico and all through Utah the previous day and had maybe 10 bug carcasses on there but within 10 miles of Colorado back road it looked like I had been on the road for a week!!

I was soon in Pagosa Springs, the home town of the two motorcyclists who had suggested the alternate route. Pagosa Springs is the first town to the west of Wolf Creek Pass and I had come through here a couple of days ago on my way to Durango but it was raining at the time so with my focus on the road I didn’t get to see any of the scenery.

As I climbed up to Wolf Creek Pass I stopped a couple of times to take photos and just to look around and take it all in. I remember passing through in the rain and wishing it was dry so that I would not have to make a white knuckled ride through those exquisite curves. Well, it looks like providence granted my wish in a strange way between the tire and the two guys on the side of the road offering an alternate route and I thanked her for her generosity.

After going over the top I went through South Fork and stopped in Del Norte on the Rio Grande to fill up for the trek north to Colorado Springs.

The route took me north along route 285 and I was to pick up route 50 in Pagocha Springs just north of the Pagocha Pass at elevation 9,010 feet. Route 285 runs in the valley between the Sangre De Cristo Mountain range to the east and the San Juan range to the west. There are wheat farms and pasture land on either side and this is the first straight road I have traveled in Colorado. With the sun having started it’s post-noon journey to the western horizon, in this case made jagged by the peaks on the west flank of the valley, the light fell beautifully on the Sangre de Cristo mountains, and true to the state motto, brining out their colors in a vivid brilliance.

I stopped to take a photo each time the scenery took my breath away and even though that meant delaying my arrival in Colorado Springs to after sunset, I decided that it was well worth it.

When I arrived in Pagocha Springs the approach to the intersection provided a stunning view of the south end of the Sawatch Mountain range with its majestic peaks towering up to the 14,269 ft peak of Mount Antero which slightly dwarfed the surrounding peaks in that beautiful range. Just on route 50 I turned onto a lot next to a gas station only to find a very large stainless steel welded sculpture of a rather handsome horse. Of course, I parked the motorcycle next to it and captured the picture of two iron horses next to each other.

Unfortunately, the view of the mountains was blocked by trees and buildings and only the very tips served as the backdrop of the photo with the horse sculpture. No worries, the two motorcyclists who had suggested this route promised a beautiful ride along the Arkansas River so I pressed on.

Moving out of town the scenery lived up to the promise. Long sweeping curves, small tight bends, excellent roads and no place for the cops to hide. The sides of the valley were towering red rocks dotted with the occasional scraggly scrub desperately clinging to the canyon walls somehow managing to scrape out an existence with the minimal nutrients offered by the rocks and the little rain that comes through.

The valley was truly beautiful!! In the days leading up to this I had ridden many roads, up many mountains and through many a valley. That riding provided the opportunity to learn a lot about the motorcycle and to gain confidence in it and myself. I took every lesson and little bit of experience gleaned from the few days in the Rockies and put it all to use as I powered through the valley leaning low in the turns and blasting along the straights with a quick glance at the sparking Arkansas, the blue sky and the red rocks in between. I knew it was the last of the mountain rides I would do before starting out on the plains the next day and I wanted, and did, make the most of it. Beautiful as it was, I did not stop for photos. Intoxicated by the low roar of the exhaust note at full sing, the beauty that surrounded me, the superb balance of my machine and the confidence it inspired I chose to take it all in rather than stop to record it. On a return trip I will take the time to stop for a few photos but, that is for another day.

Just east of Canon City and about 20 miles outside of Pueblo I stopped to watch the sun set over the Sawatch Range. It was difficult to tear myself away from the beauty of a glowing red sunset against the backdrop of mountain peaks seen from across a valley. Difficult because I knew that the days in the mountains were done and just as the sun was setting on the day, so was it setting on my vacation. Unfortunately, all good things must end and this one ended in a magnificent fiery-red sunset that only mother nature in all her glory can produce. A fitting end to a wonderful journey. I have been captivated and captured by the mountains and they will hold a willing hostage a part of me that will always want to return.

Day Six Photos

Click on the photos to elarge. Captions are below the photos.

The final day in the mountains took me from the most righteous garage in the west, through beautiful mountains, along spectaular creek and river beds out onto the plains of eastern Colorado.

The motorcycle started off the day up in the air waiting for a new tire.

This awesome chopper belongs to the righteous dude who put the new tire on the motorcycle.

And there he is, Righteous Richard, the man who saved the day. He was about to take the motorcycle for a test ride with the new tire. He came back grinning and in love with the bike!!

Righteous Richard let me sit on his cool chopper for this photo outside his shop. You can see the cobra-head suicide shifter.

The first stop of the day was lunch in Dulce, New Mexico. Prior to this I ran into a couple of fellows who recommended the fry burger from this roadside kitchen. It was quite tasty!

This is Brazos Peak, elevation 11,403 ft in the San Juan Mountains in northern New Mexico taken from the intersection of routes 84 and 64 just south of the Colorado border.

Going north into Colorado along route 84 towards Pagosa Springs I got a great view of these peaks in the Rio Grande National forest. The tallest of them is Canejos Peak at an elevation of 13,172 ft.

Okay, it looks like someone stood in the middle of the road to take this great shot of the mountains around Wolf Creek Pass just east of Pagosa Springs, Colorado.

These are some rock formations on a cliff along the climb up to Wolf Creek Pass approaching from the east.

This is on the climb up to Wolf Creek Pass looking east. It provides a good idea of how they have to wrap the road around the mountain just to get us over the top.

Route 285 runs north/south and on the section of road between Sabuache and Villa Grove you get a really good view of the Sangre De Christo Mountain Range. This is the north end of the range.

This is also the Sangre De Christo Mountains but looking south this time.

I stopped here to see if I could get a better photo of the southern end of the Sawatch Range of mountains and I did not even see this horse until I came around to park the bike. While the sculpture is quite beautiful I still prefer my iron horse!

Riding east towards Salida along route 50 I got a great view of the north end of the Sangre De Christo Mountains.

This was a sad shot for me. I waited about 15 minutes along the side of the road for the sun to go down so that I could capture the sight. It was a beautiful sunset and a fitting end to an awesome time in the mountains.

The shadows were also growing long on my trip and while I was leaving the mountains and would be crossing the plains the next day, the seed that the beauty of the mountains planted in me has sprouted and taken root already and the winds of memory that gently brush its new-formed leaves exert a pull on my heart that will surely draw me back to the mountains.

Day Five – A Day In The Desert

I had planned on seeing the sights around Moab yesterday but because I spent so much time taking in the mountain views I had to press on to Blanding for the night if I did not want to arrive after dark. I do not like to ride in the dark and I also do not like to ride in a strange city after dark with only the memorized map quest directions to guide me to the motel.

I was torn when I woke up and started to figure out what I would do with the day. I really wanted to get into the Canyonlands National Park but that would mean heading north back across the deer migration path. In order to see Canyonlands and the rest of the things I wanted to do I would have to leave just before light but the thought of riding tensed up and on guard for crossing deer was significantly less than appealing so I decided to leave that for my next trip out here.

My trip for the day was short on mileage so I decided to wash the bike and get all the mud accumulated from my forays on access roads off the bike. The sun rises later each day and each day is shorter. I think my next trip out here will be in the spring when the days are getting longer.

Though the hotel advertised free continental breakfast they only have coffee so I went across the street to the local grocery store and bought a couple of apples, some blueberry bagels and a large bottle of water.

I headed south on route 191 and then turned west on 95 so that I could go see the Natural Bridges Monument. A little way down 95 I saw an access road to a forest and, naturally I decided to go investigate this forest in the desert. I took the gravel road in for about two or three miles and came upon a brown river that cut across the road. It did not look deep but I did not know if it was muddy. The only tire tracks that went through were told of the deep tread of four wheel drive vehicles and wisdom got the better part of folly and kept me from crossing.

I took the opportunity to get a few layers off because though the day started out cold, it was going to get hot. It was kind of neat, out there all alone by a little river, red-brown water bubbling over pebbles and the sun coming up over the ridge so I took my time. One thing about the desert is it is really quiet. You don’t hear bees, you don’t hear birds, only the sound of the wind in the foliage and, this being early, there was not even the whisper of a breeze to tickle the leaves.

Back on the road I did what seems to come naturally to me – I let the motorcycle breath good and deep and it really, as much as a machine can do this, seemed to enjoy it. I eased up a little as I got close to my destination when I saw two deer cross the road about a quarter mile up the road.

When I arrived at the park entrance I took my time, chatted briefly with a retired German couple who came over to tell me that the bike I was riding was built in their home country. The man said that in his younger days he also rode a BMW and we agreed that they make one fine machine. They were out for three weeks touring California, Arizona, Utah and Nevada.

There was a little flowerbed at the ranger station with placards providing information on the different plants of the desert. I learned that what I thought was the same yellow flower were actually two different plants. There were examples of several desert plants, their names, the reason why they were named such, what animals fed on them or used them for shelter and how their form was adapted to the environment. Though I have a pretty good memory, I could not for the life of me remember the names of any but the Juniper. I can also remember the plant under which rabbits hide because in the previous day I left the bike on the road and took a little walk out in the shrubs to get a good picture and scared a little rabbit from its hiding place.

Incidentally, that rabbit was the only other animal, other than deer, elk and a gecko that I saw in the desert. Now, one word about the desert in this part of Utah. My imagination led me to believe that it would be a barren landscape of rocks and sand but the Utah desert, though devoid of surface water sources is actually very green and when you walk through it you smell the plants and the soil. If you touch any of the plants they leave an appealing scent on your fingers. The forest I wandered into earlier and the area around the Natural Bridges Monument were forested but here the trees are only about six to ten feet tall.

The tour through the monument was a seven mile loop taking visitors by viewing points for and, for the more intrepid amongst us, trail heads down the gorges to the base of the three bridges. Having no place to stash my gear (some of it would fit in the space I had left but I would have to leave the jacket on the bike and the thought of someone walking off with that was not inviting) so, much as I wanted to I did not hike down to the base of the bridges. Some more unfinished business for another trip.

I met another couple from Germany and the man told me that his son works at BMW in Munich, the car division but that one of his close friends in his neighborhood is the quality manager at BMW Motorrad which is the motorcycle division. I told him where I had come from and how I was riding hundreds of miles a day and how the machine was performing wonderfully and he said he would share my comments with his buddy.

When I finished the tour I stopped in at the ranger station to get suited up for the ride to the next stop. I had taken off the pants, gloves, neck insulator and was riding with my jacket half unzipped because the temperature had climbed into the 80’s and there was not a cloud in the sky.

On pulling in I saw another BMW bike so I parked next to it. The rider was inside the post and came out to chat. He was the leader of a group of bikes that was touring the Southwest. They came from Virginia and he organizes the trips each year, brining a number of riders out to see the sights. He introduced himself, Carl Calandra, as well as his wife and some members of the tour. They have their motorcycles trailered out and pick them up at the airport when they arrive. They also have a chase van that carries all their luggage and the truck that brought the motorcycles out goes from hotel to hotel so that if one of the riders does not feel up to the day’s ride they can hop into the chase car for the day.

While we chatted the rest of the group made it back to the station and there were a few BMW’s among them. We stood around and chatted about travels, admired each others’ machines and generally enjoyed a good visit. One of the group had ridden his motorcycle out from Virginia and we laughed about our iron butts.

The group lead asked me where I was going and recommended a detour through the Valley of the Gods. I had already planned on doing that and was happy to learn that it was spectacular. He is a really nice guy and when I told him that I was planning on riding down the Blue Ridge Parkway this fall to see the leaves change he gave me his card and insisted that I stay with him and his family because he live only four miles from the parkway. I will email him when I get home and make sure I stay in touch.

We saddled up and headed out as a group but at the intersection that leads to the park they went west and I had to turn east so I was alone again.

When I turned south on 261 the plants got shorter so I could see further and let the bike breath again, really deep this time :)

I arrived at Mokee Dugout which was the top of a cliff with a two or three mile switchback gravel road to take you to the bottom. I had to unload the camera into the computer so that I could snap more photos. Going around the back of my bike I noticed that the rear tire was worn through to the threads. That really pissed me off but then I decided that I should just get on with it and enjoy the view. As I was putting the computer away, two bikes I had passed a few miles down the road pulled into the view point and I went over to chat with them.

Yup, another German couple but these guys were traveling around the world on their bikes. They had already been in north Africa, across Europe and Asia and this was their final leg of the trip as they headed towards Texas.

I decided against going into the Valley of the Gods as the road is gravel and with the tire worn thin, I did not want to risk a stone piercing the wall. There is no cell phone service out there, I was running low on water, out of fruit, had no tent and the Valley of the Gods, being a gravel road and receiving little publicity is an area of extremely low traffic so if anything happened it would be a while before anyone found me and then the closest motorcycle dealership is over 150 miles away so it would be even longer before I could get my bike towed to a dealer for repair.

With the tire like that I also skipped Monument Valley though the road was paved. I did not want to risk extra miles, I decided to ride at the speed limit and that would mean a longer ride into town. Also, I wanted to try to get to a dealer before it closed today.

Along the way I came upon a couple of Harleys stopped for a rest at the intersection of routes 160 and 41 in the very southwestern corner of Colorado. I asked about the closest dealership and they told me there was a Honda dealership about thirty miles north in Cortez and there was also one in Farmington, not far from where I had booked my hotel. I decided to head to Farmington not wanting to go all the way to Cortez only to find they did not have my tire.

The road to Farmington passes through Shiprock and this corner of New Mexico is extremely depressed. If I took a person, drugged and blindfolded them and then brought them back-to out here and told them they were in the third-world they would have no reason to disbelieve me. It was hard to see and hard to believe that this is part of a prosperous country.

On arrival in Farmington it did not take me long to find the dealership but they did not have the tire so they sent me down the street to the Motorcyclist General Store. Hurrah, they had two tires to choose from. There was a shop behind the store owned by another person and they told me to go back and see if he would do the work today. I tried the sympathy card but he said to bring it in the morning.

Happy that I had found a tire I headed to the motel and tucked in for the night after a meal at the restaurant next door.

A day of unplanned adventure, detours and meeting great people.

Day Five - Desert Trek Photos

Click on photos to enlarge. Captions are below the photos

This was another day spent in admiration of the beauty of the outdoors.

This is a photo of the mountains that make up the Manti-LaSalle National Forest just north of Blanding, Utah taken from the intersection of route 95 and 163/191

Hmm, to cross or not to cross? I decided against because I had no desire to get stuck in there!

This is another view of the same riverbed with the sun sparking off the water. Who knew that brown muddy water could sparkle?

I thought this ridge was really cool and I could not wait to get on the other side to see what it looked like.

And this is the other side. It is amazing to me that one side is white rock and this side is red.

An up-close shot of the red cliff wall.

A good photo of my trusty steed along the red wall of rock.

The view of a butte along route 95 on the way to the Natural Bridges Monument.

Hmmm ........ decisions, decisions ....... I went on to the Natural Bridges Monument.

The Sipapu Bridge

An alternate view of the Sipapu Bridge.

A canyon carved by water near the Sipapu Bridge.

Another view of the same canyon.

I think this is the still the Sipapu Bridge.

That rock formation in the middle looked like a petrified flying saucer. Hmm, this is not too far from Roswell, NM!

A rock formation I liked at the top of the Mokee Dugway.

The view down from the Mokee Dugway - it is 1,100 feet to the bottom - straight down, as you can well see!

This is a German couple I met who are on their last leg of a world tour on their Honda motorcycles. They had traveled across north Africa in Tunisia, back into Europe through Italy, Greece, Ukraine, Russia, Mongolia, China, south Korea and then to Seattle, WA. They are on their way to Texas where they will put their bikes on a boat and fly home.

Looking down off the Mokee Dugaway at the gravel road I will have to negotiate. That switchback looks terrifying!

Yup, no guard rail and a long way down!

It was slow progess down the steep grade - you can see the drop-off to the left of the road.

Finally at the bottom, just by the intersection of routes 261 and 163 I saw this multi-colored formation.

A bad tire caused me to change my plans to visit Monument Valley in the distance so I added that to the unfinished business I need to come back and attend to!

These are some hills in the Hovenweep National Forest near Montezuma Creek on the Colorado and Utah border.

An interesting formation at the intersection of routes 491 and 160 just south of Cortez, Colorado.

My rear tire is not going to make it back to Cleveland with me and I am really hoping to make it to Farmington, NM about 50 miles away without it going flat so that I can look for a replacement. I only noticed this at the TOP of Mokee Dugway so I had to make the 3 mile descent on this tire and then drive 180 miles to Farmington through the desert!!

Ah, New Mexico, closer to my destination.

All in all it was a good day. It sucked that the tire shredded but cutting short the side trips allowed me to make it here in daylight. Next order of business on Wednesday morning is to get a new tire and then get to Colorado Springs, 450 miles away, before dark. The tire place I found does not open until 9:00. I am normally well underway by that time. Oh well, we will see what this day brings!

Day Four - Rocky Mountain Splendor

I woke up in Durango at my normal O’Dark hundred hours, logged into the internet to check the weather site only to learn that they were right, again; it was going to be a cold start. Temperatures out there were in the low forties so that would mean donning the heated gear because if it was this cold down here at 6,523 feet elevation I dreaded to think what those three high mountain passes would bring.

The front desk did not open until 7:00 or, to the rest of the normal world out there, O’Light hundred hours so I had some time to contemplate the cold temperatures.

Complimentary breakfast was bagels so I grabbed a couple and took them back to my room where I was catching up on the posting I had not done the day before because of exhaustion from the long trek across the prairies. I wolfed those down with what they called orange juice and then packed my things and loaded the bike.

As I was loading the owner of the Honda Gold Wing that had overnighted next to my bike was also getting ready for the day. He was a nice gentleman from Pennsylvania and he had just retired and decided to get out and see the country. He owns gear from the same company, First Gear, as what I own and I asked him why he chose that over the other brands out there. I told him the reason I bought mine is it was the brand carried by my dealer. He told me that he had been riding for many years and this stuff simply works – nuff said!

Although it was cold, there was not a cloud in the sky down here and I was hoping for the same up in the mountains so I could see more. With the bike loaded I hopped on and headed north. I did not get far before I had to stop and take a photo. The road north out of Durango runs along the Animas River and it is flanked to the west with sheer cliffs that are photo worthy.

Not long after that I started to see mountains. It was mountains to the left, mountains to the right and mountains straight ahead. The photos I posted yesterday tell the story of the ride up route 550 to Ridgway.

As I approached the first pass, Coal Bank Pass, elevation 10,640 the curves in the road got tighter and tighter and I realized that one thing I noticed yesterday seemed to be holding true for this road too; there are no guard rails even when the curves are tight and the drop offs measured in hundreds of feet ....... straight down.

Nothing will keep your speed down like a twisty road with steep drops and no guard rail. It is a psychological thing because even a guard rail is not a fun thing to encounter sliding along on your rear end but at least you can come away alive, if not in one piece. Cliffs hundreds of feet high? That is a whole other matter.

I was stopping everywhere to take photos and when I reached the top of the pass I zoomed by unintentionally and had to go about a mile down the other side before I found a stretch of road where I could safely turn around. Interestingly, this side of the pass had guard rails.

I got off the bike and walked around a little, listening to the sound of the mountains which is possible because the traffic is rather low. Beautiful though it was I did not have an epiphany. I did, however, feel really out of shape because just climbing stairs to look around at this altitude really got me winded and I wondered just how out of shape I really am.

The story is the same between Coal Bank Pass and Molas Pass at elevation 10,899 ft. I stopped at every opportunity to take photos of increasingly incredible scenery. Winding roads, forested mountainsides where the underlying rock was not exposed and towering snow covered peaks just took my breath away. It really is visual overload and I am going to make my level best to get back out here more often so that I can spend time up in this beauty and not simply pass through taking photos.

At the top of Molas Pass I ran into three women who were out touring together and I recognized them from the motel in Durango as I had taken their parking spot when they left, apparently for dinner. The were good natured about it and we laughed about my twinge of guilt at having done that but they understood why I would want a spot as close to me as possible. We chatted for a little and they took a couple of photos of me on my camera.

As I descended from Molas I noticed a little dirt road leading to what looked like a camp ground so I went down there to take photos of some distant peaks which looked particularly impressive from the main road and I was not disappointed.

The town of Silverton is located in a valley between Molas Pass and Red Mountain pass and it is one of those picturesque towns with mountains rising thousands of feet all around it. The one thing I wondered was how much snow came down into this town and what happened in there in the middle of the winter. Here in Colorado, all the roads leading up to the mountains have lockable barriers that the State Police lock and to close off the road if avalanches have blocked it, which apparently is not a rare occurrence. Anyway, with all roads leading out going through mountains it is entirely likely that several times each winter there is no way out of this place for days at a time!

Just north of Silverton I got off the road onto a forest access road so that I could get a look at the mountains from a stream bed. What a beautiful sight!! I took a couple of photos from down there and not even they tell half the story.

On to Red Mountain Pass, elevation 11,075 ft and the beauty continues. On the approach into Ouray the forested hillsides give way to faces of bare rocks with the occasional tree here and there. The road drops down several thousand feet on the descent into Ouray, passing an old mine where tour are available. As you descend, the color of the rocks begins to change from the various shades of gray to a reddish brown. Ouray is a classic western looking town with old stores but it does look a little contrived and touristy.

The switchbacks have ended and given way to a winding road along the Uncompahgre River which flows north. I stopped in Ridgway for gas and then turned onto route 62 towards Moab, Utah. Down here in the valley I was sad to have left the mountains behind but there was still more to see ahead so I pocketed the sadness and pressed on. There is a winding road climbing gently out of Ridgway and, though there are no sheer cliffs there are guard rails aplenty! Hmmm, strange! When I crested the little hill I was greeted by the western view snow covered peaks I had just seen close up and they were equally as impressive from down here. I stopped several times to take photos and my two favorites of this part of the drive are one of the mountains looking over a pasture where some cows are grazing and the other was taken at the entrance to a farm showing the rusty gate in the foreground and the peaks in the background.

The road took me to Placerville through the Dallas Divide which was unmarked so I missed it (this is becoming a habit!). This is another curving road but with nowhere near the drama of the mountains and the views on either side are the red rock covered sides of the valley. I really enjoyed the hell out of these twenty three miles, leaning hard in the corners and blasting down the straights. There was no traffic so I figured I would be pretty safe from any wandering officer and, thankfully, I was.

The drive was pretty uneventful from Placerville to Norwood. After Norwood I had to stop in Naturia to take off a few layers as it was getting into the 80’s. There was a little roadside shack constructed from unfinished lumber under a tree that looked kind of neat so I parked in the shade and proceeded to de-layer.

The ride from Naturia to Bedrock was pretty amazing as the plains dropped into a wide valley with the La Salle Mountains looming larger in the background. The north side of the valley had a red rock cliff wall several miles out and beneath the cliff extending to the road was beautiful green pasture widening at the bottom to a wide plain in the shadows of the three peaks of the La Salle Mountains.

The bottom of the valley is marked by the crossing of the Dolores River which descends from an impressive red rock gorge to the south as it flows north to a point near Uravan where the San Miguel adds to its bubbling flow.

I stopped in the “town” of Bedrock to take photos off the camera memory card and put them on the computer. There is a general store standing alone by the side of the road and a woman is sitting on the front porch sharpening a lawnmower blade. It turns out she is the proprietor and hails from Iowa but ended up liking the west so much she stayed. Though it is the only store for miles, for the twenty minutes or so that I am there only about a dozen vehicles passed by and none of them stopped so I think she pretty much only serves the other 19 inhabitants of the town.

She guesses that I am either a college professor or a doctor and I thank her ever so much for the assessment but tell here that I only work in a bank.

Looking at my bike she lets me know that the highway patrol has not passed through yet so I have free reign of the road from there to the Utah border. With that, I pack everything away and get back on the road. The climb over the shoulder of the La Salle Mountains re-introduces me to switchbacks but out here rather than forests of pines there are the short (6 – 8 feet tall) evergreens of the semi-desert. Again, there are no guard rails and the drop offs are rather severe so I take it easy until the major climbing is done and then I open her up.

Blasting along enjoying the sound of the motor and the sweeping curves I pop up over a rise and there, coming out of the shrubs to the left of the road is something shaped like a deer but about the size of a healthy cow. Startled, I apply maximum braking force hoping it will either run and get out of the way, and is alone, or turn back for the bushes. It is also startled, stops to look in my direction and decides to turn back into the bush just as I pass by the potential meeting point having slowed to well under 20 mph, a speed at which I could have either dodged, or, had a less severe, though, still dramatic encounter with this beast of the western Colorado. I later learned that it was a cow elk.

With the adrenaline pumping I bring my speed down to a little over the limit as I cross into Utah. The winding road opens up into plains with more visibility on either side of the road but I still take it easy. At the intersection of routes 46 and 191/163 I decide against going into Moab because that would mean an after dark arrival in Blanding and I had no intention of driving those roads at night with the potential for another beast stepping out into the road.

So, I headed south and decided to make a stop at the Needles Overlook into Canyonlands National Park. It was quite a view into a large eroded valley and it was hot! I hopped around on the path along the cliff edge taking photos of the different views of the valley and I met a couple from Holland who took my photo and I returned the favor by taking theirs together.

Getting back to the bike I chatted to a local who told me about the two motorcycles he owns, and, as seems to be becoming the pattern, he was amazed at the distance I had covered in the little time I had for my vacation.

I bade him farewell, he wished me a good and safe journey as he stuck a fork into his freshly opened can of sliced pineapples. The ride to Monticello was made interesting by the fact that it crossed the migratory path of whatever species of deer live out here. There were large yellow signs about every half mile warning of deer in YOUR lane of travel for the next 15 miles. After my close encounter earlier, I was glad that I had decided not to go into Moab and cover this stretch of road in the dark. I slowed down to a crawl several times upon deer sightings the first of which was coming over a crest with the sun in my eyes. I decided to shield my eyes with my left hand and just as I did, I saw two sets of ears wobbling on top of the profile of a head that had to belong to deer. Yup, you guessed it, I braked, though I did not have to brake as hard as I did earlier as I was going slower and they were a little way up the road and they stayed on the shoulder, eyeing me as I putted on by before resuming their oh-so-rudely interrupted dinner.

I stopped in Monticello to pick up tourist brochures because I was not yet decided on what I would do the next day. The ride into Blanding was uneventful, the motel was new and very clean! I had a so-so dinner at the place next to the motel, having chosen it because I wanted to have a beer and not have to get back on my bike. No such luck, the place did not have a liquor license. Oh well, the beer would have to wait. I turned in for the night after looking at the photos I had taken in the trip in and was amazed that, even though they did not tell half the story, they were still beautiful.

Well, tomorrow is another day and I shall be in the desert.

Day Four Photos

Click on photos to enlarge. Captions are below the photos.

If this was the only day of the trip so far it makes it so worth the miles. This posting starts with photos of the drive north out of Durango, Colorado along route 550 and ends with photos in Utah.

The road north out of Durango runs along the Animas River and to the west of the road the land rises up rather dramatically.

Sunlight Peak, elevation 14,059, near Trimble, Colorado

Coming into Hermosa there was road construction which slowed me down enough for me to see this view of Sunlight Peak and stop for what turned out to be a rather nice shot.

The first pass of the day was Coal Bank Pass and as you can see it is way up there.

I think this is Pole Creek Mountain, elevation 13,716. I know this is the road just after Coal Bank Pass on the way to Molas Pass.

This is Pole Creek Mountain just after Molas Pass

This is a view of the mountains in which Redcloud Peak, elevation 14,034 ft. is located.

This is the canyon wall from a creek bed of a tributary to the Animas River about two miles north of Silverton, Colorado

A photo on the same creek bed looking west.

I am not sure which mountain that is in the background but this was a look back down the valley after negotiating a hairpin switchback and climbing towards Red Mountain Pass.

And, Red Mountain Pass which is probably the highest pass of the trip if I do not change my route AGAIN!

I am not sure what mountain or peak this is but I like the photo.

This is after Red Mountain just south of Ouray .... Hey, where did the road go? The ride from Red Mountain Pass to Ouray took me through gorges with vertical walls and this was one of the few pull-offs where I was able to snap a photo.

Out of the mountains and on the way to Utah. This looking up at the mountains along route 62 just west of Ridgway (No, I did not spell that wrong!!)

A shot of the mountains across a pasture along route 62 west of Ridgway.

And one last look at the mountains in the background. I like the ragged farm gate.

This is the grand metropolis of Bedrock. I stopped here to empty the memory card of the camera into the computer so that I could take photos in Utah. This town is on the Dolores River along route 90 just east of the Utah / Colorado border. Other than the post office which is a 20' by 20' shack, this along with the houses of the other 19 residents makes up the town. I spoke to the proprietor who hails from Iowa and is looking to sell the place ....... if anyone is intersted.

Ah, finally in Utah. This is a look at the La Salle mountains from the road leading to the Needles Overlook point in the Canyonlands National Park.

A rock formation along the road to Canyonlands.

This is looking east into Colorado just west of Paradox, Colorado.

A view of Canyolands from Needles Overlook.

The La Salle Mountains along route 46 in Utah just west of La Salle.

There are a lot more photos but these tell the story for the day quite well. It really was a day of natural splendor and I know that I want to come back to spend more time in the mountains instead of simply riding through. I did stop often, turn off the motor and take off my helmet to listen to the sounds of the mountains. It was a whisper of the wind accompanied by rustling leaves, the occasional buzzing bee that combined to make the song of the mountain; a soundtrack to views of overwhelming splendor.