From the Vaults
To satisfy some readers that I really have done this kind of thing before I'd like to post a rather long story about my Colorado trip of ought n' two.
Colorado Motorcycle Trip
August 2002
22Aug02
A little bit of excitement is understandable when you are about to embark on a weeklong solo motorcycle trip through Colorado, but as I watched another hour drag by on the clock, I wondered why I bothered even trying to go to sleep. I guess it was so I could start off my journal by saying I got up, dressed, and went to the airport to board my flight to Colorado Springs. Check-in and clearing security went well, although I had to remove my steel-toed riding boots and explain the helmet and some other camping gear to the security agents at the terminal and again at the gate. I guess it might be feasible to put on a helmet and become a human battering ram against the cockpit door.... Comfortably seated and sipping hot coffee I proved once again how small the world is, even when the sphere is enlarged by flying at 35,000 feet over the earth. The woman next to me felt compelled by her fear of flying to tell me of a close high-school friend of hers who had died in a plane crash in the Navy. We were both taken aback when I realized it was a college classmate of mine, squadron mate in the USN and that we had been on the same cruise when he perished. I hoped this was an omen of how I would discover the spider web of human contact, not the peril of air travel! Still cannot figger if the cabbies are glad for the fare or pissed at it's diminutive size when I go the 15$ from the terminal to the U-Store-It to pick up the bike. I tip well, but even so, the overall fare is less than they would get from COS to, say, Pueblo. I check-in with the friendly folk behind the counter and get the latest on the fire-fighting efforts and fishing reports (good/bad, in that order), and to let them know I'll be back in a week. I drop my duffel at the unit door and begin the first of many prayer/chants that goes something like this: My-keys-oh-please-oh-please-my-keys, as I contort and invert each and every pocket looking for the ONE set of keys to the Unit, the bike, and my vacation. First lesson: the more places you have to put things, the more places you'll have to look before you find said thing. Found it, danced the Happy Dance, and opened the door. Ah, where HAVE you been? the R65 asks. Even though I quick-washed it in the Springs 7-11 before I left, there's still some of the high country mud of Paonia Rally. Lovely. All the stuff comes out of the duffel, onto the asphalt, and back into the saddlebags and mini-duffel and tankbag. But wait- where are my damned gloves and the tire gage? Curses! I'm already behind the power curve. Fortunately the desk guys put me onto a HomeDepot just up the street, where I purchase the most comfortable, inexpensive, leather gloves I can; in LIME GREEN. Oh, well, they'll know when I'm waving, that's for sure! Just motoring out of the city I confirm my in-flight premonition - I'm here to connect with people, however fleetingly. The guy at the gas station, the kids in the back of the station wagon, and especially the woman wheeling herself down the sidewalk in her wheelchair. There's a momentary contact between us: first a look, then a wave, then that sparkle and smile. And then they're gone. I take I25 south to 50 west, and then I'm free of the gravity of civilization again, and slinging around corners with my head on a swivel, marveling at the mountains, unable to believe that the best is yet to come! After a diner in Gunnison I take the advise of a local couple and head to Almont and then Taylor Creek, arriving just before sunset. There's an SUV at the campsite being unpacked by a young lady, and guarded by two large dogs. Trying my best to be charming I pull off my helmet and ask "If I promise not to snore, may I join you for the night?". She unleashes the dogs and says "well, I don't think my husband will like it!" So much for my sense of humor. Turns out they are from the Metroplex (whoopee) and came to Colorado to get away from people. I am just a reminder of where they left and what they left, so I stake my tent at the far end of the site and drink my first night Scotch all by myself. It is great satisfaction, none-the-less, as I watch the falling sun tint then stain the bare rock cliffs red. I'm on the road again, and it is grand.
23Aug02 Because of, or in spite of, my nip o' scotch at bedtime, I got a fair night's sleep. What a joy a good sleeping bag can be in Colorado! Day time temps were in the 90's in the sun, and the night got into the mid 40's, I'd guess. I didn't need supplemental clothing (socks or vest), and even took off my sleeping hat, so it was not a cold night at all. Even with no alarm set to wake me up, I was peering out of the tent door to watch the sun come up and the woods awaken. Actually, if you've camped, you know that the woods never really sleep, noises continue all night long; the animals just work in shifts. My little Trangia backpackers stove was good only for hot water. Which is fine for back packing, but I'd hoped for something a little more substantial than coffee and oatmeal. It'll go in the backpack, but my essentials list now includes a dual fuel stove I can replenish out of the m/c gas tank! Taylor Creek was inviting, so I put on my waders and shoes and strung the fly rod to give it a try. What I found was that I was so distracted by the roadway to my side, and the thoughts of what might lie waiting just a few miles away, that I couldn't snag a thing! Except the trees, my hat, a rock or two. Fold it all up and get going! So there's my first lesson of the day - for me, on a trip, movement is key. Stopping to concentrate on one area, like a stream, for too long makes me anxious and isn't fair to the object at hand.
So I packed everything back into it's place on the bike, and headed back down the road to Gunnison, with nary a look back at my DFW Metromess acquaintances. Gunnison is a college town, and has the coffee shops and job-wanted ads to prove it! I enjoyed a HUGE breakfast burrito with HOT sauce and some coffee, as well as the conversations going on around me. International news was not heard, nor even national. It was my cow this or my horse that, or (from the younger in the crowd) my mountain bike here, that trail there. If you can listen to a Gershwin song and hear the different instruments, you can imagine more of what I mean than I can describe. I got off 50 again, onto 149, which was tremendous. In Lake City I stopped for a break - bought some coffee to use a restroom (sorta like a pay toilet, but with more class than a slot for the dime). There is a nice museum of an old house, and info on Alfred Packer, the cannibal. Seems he was stuck in a pass just up the road, like the Donners, and ate his way out. That was not approved, but overlooked back then if necessary. What got him in trouble was come spring they found the bodies, and they had been murdered first, so THAT's what he was arrested for!
Anyway, it is a lovely little town with a city park, cafe's with dirt bikers gathered on the porches, and lots of B&B's and cabins to rent.
Lake San Cristobel is just outside of town, created when part of the mountainside slid into a stream. Pavement runs half way round, and the rest dirt road, common to most of Colorado. This is one end of the Alpine Loop, and I would dearly love to go back on a GS or 4X to see it all. As it was, the R65, loaded, did fine for one trip around this Alpine looking body of water. Then it was up the hill to Slumgulion Pass and Deer Lakes for some fishing. Funny thing about Colorado, many of the people you meet are from Texas, and it was no different at the lakes and their campground. The lakes are actually about 4 ponds or tanks in a groomed atmosphere - rather a let down from what I had expected. The wind had come up a bit, so I had trouble casting my fly-line and only caught a couple small trout. On the way out, however, I made my first hike up above the tree line to Cannibal Plateau (catching a theme here?) at 12,300 feet. It really sucks your wind going up a steep incline with NO AVAILABLE OXYGEN!!! I made it, however, and was rewarded with further breath-taking views of the valley, the lake, and the twisty road I had just traversed on bike. It was otherworldly or super-worldly up there.
Back at the bike I began the second set of long distance worries - the bike. Seems to be running a little rich (duh) and there's this rattle I'm hearing...... long way to home! 149 into Creede is just stunning. I have only been out two days and am already out of superlatives for this state and it's roads/scenery. Creede is often overlooked by those who ride/drive 149 if not forewarned. As soon as you enter town the road takes a sharp turn back out of town and you could miss one of the gems of the West. Fortunately I stopped for some tremendous BBQ (it ain't all in Texas, friends, although the proprietor was a former Plano school-teacher) and learned of the treasures two blocks away. Night was falling, though, so a minimal backtrack put me in another remarkable campsite, Marshall Park, along the bank of the Rio Grande! Just a Creek Little at that point, though. Unpack and bed down to a full moon on the cliffs and the sweet solo of the river on the rocks. Oh, and that noggin of Scotch.
24AUG
At some point in the night I realized that I was cold. Not bone chilled, but cold. Sure glad to have brought a good bag, extra (clean) socks, and a sleeping cap! Pulled the bag close around my face and slept well 'till dawn. Oh, and I've found that Hero or Super Hero earplugs are not only great on the bike all day, but keep things quiet in the campsite all night, AND keep the cold air out of my ears (ever awakened in a remote site with a bad ear ache?). Cold it was, as the frost on everything would confirm. Bags, bike, tent, boots, helmet, jacket, etc. Lesson: cover it or close it, but don't expose it! I dressed somewhat hurriedly, and set about packing up what I could. The sun was making it's slow, deliberate march from the FAR side of the campground over to me, but it would be at least 30 minutes in the travel. 'Nother lesson: plan (if possible) for morning sun to help warm things up for departure. At this point I received a God Send from the RV site down the way. Friendly folk from Albuquerque NM saw me dancing about waving my arms and sent over a HOT cup of coffee. Simple pleasure, the mechanics of which may be duplicated at any Starbucks, but a great deal of warmth came from the thought involved! I'm learning that I need to be more modular in my planning/packing. Tent stuff with tent stuff, cooking with cooking, clothing in separate bags, etc. After packing all that I could, I took the tent fly and my precious coffee over to the sun line and spread the fly out to warm/dry. Have you ever noticed that the frost crystals sparkle the most just as they melt into dew droplets? A coating of microscopic diamonds had been mine all night long.
Finally, with everything dry and packed, I coaxed the cold R65 back to life and headed back to Creede along 149 for breakfast. Main street was fairly busy, for 0830, and sure enough, I got my fill of Texans straight away as a Beemer a Harley and a Honda with TX tags pulled up next to me as I parked. We decided on which coffee shop to enter by the gaudiness of the paint, much the way I imagine it was done in the old days. While they were accustomed to the chill, the proprietors also seemed to boast of their heating system, and we could FEEL the heat from outside the door. Bowling balls, pins, antlers, car parts, books and a whole lot of other unrelated stuff made up the decor in this shoppee, which served any style eggs and coffee and danish you could imagine. Creede, like so many other Colorado towns, was a mining town before the economics changed. There's still ore, but it doesn't pay to bring it out. In Creede you can visit the Bachelor Mine, where they have laid out a tremendous mining museum/display actually inside the rock! Eerie to walk back into the mineshaft and listen to the narrator describe the evolution of mining tools and the dangers involved. If you are GS'ing (of 4X) you can continue into the Bachelor Loop, about 20 miles of large gravel and STEEP climbs. I deferred, knowing the loaded R65 on street tires would thank me later. But I put it down as a "next trip" item.
Continuing on 149, I turned westward toward WolfCreek Pass, of CW McCawl fame. I'd heard there was a lookout there that was breathtaking, and so turned off at the first dirt road. It was as close to supercross as I care to get! Up on the pegs I negotiated chunckholes and rocks to get to the 11,000 ft overlook. It was worth it, but I could feel the strain on the bike. There was a sign near the microwave relay indicating the Continental Divide Trail, so I changed shoes and picked up my hiking sticks and pack and walked a couple miles to Lobo Lookout for a break and a snack. Still, cool, clear. And the views were indescribable. Took some photos, but even a thousand words doesn't do it justice. The remainder of 149 to 160 was a delight, both the road and the scenery, which may be why I was disappointed in 160 west from Pagosa Springs to Durango. Traffic, traffic lights, and civilization. At Durago I stopped for chow, gas, air and oil, and while it was a neat town, it was too civilized for my mindset. There are some neat glimpses of the past, in 1870's hotels and bars, but mostly there are chain restaurants and boutique stores. It is the anchor for the light gage railroad that takes you to Silverton (next trip), and the junction of 550, the million dollar highway! Too late to continue, so at the first campsite out of town I bedded down for the night.
25 Aug 02
Because of it's proximity to Durango the campsite was a little busier than the others, but still, as I woke the next morning there was a veritable Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom of animals around the tent! The Colorado Campground service is a privately run business, held together, mostly, by retirees in their still mortgaged RV's. There are two 'hosts' per campground and they alternate duties, so there is time to enjoy the area as well as pay off the note. This couple was from Michigan, originally, and they had been
feeding the birds and rodents for a month. Stellar Jays are dazzling in their colors, and the tame nature of the chipmunks and squirrels was remarkable. I boiled up some water for coffee and oatmeal, and watched the sun breath color into the line of hills on the other side of the lake. It was still just a little too cold to ride when I finished, so I took my time packing up and chatting with the hosts. Finally the sun line was nearly onto the fabled Colorado 550, the Million Dollar Highway, and I could stand it no longer and was off, bundled up in extra clothing and my heavy gloves. Remember, this is a no frills R65, no fairing, windscreen, hand guards or heated grips! 550 is everything you have heard, and more. While it seems to have been designed and built for motorcyclists with widened lanes in the turns, smooth shoulders and great signage; the scenery is so breathtaking that it is easy to miss the turns, wind up on the
shoulders and nearly peg oneself on the signpost stating "Danger, Curve Ahead"! As I started up the road I was listening to the bike again, a habit when so far afield, and something didn't sound right. It was the engine, I think, but not really related to the throttle position. It sounded really cold, or chugging, or, well like a train engine. In fact, it WAS a train engine, the fabled Durango-Silverton Steam engine! I'm not kidding, I nearly pulled over twice - first to check and second to laugh! This is one ride I want to come back and take - as EVERYONE says it is worth the price!
Silverton is the quintessential mining town, and is in a serious dual with Leadville for the highest incorporated 'burg in Colorado. Here in Texas even the smallest hamlet will brag of its population (and the quality of it's water). In Colorado, however, every cluster of houses has an elevation sign posted nearby. Silverton got it's name during its hey-day when folks said it had 'Silver-by-the-ton', and many of the mines and associated buildings slews are still visible; as are the scars the operations created. As I recall it, main street was paved, but the second block off either side was dirt roads. Hotels and cafes now replace bars and brothels (well, brothels anyway), and the old jail is something to see. It was a mail order building from St Louis MO, assembled on site with brick and metal inserts. There are even a hundred or so hardy folk who remain through the winter, even though only one grocery and one bar remain open.
For a hiking adventure I was directed to Mineral Campground, just a couple miles up 550, and the hike to Ice Lake. Leaving the pavement I road dirt about 4 miles back into the woods to the beautiful, remote campsite and trailhead. I was at 9,500 feet to start (yes, I do have a gps, why do you ask?), and 2 1/2 hours later topped out at 12,500 at the edge of a snow fed topaz lake. The mountains continued up another 500 to 1000 feet, but taking Dirty Harry's advise - I DO know my limitations. It was a feeling of accomplishment to have pushed myself up that high, and the views were worth every step and drop of sweat. On the way back down ( 1 1/2 hours) I met an older (70's) Colorado couple just out for a walk, and an Arizona couple with full backpacks going up to spend a couple nights. My hat's off to both couples for their pluck! I staggered back down to the 'thicker' air in the parking lot, ate a little gorp and Cliff Bar, and headed north on 550.
Just before Ouray (Ur-Aye) is Red Mountain, aptly named for the color of the tailings from the mines that have been spewed from its side. Again, the lanes widen out appropriately, but between the tiny radius of the corner and the focus stealing scenery you need EVERY bit! There are NO level places in Ouray to park a fully loaded bike. I think I put down both the center stand AND the side stand and then leaned the bike against a telephone pole while I went in for a rather mediocre steak. The town itself is beautiful, with Swiss
village like architecture and the required United Mine Workers Assoc building and F.O.E. house. I got the feeling, though, that in places like this the F.O.E. and Brotherhood of (fill in the blank) were active social gathering places. Just north of town are the fabled hot springs bathing suit optional mineral waters.
It was late, I'm modest, and did not partake of their healing warmth. I had heard that the Ridgeway campsite had hot showers and since I had begun to notice a strange and increasing odor in my tent and sleeping bag I was anxious to enjoy them. Little did I know that the campsite would charge 5$ to enter, 14$ to camp, and .50$ for 3 minutes of hot water!
It was worth every dime.
26 August 2002 Smelling, er, feeling much better the next morning I got up to the sounds of RV generators generating, and kids playing. Coffee and Oatmeal cooked while I bagged the tent and accessories, and loaded up the bike. Yes, and there was time for one more 3 minute shower. The Ridgeway campsite is sprawling, with a two major camping areas and a lake, as well as miles of trails to walk/mountain bike. This year, however, the lake was extremely low, as were all the lakes in the south central Colorado area, due to the draught. I headed out onto 550 and began trying to decide whether to make the turn on 62 and then head south, or continue north to Montrose and Black Canyon of the Gunnison. Nice thing about traveling solo is that decision processes become much simpler. There's no: what do YOU want to do? I don't care, what do YOU want to do. And no waiting up or catching up. There's also no: wait here and I'll get gas/help. And no: did you SEE THAT! at the campsite. Mixed blessings. After 15 minutes of coin flipping and two false starts I chose Montrose, and was rewarded with the boring part of 550, where it turns from the million dollar highway into the 9.99 special, lined with Wal-Mart/Kmart and MacSonicBell's. There's also no: I TOLD you so's.
Black Canyon is so named because places of it are so steep and deep they never get direct sunlight. While it does not compare with the Grand Canyon, it is a dizzying precipice with incredible coloring and texture. Like the Big Ditch it is difficult to do both rims in one day, so I stayed on the south side, where the main park office is located. After riding the rim and pulling off into various lookouts, I stopped there and put on my hiking togs again. The ranger on duty (some sherpa kid on vacation from Tibet University) judged my book by its cover and told me I should have no trouble with the 2000' foot descent/ascent. Round trip time should be under 3 hours. Humph! The footing was broken rock scree, and at one point they offered a length of chain dangling from an anchor by which to lower/raise one's self on the trail! In the end, despite several unintended butt slides, it was well worth it - the beautiful calm waters, solitude, coolness were prizes to me. I should have brought my fishing pole. In one place I found suitcase sized rocks, sharply angular, right next to equally large egg shaped ones - before and after shots.
After the climb and a suitable period for my heart rate to fall out of the red zone, I headed back to the 550/62 junction and onto 145 towards Telluride. At the Dallas Divide (how fitting) I had my first classic encounter with a deer, but followed the protocol and had no problems. I did, however nearly get head-on'ed by a driver in this three lane area. Two lanes are normal, with a solid orange line left, a dashed orange line in the middle, and a white solid right, but the other side had a solid white on their right and a dashed orange to their left indicating they could also pass! I had moved over to the left (middle) lane to avoid some surface work in the right lane, and the fellow coming the other way decided to come around a slower truck. Right or wrong I would lose, so over the lip and into the loose asphalt I went, slowing quickly. I found out later that this is the route most day workers take to get home, and the number of beer cans by the roadside confirm it is a dangerous area. An old high school friend of mine lives in T-ride, and I pulled into town to the visitors center to phone him. Two true biker brothers were outside, discussing where to bed down. Seems they weren't welcome to just throw their bags on any vacant lot in city limits, and were unhappy to have to backtrack to get into the National Forrest 5 miles away. These road warriors were to bikers what mercenaries are to soldiers - which made me (freshly showered) on my Beemer Air National Guard!. They had marked their time on the road with rubber bands on ponytails and beards, and at this point could supply a small office's needs. But with no judgments or criticisms we greeted each other, noted possible places to sleep, and departed. They to parts unknown, me to the next 12$ campsite with bathroom and water, just 5 miles away.
27AUG
To those who have children this will make sense; or those who have experimented in chemistry (or food preservation). Even though I was in "God's Country" with several more days left on my kitchen pass, I awoke with the realization that I was done with this trip, that it was time to go home. Kids will do this at amusement parks, though they don't realize it. There comes a time when even the rides are no longer fun, participants are just suffering through the line and the event because they are there, not out of any particular joy. So it was with me, as I packed up my gear again and headed into Telluride for breakfast. It was all so beautiful I had become numb, and was no longer in awe of my surroundings, and I didn't want to travel like that. Truth was - I guess I'd become homesick.
Back in T-ride in the daytime I found that there are definite strata to the culture there. Front street and alleyway. Front street is groomed and cleaned for the tourists and big money folk, and the alleys are where the locals and workers scurry about and socialize. You need to have lots of money or be very eccentric (or better yet, both) in T-ride to be on main street. In the alleys you can get information on garage sales, cheap(er) places to rent, and some very interesting concerts. You can also find coffee and bagels for under 5$, which wouldn't buy coffee alone out front. So I dined with the locals on the porch of a bagel factory (please don't feed the birds) and left for home.
165 down to ......... is following the backside of the Rockies, but I found I was just stopping to take pictures for the picture's sake. I knew it would look lovely, but had just stopped marveling. In fact, I didn't even turn the bike off when I stopped.
Having come this far, 4-corners and/or Mesa Verde loomed in my mind. Would I come back and do this area again? Was this my one shot? I so badly wanted to get home I nearly skipped both, but decided to see what Mesa Verde had to offer. It is much longer than I imagined, some 20 miles from entrance to museum - and none of that straight, but rather 30mph and less curves around butte's and box canyon ends. Oddly, the visitor's center is halfway along towards the museum and ruins, but if you do not buy a ticket there you cannot buy one at the ruins themselves to enter! I visited the museum and the "Tree" house (not treehouse), and saw my first real evidence of the notorious fires of '02. Acres and acres in the park were nothing but ash and charcoal stumps, right up to the museum structure itself. Some park buildings were damaged by the fire, and the fire retardant slurry dumped to protect the ruins was evident as I walked into the ......... Indians homes. It had been dropped basically on top of the rocks and walls surrounding the ruins, turning them sunset red colors.
The ruins themselves are intact and tickle the imagination. It looks like the ultimate children's playground! Scaled to fit a 10 year old, it appears. The homes, storage areas and meeting houses were built under an overhang for shelter, and use the natural rock wall as one side of the structures. Some of the religious buildings, or pits, are restored and you can climb down a lashed wooden ladder to marvel inside them. For warmth there is a fire place with chimney and air inlet. There was also a mysterious hole just off center in the circular floor. I asked the attendant and she informed me this was the "Sipapu" hole, where the spirit of man escaped from the earth. Aha! So my next month's trip to New Mexico for the Bavarian Mountain Weekend was foretold!
Finished with the ruins, I started my run back to Colorado Springs in earnest, bearing the drudgery of 160 from Durango to WolfCreek Pass again, and then delighting in it from there on. I tucked in behind an empty tanker who was FLYING along, and then when he turned off and nighttime fell, behind another to use as deer chaser in the dark as I headed to Walsenburg, and a Comfort Inn. A long day of riding and sightseeing, followed by a hot shower and my first motel bed in a week. And, yes, the family next door with 3 small children were from Ft Worth.
28Aug02
It must have been the mattress, because I certainly didn't get 50$ worth of sleep that night. I did, however, get another hot shower and shave before departing. Up the slab through Pueblo to the Springs, and tuck my baby into its crib at the U-store-it once again. Called a cab and sat in the Burger King on the corner for coffee and processed stuff called breakfast. Not much local color there - all preprocessed and packaged. Not even a local newspaper to keep up with the news. When I got to the airport I found I'd missed a flight by 10 minutes, but that was ok, I enjoyed sitting in a stationary chair, looking out at Pikes Peak.
By boarding time I was even starting to think a little bit about where to go 'next time'.
I hope you found some amusement/diversion in this tale. Compared to some epic journeys/stories it's pretty tame, but for me it was just the right scale.
I would note that if you can, leaving a bike out in this area is a great way to save travel time (287/40/25) to use for exploration time. With airfares so low, a little planning makes it possible for anyone. Check to make sure the U-store-it can actually accept vehicles in storage (or don't even mention it) and take a copy of the title as proof of ownership. A spare set of keys is a good thing, as is a reliable bike - but, hey, we're talking BMW's here, so just make sure your maintenance is up to date and the tires are good. Allow about 15$ a day for camping and you are all set. See you there!
Colorado Motorcycle Trip
August 2002
22Aug02
A little bit of excitement is understandable when you are about to embark on a weeklong solo motorcycle trip through Colorado, but as I watched another hour drag by on the clock, I wondered why I bothered even trying to go to sleep. I guess it was so I could start off my journal by saying I got up, dressed, and went to the airport to board my flight to Colorado Springs. Check-in and clearing security went well, although I had to remove my steel-toed riding boots and explain the helmet and some other camping gear to the security agents at the terminal and again at the gate. I guess it might be feasible to put on a helmet and become a human battering ram against the cockpit door.... Comfortably seated and sipping hot coffee I proved once again how small the world is, even when the sphere is enlarged by flying at 35,000 feet over the earth. The woman next to me felt compelled by her fear of flying to tell me of a close high-school friend of hers who had died in a plane crash in the Navy. We were both taken aback when I realized it was a college classmate of mine, squadron mate in the USN and that we had been on the same cruise when he perished. I hoped this was an omen of how I would discover the spider web of human contact, not the peril of air travel! Still cannot figger if the cabbies are glad for the fare or pissed at it's diminutive size when I go the 15$ from the terminal to the U-Store-It to pick up the bike. I tip well, but even so, the overall fare is less than they would get from COS to, say, Pueblo. I check-in with the friendly folk behind the counter and get the latest on the fire-fighting efforts and fishing reports (good/bad, in that order), and to let them know I'll be back in a week. I drop my duffel at the unit door and begin the first of many prayer/chants that goes something like this: My-keys-oh-please-oh-please-my-keys, as I contort and invert each and every pocket looking for the ONE set of keys to the Unit, the bike, and my vacation. First lesson: the more places you have to put things, the more places you'll have to look before you find said thing. Found it, danced the Happy Dance, and opened the door. Ah, where HAVE you been? the R65 asks. Even though I quick-washed it in the Springs 7-11 before I left, there's still some of the high country mud of Paonia Rally. Lovely. All the stuff comes out of the duffel, onto the asphalt, and back into the saddlebags and mini-duffel and tankbag. But wait- where are my damned gloves and the tire gage? Curses! I'm already behind the power curve. Fortunately the desk guys put me onto a HomeDepot just up the street, where I purchase the most comfortable, inexpensive, leather gloves I can; in LIME GREEN. Oh, well, they'll know when I'm waving, that's for sure! Just motoring out of the city I confirm my in-flight premonition - I'm here to connect with people, however fleetingly. The guy at the gas station, the kids in the back of the station wagon, and especially the woman wheeling herself down the sidewalk in her wheelchair. There's a momentary contact between us: first a look, then a wave, then that sparkle and smile. And then they're gone. I take I25 south to 50 west, and then I'm free of the gravity of civilization again, and slinging around corners with my head on a swivel, marveling at the mountains, unable to believe that the best is yet to come! After a diner in Gunnison I take the advise of a local couple and head to Almont and then Taylor Creek, arriving just before sunset. There's an SUV at the campsite being unpacked by a young lady, and guarded by two large dogs. Trying my best to be charming I pull off my helmet and ask "If I promise not to snore, may I join you for the night?". She unleashes the dogs and says "well, I don't think my husband will like it!" So much for my sense of humor. Turns out they are from the Metroplex (whoopee) and came to Colorado to get away from people. I am just a reminder of where they left and what they left, so I stake my tent at the far end of the site and drink my first night Scotch all by myself. It is great satisfaction, none-the-less, as I watch the falling sun tint then stain the bare rock cliffs red. I'm on the road again, and it is grand.
23Aug02 Because of, or in spite of, my nip o' scotch at bedtime, I got a fair night's sleep. What a joy a good sleeping bag can be in Colorado! Day time temps were in the 90's in the sun, and the night got into the mid 40's, I'd guess. I didn't need supplemental clothing (socks or vest), and even took off my sleeping hat, so it was not a cold night at all. Even with no alarm set to wake me up, I was peering out of the tent door to watch the sun come up and the woods awaken. Actually, if you've camped, you know that the woods never really sleep, noises continue all night long; the animals just work in shifts. My little Trangia backpackers stove was good only for hot water. Which is fine for back packing, but I'd hoped for something a little more substantial than coffee and oatmeal. It'll go in the backpack, but my essentials list now includes a dual fuel stove I can replenish out of the m/c gas tank! Taylor Creek was inviting, so I put on my waders and shoes and strung the fly rod to give it a try. What I found was that I was so distracted by the roadway to my side, and the thoughts of what might lie waiting just a few miles away, that I couldn't snag a thing! Except the trees, my hat, a rock or two. Fold it all up and get going! So there's my first lesson of the day - for me, on a trip, movement is key. Stopping to concentrate on one area, like a stream, for too long makes me anxious and isn't fair to the object at hand.
So I packed everything back into it's place on the bike, and headed back down the road to Gunnison, with nary a look back at my DFW Metromess acquaintances. Gunnison is a college town, and has the coffee shops and job-wanted ads to prove it! I enjoyed a HUGE breakfast burrito with HOT sauce and some coffee, as well as the conversations going on around me. International news was not heard, nor even national. It was my cow this or my horse that, or (from the younger in the crowd) my mountain bike here, that trail there. If you can listen to a Gershwin song and hear the different instruments, you can imagine more of what I mean than I can describe. I got off 50 again, onto 149, which was tremendous. In Lake City I stopped for a break - bought some coffee to use a restroom (sorta like a pay toilet, but with more class than a slot for the dime). There is a nice museum of an old house, and info on Alfred Packer, the cannibal. Seems he was stuck in a pass just up the road, like the Donners, and ate his way out. That was not approved, but overlooked back then if necessary. What got him in trouble was come spring they found the bodies, and they had been murdered first, so THAT's what he was arrested for!
Anyway, it is a lovely little town with a city park, cafe's with dirt bikers gathered on the porches, and lots of B&B's and cabins to rent.
Lake San Cristobel is just outside of town, created when part of the mountainside slid into a stream. Pavement runs half way round, and the rest dirt road, common to most of Colorado. This is one end of the Alpine Loop, and I would dearly love to go back on a GS or 4X to see it all. As it was, the R65, loaded, did fine for one trip around this Alpine looking body of water. Then it was up the hill to Slumgulion Pass and Deer Lakes for some fishing. Funny thing about Colorado, many of the people you meet are from Texas, and it was no different at the lakes and their campground. The lakes are actually about 4 ponds or tanks in a groomed atmosphere - rather a let down from what I had expected. The wind had come up a bit, so I had trouble casting my fly-line and only caught a couple small trout. On the way out, however, I made my first hike up above the tree line to Cannibal Plateau (catching a theme here?) at 12,300 feet. It really sucks your wind going up a steep incline with NO AVAILABLE OXYGEN!!! I made it, however, and was rewarded with further breath-taking views of the valley, the lake, and the twisty road I had just traversed on bike. It was otherworldly or super-worldly up there.
Back at the bike I began the second set of long distance worries - the bike. Seems to be running a little rich (duh) and there's this rattle I'm hearing...... long way to home! 149 into Creede is just stunning. I have only been out two days and am already out of superlatives for this state and it's roads/scenery. Creede is often overlooked by those who ride/drive 149 if not forewarned. As soon as you enter town the road takes a sharp turn back out of town and you could miss one of the gems of the West. Fortunately I stopped for some tremendous BBQ (it ain't all in Texas, friends, although the proprietor was a former Plano school-teacher) and learned of the treasures two blocks away. Night was falling, though, so a minimal backtrack put me in another remarkable campsite, Marshall Park, along the bank of the Rio Grande! Just a Creek Little at that point, though. Unpack and bed down to a full moon on the cliffs and the sweet solo of the river on the rocks. Oh, and that noggin of Scotch.
24AUG
At some point in the night I realized that I was cold. Not bone chilled, but cold. Sure glad to have brought a good bag, extra (clean) socks, and a sleeping cap! Pulled the bag close around my face and slept well 'till dawn. Oh, and I've found that Hero or Super Hero earplugs are not only great on the bike all day, but keep things quiet in the campsite all night, AND keep the cold air out of my ears (ever awakened in a remote site with a bad ear ache?). Cold it was, as the frost on everything would confirm. Bags, bike, tent, boots, helmet, jacket, etc. Lesson: cover it or close it, but don't expose it! I dressed somewhat hurriedly, and set about packing up what I could. The sun was making it's slow, deliberate march from the FAR side of the campground over to me, but it would be at least 30 minutes in the travel. 'Nother lesson: plan (if possible) for morning sun to help warm things up for departure. At this point I received a God Send from the RV site down the way. Friendly folk from Albuquerque NM saw me dancing about waving my arms and sent over a HOT cup of coffee. Simple pleasure, the mechanics of which may be duplicated at any Starbucks, but a great deal of warmth came from the thought involved! I'm learning that I need to be more modular in my planning/packing. Tent stuff with tent stuff, cooking with cooking, clothing in separate bags, etc. After packing all that I could, I took the tent fly and my precious coffee over to the sun line and spread the fly out to warm/dry. Have you ever noticed that the frost crystals sparkle the most just as they melt into dew droplets? A coating of microscopic diamonds had been mine all night long.
Finally, with everything dry and packed, I coaxed the cold R65 back to life and headed back to Creede along 149 for breakfast. Main street was fairly busy, for 0830, and sure enough, I got my fill of Texans straight away as a Beemer a Harley and a Honda with TX tags pulled up next to me as I parked. We decided on which coffee shop to enter by the gaudiness of the paint, much the way I imagine it was done in the old days. While they were accustomed to the chill, the proprietors also seemed to boast of their heating system, and we could FEEL the heat from outside the door. Bowling balls, pins, antlers, car parts, books and a whole lot of other unrelated stuff made up the decor in this shoppee, which served any style eggs and coffee and danish you could imagine. Creede, like so many other Colorado towns, was a mining town before the economics changed. There's still ore, but it doesn't pay to bring it out. In Creede you can visit the Bachelor Mine, where they have laid out a tremendous mining museum/display actually inside the rock! Eerie to walk back into the mineshaft and listen to the narrator describe the evolution of mining tools and the dangers involved. If you are GS'ing (of 4X) you can continue into the Bachelor Loop, about 20 miles of large gravel and STEEP climbs. I deferred, knowing the loaded R65 on street tires would thank me later. But I put it down as a "next trip" item.
Continuing on 149, I turned westward toward WolfCreek Pass, of CW McCawl fame. I'd heard there was a lookout there that was breathtaking, and so turned off at the first dirt road. It was as close to supercross as I care to get! Up on the pegs I negotiated chunckholes and rocks to get to the 11,000 ft overlook. It was worth it, but I could feel the strain on the bike. There was a sign near the microwave relay indicating the Continental Divide Trail, so I changed shoes and picked up my hiking sticks and pack and walked a couple miles to Lobo Lookout for a break and a snack. Still, cool, clear. And the views were indescribable. Took some photos, but even a thousand words doesn't do it justice. The remainder of 149 to 160 was a delight, both the road and the scenery, which may be why I was disappointed in 160 west from Pagosa Springs to Durango. Traffic, traffic lights, and civilization. At Durago I stopped for chow, gas, air and oil, and while it was a neat town, it was too civilized for my mindset. There are some neat glimpses of the past, in 1870's hotels and bars, but mostly there are chain restaurants and boutique stores. It is the anchor for the light gage railroad that takes you to Silverton (next trip), and the junction of 550, the million dollar highway! Too late to continue, so at the first campsite out of town I bedded down for the night.
25 Aug 02
Because of it's proximity to Durango the campsite was a little busier than the others, but still, as I woke the next morning there was a veritable Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom of animals around the tent! The Colorado Campground service is a privately run business, held together, mostly, by retirees in their still mortgaged RV's. There are two 'hosts' per campground and they alternate duties, so there is time to enjoy the area as well as pay off the note. This couple was from Michigan, originally, and they had been
feeding the birds and rodents for a month. Stellar Jays are dazzling in their colors, and the tame nature of the chipmunks and squirrels was remarkable. I boiled up some water for coffee and oatmeal, and watched the sun breath color into the line of hills on the other side of the lake. It was still just a little too cold to ride when I finished, so I took my time packing up and chatting with the hosts. Finally the sun line was nearly onto the fabled Colorado 550, the Million Dollar Highway, and I could stand it no longer and was off, bundled up in extra clothing and my heavy gloves. Remember, this is a no frills R65, no fairing, windscreen, hand guards or heated grips! 550 is everything you have heard, and more. While it seems to have been designed and built for motorcyclists with widened lanes in the turns, smooth shoulders and great signage; the scenery is so breathtaking that it is easy to miss the turns, wind up on the
shoulders and nearly peg oneself on the signpost stating "Danger, Curve Ahead"! As I started up the road I was listening to the bike again, a habit when so far afield, and something didn't sound right. It was the engine, I think, but not really related to the throttle position. It sounded really cold, or chugging, or, well like a train engine. In fact, it WAS a train engine, the fabled Durango-Silverton Steam engine! I'm not kidding, I nearly pulled over twice - first to check and second to laugh! This is one ride I want to come back and take - as EVERYONE says it is worth the price!
Silverton is the quintessential mining town, and is in a serious dual with Leadville for the highest incorporated 'burg in Colorado. Here in Texas even the smallest hamlet will brag of its population (and the quality of it's water). In Colorado, however, every cluster of houses has an elevation sign posted nearby. Silverton got it's name during its hey-day when folks said it had 'Silver-by-the-ton', and many of the mines and associated buildings slews are still visible; as are the scars the operations created. As I recall it, main street was paved, but the second block off either side was dirt roads. Hotels and cafes now replace bars and brothels (well, brothels anyway), and the old jail is something to see. It was a mail order building from St Louis MO, assembled on site with brick and metal inserts. There are even a hundred or so hardy folk who remain through the winter, even though only one grocery and one bar remain open.
For a hiking adventure I was directed to Mineral Campground, just a couple miles up 550, and the hike to Ice Lake. Leaving the pavement I road dirt about 4 miles back into the woods to the beautiful, remote campsite and trailhead. I was at 9,500 feet to start (yes, I do have a gps, why do you ask?), and 2 1/2 hours later topped out at 12,500 at the edge of a snow fed topaz lake. The mountains continued up another 500 to 1000 feet, but taking Dirty Harry's advise - I DO know my limitations. It was a feeling of accomplishment to have pushed myself up that high, and the views were worth every step and drop of sweat. On the way back down ( 1 1/2 hours) I met an older (70's) Colorado couple just out for a walk, and an Arizona couple with full backpacks going up to spend a couple nights. My hat's off to both couples for their pluck! I staggered back down to the 'thicker' air in the parking lot, ate a little gorp and Cliff Bar, and headed north on 550.
Just before Ouray (Ur-Aye) is Red Mountain, aptly named for the color of the tailings from the mines that have been spewed from its side. Again, the lanes widen out appropriately, but between the tiny radius of the corner and the focus stealing scenery you need EVERY bit! There are NO level places in Ouray to park a fully loaded bike. I think I put down both the center stand AND the side stand and then leaned the bike against a telephone pole while I went in for a rather mediocre steak. The town itself is beautiful, with Swiss
village like architecture and the required United Mine Workers Assoc building and F.O.E. house. I got the feeling, though, that in places like this the F.O.E. and Brotherhood of (fill in the blank) were active social gathering places. Just north of town are the fabled hot springs bathing suit optional mineral waters.
It was late, I'm modest, and did not partake of their healing warmth. I had heard that the Ridgeway campsite had hot showers and since I had begun to notice a strange and increasing odor in my tent and sleeping bag I was anxious to enjoy them. Little did I know that the campsite would charge 5$ to enter, 14$ to camp, and .50$ for 3 minutes of hot water!
It was worth every dime.
26 August 2002 Smelling, er, feeling much better the next morning I got up to the sounds of RV generators generating, and kids playing. Coffee and Oatmeal cooked while I bagged the tent and accessories, and loaded up the bike. Yes, and there was time for one more 3 minute shower. The Ridgeway campsite is sprawling, with a two major camping areas and a lake, as well as miles of trails to walk/mountain bike. This year, however, the lake was extremely low, as were all the lakes in the south central Colorado area, due to the draught. I headed out onto 550 and began trying to decide whether to make the turn on 62 and then head south, or continue north to Montrose and Black Canyon of the Gunnison. Nice thing about traveling solo is that decision processes become much simpler. There's no: what do YOU want to do? I don't care, what do YOU want to do. And no waiting up or catching up. There's also no: wait here and I'll get gas/help. And no: did you SEE THAT! at the campsite. Mixed blessings. After 15 minutes of coin flipping and two false starts I chose Montrose, and was rewarded with the boring part of 550, where it turns from the million dollar highway into the 9.99 special, lined with Wal-Mart/Kmart and MacSonicBell's. There's also no: I TOLD you so's.
Black Canyon is so named because places of it are so steep and deep they never get direct sunlight. While it does not compare with the Grand Canyon, it is a dizzying precipice with incredible coloring and texture. Like the Big Ditch it is difficult to do both rims in one day, so I stayed on the south side, where the main park office is located. After riding the rim and pulling off into various lookouts, I stopped there and put on my hiking togs again. The ranger on duty (some sherpa kid on vacation from Tibet University) judged my book by its cover and told me I should have no trouble with the 2000' foot descent/ascent. Round trip time should be under 3 hours. Humph! The footing was broken rock scree, and at one point they offered a length of chain dangling from an anchor by which to lower/raise one's self on the trail! In the end, despite several unintended butt slides, it was well worth it - the beautiful calm waters, solitude, coolness were prizes to me. I should have brought my fishing pole. In one place I found suitcase sized rocks, sharply angular, right next to equally large egg shaped ones - before and after shots.
After the climb and a suitable period for my heart rate to fall out of the red zone, I headed back to the 550/62 junction and onto 145 towards Telluride. At the Dallas Divide (how fitting) I had my first classic encounter with a deer, but followed the protocol and had no problems. I did, however nearly get head-on'ed by a driver in this three lane area. Two lanes are normal, with a solid orange line left, a dashed orange line in the middle, and a white solid right, but the other side had a solid white on their right and a dashed orange to their left indicating they could also pass! I had moved over to the left (middle) lane to avoid some surface work in the right lane, and the fellow coming the other way decided to come around a slower truck. Right or wrong I would lose, so over the lip and into the loose asphalt I went, slowing quickly. I found out later that this is the route most day workers take to get home, and the number of beer cans by the roadside confirm it is a dangerous area. An old high school friend of mine lives in T-ride, and I pulled into town to the visitors center to phone him. Two true biker brothers were outside, discussing where to bed down. Seems they weren't welcome to just throw their bags on any vacant lot in city limits, and were unhappy to have to backtrack to get into the National Forrest 5 miles away. These road warriors were to bikers what mercenaries are to soldiers - which made me (freshly showered) on my Beemer Air National Guard!. They had marked their time on the road with rubber bands on ponytails and beards, and at this point could supply a small office's needs. But with no judgments or criticisms we greeted each other, noted possible places to sleep, and departed. They to parts unknown, me to the next 12$ campsite with bathroom and water, just 5 miles away.
27AUG
To those who have children this will make sense; or those who have experimented in chemistry (or food preservation). Even though I was in "God's Country" with several more days left on my kitchen pass, I awoke with the realization that I was done with this trip, that it was time to go home. Kids will do this at amusement parks, though they don't realize it. There comes a time when even the rides are no longer fun, participants are just suffering through the line and the event because they are there, not out of any particular joy. So it was with me, as I packed up my gear again and headed into Telluride for breakfast. It was all so beautiful I had become numb, and was no longer in awe of my surroundings, and I didn't want to travel like that. Truth was - I guess I'd become homesick.
Back in T-ride in the daytime I found that there are definite strata to the culture there. Front street and alleyway. Front street is groomed and cleaned for the tourists and big money folk, and the alleys are where the locals and workers scurry about and socialize. You need to have lots of money or be very eccentric (or better yet, both) in T-ride to be on main street. In the alleys you can get information on garage sales, cheap(er) places to rent, and some very interesting concerts. You can also find coffee and bagels for under 5$, which wouldn't buy coffee alone out front. So I dined with the locals on the porch of a bagel factory (please don't feed the birds) and left for home.
165 down to ......... is following the backside of the Rockies, but I found I was just stopping to take pictures for the picture's sake. I knew it would look lovely, but had just stopped marveling. In fact, I didn't even turn the bike off when I stopped.
Having come this far, 4-corners and/or Mesa Verde loomed in my mind. Would I come back and do this area again? Was this my one shot? I so badly wanted to get home I nearly skipped both, but decided to see what Mesa Verde had to offer. It is much longer than I imagined, some 20 miles from entrance to museum - and none of that straight, but rather 30mph and less curves around butte's and box canyon ends. Oddly, the visitor's center is halfway along towards the museum and ruins, but if you do not buy a ticket there you cannot buy one at the ruins themselves to enter! I visited the museum and the "Tree" house (not treehouse), and saw my first real evidence of the notorious fires of '02. Acres and acres in the park were nothing but ash and charcoal stumps, right up to the museum structure itself. Some park buildings were damaged by the fire, and the fire retardant slurry dumped to protect the ruins was evident as I walked into the ......... Indians homes. It had been dropped basically on top of the rocks and walls surrounding the ruins, turning them sunset red colors.
The ruins themselves are intact and tickle the imagination. It looks like the ultimate children's playground! Scaled to fit a 10 year old, it appears. The homes, storage areas and meeting houses were built under an overhang for shelter, and use the natural rock wall as one side of the structures. Some of the religious buildings, or pits, are restored and you can climb down a lashed wooden ladder to marvel inside them. For warmth there is a fire place with chimney and air inlet. There was also a mysterious hole just off center in the circular floor. I asked the attendant and she informed me this was the "Sipapu" hole, where the spirit of man escaped from the earth. Aha! So my next month's trip to New Mexico for the Bavarian Mountain Weekend was foretold!
Finished with the ruins, I started my run back to Colorado Springs in earnest, bearing the drudgery of 160 from Durango to WolfCreek Pass again, and then delighting in it from there on. I tucked in behind an empty tanker who was FLYING along, and then when he turned off and nighttime fell, behind another to use as deer chaser in the dark as I headed to Walsenburg, and a Comfort Inn. A long day of riding and sightseeing, followed by a hot shower and my first motel bed in a week. And, yes, the family next door with 3 small children were from Ft Worth.
28Aug02
It must have been the mattress, because I certainly didn't get 50$ worth of sleep that night. I did, however, get another hot shower and shave before departing. Up the slab through Pueblo to the Springs, and tuck my baby into its crib at the U-store-it once again. Called a cab and sat in the Burger King on the corner for coffee and processed stuff called breakfast. Not much local color there - all preprocessed and packaged. Not even a local newspaper to keep up with the news. When I got to the airport I found I'd missed a flight by 10 minutes, but that was ok, I enjoyed sitting in a stationary chair, looking out at Pikes Peak.
By boarding time I was even starting to think a little bit about where to go 'next time'.
I hope you found some amusement/diversion in this tale. Compared to some epic journeys/stories it's pretty tame, but for me it was just the right scale.
I would note that if you can, leaving a bike out in this area is a great way to save travel time (287/40/25) to use for exploration time. With airfares so low, a little planning makes it possible for anyone. Check to make sure the U-store-it can actually accept vehicles in storage (or don't even mention it) and take a copy of the title as proof of ownership. A spare set of keys is a good thing, as is a reliable bike - but, hey, we're talking BMW's here, so just make sure your maintenance is up to date and the tires are good. Allow about 15$ a day for camping and you are all set. See you there!
posted by Randy Masters at 5:57 AM
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