Round 3, Day 5, 15Jul06

Round 3, Day 4, 14Jul06

Round 3, Day 3, 13Jul06

Round 3, Day 2, 12JUL06

Wheee-Ha! Now this is a riding day! Up at 0600 and over to the supermarket for breakfast staples - a little fruit, some glazed doughnuts, fresh coffee; then the auto store for some 20/50 oil (little low), and the liquor store - oh, wait, that's for later....

On the road by 0800 under dazzeling azure blue skies with nary a cloud. Temperature in the low low 60's - time for extra layers and maybe that sweatshirt you threw in at the last. From Buena Vista we took Cottonwood Pass Road, which is paved on the eastern side of the range. It is amazing to note how many bicycle riders are out on this road that I know from experience goes way, way up (like 12,000 feet). They are starting out at nearly 9,000 so just what are they thinking? Anyway, Emily got her first real taste of real mountains this day. Still snow on the summit, as you can see.

Em does have a little cardiac thing going on that bears watching, so we didn't hike to the actual summit, but we were both whooping and hollering coming down the western side (dirt) amid the RV's and the trees.

Again, my expertise with pasting photos on this site is not what I would like, as this next shot is the follow on pass. Cottonwood is between B.V. and Crested Butte, Kebler is between C.B. and Paonia.


The above 2 shots are Kebler.
The above is the paved side of Cottonwood.

This is our visit in Crested Butte. There are so many photos I'd like to include, but there just isn't space. Crested Butte is a ski town, but also a very artsy kind of place in the summer months. Hiking, riding, fishing, biking - just about everything I can think of that I'd like to do can be found here. Pedestrians RULE the roads, and we were waved ahead of several cars as we ambled from store to restaurant to cafe. Flowers were everywhere, as were novelties like this trunk/bumper bench.

We dined at a pizza shop, and then headed up to Kebler Pass. This road is dirt most all the way, and though it 'only' reaches 10,007 feet, it passes through huge stands of aspen trees. It's open range, by the way, so one never knows what will be around the next bend - a cow, a deer, a view, or the edge of the road!

Photo op after photo op, and a new hand signal for 'take a mental picture of this' was invented. I could tell by the grin on her otherwise too-cool-for-words-non-challant face that it was getting to Emily as much as it was to me. She even borrowed the camera to run back to get a shot I'd been too slow in stopping to get.

Coming off the pass onto Rt133 I guessed wrong and turned away from Paonia State Park, my intended destination, and headed directly into Paonia Proper. Ok, we can check out the preparations and I can show Em around a little. Lo and behold they were allowing early camping in the city park without payment, so we scoped out a choice location and set up home for the next three days. Dinner at the casa de Chief Boyardee and

Round 3, Day 1, 11Jul06

Once again it's time to head out to Colorado Springs for a motorcycling adventure: excuse - Colorado Beemers Paonia Rally. This time I'm bringing my 14 year old daughter, Emily, along. It's her first rally, but not her first time in Colorado (see last year's post).

Breaking the suction of the muck of the MetroMess went surprisingly well - we got on the first flight for which we listed, both in first class, no muss, no fuss. Arriving in COS, however, we noted some heavy storm clouds rising over the front range while we cabbed to the storage unit. The driver was a rider as well, and, as I've mentioned, very impressed with the logistics of what we were about to do. He needed to tell his tale, so we wound up missing a 20 minute window of opportunity for a dry departure from the storage unit. 'S alright - one of the facets of this sport are the people you meet and the stories they have to tell.

We moved the bike out of the box, changed from air-travel clothes to m/c gear (how many teen-aged girls can say they've stripped in a storage unit? Wait, I think I don't want to know), but before we could load up the skies opened up on us. Solution? Shut the door, finish packing and exercise a little, what's that word? Patience. Again, a rare trait for anyone these days, much less a teenaged girl.

As the pattering of rain on metal roof lessened, we donned rain gear (geez, Dad, these are STUPID looking pants!), loaded up and pressed on. I knew I would be conscious of her being back there, and that it would affect my riding style and some choices/decsions, but I had no idea of how overwhelming it would be. Every fork in the road (literally and figuratively) had me weighing its advantages and disadvantages for her sake. Traveling up Rt 24 out of the Springs towards Woodland Park we watched the sky go black with thunderstorms and could see and hear the lightning and thunder on Pikes Peak. Good old GPS route map showed we wouldn't cut through the worst, so we pressed on - no comments, no complaints and no whinning from the backseat. We later heard that snow, sleet, and gusts of over 40mph were hammering those on the peak.

In WP, however, we could see that we were going to get caught and headed up to a good friend's home to shelter under his porch, at least. Fortunately they were home and let us in for an hour or so while the worst past, and then we took off again.

Clear of the Front Range we had pretty smooth riding to the town of Buena Vista (alternately pronounced Be-oo-na Vista, Boo-ae-na Vista, or Bone-a Vista) where we ate lunch at Daisey's Hamburger stand - a landmark for over 30 years. Here your order is called not by number or your name, but by an assigned name - Mario Andretti (for us), or Lucy Arnez, or Bob Hope (who?). After burgers, fries and sodas we checked the sky for guidance and decided better to call it a day than get caught at 12,000 in a storm.

We checked into the Sumac Lodge (for 62$) and got a bed, a tv, a shower, and some tepid heat. It was, however, right next door to a liquor store, a supermarket and an auto parts store, so all was well.

Emily did outstanding to get up, get out, get on the plane, change in a public place, and then ride 3 hours in/out of rain. Her positive attitude makes me look forward to the rest of the trip!

Round 2, Day 4 30Jun06

Here's a map of the Deckers/Lone Rock area, just north of Woodland Park on Rt67.
After mooching one last breakfast (thanks, guys, really), they decided to head to 11-mile lake to try the fish there, while I figgered on one day of relaxing and riding before returning to COS and DFW that evening.

So while the boys headed south I packed up and loaded up, and headed into Deckers for a relaxing cuppo coffee and to watch the days traffic along the roadway.

Coffee Low Lite out, I headed south on 67 myself into Woodland Park where I picked up Rampart Range Road back northbound (I'm a motorcycle rider - I don't have to explain myself). It was a pretty rough road in parts, with some deep silt in the corners that twice caught me unawares and left me stopped for a good shake and laugh, and quite washboarded in other sections making me check the condition of my baggage - and my luggage as well (if you know what I mean!). Through it all, though, was constant beauty of separation from civilization and closeness to wilderness. Even the pull out campsites were primative and hidden. The views were wonderful and infrequent enough to be really special.

Towards the northern juncture with 67 as it bends east towards Sedalia and I-25 (ugh) the RV's and 4-wheelers became more populous, but it was still a great ride. The final hurrah on dirt was down a 10% grade. That's big stuff, folks. Eventually I picked up 67 back through Deckers (again) and West Creek. Here (final) picture, I saw the real horror of the Hayman fires of which I've spoken. Notice the vertical trees and the circle of horizontal ones around the house/barn. I suspect the owner took a chainsaw and simply felled his beautiful woods to save his home. What a tragedy.

Back to COS, into the storage unit, a cab and a plane and I was home, back once again to the 100 degree metromess and the struggles of everyday life.

But I keep the flies we used in my wallet to seed daydreams when necessary.

Round 2, Day 3 29Jun06

The following morning We fishermen again closed ranks, and decided to tackle the 4 miles up to Cheesman Dam. As I recall, Russ was the baby of the group, a mere 28, while Gary was a more mature 35 and older brother Will pegging 40 or so. That made me not only the only Navy representative, but the oldest by a decade. As they say in fighter lingo "fight's on".
We packed up lunches and bags into Gary's truck and hit the trail. Being on a bike I was already pared down pretty good, and the idea of a 4 mile trek in the 6-7000 foot range gave me further encouragement to lightenup. I had boots, gortex waders, a 4 piece rod, one reel, and one flybox. I also carried a small lightweight umberella and a Safewater filtering waterbottle. This, the waterbottle, turned out to be the gem of the trip, but I'm getting ahead of the story, as are the photos. Skim down to the bottom shot. This is typical of the trail, which bounced from stream-side to about 200 feet up, all the while (naturally) gaining altitude toward the dam.



Beautiful doesn't beging to describe the scenery, and without coming off a little light in my waders I cannot tell how enjoyable the comradre with military , aviation, fishermen out on a hike was to me.
As the day wore on things played out about as one would expect, Russ was like a dog on a scent, out in front at a trot, occasionally coming back wagging his tail to ask if we were still there and coming. Gary hit his stride, though he was to find out later the price of his fancy sandals and no socks. Will was paying a bit of a price for living the good life since leaving the Army, but he soldiered on (hey, that's pretty good). I don't think I was a hinderence.
Arriving at the dam we took the appropriate hero shots, Gary soaked his feet, Russ ran to the top to check a return route (wanna time me? OKGO!), Will poured water over his head and shirt and ate a sandwich, and I strung up and started to fish.
On the way up we could, no kidding, SEE fish from 150feet up the bank, holding in the pad ahead of the monster rocks. Now it was our turn to amuse them with flies not much bigger than the letters in this post.
With Gary's expert help I managed to catch about 4 or 5 before surrendering his guidence to Will. Russ was beating the water to a foam just above the 'keep out - danger' line near the dam and doing well. It was, as they say, a glorious day.
On the way back the others noted with disapointment that they had consumed all the potable water they had laboured to carry, while I kept drinking and drinking from my magic bottle. Aha! So you've been refilling! We took a 20 minute break to fill all the bottles from my Safewater filter and then pressed on.
Russ was so entertaining we almost forgot the 8 miles we had to walk. As a fighter jock he lives by his aggressive, competative nature, and as the youngest of the group, he hadn't yet realized that others will sometimes play upon this nature for their own amusement. At one point the path was well above the river, separated by a seemingly unnavigable drop over steep and high rocks. A minor taunt was all it took to put him over the side, heading to the water, scrambling to prove he really did have hair in all the appropriate places, and just another comment had him doing a Brad Pitt across the deep, fast running water. I'm glad he's a tiger in the plane.
We all slept well that night, after more campfire burritos and firewater.

Round 2, Day 2 28Jun06

Did I mention how pleasant and quiet the Lone Rock CG was? Here is an example of the local activity - directly across the S. Platte from my campsite!

So my wake up came about 0630 today, and after some oatmeal and one cup coffee (a coffee bag, like a tea-bag to dunk into hot water, I strolled over to my new best friends, Gary, Will, and Russ, where were camping in USAF recreation department rental tents. Which were huge. I couldn't figure out, with the size of the tent, why Gary was sleeping outside, until I heard Will snoring away inside. Oooh. Muy Pronto, however, all were up and breakfast burrito's on the Coleman. Again, nothing would do but that I share. Muchas Gracias, Amigos! We packed up and headed up stream to Cheesman Reservoir, which would be a short hike of about a mile from the parkinglot to the stream. They in the truck, I on the bike.
It was beautiful, made even more so by the juxtaposition with burned trees of the great fire of '02. We were at the bottom stretch, just above Wigwam Camp (members include Tiger Woods, Dick Cheney, etc. - rumor has it that when the guests complained they couldn't see the trout to sight fish to, special albino trout were brought in and seeded). The day was overcast with heavy bellies rolling by more than occasionally. We all strung up quick like and were in the water. I netted one pretty much straight away, and then was skunked the remainder of the morning. As I recall everyone caught at least one, Gary, the could-be-guide, taking several, but suspeciously always out of sight...
At one point the clouds must've bumped against the mountains, as we heard some heavy peals of thunder and the rain begain to tickle. As we were all already half covered in waders we decided it didn't much matter, other than the lighting/thunder.
Early in the afternoon we called it quits on this part of the stream, and while the boys pressed on elsewhere, I went back to camp, stopping first at the Deckers Liquor store for my daily ration of local brew, which I chilled in the river while unwinding and preparing a meal of rice and tuna.
Suddenly, roaring down the road through camp came three vans and a panel truck carrying church youth on a mission trip to help nature recover from the fires. They were going to camp out for 3 days and work in the area. First thing they did was establish two dozen tents along the riverbank, indiscriminate of campsite markings. Second thing they did was to ATTACK the river; plowing and jumping into it, splashing it, running though it. All the while screaming shrilly in that pre/early teen frequency that drives dogs to howl at the moon in the middle of the day.
Though the trail to/from the choice views of the river was obvious and circumvented my campsite, numbers of these little hellions would cut through my site, even between my chair (where I sat quietly reading or writing) and my tent enroute to the next stone throwing shreaking contest. At some point a small group in the river found my remaining bottle of beer and held it up with great glee. I quietly and politely notified them that it was mine and I'd appreciate their leaving it where and as they found it.
15 minutes later I went down and found it broken in the river bottom. I cleaned up all the glass, while glaring at the nearest group. I don't know if it was carelessness, an accident, or good Baptist training, but in any event I was livid that they would leave broken glass in the stream. Heck, I wore shoes - they were barefoot!
Finally after a feast and music that went on well past quiet hours they retired to their tents, and I to mine. It was quite a different campsite from the one the fishermen left that morning!

Round 2, Day 1 27Jun06

Lone Rock Campground - outside Deckers, CO
I presume this is the lone rock, though the rest of them might argue.


It's frightening, really, that I control airplanes with gee-whiz technology, able to land themselves in 0/0 (no visibility, no ceiling) weather, yet I CANNOT get pictures to load correctly in this blog. Sigh.

My block of days off was from 28 June until 1 July so, as fate and AA scheduling would have it, I was called out the evening of 26 June for an all-nighter, but not your basic all-nighter. I dead-headed from Dallas to San Francisco leaving at 8pm, picked up a plane and flew all night to New York City, then dead-headed back to Dallas arriving at 1100. I drove home in one quick hurry, finished packing and headed back to the airport for a 1:30pm flight to Colorado Springs. I arrived there at 2:30 (the beauty of westward travels), cabbed to the store-it, loaded up, headed out, and arrived at Lone Rock Campgrounds outside Deckers CO around 6 pm, one road weary rider. I have no idea what time-zone my body thought it was in, but it definately knew it was Miller Time, or, in this case, Brechenridge Brew Time.

I made my mark, paid my 14$, and set up camp along the South Platte River. It was a beautiful place to be, all the more special as it was a camground my daughter Emily and I shared a couple years ago. To one side was a not-so-much-older retired couple in their Toyota Tioga cab-over, on the other side and past some empty sites what looked like could be trouble: 3 guys on a camping trip. Turned out I was right where I needed to be. Well, I would be after going back to the intersection to get some grub at the store and some beer at the other store. Alas, in setting up camp and enjoying the view I'd waited too long - the food store was closed, but Hazah! the liquor store was still open for beer and snacks.
I've notice there are certain things Colorado-ans take seriously: water rights, roof racks, road repair and liquor stores.
Back at camp I was amused that John Steinbeck absolutely nailed campground behavior. That established campers will allow the new guy time to set up, covertly eyeing him and waiting for the right moment to engage in parallel activity or some other excuse for introduction. The couple upstream of me began their evening walk, looking at lisence plates. Coming to mine they stopped, offering me a chance to introduce myself. As we were so engaged a little wind came up and sent my free standing tent on 'walk-about' towards the river. NOTHING would do but that they GIVE me a set of heavy duty nail like tent stakes to secure my home. Good people.
Having decided that a couple beers and some peanut butter filled cheese crackers would suffice for dinner, I heard the group of guys on the other side begin an evening of story-telling. More accurately, Hangar-Flying, as 2 of the 3 were Stealth Fighter Pilots from Holloman AFB NM. That was my cue to wander over and introduce myself to them! As they were enjoying home-made burritos, it was also their opportunity to offer a 'snack' to the newguy. And a beer.
Turned out they were on a fly-fishing mission covering several states and one of them was a near guide caliber firsherman. They were planning a jaunt up to Cheesman Canyon the following day and I was forcibly invited.
now THAT was a good day!




This is the view upstream from my tent.