Greetings from Minne-topia Continued
Posted by admin on October 16th, 2008 filed in "LA Bound" a Motorcycle RambleComments Off
Brett, Shannon, Me, Mark
During one day of car shopping, Brett and I stopped into an Irish bar in a uppity shopping area for a quick beer while he had some work done on his car. The bar tender took our order of two Guinness’s and checked our id’s. “Your from Minnesota?” Uh huh. “That guy over there is from MN, too. I always give him crap, I’m a cheese head.” It seems that everyone, if not everyone an extreme majority, I have met or dealt with in any shape or form is from the midwest, Minnesota especially. The bar tender, at least one or two salesman at every dealership we went to, and most of the acquaintances that I have met through Brett, Shannon and Mark.
Either way, this stop in Phoenix has provided, what I hope will be, a nice transition to LA. The area looks similar, with mountains around a flat plane of sprawl. No ocean, but palm trees and expansive several-lane freeways. Less smog, but hazy. The largest populated area so far on the trip.
It has also been nice to spend some time with friends. Spending the week with Brett, Shannon, and Mark has really been enjoyable. Right at home. Time spent with old friends quickly melts away any stress or anxiety, there is only the joy in the moment and reminiscing of the past. The evening after I arrived, we all went out to a bbq / biker bar to see their friend Briggs play with his rock band, and then to a dueling piano bar near the main campus. There was the ritual game of Risk (I won with the classic South America to North America expansion), countless games of backgammon while barbecuing on the back porch, and an outing to watch them play softball (More Cowbell). Last night we went out for a farewell dinner to the Four Peaks brewery to sample, what Mark regards as, “The Best Sandwich Ever.” (Salmon B.L.T: Blackened salmon, crispy smoked bacon, lettuce, tomato, pepper jack cheese and pesto mayo served on twelve grain.) It was darn good. And the beer was pretty good too, Mark and I had dueling sampler platters of beer as we waited to eat. I recommend the Kolsch.
And, the big news…
I found a car! A 2007 Hyundai Accent. A little two-door hatchback that is supposed to get great gas mileage (high 30′s to low 40′s mpg!). It is an economy car, so it isn’t high performance or anything, but the price was right and it has low miles (only 11,000). It is also under warranty for another 4 years/60,000 miles with roadside assistance, so I shouldn’t have to worry about a thing. After looking at several other cars, I pulled myself away from leaning towards higher mileage small SUVs or older, sportier European Cars to make the sensible decision, and I think I made the right choice. There is always the buyers remorse after any big purchase, but I think in the long run it will prove to be a great little car. And, it will be a more practical way to try to get settled and find a job, and now I have room for passenger(s).
The honeymoon is definitely over. It has been around ten days since the passing of my bike and the dream of a limitless road trip. Probably for the better. Now I am definitely ready to make something happen. But I still want to complete the route, and hopefully finish off with a bang. Today, I’m heading up to Sedona, and tomrrow, on to the Grand Canyon, before I arrive in LA, at long last. Fingers crossed.
Days Turn to Weeks: Greetings from Minne-topia
Posted by admin on October 14th, 2008 filed in "LA Bound" a Motorcycle RambleComment now »
where do [the old] folks go when they die?
they don’t go to heaven where the angels fly
they go down to the lake of fire and fry
won’t see ‘em again till the fourth of july
- Lake of Fire by the Meat Puppets [my substitution to the lyric, was 'bad']
After the long overnight bus ride from Albuquerque to Phoenix I was exhausted, but happy to be in the company of good friends. As I grabbed my bags from the bus and stepped out of the station into the brilliant Arizona sunshine, a little disoriented, Brett and Shannon (MacKenzie) were there, walking down the sidewalk to meet me. Hugs, hello’s, toss the bags in the trunk, and we’re off to drop Brett off at work (a bit late). Shannon and I grabbed a burger and a bloody mary on the way to their house, stopped at AT&T and they actually provided me with a phone (!), and no sooner than I had unloaded my stuff from the car and unfolded the futon in their guest bedroom, my head hit the pillow, and I was out cold.
Phoenix is truly a midwest utopia. New housing developments and shopping malls that could only have been conceived after fifty years of trial and error in northern climates are aligned with perfectly manicured golf courses and crisscrossed with palm tree lined streets. The street signs have an asymmetrical design, align left or align right, leaving the ‘green’-space of the sign’s surface, to further signify this place’s newness. There is a surprising attention to detail, as there should be in any utopia.
During a walk to the dog park in “Agritopia” a new housing development that is built over and around an existing farm which now supports an organic restaurant for the community, I was amazed by near completeness of this surburban aesthetic. The houses in differing appearances with self-similar structures are grouped into mini plazas and neighborhoods for the different sizes and ultimately affluence of the families who occupy them. The roads are narrow, just wide enough for two cars to pass, not enough for on-street parking. The front of the houses don’t face the street, instead they are ranged in circular or horse shoe shaped groupings that face towards one another and a shared green space that is sized to match the house value: gardens and small sidewalks for the smaller houses and actual parks for the larger ones. Large garages behind the houses line the streets, which function more like back alleyways, strictly used for transport, instead of the unused paved expanses of older suburban developments where children end up playing. The entire layout has ingeniously been turned inside out to center the community around private park spaces.
Driving along the expansive, heavily reflective covered highways, the view of the landscape that hasn’t been replaced by succulent shaped gravel embankments or lizard imprinted concrete barriers is surprisingly green. The Valley of the Sun is filled with riverbeds that support a variety of small green trees and bushes and dry desert valleys filled with tall Saguaro cacti. In the distance, in every direction, are tall red mountains. Four Peaks. The Superstition Mountains. And others.
More to follow.
Day 7 (and 8?): You Can Replace Phones and Bikes but You Can’t Replace People, So Get Over It Already
Posted by admin on October 10th, 2008 filed in "LA Bound" a Motorcycle RambleComment now »
I really like Albuquerque. Ha! At least I’m trying to. It’s beautiful here, clean, the air has a sweet smell to it, like a great big soppapilla. Unfortunately, everything I try to do here ends up falling short, and I can’t seem to find any honey.
THURSDAY:
I had had enough of sitting around trying to get things to work for me, because obviously that wasn’t happening. I still don’t have a phone, after countless calls to AT&T and numerous stops to various AT&T stores, phones purchased and returned, sim cards tested and re-tested. Now I’m waiting on some email from corporate to a sales clerk (WTF?). I give up. Hopefully I will have better luck in Arizona.
My bike is going to be totalled – I think? – without a phone it is hard to get official confirmation. At least my agent said I don’t need to be here anymore. But the bike shop did offer to buy it from me, so I may be able to get a little cash out of the deal. And there is a slim possibility that they could just get it ridable if I bought it, but we’ll have to just wait and see. I don’t know if it is worth coming back here.
Enough of that.
I decided to do some sightseeing. Albuquerque’s border to the East is the Sandia Mtns and Kirtland Air Force Base, and I think most of these mountains are filled with spent nuclear waste from the military testing facilities in the area. But, there is a tram that runs up to the top. Apparently it is the largest tram (gondola) in the world, So I thought I would try to go up there. Emphasis on try. When I got up there there was about a three hour wait to ride to the top—cursed balloon enthusiasts! They did atleast have a bar. I sat and had a coffee, and thought about hiking up, but the barista informed me that it takes something like 6-8 hours.
So, got back into the rental truck and motored over to the Western side of the city. On this side are smaller hills, ancient volcanoes, that are covered in chunks of black rock. And in the hills is a collection of petroglyphs, carved into the rock by the Pueblo people thousands of years ago. Definitely worth seeing and supporting ($1 entrance fee). The area is hotly contested with local city planners for possible development, and the pueblo styled suburbs come right up to the hill. Talking to a ranger at the park, I learned that at least a few other historic sites have already been built over as the city expands. Recently, a bridge was constructed on top of an ancient pueblo to help give suburbanites faster access to the freeway. Tisk, tisk. As long as the park keeps it’s National status, I’m sure it’s safe, but you never know.
FRIDAY
I woke up this morning. Period. Before 10:00am. The first time since the big slow down. Out my window out over the top of the freeway overpass, I could see about twenty or so balloons floating up and down. It was pretty cool. I spent most of the morning and afternoon trying to get a working phone, to no avail. I also salvaged some accessories off of my bike, and shipped all of my riding gear back home to shrink my travel load. Returned the U-haul. And got a bus ticket for 2:30 am (tonight/tomorrow morning) to Phoenix, AZ.
After purchasing my ticket, I hiked a mile or from down town to the old part of town and found the old church/cathedral. There is something about visiting old churches when you are traveling. You leave the hustle and bustle of the street — in this case rattlesnake museums, gift shops, restaurant patios with mariachi bands, turquoise peddlers on the sidewalks, and peruvian flautists in the back alleys — and as the doors close behind you, it all disappears. Only stillness and a beautiful altar. Its really a humbling experience. (Something the catholic church still has going for it.) I walked in, set my heavy bags on a pew and sat down. And that calm. Especially after all of the stress of the last week. I don’t know. It just hit me. I was overcome with emotion. I sat there for a long time. The interior was unremarkable, but this quiet, preserved space was soothing to this “sin sick soul.”
Then I took a bus across town to catch another to the Balloon Fiesta, finally. And it was cancelled tonight due to possible thunderstorms. I wasn’t surprised. Had dinner and watched some live jazz musicans and bussed back to the city center.
Now I’m just waiting around downtown to catch that bus. I think I’ll go catch a late movie.
ALBUQUERQUE BALLOON FIESTA TIMELAPSE (2007)
Day 5-6: Stuck Inside a Motel with the Motorsickle Blues Again
Posted by admin on October 8th, 2008 filed in "LA Bound" a Motorcycle Ramble1 Comment »
Well. Not much to report. I dropped the bike off at the dealership on Tuesday morning. The outlook not so good. The oil sight-glass was completely filled with gasoline and we were able to roll the bike in-gear. We parked the bike at the side of the dealership and I sat on the ground next to it as the mechanic surveyed the damage. He said that the engine is probably blown, and if so, the bike is totaled. His initial thought was that it didn’t have any oil and eventually it all went kaput. Or that when the bike was transported, without closing the gas line, gasoline was forced through the float bowl and into the engine to eventually corrode the oil that was there, ending up in the seizure. I think that is unlikely because it wasn’t transported on a bumpy trailer. It rode smoothly in the back of my dad’s pickup on smooth roads. It may be that the same scenario happened during my ride over the bumpy dirt road in the San Isabel Mtns. Either way, it looks as though the bike is probably dead, and so is my motorcycle riding for the immediate future.
After dropping off the bike, I picked up a pay-as-you go phone to replace the broken one. I spent most of the following day making calls and running around trying to get it to work. Hopefully on Thursday I should have a phone again.
I stopped by a book store to pick up a travel guide to find some things to do in the area. After scouring the web and the book, it looks like there is not much. Good food, a couple of museums, and the balloons. The Southwest guidebook actually begins: “Central and southern New Mexico are not wholly devoid of interest, but it’s not surprising that they see fewer visitors than the prime tourist destinations to the north. Despite being the state’s largest city, Albuquerque holds less to encourage a long stay than Santa Fe or Taos, while few of the towns that lie along the monotonous I-40 highway…are worth going out of your way to see.” which is not altogether encouraging to read.
My hotel room is tucked in next to the I-40, just off of the intersection with I-25. It is not far from the Coronado shopping area, and several restaurants and shops. But everything else is a drive, and in the large rental U-Haul, parking is a concern. So I have driven around a bit. Eaten some good New Mexican food (Sopapillas are delicious). But mostly, I have just been hanging out in the hotel room, trying to figure out what to do next, and just dealing with logistics. I picked up a Auto Trader rag to see what used cars are available in the area, and have been researching the pro’s and con’s of the various affordable fuel-efficient cars. I picked away at my resume a bit. I don’t know. Nothing much to report. Hopefully I will be back on the road soon.
Day 4 Part 2: Our Hero, In Complete and Utter Defeat, Drives Off into the Desert and the Unknown at Sunset
Posted by admin on October 7th, 2008 filed in "LA Bound" a Motorcycle RambleComment now »
This was the only photo I took on the ride out of Cortez from the driver’s seat of a 10′ U-Haul rental truck. I finally had my first view of the desert mesas. Soon the sun would start setting. As I passed red postcard worthy mesas, this was the vista I was dreaming of, but I was struggling to enjoy it. The ancient rocks and deserted landscape only made me feel small. Very small. It was absolutely beautiful, just like I had imagined, but the unfamiliarity of it all, the almost lunar landscape, only added to my general confusion. I was truly ‘lost in the wilderness.’ Alone. My frustration and anger at the motorcycle mishap quickly gave way to a deep sadness.
Silent. No radio, just me, the desert, and the rattle of the truck along the roadway. My concern with the internal problems with my motorcycle, and new logistics problems with the journey, turned into my own internal breakdown:
Was this the way it was supposed to turn out? Is it my fault? I got too cocky. It is my fault. I am continually creating these grand, romantic, ventures that eventually, ultimately, end up in one unexpected failure or another. Is this just the human condition? Or am I just that unlucky. Is God punishing me? Am I cursed? Maybe I was cursed by some desert witch during the night. Where am I going? Just keep driving.
I sing a lonesome Bob Dylan song to my self as the sun sets:
RAMBLER, GAMBLER
Try to enjoy yourself, look at the rainbow colored sky just after sunset. I’m miserable. In awe, but miserable. You’ll finally get to see the stars in the desert. You wouldn’t get this experience if you were riding your bike. I just want love in my life. Why am I alone in this desert?
I smell gasoline. Maybe this rental truck will break down and I’ll end up dying somewhere out here in the desert. Yes, I think that is gas. I can see the fuel gauge dropping. Maybe there is a hole in the gas tank. Just keep driving. How far to the next town? Will I make it?
I think I’m seeing things. I’ll put on my glasses, that will help. Maybe I’ll see a UFO. Maybe I’ll be abducted by aliens. They could study the make-up of a truly flawed human being. I should have a simple life and a family. Why am I always wanting something more? There’s nothing else out there. Just more and more beautiful landscapes, devoid of life. You need love and community. Maybe I’ll meet someone in Albaquerque. Maybe I am not supposed to leave this place. Is this the end of the road for me? Where am I going to stay tonight?
And on and on, until I reached the city lights of Albuquerque. It’s kind of like Duluth, as you come over the hills into the valley of lights, shaped by some unseen natural formations in the darkness. It’s the International Balloon festival this week, so I was concerned about finding a room, as I passed balloon festival park with dozens of white balloons floating in the night air above me. White lights underneath their baskets blinked slowly. I was completely exhausted from the drive and the day’s events, and the sight was completely surreal. I drove into the heart of the city, away from the park, to find a cheap hotel room, and as I passed the sign for Route 66, the road I had intended to ‘ride,’ I spotted a Motel 6 and exited to draw to a close to this endless, exhausting day.
Day 4: Disaster Strikes or Don’t F### with Fate
Posted by admin on October 7th, 2008 filed in "LA Bound" a Motorcycle RambleComment now »
“Everything happens for a reason,” says the ‘wrecker’ driver as we ride towards the entrance of Mesa Verde National Park. He concludes, “it would be nice to know what that reason is from time to time.”
Do you ever have one of those days when you wake up in the morning and an uneasy feeling comes over you. You think it must have been something you dreamed the night before, or that shot of whiskey that you drank with the locals at bar close. It just hangs. As you make your complimentary motel coffee, shower, and prepare for the day, it doesn’t go away, and you consider just staying in bed for the day, to avoid what may be out there lurking. I thought about staying, in the ‘lame horse town,’ my uneasiness was probably just the excitement of the previous few days catching up with me. I decided to cut the day’s ride short, and plan an activity day. Little did I know that I was actually riding a mancos.
I took my time packing up the bike, waved to the musician who had played the night before as he walked across the parking lot to turn in his motel key, and decided to go to Mesa Verde and hike around for the day. Just take it easy. Later, the afternoon, I’d just ride out to Four Corners, and find a nearby motel room.
As I rode out of the motel parking lot, I splashed through some puddles and as I picked up speed, I swerved slightly, back and forth, to knock the mud from my tires—the road to the hotel had been bypassed by some highway expansion, and I had to cut through a soggy parkinglot the night before to get there—and gauge the security of the load on the bike. After three days on the road, my gear, and packing organization was near perfection, the drybags that once were pretty well stuffed, could be rolled an extra fold or two. Riding with and managing my gear on the bike was no longer much of a concern.
Mesa Verde National Park was only a few miles down the road, and I pulled in and paid my entrance fees. It was 20 or so miles into the actual park area, where I planned to arrange for a guided tour of the ruins. The sky was crystal clear, and it was going to be a beautiful day. I started to shake the mornings uneasiness. I stopped and took a couple photos on the ride up to the park as the road switched back and forth on its way up the mesa.
The view was spectacular. I stopped to take this shot of the valley below before the road banked to the other side of the mesa. The road snaked to the left and into a sharp u-turn around to the right and then into another u-turn back to the left around the other side of the mesa.
As came out of the right curve and shifted into the left curve, my bike made a scrapping, clunking sound. I thought, that’s not right, maybe the clutch just slipped between neutral and second gear or something. I applied the brakes to slow down and figure out what was happening. There wasn’t a shoulder, and virtually no visibility to be safe from the European tourists careening around the motorway in their rental rv’s. Around that left turn, there will probably be a safe place to pull over, i thought. (All of this in a matter of seconds). I think I eased on the gas, slightly, to make it around the turn when…
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZip, KCHGUNGK, SREEEEEEEECH!!!!!
Something gave way inside my bike, I looked down in utter bewilderment and disbelief. Suddenly my rear tire locked up. The tire squeeled, and I braked and tried to try to slow the bike, and steer it around the curve, but it just went straight towards the edge of the road. I tried everything I could to regain control. Looking up, I could see the edge of the roadway nearing. The roadside was a scrubby gravel hill that dropped sharply into the trees below. My mind flashed. Save your self! Fight or flight! Jump off of the bike. You can’t slow it in time and there is nowhere to ride off of the road to slow it down. You are going with it down there. As the front tire crossed over into the gravel, I grabbed the handlebars and slammed them into the ground, with me as I rolled off of the out of control bike.
I hopped up and brushed off the gravel. Get your phone. My left hand swept across my left jacket pocket that was completely chewed up by the crash. I pulled out my phone from said pocket, and it was completely destroyed. I looked at my bike. A small lump of motorcycle and gear, lying lifeless, a few feet from the side of the road. A heavy feeling came over me. I took off my helmet and back pack. Running backward through the bits of rock and gravel that had been kicked up onto the road was a long black skid mark that ran parallel to a white scrape from the bike’s footpeg. Almost straight back into the curve, the fifty foot long mark had a slight arc that clearly didn’t match the sharp curve of the road. I looked back at the bike as I stood in the road above it.
I waved down the next car that passed. With smiles and gasps of disbelief, they offered to help, but they were from the UK and didn’t have phones, so they just wished me luck. The next car stopped with two retired couples. The men were the first two out of the vehicle. “Are you hurt?” No. “Are you sure.” Yes, I’m just a little shaken up. “Do you want help?” Yes. My phone is broken, do you have service? They dialed 911, I listened and heard nothing. They called again. Nothing. I turned slightly and heard a choppy voice on the phone. I’ve been in an accident. “Are you hurt?” No. My bike is crashed, I need a tow truck. “Are you sure you are ok?” Yes. I need a tow truck. “We’ll send someone for you.”
The two men and I further inspected the bike. We lifted it up and set it on the sidestand. “Can you ride it?” I was delerious. I looked down and the left footpeg was gone. The clutch was held in, and the side of the bike was all scraped up. I tried to start it, and ta, ta, ta, ta, ta, ta, it wouldn’t fire. I tried again. Nothing. “Are you sure you are ok?” Yes. “We’ll go to the park center and send help.” Thank you. Thanks for your help. Then I was alone again with my bike. Tourists rode past, eager to see the park, they paid little notice to a motorcyclist and his upright bike on the side of the road.
A few minutes later, a ranger arrived. Emotionless, he instructed me to get into his truck. “Just push that stuff out of the way and get comfortable. This is a Federal matter, so we have a lot of paperwork to get to.” I sat in the car and filled out paperwork while he took photos of the accident and made some measurements. He came back to the car. “It’s going to be ok. I’m a motorcyclist too. We all take that risk when we ride.” He offered me a bottle of water. “There’s a good mechanic in Cortez, they can get your bike fixed up, and you can get back on the road.”
The ‘wrecker’ arrived, and we loaded the bike. I gathered up my gear, and got into the truck. We rode into Cortez. The mechanic’s shop was closed, so he took me back to his shop. He had another call, and took off in another truck, while I made some calls. Insurance agency. Aerostich—it was the only number I could think of off of the top of my head. My parents wouldn’t be home, and I couldn’t think of their cell numbers. I spoke with Dennis Schultz, a friend and cyclist, to figure out what I should do, and if he could think of the reason for the breakdown. He had a book of numbers for fellow BMW riders in case of emergency. No names, just numbers and locations. I called a fellow named Chris from the area, and he offered to help, but he didn’t know what to do. I waited and waited for the insurance agent to call back and nothing. Chris called back, and I thought he was the agent, so I told him the situation for a second time. He agreed that I should take it to a Triumph shop, and the closest was in Albuquerque. I arranged for a truck and he picked me up to take me to get it. I still thought he was an insurance agent, and I was surprised when he rolled up in an old land rover like vehicle. But I got in and started handing him paperwork, and he just said, I don’t know you’ll have to deal with your insurance company for that. Ooops. I didn’t think the good samaritan would call me back and go out of his way to help. I just thought he would offer a bed to crash if I was stuck in town.
All of these details are really insignificant but the help and understanding of everyone was essential in getting me on my way and up on my feet again. From the tow truck driver who helped me to load and tie my bike in the rental truck, to Chris who drove me to pick up the rental truck and just generally kept me sane by being there and letting me talk though the dillema numerous times, to Dennis and the folks at Aerostich who helped with trying to call my parents with a conference call from their 800 number while I sat at a pay phone waiting for the rental truck. Thank you all.
Day 3 Update:
Posted by admin on October 6th, 2008 filed in "LA Bound" a Motorcycle Ramble2 Comments »
So, I found out that I am in Mancos (pronounced Manke/iss), which means lame one, or probably lame horse. Probably named when Escalante (Spanish conquistador?) rode through here, introducing horses to the area. Mancos is where he/they probably corralled their lame horses (Manos – hand, Mancos – Lame Hand).
The musical event for the evening was performed by Beppe Gambetta. (Don’t ask me how to pronounce his name). See this YouTube Link — I wish I could just post it here, but I think I have some limitations on my current setup:
BEPPE GAMBETTA – DIXIE BREAKDOWN
…an Italian — Genoese to be exact — musician who has recorded with non other than David Grisman, Patty Larkin and others. Truly serendipitous. A warm environment after a long cold day. He put on a great show to less than thirty or so in attendance (including wait-staff), without a cover. With a snap-along, specifically not a clap-along because it is the ‘wrong color,’ and another sing along portion, very intimate. So I bought a CD, and spoke briefly with Beppe, and told him of my day’s travels, as he signed my copy.
After the show, I sat at the bar with some locals from this small town (around a 1000 pop.) and listened to many stories about the surrounding area. I found out that the long flats that I drove through that house Alamosa and The Great Sand Dune National Park are really the largest valley in the world, and a popular landing strip for Alien sightings/landings, too, among other notable and noteworthy but now forgotten things. The quote of the night was from a cowboy at the bar, a real life ‘horse whisperer’, who worked for this guy when he was younger whose popular saying was “I haven’t had this much fun since the hogs et my brother,” while he sat in an air conditioned pickup truck while they hayed the hay fields that used to be in Arizona (now occupied by condominiums and housing developments).
It was a very warm evening, after the long, cold, arduous day, and I was reminded of the rewards of travel. As the bar maid refined it, the rewards of traveling “the ‘right way’… she said something about how her relatives travel, but only stopping at ‘known’ entities along the way. You know, the corporate fair for mass, homogeneous,consumption. The Starbuck’s, Arby’s, McDonald’s, Holiday Inn’s of the world. Somewhere where ‘locals’ or real people don’t really exist. It may sound like a socialist radical thought or something, but there is another world out there that isn’t accessible in the manufactured environs that are so comfortable and familiar on the road, yet cold, sterile and lifeless. This enters into a much longer discussion on the cultural deficit in America (much, much larger and deeper than the current economic one), concerning the wake of postwar 1950s Americana that we seem to be continuously eddying around in. But nonetheless, I would rather have a salad bar than a salad wrapped in plastic any day.
Day 3: Lesson #1: Don’t F### With the Mountains
Posted by admin on October 5th, 2008 filed in "LA Bound" a Motorcycle Ramble1 Comment »
DAY 3 (294 mi):
LAKE ISABEL, CO TO MANCOS, CO
View Larger Map
From bliss to bare knuckles. Check your anxieties at the door, folks. Todays ride was not for the weak of heart. Everything started out fine. A little rain in the morning, and high winds through the flats from Pueblo Area, so it wasn’t ideal, but I could handle it. It was cold, so I was wearing my electric vest but it wasn’t turned on. The puffy clouds looked like they could break, and a rain shower or two passed by, but in the flats it was warm and sunny. As I rode into Alamosa, I could see more rain ahead in the mountains, and passed a sign directing me to Taos only 70 odd miles to the south. But I wanted to spend one more night in the cool mountain air before getting blasted with the desert heat.
In Alamosa, I stopped and posted the blog for the previous day. Had a great bowl of soup, sandwich and coffee. I wanted to stay longer, but I had been there for over an hour, so I got geared up and headed out. (Note: I am having the hardest time keeping the time straight with the time zone switch. I have clocks all around me: phone, gps, camera, laptop. And I never really know which one is right. I don’t know why my gps doesn’t automatically change time with the time zone change, it is a gps after all, it should ‘know’!).
Anyway, as I rode out of Alamosa, it was another long flat scrubby valley. I passed the great sand dunes nat. park. And eventually got into the mountains. I stopped and took this shot as I approached the foothills:
And you can see why I wanted to press on. The first sight of snow up in the mountains. Little did I know what I was in for. Up in the mountains, the ride was beautiful, following Wolf Creek as it wound up in to the hillside. I stopped and took another picture of the fall colors. Not paying much attention to the clouds in the background.
Up around the bend as the road continued to climb, I could see snow and heavy clouds on the tops of the mountains, and I thought, “cute, look how the snow stands out against the colorful trees on my nice clean dry pavement road.” But the road kept climbing and the rain started. A couple riders passed and waved, alright this will be ok. I could handle it, as long as it wasn’t snow. But the road kept climbing, and suddenly, around the bend, was Wolf Creek Ski Area, covered in snow, and a sign saying something like “Warning: Snow melt may be icy.” OH, SH*T, i slowed down through the frigid water as the road banked into a tunnel, with more water and curves. Well, hopefully it won’t be so bad on the other side, right?! Wrong. The other had more snow and more melt water, and it was pouring rain.
I stopped at the not so ‘scenic’ overlook (with all of the clouds and rain) and quickly took the above photo of my bike. The headphones came off. This is serious. The road is soaked. It is pouring rain, and very cold up in the altitude, what do I do? What else can I do. Ride onward. I took it slow, slow, slow down some crazy twisties just waiting for my tires to slide. “The speedlimit for trucks is 25 so that’s what i’ll keep it at.” Around a few more switchbacks and the rain kept coming, but it looked like there was a break on the way. So I pulled over and relieved myself at a rest stop and waited for the rain to pass. After which, I spoke with a Texan in a ten gallon hat who stated the obvious: “Not the best day to be riding a bike, huh?”. No sh*t. “Did you come down through the pass?” “Yup. The road was soaked and there was a lot of snow up there.” “Well, be careful on your way down. There’s about three inches of ice on the ground for about two miles, and a car drove off the road.” “F###”. He left. I sat under an awning in the rain.
But I couldn’t just sit there. I was freezing, and I wanted to be in a warm valley with a cup of coffee in my hand. So I rode on. Thankfully, a few miles down the road, the clouds broke, and I didn’t come upon the ice that the Texan had mentioned. God bless. But I was pretty jittery and took it slow for the ride to the next town to gas up. At the gas station I pulled up next to a pair of bikers from Oklahoma on a BMW, they said that Wolf Creek Pass got a foot of snow last night, so they rode around it into New Mexico. I was able to boast some of my machismo for having ridden it. And standing in the warm sunshine, the feeling gradually returned to my fingertips. We rode together to Durango, where we parted ways. I chose to carry on to Mesa Verde. Where I found a cheap motel, hot shower, and live music across the street. Which I’m missing right now. Gotta go.
I’m through with the mountains. Tomorrow warm weather in the south. But first, a tour of Mesa Verde.
Day 2: Follow Your Bliss
Posted by admin on October 5th, 2008 filed in "LA Bound" a Motorcycle RambleComment now »
Colorado Hwy 195
DAY 2 (318.5 total mi.):
DODGE CITY, KS TO LAKE ISABEL, CO (SAN ISABEL NATIONAL FOREST)
Highway 50 was a great ride out of Dodge City. Very little traffic, and a lot of flat, scenic farmland. This road is known as the Santa Fe Trail scenic drive. Fitting, since I will make it to Santa Fe eventually. One slight detour was Colorado Hwy 195 to drive past Bent’s Old Fort, the road is shown above. Definitely off the beaten path, but enjoyable. The road rose up from the farmland over foothills where it seemed to go out into nothing, and down into wooded river valleys. The fort was a building, I took one photo from the bike and kept riding. As I approached Pueblo, I started to see the first views of the mountains, which just grew as I got closer. I gassed up and headed out into the foothills. The mountains were dark green with lighter patches that I assumed were red rocks, on the hillsides, as I rode closer, they started to glow. It was really wierd. I thought it was my polarized glasses, so I stopped to remove them, and then I realized it was the Aspen trees turning.
Aspen Trees on the Hillside
It was amazing. They got brighter the closer I got, as I rode higher up towards them. Switchbacks through a small mountain village (Beulah), and up into the mountains and golden aspen groves. The road entered the San Isabel National Forest, and shortly there after, a sign read: Pavement Ends Gravel Road Next 9 Miles. I briefly thought, did I make a wrong turn? My GPS is supposed to avoid gravel roads, but then I wasn’t using my GPS, I was following the directions noted in my Free Campgrounds book. I pressed on. There were a few sight seeing SUVs that passed, so I knew this road had to lead somewhere. The road got rougher, tighter, and steeper as it snaked its way up into a mountain pass. I hadn’t planned on doing any ‘dual-sport’ riding, but the bike handled really well, especially with the heavy load. I took it fairly easy to get used to the uneven, washboard surface, but soon got used to it, and increased my speed a bit. I had to jump up on my footpegs a few times! The ride was thrilling, but the view was spectacular.
The gravel road met a highway that took me to a lodge in San Isabel where I had a meal and well deserved beer. And went to set up camp at the campground there. Grey clouds that were around all day were looking darker, so I quickly got my tent and all my gear packed for the night.
Lake Isabel Campsite
I enjoyed the scene of my bike and tent together, and wanted to capture the moment. I found the best camera angle, and I took this shot. And as I took my eye from the camera, I saw there was a welcoming committee here to greet me.
Day 1: Kansas Wind Farms
Posted by admin on October 3rd, 2008 filed in "LA Bound" a Motorcycle RambleComment now »
TRANSPORT DAY:
DULUTH TO YORK, NEBRASKA (630 mi)
DAY 1 (318 total mi):
TRANSPORT: YORK, NEBRASKA TO REST AREA ON I-70 (181 mi)
RIDE: REST AREA ON I-70 TO DODGE CITY (137 mi)
Link to Google Map
Unfortunately, in the rush to get everything together for the trip, I neglected to charge the battery for my camera, so I had to steal this shot from Weather Underground via google images. Nonetheless, the wind farms in the great plains were the most notable visual for the day and the start of the journey. Seeing these massive structures is truly awe inspiring. The futuristic-looking white blossoms seem to sprout up from the endless flat landscape of farmland. Knowing that they may well have been shipped in on the Great Lakes through Duluth, and hauled overland to here, provides some familiarity.
My dad and I parted company this morning in Ellsworth, KS. At a Rest Area North of Ellsworth on I-70, we unloaded the bike and loaded it up with gear. I took a loop around the parking lot to test out riding with the fully loaded saddlebags and duffels. We took some photos, and headed out onto the Freeway towards a huge field of wind generators. He snapped some photos of me riding. I felt like a rock star. l was Ewan McGregor or Charlie Boorman in the Long Way Around, fully dressed with top gear and from Aerostich, the bike loaded down and heavy, ready for anything, able to go anywhere. I even had a ‘camera crew’ for the time being.
We pulled over and I posed with my bike in front of the field of windmills, and we headed south along a pastoral country road. Another rider passed us and waved, I think he was on another Triumph, I know he knew the extend of what I was up to. The road dropped and winded and became hilly and more wooded as we approached river valley that supported the town of Ellsworth. We gassed up and found a little cafe, ate some burgers and said our awkward goodbyes. Emotions are funny, especially between a father and his son. The fumbling of words, a hug, a smile and a tear. Words unspoken:
“I’m a man now, Dad, I’ll be ok.”
“I’m proud of you, Son, make it home safely.”
The rest of the day’s ride is now a blur. A couple songs shuffled on the iPod, the Rolling Stones’ “You Can’t Always Get What You Want”, the first couple oil derricks pop out of the ground, Dan Hicks’ “You Got to Believe”, Pawnee Rock, and Scott Gusts’ “Sweater is Optional”. I am holed up in a hotel room in Dodge City for the night. Exhausted. But I figured out how to blog.
Tomorrow, I think I’ll head into Colorado for some cool mountain air and my first night of camping.
Unloading The Bike
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Throwing on the 'stich
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Posing for the camera
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