On The Road, Pt. VII

This is the end... Beautiful friend, the end.

Yes, this is it.  The final day of my journey has arrived and I would soon be spending the night in my own bed, using my own toilet and parking indoors.  First I had to get there, though.

When I went to bed, it was still raining in Farmington and i figured on another rainy day of riding.  To my surprise, the sun was out in the morning and it was cloudless.  I gobbled down some more breakfast, packed up the bike and headed for home.

I was excited to get back into Colorado because that meant some twisty mountain roads.  Bits of Cali and Arizona were nice but most of the areas were flat, straight and dull.  At points I was actually wishing I was in a car.  I could lean the seat back, put the cruise on and jam to some tunes.  On the bike I couldn't do any of that.  All I could really do is stare at the odometer and glance at the occasional pile of rocks on the side of the road that passed for scenery.

This was of course the Saturday of Labor Day weekend, so everyone and their dad was out on the road and driving at around four mph.  Honestly, it was a bit frustrating because I was used to going 70 everywhere and now I'm feel like I'm at walking pace. 

I also saw a lot of bikes.  I think I saw more bikes this one day than I saw in the entire preceding days combined.  Nearing the Wolf Creek Pass, I was passed by a group of Harleys complete with get back whips and do-rag-wearing riders.  Excited by the corners, I jumped into the passing lane and blew by them as the road got twisty and then did the same to a couple of BMW riders.  I waved to them all as I passed but none of them even looked at me.  Bastards.

Wolf Creek is a delightfully twisty road that goes up well above 10,000 feet and it has a tunnel.  I love tunnels.  This tunnel even has a curve in it, making it a million times better.  Another good thing for Wolf Creek is that its four lanes wide, so you can always pass the geezers in front and you can push it a bit because the edge of the world isn't inches away.  I had a grand time scratching around the bends before the straight stuff returned.

I made a pit stop for a snack in Del Norte and got ready to head for the arrow straight section of 285 that headed toward Saguache.  Breaking up the monotony are the two ridges that were cut through when the road was made.  This was fantastic when I was heading this way before and its fantastic now.  I bet its just as fantastic to be reading about it again, too.

As I was snacking on a protein bar I brought and an apple and banana I grabbed from the hotel, I noticed the sky getting cloudier.  I didn't even check the weather because I knew it meant rain.  By this point, I could predict the weather better than 100 Weather Channels.  I just got on with the job at hand.

It got darker as I neared Saguache, darker still as I neared Buena Vista and then it finally rained when I got to Fairplay.  I'm glad I got to see the scenery last week when it was sunny because it was miserable now.  All I wanted at this point was to go home.  I had had enough rain to last me for the rest of my life.

I wish I had more to say about this part of the trip but it was a blur.  I was focused on home and really didn't look at the scenery and really didn't care about the roads.  I went my speed, passed a bunch of cars and reminded myself how much fun it is to tour on a motorcycle.  This is fun, they said.  Riding is fun, they said.

I skipped a pee break in Fairplay to outrun the storm and that was a mistake.  I thought I could hold it but I couldn't.  Every bump was murder until I finally gave in.  I pulled over, scampered down a hill and released the Nile.  After what seemed like 20 minutes of continuous peeing, I walked back to bike and continued on my way a much lighter rider.

The rain came and went and came again during this time but I wasn't very bothered by it.  It was pouring rain when I made my final stop in Bailey and my crotch was cold and wet.  I think my penis ran away somewhere around there.

As I got closer to Denver, the sun came out and it finally got warmer.  I was still focused on home and was passing cars like crazy.  I was never so excited to see Denver as I got closer and closer.  I slowed down at this point because I didn't want to make it this far only to have a crash on my doorstep.  Turning down Colorado Blvd., then on to my street and finally up the drive was a wonderful feeling.  I had done it.  I rode my motorcycle to San Diego and back and lived to tell the tale.

Including going the wrong way and doubling back, the bike and I did just under 2,400 miles in six days.  That doesn't include riding around while in San Diego.  The bike never missed a beat the entire time, though it was quite dirty and sad-looking when we got home.  The air-cooled engine did get quite noisy going through the hot desert and the chain's a bit looser now but otherwise, you can never tell it went that far.  It never even used any oil.  Let's have a round of applause for modern motorcycles, everyone.

Would I do it again?  Well, yes and no.

My Bonneville may not have missed a beat but I sure did.  As the days went on, fatigue set in quicker and quicker.  The Thruxton gel seat I fitted to bike years ago helped some with comfort but the bike felt cramped, even for my short ass.  Add in the stuff strapped to the back and there wasn't much room for me.  I was constantly fighting for space with my luggage. 

As for the riding, well, pockets of it were very good but most of it was quite boring.  It was a bit like a 90 minute movie that had 12 minutes of action.  I felt like I was always waiting for the good part to come along.  A trip from Denver to San Diego will happen again (San Diego is too nice to not go back) but it will happen either on a more touring-oriented bike or in a car.  My Bonnie loved the twisty bits but hated the slab.  We share the same opinion, the bike and I.

So that's it.  It's back to work and planning more trips, most of which I won't go on.  At least it gives me something to do at work while I not do my job.  In the meantime, I can also look at the Triumph Sprint STs that pop up used quite often.  The 1050s, I think, look best in blue while I like 955i models best in green

Hmm...

On The Road, Pt VI

When we last left our hero (me), I was getting wet yet again in Arizona.  You know, I thought this was the desert southwest.  Why is it raining so much?

Anyway, this morning was the beginning of the second-to-last day of my trip.  Soon it would be back to the drudgery of everyday life.  That wouldn't happen until blasted through the rest of Arizona, though.

After a trip to the bathroom, the first thing I did was check the weather.  I had a choice of two routes (insert Joe Pesci voice here) that would take me to Farmington, NM.  I could go through northern Arizona, the way I took on the trip out.  I could also take 89A to Flagstaff, jump on I-40 to Gallup and then take 491 north.  The difference between the two was 10 minutes but most importantly, it was raining in the north and not on I-40.  I chose to take the slab.

After faffing about in Prescott trying to find gas, I got back on the brilliance that was 89A.  In the valley before the descent into Cottonwood, the road reminded me of the veranda on the Isle of Man TT course.  It was a long sweeping road that would be heaven on a fast motorcycle.  I can believe that because it was fun on my Bonneville. 

The descent is even better as you ride this ribbon draped across the mountain.  The sheer drops on the right are blocked by a comically small guardrail while asperous rocks stick out on the left.  You don't notice any of that, though, because the road commands your attention.  Its myriad of curves are a long series of downshifting, upshifting, turning in, rolling off the throttle, powering down the straights and the occasional touch of brake.  The oscillation of touching the white line and then heading for the double yellow becomes a dance; horse and rider as one.

Moments of extreme concentration such as this can only be broken by an equally extreme disturbance.  Coming around a bend and finding a large boulder in your way is an example of that.  Funnily enough, that's exactly what happened to me.  Lucky for me no one was coming in the other direction, so I didn't have to break stride too much.  The next boulder was even bigger and was surrounded by police, so I had to slow down for that one.

Snaking through Jerome, I finally caught up to civilization.  This being a Friday before Labor Day, I was now in a long line of SUVs, minivans and RVs.  The slowing of pace allowed me to take stock of the scenery and, wow, what scenery it is.  Jagged rocks, majestic trees and beautiful houses are all fighting for the same space.  Also, there's an oddly satisfying feeling to looking to the side or back and seeing the road you were just riding.

I stayed behind the long, slow train through Sedona and the wonderful canyon that followed.  I so badly wanted to break away and pass everyone but I thought better of it since the passing zones were short and it gave me the opportunity to look around a bit more.

When I got to Flagstaff, I pulled over and busted out the GPS.  I had a vague idea of where the entrance to I-40 was but wasn't quite sure.  The GPS didn't know, either, as it took me all over town and a through a college campus before introducing me to the interstate. 

It was gray and rainy in Flagstaff, which I was used to at this point.  I spent my snack break and fuel stop under an awning to keep dry.  I hopped on the interstate and was greeted by sunshine and clear skies.  This was going to be a long haul but I was glad to be on the slab, to be honest.  There isn't much out here, the northern route showed me that, and the interstate had more people on it. 

As I was riding through the pouring rain a few days ago, I was thinking that if I had a crash or a breakdown, there wasn't much civilization around for help.  At least on the interstate, there were more people and towns in case the worst happened.

After a couple fuel stops, a lunch break and some chatting with an outlaw motorcycle gang, I was nearing Gallup.  The sky got blacker and blacker as I neared Gallup.  Not again; not more rain.

I pulled into a gas station and ripped off the fastest refuel this side of Formula One.  The massive storm was on my right moving west but I was moving north.  The speed limit in Gallup was 40 mph but as you got away from town, it went up to 70.  If I kept my speed up, I could out run it.  The problem was I needed a stop in Tohatchi to make it all the way to Shiprock.  Would that allow the storm to catch me?

I pulled into the station in Tohatchi ready to rip off another blazing stop.  I stared at the ominous black cloud while the tank filled up way too slowly.  Of course the fuel cap, bloated by years of ethanol gas, decided now it wouldn't go on.  I whipped out the WD-40 I brought for just this instance and a quick shot of it allowed the cap to tighten.  As I was getting ready to depart, an old guy wandered over and wanted to talk about my bike.  This is a scene so common to Hinckley Bonneville owners.  I quickly apologized, pointed at the storm and high-tailed it out of there.

Out on the road, I could feel the storm getting closer.  The temperature dropped significantly and the wind picked up.  Soon the wind really started to move.  Dust and debris were flying across the road and it was all I could do to keep control of the bike.  I hunkered down as much as I could and fought the wind.  The passing minutes were agonizing.

As I rounded a bend, the wind began to die down and the temperature started to rise.  I had done it, I cleared the storm!  The view in my mirrors was a menacing black but the view ahead was blue and cloudless.  This same area I had mistakenly gone through earlier was much more scenic drenched in sunshine.

As if on cue, the construction zone I turned around in last time appeared and I knew then that Shiprock wasn't too far off.  I got some gas in Shiprock while it was miserably hot and pushed on to Farmington.  Once in Farmington, I grabbed a hotel room for the night and finally relaxed.

It was dinner time and as I stepped outside, I was greeted with a familiar sight: rain.  The rain had also brought along its buddies thunder and lightning, too.  The walk to the Mexican restaurant wasn't much fun but at least the food was good.  Afterward, I squished back to the room and collapsed.

Tomorrow was it, the final day.  The trip I had been planning for months would soon be over.  The final day wouldn't be without its moments, though.

Stay tuned for Part VII, the final chapter...

On The Road, Pt. V

After a few days of sand, surf and sun, it was time to head back inland.  By this time, I had my morning routine and bike packing down to the point where I could do it in my sleep.  I fueled myself up, then the bike and headed off a bit later than I wanted.  I really wanted sleep in but the road beckoned.

Before I began my day properly, I went down to the beach one last time to take a picture of my bike with the ocean.  It was to be my proof that I actually made it and didn't make the whole thing up.  Picture over with, it was time to go home.  I went to put my ear plugs in only to find one was missing.  Great.  This necessitated a stop at Lowe's and of course, the guy behind the counter asked if I was on a bike.  That's why this genius is working at Lowe's.

This trip's trend of weather variances continued as I was chilly by the ocean and got hotter as I moved farther inland.  Something else weird was that I stopped admiring the scenery and got on with the business of riding.  Maybe it was because I was going the same way and had seen this stuff before but I had my eyes set on Prescott, AZ and not on the ride.

Coming down the Pines to Palms Highway, which is just as brilliant going this way, I again had to put on some extra clothing.  Then I had to take it off again when I got to the desert.  It's just amazing that in two hours, I went from ocean to mountain to desert.  Didn't I say that last time?

Anyway, I blew through Palm Desert and Indio, hopping back on I-10 to begin the drudgery of the slab.  I made my next gas stop at a service station that was also home to the George Patton museum and some other small stores.  It's an odd place to have this since there's nothing around for miles except this.

Gas tank full and bladder empty, it was back on the road for some more slab.  The hot gusts of wind were mercifully absent this time.  The miles clicked off ever so slowly until it was time to pull off in Blythe for gas and lunch.  My choice for lunch was a Subway, which had been the choice for lunch on the road every other day, too.  You're welcome, Jared.

I dismounted my bike and went to put my ear plugs in my right jacket pocket when I noticed something odd.  The pocket was unzipped and there was no camera in it.  Frantic, I searched everywhere for it until the realization set in: it fell out of my pocket.  Some point during the day, I forgot to zip up the pocket and my camera was somewhere along the road in California.  There went all my pics, including the one from the morning in front of the ocean.  Now you know why there aren't any pics in these posts.

Pissed off, I ate quickly, got gas and hit the road.  After hours of straight line drudgery and sweltering heat, I made it to Congress, AZ.  I would be heading up the mountains and beginning the final push to Prescott.  After a long day of sweating, I was looking forward to the cooler temps and more exciting roads.

As I left Congress, an Audi A7 followed and looked like it wanted to play.  I'm fine with that, I thought, and carried on at a swift pace.  The road leading up to Prescott is a joyous collection of tight bends, fast sweepers and short straights.  My Bonneville, even with all that weight on the back and my fists of ham, handled the road brilliantly.  It makes the case for a pure sports bike difficult when such a normal machine can perform so well. 

The Audi became a smaller and smaller speck in my mirrors until I got cold and pulled over to put my flannel back on.  Using my motorcyclist spider sense, I could see the clouds getting darker and more abundant.  Smiling at the thought of more rain (why not?), I put on the wind breaker, too. 

Sure enough, I was greeted with rain in Prescott.  I rode through a slight drizzle but I could hear booms of thunder and see the lightning.  Either I had just missed the storm or was on the front edge of it.  I set my GPS for the hotel and rode through town.  It's a nice place, Prescott, with loads of small town charm.  Also there was the Audi.

I eyed a few restaurants I'd like to try but my route kept taking me further away from town.  The further I got, the less I wanted to ride back and I wasn't walking that far.  Finally, I reached the hotel, quite a distance from Prescott, and got a room.  The manager even let me park my bike under the awning, which was great because it started to rain as soon as I got there.  Pickings were slim for dinner, so I grabbed a few things from a grocery store and ate that.  Whatever; it was dinner and I was hungry.

Aside from the rain in Prescott, the day had been fantastic.  I had clear skies and great weather all day and the bike never missed a beat again.  I was starting to break down, though.  Really, I just wanted to go home to my bed.  Losing my camera was the real black eye on the day.  I'm still pissed about it and I have no one to blame but me.

Stay tuned for Part VI.

On The Road, Pt. IV

It was now Monday, the day I'd be getting into San Diego.  I spent most of the previous evening drying out my clothes using a combo of the iron and hair dryer.  It worked... Sort of.  What really worked best was putting my socks in the microwave.

Anyway, I pulled the blinds open in the morning and was greeted with more rain.  How could it rain this much?  It has to stop some time, right?

Well, this morning wasn't that time.  It rained all through breakfast and all the while I packed up my bike.  The highlight of the morning wasn't the omelet I had (it was good, though), it was a chance meeting in an elevator.  I walked in the elevator carrying all my stuff and the guy in there told me he once rode a motorcycle from Hollywood back to Pittsburgh.  Pittsburgh?!  That's the second person from my old turf I met on this trip.  Weird and wild stuff, that.

I made my way through the rain to a nearby gas station, fueled up for the ride to Prescott and prepared to get wet.  I wasn't 45 minutes into the day and everything was already soaked.  Lovely.

Mercifully, the rain ended when I got on Arizona 89A, the winding road that would take me to Prescott.  The road was still very wet, though, which meant I couldn't fully exploit the twisty bits or the empty road in front of me.  At least it was warming up.

Like a ghost in the night, a great number of switchbacks appeared on the road.  The scenery and the tight road tore at my concentration, delighting and denying me at the same time.  The road snakes, dips and climbs through an amazing canyon.  It's an absolute delight, almost to the point of wanting to turn around and ride it a few more times.  The Bonneville's handling also continued to impress; this section was a blast in the wet on a packed-up bike.

As quickly as it appeared, the canyon was gone.  The road  flattened out and gently wove through the forest.  Every so often a small motel or cabin would appear on the side, showing some semblance of civilization.  Aside from this, it was you and the trees.

As I broke through the trees into Sedona, AZ, I was greeted with a panoramic view of biblical proportions.  There were sunken canyons, high, spiraling mountains; trees, rocks and buildings sharing the same space.  The architects built Sedona around the geological features; instead of dominating the land, the builders incorporated it and created something beautiful.

Above this wondrous scene was the best sight of all: dissipating clouds and blue sky.  The sun even made an appearance.  I had come through 300 miles of rain and misery to be greeted by a sight of extreme beauty.  It was totally worth it.

I fueled up in Sedona and headed toward the mountains.  As I got closer, the road dried and the sun took command over the sky.  One of the highlights was Jerome, AZ, an old mining town built into the mountain.  Suddenly, I was in the Apennines, snaking through the town's narrow streets, tight corners and stucco buildings.  It was like being transported to another country, if only for a brief moment.

Dancing the curves of the mountain brought me to Prescott, AZ, finally.  I fueled up, got lost and then finally found my way down the mountain.  Further increasing my reward were more mountain roads and more gorgeous scenery.  Coming down the mountain brought incredible views of the desert floor.  The desert spread out like an enormous blanket, covering everything up to the horizon.

At the bottom was a little place called Congress, AZ.  This place consisted of a gas station and a Family Dollar.  That was it.  As I was getting gas, I suddenly realized something: I was very hot.  I was so busy concentrating on the road and the scenery, I didn't notice the temperature went from the low 60s to the mid 80s.  The windbreaker that had saved me yesterday was now clinging to me like a frightened child.

Free of bondage, I set off across the flat and straight desert.  It's here that one can truly grasp the vastness of the U.S.  There was nothing, I mean nothing, but scrub and dirt for miles and miles.  The road was so straight I could have set the throttle and taken a nap.  The desert was not without excitement as a number of vultures took flight directly in front of me.  I had to lay flat on the tank to miss them and if I was in a car, they would have splattered across my windshield.

The flat desert gave way to I-10, the road that would take me to California.  I-10 was more of the same except with more trucks.  A stop for gas and an awful lunch got me ready for the final push.  The trip down I-10 was a boring exercise in dealing with hot wind blast and boring scenery.  I was thankful when it ended.

A stop for fuel in Palm Desert, CA meant the end of the desert.  San Diego was just on the other side of the mountain.  While filling up in Palm Desert, I again realized I was very hot.  I was sweating not even doing anything.  Unfortunately, I had no more removable clothes.

The final leg would take me up the Pines to Palms Highway and around Palomar Mountain.  Any corners would be exciting after the dullness of the desert and this did not disappoint.  Every corner you could imagine, from tight twisties to fast sweepers, were here and it was all bathed in bright sunlight.  Again, the scenery was just as fantastic as the road.  The Bonnie and its rider enjoyed every minute of this place, as it was similar to roads in Colorado except they were only at around 3,000 feet.  That meant the bike actually had power to go down the straights.  It also got cold up here, requiring me to stop and put my flannel back on.

The downward side of the mountain put me on the fast-track to the ocean.  By this time I was pretty tired and just wanted to get to my hotel.  After what seemed like 40 years wandering the desert, I pulled into the hotel, got in my room and collapsed on the bed.  Another realization hit me: I was hungry.  It was getting too dark to walk all the way to the ocean, so I just milled around the area.  All that was around were hot rod shops and a doughnut place.  Giving in, I ordered pizza from Domino's and then crashed.  It had been a very long day.

I made it, though.  I was in California.  As I tried to calm down and relax after the day, I thought about the ride I had just put in.  It's easy to think about California and wonder why anyone would want to live there.  Then you visit and realize why.

In a two hour period, I went from the desert to the mountains and finally to the ocean.  I did this while on amazing roads surrounded by some of the Earth's best scenery.

What an amazing place.

Part V will cover the beginning of the ride home.

On The Road, Pt III

It was.

I awoke to rain; lots of it.  I grabbed some breakfast and got ready for the day, hoping all the time that it would let up.  Watching the weather channel confirmed what I thought: it wouldn't.

So, I packed up and got ready to go, figuring I might as well get on with it.  Parked next to my Bonneville was a very nice Yamaha FJR1300.  It actually made me feel better since I wouldn't be the only bike.  As I was strapping my backpack down, the Yammie's owner came out for a chat.  It turned out he was originally from Steubenville, OH, which is very close to Pittsburgh.  I wasn't expecting that.

Belly full of carbs and orange juice, I set off into the rain.  My not packing rain gear was really dumb.  Water came in through my mesh summer jacket and spray from the road came in the mesh areas of my pants.  Clearly, this would be a long day.

The rain let up as I approached Shiprock, NM to fuel up.  The sky was extremely gray and foreboding, though.  I took off from the gas station and headed on down the road.  I settled into the groove of riding, keeping a watchful eye on the skies.

Oddly, something didn't feel right.  I kept seeing signs for Gallup, NM, which wasn't where I wanted to go.  I figured Gallup was the only large town around and it would appear on most of the signs in the area.  A little further and I started to get worried.  Pulling over, I whipped out my phone and it confirmed I was heading south to Gallup instead of going west toward Teec Nos Pos.  I was so focused on what the skies were going to do, I completely missed my turn and went way off course.

If I continued south, I could take I-40 to Flagstaff or I could turn around and take 160, the way I intended.  Rain covered both routes, which meant I had to decide on whether I wanted to share the rain-soaked roads with tractor-trailers or not.  I chose to go back, refuel and head the way I intended.

Heading toward Teec Nos Pos turned out to be a very scenic route.  There were gorgeous canyons and beautiful vistas on either side of the road.  This road even had some corners, which would be quite rare on this route.  Teasing me, the sun popped out for a few miles.  This brief respite would be the only sun and blue sky I'd see for a while.

Rain peppered my face shield off and on but as I got near my fuel stop in Kayenta, AZ, the sky turned a deep black.  At the station, I popped in for a pee and a quick snack.  The sky was incredibly ominous.  It looked like I'd be riding into the lungs of Hell.  I guzzled my water, refueled the bike and headed off.

A few miles later the rain came and it came hard.  Water poured through my gear and my base layers were drenched.  I could feel the cold water running down my back.  Crotch drenched, socks drenched; everything was wet.

I was already cold and this served to bring on intense shivers.  I had 78 miles to go to Tuba City and there were times I thought I wouldn't make it.  I was so cold and shivering so much I could barely keep control of the bike.  Never mind that I was doing so while riding through hard rain (not the movie).  This was such desolate country that there wasn't even an underpass or anything to hide under.  All I did was shiver and stare at my odometer, mentally counting off the miles.

Mercifully, the rain died down.  I was still very wet and cold but I could now see where I was going.  I can say that no one in the history of the world was happier to see Tuba City, AZ than I was.  There was a Quality Inn in town and I couldn't get there fast enough.  I pulled up to the door, hopped off my bike, squished my way up to the desk and inquired about a room.  I'd have to kill two hours, which gave me time to change and eat, two things I desperately needed to do.

I changed and then shiver-walked over to the restaurant next door.  I immediately ordered coffee, something I haven't had in nearly 20 years.  After a mediocre lunch, I went to the trading post next door and bought a windbreaker while the two girls behind the counter complained about their pre-calc class.

While all this was happening, the rain began to dissipate.  According to the map I was another hour-and-a-half from Flagstaff.  The weather around there wasn't as bad and the major storms had all moved north.  I had originally planned to spend the night in Prescott, AZ but that wasn't happening.  If I made for Flagstaff, I'd still get a bit wet but I'd be closer than if I stayed in Tuba City.  Helping spur this decision was the fact that a room at this Quality Inn would cost $130.  That's a lot to stay in this one horse town, even if I was soaked.  Feeling adventurous, I put on my soaked gear, which now weighed twice as much, and headed for Flagstaff.

The skies were a deep gray and I got peppered with rain but I eventually made it to Flagstaff.  I pulled over to search for a hotel and lo and behold, a Hampton Inn was nearby.  I stopped there and got a room for the night, damn the cost.  As I was putting my stuff in the room, beams of sunlight came creeping into my room.  I just smiled since it had been hours since I saw the sun.  This moment was fleeting, however, as the gray came back to reclaim the sky.

I threw on some dry clothes and figured I'd scare up some dinner.  As I walked out the hotel, I stopped to look at my bike.  It was a bit dirty this morning from yesterday's showers.  Now it was completely filthy.  It wasn't even black anymore.  It was now a shade of gray-brown.  She was a champ, though.  Through all the rain and the water, she never missed a beat; never misfired, chugged or slowed down.  What a great bike.

My choices for dinner were Arby's, Jack in the Box or Sizzler.  Yum.  I chose Sizzler and had the salad bar, which was awful.  I think they put the stuff out at nine in the morning and it stays there all day.

I went back to my room and hit the bed, hard.  I was exhausted and two hours away from where I wanted to be.  This meant my push to San Diego tomorrow would be a very long one.  How would that turn out?

Stayed tuned for that in Part IV.

On The Road, Pt II

The first day of my trip finally was here.  I, of course, waited until the night before I left to pack and ran around like a mad man doing so.  I also didn't sort out what was going to go where until I was about to leave.  Clearly, a boy scout I am not.

I figured since I'm in Denver, I should wear some layers for when it gets cold, so I opted for some shorts under my Triumph riding pants.  In case you're interested (and how could you not be?), I picked up a pair of Triumph's Adventure jeans.  They're tan, which I wanted since everything else is black and I didn't want to roast, and are vented in the shins and thigh.  They are actually quite nice and are the only riding pants I tried which actually fit me.

All that is great but the only real problem is aside from being tan, they're navy blue.  Why?  All the blue does is require me to buy the matching jacket so the colors will match.  When did motorcycling require so much fashion sense?

Anyway, I'm geared up and ready to leave.  I throw my backpack with my computer and other electronics on and grab my saddle bags with everything else.  I'm sweating before I reach the top of the stairs.  Never mind, I'm sure it will be chilly outside.

It's not.  Sweating some more, I load everything on the bike, strap it down and remember I forgot my ear plugs.  Okay, back in the house, grab the earplugs and now it's time to leave.  Wait, I forgot the chain lube.  Back out to the garage, grab the lube and now it's time to leave.  Wait...

After 45 more trips to grab forgotten stuff, it's finally time to leave 30 minutes after I wanted to.  No matter, though, we're on the road beginning an epic quest.

I decided to take I-70 to Route 285 instead of going through town.  I didn't want the hassle of going from redlight to redlight and really just wanted to get going.  Never mind that this route shaved 45 minutes off my entire day.  The bike ran great and really didn't feel the extra weight on the back.

I-70 and 470 were boring slab stuff, though I did see a trailer full of hay tip over.  That was interesting.  The real interesting stuff was when I got on 285.  This would take me nearly through the spine of Colorado and the Rockies.

This was proper Colorado riding: small towns, mountains and valleys.  The scenery was just spectacular.  It was hard to concentrate on the road because my head was always scanning the scenery.  Everywhere I looked there was something gorgeous to see.

The Kenosha Pass takes you up to 10,001 ft and then puts you down in an epic valley between the peaks.  The area is flat and open for miles and miles.  It's almost like being in a giant crater, a mostly-featureless area surrounded by imposing mountain peaks.  There were trees occasionally and a few farms but not much else.  I should also point out that my decision to layer up was a good one.  It was mighty chilly up there early in the morning. 

In Saguache, I made the left-hand bend to stay on 285 and continued on a stretch of road that was flat and straight for miles.  Honestly, look at it on a map.  It's perfectly straight.  The cool thing about this section was that two ridges run right across the road.  Instead of going over the ridges, the engineers cut right through them.  What you end up with, then, is a free geology lesson as you can see the layers of rock under the surface.  I thought that was fantastic. 

As I got to Wolf Creek Pass, something strange started to happen.  The skies got darker and the air became cooler.  Closer to the mountain, this increased until the inevitable happened: rain drops on my visor.  One thing I didn't pack was rain gear, a decision I regretted immediately. 

The run up to the nearly 11,000ft summit of Wolf Creek Pass was pock marked with rain and slow moving vehicles.  Thankfully, the road is wide and I could deal with the lack of excitement of the straight bit with some corner carving action.  It was very dark at the summit; cold, too, and the rain got heavier. 

The trip down was a blast until I got stuck behind an RV, which was a blessing because it was quite wet and there were a few cops out.  As quickly as it appeared, the rain and gray disappeared.  The rest of the trip was clear, sunny and dry. 

Approaching the end of the day, I pulled into Farmington, NM where I would be spending the night.  Initial impressions of the town were good.  I thought I would be in a town similar to the one from Tremors.  There were malls, restaurants and even a Harley dealership.  The thing was I kept passing all these places and I still didn't reach my hotel.  I kept going and going and Farmington got worse and worse.  Finally, as I reached the back end of town, I found my hotel.

The city planners must have designated this place as Hotel Row because that's all that was there.  There were six or so hotels, a gas station and one lonely Mexican restaurant.  You can guess where I ate dinner. 

With the first day behind me, I lugged all my stuff up to my room (no small feat), locked up the bike and headed to the lonely Mexican place.  I had a burrito that weighed probably ten pounds and was greeted with rain as I left.  Hmm, interesting, I thought.  I hope this isn't a sign of things to come.

Stay tuned for Part III...

On The Road, Pt. I

As has been well-documented in this blog, I was bike-less here in Denver for a few months.  Without a bike to occupy my time, I was forced branch out in my interests.  Really, that gave me time to do other things.  I did some knitting, I took a yoga class, I learned karate and studied French.

Okay, none of that is true.  All I really did was think about motorcycles and trawl the Internet looking at motorcycle pictures and parts.  So, business as usual.

Something I did do a lot of was plan trips on Google Maps.  One area that kept coming up was California.  I had been to Cali a few years ago to buy a Datsun 240Z in Oxnard.  The Z turned out to be a junk heap but it gave me a chance to take a cross-country road trip back to Pittsburgh with my dad, which was fantastic.

I initially wanted to go to San Fransisco but that turned out to be too far to go in the time I had.  Doing that trip would have required a 500-mile slab day through Nevada and I really didn't want to do that.  The next logical choice was San Diego.  This was a much shorter trip since San Diego is closer to Denver that San Fran and was doable in the time I had.  Plus there was no long slab day.  San Diego it was, then.

Once the destination was set, a route began to appear on the map.  Save for some towns and cities along the way, there really isn't much in the American southwest.  I had already been through this area returning to Pittsburgh from Oxnard, so I was sort of familiar with it.  I would be on a bike this time, so it would be different.

I could make it to San Diego in three days and I decided on spending two days there, making my trip eight days in total.  Not a bad trip, I thought.

My first night was to be in Durango, CO but the hotels turned out to be too expensive, so I decided on Farmington, NM instead.  The same hotels were much cheaper and this added about one hour to my day, which wasn't bad.  Oh yeah, no camping on this trip.  It's hotels only for this adventurer.

The next thing to decide was gas stops.  My Bonneville has a range of around 130 miles, depending on many things like elevation and how exuberant I get with the throttle.  Over the three days to San Diego and back, I had gas stops planned every 50 to 80 miles.  It may seem excessive to stop this often but I'd rather not push my bike for God knows how many miles until I reach a gas station.

All of this was planned in April and May, which meant the next step was to wait for time to take the trip to come.  I had put in the vacation time for the last week in August.  During the wait, I thought about going to other places, such as Idaho because it would take me through states I had never been before.  I also thought briefly about riding home to Pittsburgh.  San Diego sounded so much better than all of those other plans and so that's where I went.

In the next installment, we'll set off for Farmington, NM and see what sort of adventuring we can find.

Stay tuned!