After watching the Climb Dance video however many years ago, I have been pretty fascinated by Pikes Peak and its racing heritage. Rally has always occupied a special place in my heart. No driving in circles, no plain-jane straight line racing: just the best driving in the world on the world's most technical courses.
Plastic Sun had dropped by the area earlier to hang out with Neck Tooth. Despite Neck Tooth's best efforts to give the out of state visitor alcohol poisoning, Plastic Sun was still interested in riding with some locals. I guided them along some of the best roads in the area and fed them some exqusietly greasy local cuisine.
I made some noises about a possible trip to Denver and Plastic Sun was more than happy to provide me with a route and a place to stay. I started planning and figuring out what worked and what did not work from my Yellowstone trip (Something Awful archives required). I had saddlebags for this trip, as well as a CUSTOM CHROME- err, metal, gaurds to prevent them from rubbing on the bodywork too much.
With plans made and time off work, I set off early in the morning of Wedensday, the 11th of July.
Day one
I packed the bike up the night before, stuffing my saddlebags and securing items with bungee nets.
My beginning mileage on the bike was 13,070. I set off south, popping into Idaho to hit Spiral Highway, then returned to Washington to zip up Asotin Grade. After that, I took the paved forest service road into Hells Canyon National Recreational Area. From what I gather, the state does not take care of the road and there are signs claiming it's not for professional use. This means no trucks in my lane on blind corners nor tired drivers taking sloppy corners and dragging gravel on the road. Excellent.
Heading down towards Joseph, OR:
This was the largest clearing on the road. It's normally just the road with no room to pull off, just forest on either side:
Before I dropped into the town of Joseph, there were a group of riders heading towards me. They were dressed in usual hot weather gear: shorts, tshirts and sometimes a half or three quarters lid. The guy pulling up the rear of the group was different. He was the typical overweight, hairy cruiser rider wearing a beanie helmet, a pair of shorts and a smile.
I'm still trying to get that image out of my head.
After a few miles in the recreational area, I hit up the overlook for a picture or two:
I came down on to Interstate 84 and zipped east, making good time. Things were going smoothly until someone decided it would be great to have construction block off all eastbound lanes for ten to twenty minutes at a time. So, I was roasting in my black Roadcrafter in 103 degree weather, trying my best not to see if my bike could safely sneak through the construction zone.
My CamelBak was an absolute godsend.
Somewhere along Interstate 84 I came across a beautiful valley. From what I recall, the area was completely devoid of life until some engineering magic shoved the river into the vicinity. I had a tough time getting a good angle of the place before getting some grub, so here's the bridge I rode over:
I continued on to my destination in the southeast corner of Idaho. I ran out of steam a good 40 or 50 miles before the KOA target. I pulled off the freeway near the town of Inkom, ID and found a cozy area just off a farm road:
It was a long day:
I collapsed into my tent and thought of the more great roads to come.
Day two
I start the day off right: break camp, hop back on the road and make miles. I stopped off at the Butch Cassidy Restaurant and Saloon for some heart attack goodness:
I took 30 south to Fossil Butte National Monument. I got off the bike at the visitor's center, next to a new Harley.
Also in the parking lot was someone hauling his SWEET CRUISER, DAWG, with 2.5 cows worth of tassles:
Inside the visitor's center, one of the staff was showing everyone how the fossilized fish were removed from the shale. In this picture he was using a mini air scribe to chip away at the shale around a small fish. He was giving a very engaging spiel to the fellow tourists.
Some of the fish brought out from the shale:
The lake was very peculiar: it only had fish life in the vicinity. Other than a species of turtle or two, fish were the only life around.
I talked with the new, red Harley owner a bit as we both came out of the visitor's center. He road his bike all the way over from Chicago! That's what I'm talking about. We discussed bikes a bit and mentioned his NEW Harley had a leak already. He discovered it in a town with a Harley dealer, so he brought it in. The shop said they would fix it under warrenty, but it would take them several days to pull the entire back part of the bike apart, replace the seal and reinstall everything. The other option was to keep on the fluid level and simply refill it as needed.
The owner purchased several quarts of transmission oil and kept trucking.
We talked about my bike some. He said he had to give long distance riders credit on "crotch rockets." I pointed out it's a standard, not a "crotch rocket" or sport bike. It didn't seem to catch, as when I was pointing out some of my modifications, he said, "highway pegs on a crotch rocket... now I've seen it all!"
... whatever.
I started gearing up and wishing him a safe trip to the northwest corner of Washington, where he was going to look at the rainforest there.
Tootling along, I find the bike running low on fuel and my bladder having the opposite problem. I had seen signs for a place called "Little America" for the past several hundred miles. I figured it would be a good place to stop, empty and fill containers as needed and get some Gatorade in me.
As I roll up into the place, it's enormous. It's one big cement slab in the middle of nowhere with hotel rooms, restaurant, convenience store and truck stop. As I pulled in, several charter buses were disgorging their highschool passengers into the fray. I do my best to avoid them and zip directly towards the convience store with my eyes hunting for a restroom.
For whatever reason, the store was closed and the restrooms blocked off, as well. The clerks pointed me to the truck stop, a couple hundred yards away across the hot pavement. They were doing that to everyone who came in the store, including the herd of highschoolers.
I make it to the truck stop where a huge line of the kids were piling up around the doors. One of the clerks in the truck stop was trying to keep the peace and keep the kids out of the truckers' hair. He wasn't letting anyone in who wasn't a trucker when I walked up. However, with all my riding gear on, stubble on the neck- CHIN, sporting the gait of a man on a mission, the clerk didn't even make eye contact. I promptly storm the facilities only to be ambushed, painfully, just outside the restroom door by a trucker.
"What'cha ridin'?"
I'm starting to loathe that question. Nobody knows what a Honda 599 is. Most of the time people think I'm just stating the bike's displacement. Bah.
I make short work of the interested trucker: "It's a Honda 599, also known as the Honda Hornet, it's a standard not a sports bike, sits more like a dirt bike, it's fun-" and I'm in the bathroom. Sweet, sweet, restroom.
I come outside after getting some water for my CamelBak and Gatorade for me to find a Sky parked next to me. I've never seen one before, so I snap a picture:
I press onwards and get back off the superslab. My destination was Rangely, CO. I went down south through Flaming Gorge Reservoir. Beautiful riding, great scenery.
I come out of the road and get dropped right towards Dinosaur National Monument. I attempted to shell out the $5 or so to get in when the lady at the entrance informed me the main area was closed. Something about structual instability or some other BS. I sadly didn't get a chance to pay out and see a T-rex or whatever they had hidden back there.
I went onwards to Dinosaur, CO. A meal at the Bedrock Cafe, just visible to the left, hit the spot. Homemade bread rolls hit the spot.
I debated getting some ice cream but I had more miles to cover. A state park looked very inviting, so I asked about it. I was informed they had showers and a nice view of a lake. I took off towards Highline Lake State Park.
A wimpy pass along the way:
The road going down was excellent, though. Some of the most beautiful sweepers I have ever seen.
I make it to the state park and it was still light out! That fact gave me plenty of time to marvel over Colorado's high technical (sic) payment system. I used my credit card to pay for my vehicle pass ($4) and camping space ($15). Very quick way to take my money.
I find an unoccupied spot and remedy its vacancy. As I'm unloading my bike, my nose decides it has had enough of this high altitude and high temperature bull and starts bleeding. I haven't had a bloody nose in years, despite having them all the time as a kid, so I was pretty ill prepared for this one. I basically sat on my bench with my gear half unloaded and waited it out.
Of course, the plan and execution weren't the same. As I was bleeding all over the ground, the camp host comes up on his golf cart and starts checking out my paperwork to make sure I paid. I hope he passes on but instead comes over and asks, "How ya doin'?!"
"Bleedin'," I respond.
I show him my vehicle pass with my non-bloody hand and continue fertilizing the grass around me. I try to make it obvious I'm not in a talking moody as a red stream flows from my nose and the host gets the hint.
I rummage through my saddlebags and find my emergency supply of TP. Once liberated, I clean up as much as I can, shove some up my nose and set up camp. Once my gear was safely stowed in the tent, I wandered off to the lake to take pictures, write notes and talk to the GF back home:
So sweaty:
Day two's mileage:
Camping!
Day three
I wake up, shower and strike camp while it's barely light out. Off riding at 7:30 AM or so, local time. Heading east on Interstate 70 for 20 or 40 miles to Glenwood Springs, where I stopped for breakfast and fuel. I caught up with a rider who passed me on the superslab.
This is Steve:
Steve used to live in Frisco, CO and that's where he was heading today. He moved out to California, I believe, and was just back visiting friends. I enquired about his new Kawi 650R. He says he loves it, perfect for these kinds of trips. We wish each other farewell and go our seperate ways.
I snag breakfast down the street and took a picture of the local wildlife as I was getting on the bike:
Keep livin' the dream, bro.
Also, someone had studded tires on. I found this to be very strange as I was pouring out about a liter of sweat an hour:
Heading up to Aspen:
BIKE IS GRUMPY
I get to the top, find the sign and park my bike next to it, promptly ruining a half dozen tourists' photos. One of them still found it in their heart to take my picture for me:
It was flippin' beautiful up there:
Colorado is so thoughtful!
Following Plastic Sun's route he so thoughtfully provided, I hit the next huge pass:
I walked up a trail to get a better view of the pass. Despite riding my bicycle almost thirty miles a week, I was wheezing and out of breath just doing a walk up this trail. In fact, my side was starting to hurt! My poor lungs grew up at sea level, they didn't work too well at 12,000 feet of elevation.
The view was worth it:
*wheeze* *wheeze*
One of the people at the top of the trail take my picture for me. Since they only took one, I made sure to blink for it:
Next on my list was Mount Evans, which boasts the highest paved road in North America. On the way up, the road had terrible frost damage. Here's an artist's rendition of the conditions:
The temp was mercifully cool up there:
Smiling is apparently part of altitude sickness, which I had a mild case of at the top:
There's so many great views on top, it was impossible to capture with my camera.
As I was coming around this bend, I put my riding skills to the test:
A mountain goat was in the apex of the corner, just off the road. I was coming around, keeping tabs on it, when it suddenly didn't like the sound my bike was making and dashed directly in front of me. My instincts took over: straighten, then brake. I executed it perfectly, which was exactly what was required. No guard rails and steep dropoffs mean any errors would result in a gruesome outcome. Best not to think about it.
Back down at the lake:
I give Plastic Sun a ring and get directions to his place in Denver. I show up, park the bike and say my hellos to my very welcoming hosts. We head out to get some grub and alcohol in us. Plastic Sun and his SO were very nice and I was glad to hang out with them. The shower and futon were greatly appreciated. But mostly the shower, it was bloody hot out.
As I attempt to show off my pictures from the trip so far, I find my camera refused to turn on. I reseat everything, try new batteries, everything I could think of. I eventually give it a good "technical tap" with my heel of my palm and then something started rattling around in there. Oops. On the other hand, digital camera have an estimated lifespan of 12 months, from the last three I've owned, and this on had lasted about 18, so it was time to go anyways. Plastic Sun let me borrow his old camera because he's totally awesome.
Day four
Here's Plastic Sun, moving his tank bag from his 650 Dakar to his 1150R. We had a nice slow start that morning.
A full stable!
First on the list is Pikes Peak, my entire reason for the trip. Here's the reservoir well before the summit:
Pikes Peak, baby!
Plastic Sun:
His camera takes pictures a bit quicker than mine does, so here's his front tire:
Now for a batch of pictures from Plastic Sun's awesome camera:
Back tire getting frisky over the washboard:
Victorious!
This shot would be at home in a professional brochure, no doubt. Amazing colors:
Heading back down:
We camp outside of Gunnison, CO after a brief photoshoot/planning session:
Day five
Moving on to Cripple Creek, CO, we stop for food in a gambling. Plastic Sun gets the special crack-Montecristo:
I don't remember taking these, so who knows where we were at:
More foodstuffs, this time at the True Grit Cafe:
Plastic Sun likes his lemonade. No, I mean really likes his lemonade.
Our tostadas were tremendously huge:
The Duke:
Moving on to Molas Pass:
We reach Durango, CO and Plastic Sun finds out he can't make the rest of the tour with me. He splits back east to go home for work the next day, leaving me to head off into the tremendous thunderstorm.
I head fearlessly off into the cauldron of darkness, regularly split by lightning directly above the road. Joy. I head into the storm.
Now, I grew up and learned how to ride in Seattle. I'm not afraid of a little rain, or a lot of rain. However, this Colorado storm was more intense than anything I've even been through before, let alone on a bike. The road instantly accumulated standing water, cars were slowing way down and the rain was being driven by strong winds.
Since I was dressed for the 85 or 90 degree temperatures the rest of the day had in store, I only had a very lightweight shirt on under my Roadcrafter. This mean there was pretty much zero impact protection on the areas the wind and therefore rain hit me. What happened was the rain came hurtling towards me and kept stinging the everyliving crap out of my chest and biceps. I became very intimate with the tankbag in efforts to reduce the area the rain could hit. It worked a bit, but my biceps were still taking an incredible beating.
After twenty minutes of battling these conditions, I emerged on the other side where the sun reigned again. It was blissfully warm.
Pressing on to the next pass, there were three or four riders heading towards the storm in typical Colorado apparel: sunglasses, a bandana around the head and shorts.
I laughed, knowing what they had in store just a mile down the road.
Lizard Head Pass (I think):
141 North from Naturita, CO to Gateway, CO, was the most awe inspiring road I've ever been on. The road was carved out halfway down the canyon and followed each bend and curve. Looking up made your jaw drop in the sheer scale. Looking down had the same effect. Truly amazing country and impossible to capture with the camera.
I keep riding, far into the night, trying to make the state park Plastic Sun had pointed me to. I was riding through deer country at night and my top speed was limited to about 45 MPH. The speed limit was 75 MPH on the interstate, so I felt a bit sluggish, but 45 MPH was as fast as I could go and reasonably recognize and stop for a deer on the road.
Finally, I find a state park outside of Moab, UT. I make a quick stroll around with the bike, see nobody else around and set up camp by the lights of my bike's lights. Bugs swarm around the poor machine. The temperature was still in the high 80s or so and I was constantly sweating. I leave my sleeping bag on the bike and just lay on top of my foam pad.
Day six
Here's my campsite in the morning, before dawn:
I pack up and move out. The scenery was nice when the sun provides light in addition to my bike's lights!
Along the way, I get tempted by a gravel road off to the side for Fisher Towers. I take the road and get a couple nice shots:
Rock!
Here's a shot of some of the better part of the road on the way out:
Arches National Park was next on my list:
Note the three liters of water on the bike. It was bloody hot! My one liter CamelBak was hardly adequate for the heat.
Balancing rock:
Wildlife:
One hot rider, hiking around the desert:
North and South Windows, taken from Turret Arch:
More of me:
Double (Or was it Twin?) Arches:
I took a lot of photos riding out of the park. Most of them didn't turn out how I wanted them to, so here's a couple of the better ones:
After Arches, I zipped north on the superslab, find a place to camp and break out the camping gear. As a personal note, I've found a vast majority of the camping experience comes from having the proper hat.
I passed out on the picnic table waiting for the camp hosts to return so I could buy firewood. When I woke up, it was well past sunset so I just crawled into my tent and slept very well.
Day seven
A nice, easy day. I went 300 miles north to visit a friend in Boise, ID. Here's Andrew, letting me borrow some shoes and socks that aren't soaked with sweat:
We catch a showing of Transformers (awesome), get some Mexican food and hang out playing video games for a bit. A nice, easy day.
Day eight
The home stretch. I'm saddlesore from a few lines in the seat where the plastic under the foam comes to an edges instead of a smooth bend. Oh well, just another 300 miles to home with a comfy computer chair, a shower, bed and the girlfriend. Woohoo!
But first things first, I drive 100 miles out of Boise to get some proper breakfast. Huge sourdough mix pancakes, spicy sausage and two eggs:
I finished everything but about 1/3 of the pancakes. I was about to pop and couldn't eat any more.
After refuelling, I continue north. The winds were becoming viscious. It took a very hefty amount of throttle to keep my speed if a gust hit me head on. This continued all the way in to town. I get everything home in one piece, though:
A few hours after my bike is unloaded, the heavens open up and drop a large amount of rain on the area and the lightning and thunder roll in with fury behind them. Good timing!
The next day at work, I find out northern Idaho had severe storm warnings. Gusts of up to 60 ot 70 MPH with penny sized hail. I suppose I was on the mild side of the front when coming back in to town!
Ending odometer reading:
Total mileage: 3305 miles over eight days of riding. A great unsupported motorcycle trip. I'm looking forward to more!
there are only 2 kinds of bikes: It's a Ninja... look that one's a Harley... oh there's a Ninja... Harley...Ninja...
