Sunday, July 26, 2009
Estes Park CO
It had rained Saturday night so we decided to sleep in until around 8:30 or so on Sunday to let things dry out a bit. An amusing breakfast of huevos rancheros served with flour tortillas instead of corn, and we headed back to Bills Hacienda by the river to determine the days riding itinerary. One of the thoughts was to ride up the Old Fall River Road again, Gary really liked that ride other than the auto traffic, and Bill and I would have liked to get another picture of the bikes at the top to complement the two from ’07 and ’08. Mother Nature seemed to be hinting us in the other direction this Sunday morning however, as the skies over the continental divide did not look inviting. The more appealing heading was towards the Cache La Poudre River and Stove Prairie Road. When riding Stove Prairie in the past, there was a dirt road that broke off towards the southwest that Bill and I had always wanted to take. The Honda was simply not up to the task, so this venture had always been forgone. Not this time. As the Goddess of the Earth was directing us away from the park and it’s pavement, we decided to heed her advice and explore this pathway built of more natural materials. When we got back to the house Gary had decided that after 7 solid days of riding, and a 800 – 900 mile ride planned for the ride home tomorrow, that he was going to forego today’s ride and sit back and enjoy the surroundings of Bills house. I can’t say I blame him. I have been to Bills several times, and have had plenty of opportunities drink a few beers, kick back on the porch, hang out by the river, and just enjoy something we do not get a lot of chances to do living in an urban outcropping of streets, buildings, and concrete.
The ride started off great, what better way to get to a riding location than to burn up the twisting, curling, hairpin turns of Stove Prairie Road. The road that broke off was Pennock Pass, it was mostly grated gravel, but was very scenic. Nothing a car could not drive on and nothing GS could not travel comfortably at 30 to 40 MPH (easily faster if you wanted to). We kept finding all of these trails that would break off of the main road and head up the mountain, we took off on one of them only to find that it was the entrance to a ranch, so around we turned. At on point, we saw a dirt bike coming back down one of the trails; we summoned him over to converse for a moment. He said it climbed for about 7 miles and then came back down. We asked if we could take our GS’s up the road and he said “sure, why not”. That is one thing I find that is quite subjective. Until you ride it yourself, you really do not know to trust what someone is telling you or not. If they tell you no, it is to rough for a 500 lb motorcycle and then you merrily make your way up the mountain, they fear you will think they are a wimp. If they tell you, sure you can take that bike up there, they are insinuating that “they” could do it, because “they are a bad-ass”. It’s still good to ask, but you just have to realize that the info you get is relative. As this particular road goes, the guy said that it was not really a jeep trail, by that I assume he meant that it was because it was so narrow. It was a very fun trail. More difficult than Last Dollar, not as difficult as Crystal River, and probably just a tad bit easier than Pierson Park. It seemed to have a little more sand with some rocks mixed in, and several more whoops as it climbed through the trees at a pretty decent incline. There were a few narrow switchbacks, the nemesis of the 1200… but I seem to manage them all right as long as I took them wide and kept my momentum up. I was handling the trail really well, and Bill was following behind me about 50 or so yards behind. As I was climbing a steep part of the trail, up ahead it appeared that the trail was shifting to the left, there was a rocky wash in the center of the track, so I shifted to the right side to approach the left turn at a good angle. When I got to the turn, to my sudden realization the trail bore quickly to the right across an outcropping of waist high boulders. The boulder outcropping was not an obstacle that couldn’t have been easily overcome; it could have been fairly easily avoided by maneuvering to the left. However the approach would have had to been made from the left side of the trail, not the right – and I of course was on the right. By the time I saw this devilish outcropping, I did not have time to make a judgment call. I was already fairly hard on the throttle, so I picked a spot I thought was the path of least resistance and gassed it. You could see the two-foot long tire mark in the dirt where I hit the throttle, evidence that led to my demise. I am quickly learning that this big GS is a pretty amazing bike, but I guess there are just some things that it is not meant to do unless it is being piloted by the likes of Jeremy McGrath. Crossing a waist high boulder field is probably something this bike was not designed to do under a rider of my skill level, not yet anyway… As I momentarily lay there under my 500 lb dirt bike, Bill came riding up, thinking exactly the same thing I did, that the trail went to the left, he went to the left, saw me laying there, tried to stop suddenly and put his foot down. When he did he fell victim to the age old “no ground under the foot” syndrome, and down went the 650. His first drop, laughing the whole time – a virgin no more. No damage to the 650 and damage to the 1200 was minimal, a broken hand guard, and a loosened side view mirror (very cleverly designed by BMW by the way). Mirror easily fixed, and hand guard easily removed on the trail. Trail repairs/removals were made among evidence of prior mishaps, judging by all the bits of broken glass and plastic embedded in the ground and dirt at that particular corner. Afterward, we made our way back towards Pennock Pass as it looked like the afternoon showers were starting to threaten to make their appearance. After getting back on the main road, we finally hit the pass itself. I have to say that Pennock Pass is a really fun dirt/gravel road, not in the off-road trail riding sense, but more of an off-road race type sense. The road is an auto road for certain, but it has a rather steep grade over several switchbacks, under the guard of giant pine trees that refuse to change seasons because they are in the constant view of the Never Summer Mountains. You can race up these steep inclines only to slow down on the gravely switch backs to shift your way through the gears again in the straight-a-ways to the next switchback, all the way to the summit at around 9,200 ft (have to check the GPS for the exact elevation). The road reminded me a lot of Old Fall River, only without all of the traffic.
After the Pass, we turned right to go the 12 miles to the Poudre Canyon as opposed to the 4 miles left to Pingree Park. Once we hit Hwy 14 more fun was to be had. I had rafted the Cache La Poudre a few times before, but have never been this far up river. THIS is the part of the river we needed to be rafting, the Poudre River in what they call the Lower Narrows is magnificent, it squeezes into canyons that are a kayakers paradise and then broadens into breadths that are a fly fisherman’s wet dream. All of this on a road that convertibles, motorcycles, and bicyclist call home to tell mama about. And we saw them all, I believe the Colorado State motto is “Nothing Without Deity”, but they need to change it to “Outdoorsman’s Paradise”
But wait, it’s not over yet… As we exited Pennock Pass in the Poudre Canyon well above Stove Prairie, we got to ride Stove Prairie back to 34, and then the canyon back to Bill’s house. I won’t continue about S.P any longer, I think by now you get the drift, however the ride up the canyon was rather interesting. Bill knows this canyon; he drives it twice a day, to and from work. There were a couple of Harleys in front of us, nothing against Harleys, but they tend to be a little slow – enjoying the scenery. We thought the two we together and as a passing lane approached we passed one, but the other decided he was going not going to be passed and gave it some throttle. I have to say he was moving pretty good for a Harley. He looked like “The Gentleman” from the movie “Hell Ride”, jacket open and flying, arms up, but this bike was shaking in the corners as he was trying to stay ahead of Bill. It probably did not help matters much that I was standing on my pegs the whole time as we winded our way through the canyon, but after about 150 miles of riding, probably 70 of it on dirt, I had to stretch and the canyon was a perfect place to do that. Eventually we passed The Gentleman and continued our way back to Bills, a last day of Estes Park area under our belts. By this time Bill had 601 miles on his new GS, time for the 600 mile service and ½ of those miles off-pavement. A perfect way to break in a brand new GS.
Monday July 27, 2009
Estes Park, CO – Plano, TX / McKinney, TX
I’m not sure what constitutes an “iron butt” ride. I think technically it is supposed to be 1,000 miles in a single day. We did not do that, but anybody can get on an interstate and burn up 1,000 miles in a single day fairly easily. We did 865 miles in 16 hours, but they were miles with a purpose, they were miles planned out not with the intent of burning up miles, but with the intent of getting from point A to point B. The route was chosen based on past experience as the most scenic, yet most direct route that allowed us to bypass rush hour traffic in any of the major cities we had to travel through. I had made this route several times before, but never in a single day. On past rides I had always stopped in Childress TX, about 650 miles or so from Estes Park. Our original intent had been to do the same, stop somewhere along the way and arrive home, today – Tuesday July 28, 2009, some time before noon. A few days ago, Gary had proposed we ride straight through. Based on making the ride in past years I knew I could have easily made Wichita Falls, another 100 miles or so past Childress, but figured if I did that I may as well just go all the way home since Wichita Falls is only a couple of hours from home. So I always just stopped in Childress and made an easy ride home the next day. Gary proposed riding straight through for a couple of reasons. One, his wife needed to go to work the following day, so he kind of needed to get home on Monday instead of Tuesday, and 2, for the adventure of it. I’m always up for the adventure part of it, and I was ready to beat my record of 650 miles so the decision was chipped away in stone. We sat up Sunday night watching Jesse James bust his ass trying to ride a KTM across the desert, packed up the bikes and said our goodbyes to Bill (he wasn’t getting up that damn early to run down the street waving us bon voyage…). 5:00 rolled around as early as it had the entire trip, and we had the Beemers fired up and rolling down the crushed granite driveway at 5:15 sharp. The ride down the mountain road of hwy 36 in the early morning light was a very crisp 42 degrees. We made our way along 36 through Boulder to Table Mesa where we picked up 93/6 until we hit C470 to I-25. We did not stop until we got onto I-25, where we stopped at a Starbucks for some coffee and a quick breakfast. We made really good time on I-25, running at speeds that were likely exceeding the limits as the officer parked on the side of the road was seemingly indicating as he tapped his brake lights when I flew past. I heeded his advice for a while, and we continued our way to Raton. Nourishment guised as lunch was consumed in Raton at around 10:30 Mountain Time, or 11:30 CDT, and we were back on the road by noon Dallas time. Again we were making good time, each year when making this ride I am like a machine, a man on a mission, focused on a goal – eye on the prize. This year was no different, only that there were two machines and two eyes on the prize.
Some times I wonder why Amarillo is not a rain forest. It seems that every year, every time I ride through Amarillo on may way to Colorado, or my way from Colorado, it rains somewhere around Amarillo. This year was no different, nor did I really expect it to be. I think I am just going to install a rain suit app to my GPS, and when I get in the vicinity of Amarillo, it will automatically pull my rain suit out and dress me in it. Native American Indian Organizations should consider changing the name of their rain dance rituals to the Amarillo Dance, if they moved the Sahara Desert to Amarillo, it would be called Brazil. I have to admit that this years offering was rather weak by the time it hit us, but it rained in Amarillo nonetheless.
One of the things I was attempting as we made our way through Amarillo was to make it from Dalhart to Childress on a single tank of gas. I have not had my 1200 long enough to get a real good feel for the gas mileage. My 650 was a piece of cake. I could figure an easy 70MPG at 70MPH; to be safe I figured 50MPG when running around 80+MPH. I more or less figured I could get about 200 miles out of a tank on my 1200, but I cannot remember if I “completely” topped of the tank in Dalhart. And at 187 miles, 6.2 miles from gas in Childress, the engine died. Damnit. I had just passed a gas station about 20 miles earlier in Memphis and thought; maybe I should just stop here and play it safe. But we were determined to see how far I could go on a tank, and as Agent 86 would say; “missed it by that much”. Gary rode the 6.2 miles up the rode to the gas station, and came back with a little over a gallon. In the mean time, I sat by the side of the road and tried taking pictures of my bike, dragging the shutter as big semis drove by. When Gary got back we put the gallon in the tank, rode into town and filled up. We thought about eating in Childress, but decided to beat our way on to Wichita Falls, knowing we would have to stop for gas at least one more time before home and figured we could kill two birds with one stone. By my calculations, if we could keep our last stop to less than 30 minutes, we could be home by 10 PM. So off we went into the waning sunlight. We stopped at an Arbys in Wichita Falls, but there was not a convenient place to get gas, so we pushed on another 40 miles or so. The last stop, was the last 100 miles to home, and was probably the most precarious of the ride. When we got onto the highway from the gas stop, a truck was barreling down on us, not a big deal, we just gassed the engines, then immediately afterward another truck in the right lane had a blow-out - bits and pieces of the giant tire flying everywhere, all of this in the dying light of the day under an increasingly cloudy sky. By the time we made it to Hwy 380 in Decatur, it had started to rain. Gary had been talking to his wife Rachel several times throughout the day, and each time she had said it was still raining in McKinney. We kept looking at the weather on Gary’s iPhone, but thought the rain would be moving as we were riding, apparently the Amarillo Dance was working quite well in McKinney and vicinity as the rain stuck around to welcome us home. In Wichita Falls, we thought we might run in to spotty showers, so we both slipped on our rain jackets, did not bother with the full gear, as we did not think we would need it. This would have been a big mistake if we were still going to be on the road, and we probably would have stopped and put on the full gear if we were still going be traveling a few more days, but as we were on the very last leg of our epic ride, home awaited and so did dry clothes and washing machines. So onward we pushed. As any last leg of a long trip goes, this last 60 miles of 380 seemed to never end. While our speeds really did not decreases that much, the torrential rains did not seem to make the time pass and quicker, and the stop and go traffic of Denton did not wile away the hourglass either. At the intersection of 287 and 380, Gary and I gave each other a high five and said “good ride”, when we approached the intersection of the Dallas North Tollway where I would turn south and Gary would continue west, we honked, waved and made the last 10 or so miles on our own. I pulled into my garage in Plano at 10:15 PM, exactly 16 hours after pulling out of Bill’s garage in Estes Park. 865 miles collect by the 1200 cc’s of the big boxer engine that day. Another great ride to Colorado, and more great memories stored in my mind and on the flash drive of mine and Gary’s camera cards. I’m already looking forward to next year.
Estes Park, CO – Plano, TX / McKinney, TX
I’m not sure what constitutes an “iron butt” ride. I think technically it is supposed to be 1,000 miles in a single day. We did not do that, but anybody can get on an interstate and burn up 1,000 miles in a single day fairly easily. We did 865 miles in 16 hours, but they were miles with a purpose, they were miles planned out not with the intent of burning up miles, but with the intent of getting from point A to point B. The route was chosen based on past experience as the most scenic, yet most direct route that allowed us to bypass rush hour traffic in any of the major cities we had to travel through. I had made this route several times before, but never in a single day. On past rides I had always stopped in Childress TX, about 650 miles or so from Estes Park. Our original intent had been to do the same, stop somewhere along the way and arrive home, today – Tuesday July 28, 2009, some time before noon. A few days ago, Gary had proposed we ride straight through. Based on making the ride in past years I knew I could have easily made Wichita Falls, another 100 miles or so past Childress, but figured if I did that I may as well just go all the way home since Wichita Falls is only a couple of hours from home. So I always just stopped in Childress and made an easy ride home the next day. Gary proposed riding straight through for a couple of reasons. One, his wife needed to go to work the following day, so he kind of needed to get home on Monday instead of Tuesday, and 2, for the adventure of it. I’m always up for the adventure part of it, and I was ready to beat my record of 650 miles so the decision was chipped away in stone. We sat up Sunday night watching Jesse James bust his ass trying to ride a KTM across the desert, packed up the bikes and said our goodbyes to Bill (he wasn’t getting up that damn early to run down the street waving us bon voyage…). 5:00 rolled around as early as it had the entire trip, and we had the Beemers fired up and rolling down the crushed granite driveway at 5:15 sharp. The ride down the mountain road of hwy 36 in the early morning light was a very crisp 42 degrees. We made our way along 36 through Boulder to Table Mesa where we picked up 93/6 until we hit C470 to I-25. We did not stop until we got onto I-25, where we stopped at a Starbucks for some coffee and a quick breakfast. We made really good time on I-25, running at speeds that were likely exceeding the limits as the officer parked on the side of the road was seemingly indicating as he tapped his brake lights when I flew past. I heeded his advice for a while, and we continued our way to Raton. Nourishment guised as lunch was consumed in Raton at around 10:30 Mountain Time, or 11:30 CDT, and we were back on the road by noon Dallas time. Again we were making good time, each year when making this ride I am like a machine, a man on a mission, focused on a goal – eye on the prize. This year was no different, only that there were two machines and two eyes on the prize.
Some times I wonder why Amarillo is not a rain forest. It seems that every year, every time I ride through Amarillo on may way to Colorado, or my way from Colorado, it rains somewhere around Amarillo. This year was no different, nor did I really expect it to be. I think I am just going to install a rain suit app to my GPS, and when I get in the vicinity of Amarillo, it will automatically pull my rain suit out and dress me in it. Native American Indian Organizations should consider changing the name of their rain dance rituals to the Amarillo Dance, if they moved the Sahara Desert to Amarillo, it would be called Brazil. I have to admit that this years offering was rather weak by the time it hit us, but it rained in Amarillo nonetheless.
One of the things I was attempting as we made our way through Amarillo was to make it from Dalhart to Childress on a single tank of gas. I have not had my 1200 long enough to get a real good feel for the gas mileage. My 650 was a piece of cake. I could figure an easy 70MPG at 70MPH; to be safe I figured 50MPG when running around 80+MPH. I more or less figured I could get about 200 miles out of a tank on my 1200, but I cannot remember if I “completely” topped of the tank in Dalhart. And at 187 miles, 6.2 miles from gas in Childress, the engine died. Damnit. I had just passed a gas station about 20 miles earlier in Memphis and thought; maybe I should just stop here and play it safe. But we were determined to see how far I could go on a tank, and as Agent 86 would say; “missed it by that much”. Gary rode the 6.2 miles up the rode to the gas station, and came back with a little over a gallon. In the mean time, I sat by the side of the road and tried taking pictures of my bike, dragging the shutter as big semis drove by. When Gary got back we put the gallon in the tank, rode into town and filled up. We thought about eating in Childress, but decided to beat our way on to Wichita Falls, knowing we would have to stop for gas at least one more time before home and figured we could kill two birds with one stone. By my calculations, if we could keep our last stop to less than 30 minutes, we could be home by 10 PM. So off we went into the waning sunlight. We stopped at an Arbys in Wichita Falls, but there was not a convenient place to get gas, so we pushed on another 40 miles or so. The last stop, was the last 100 miles to home, and was probably the most precarious of the ride. When we got onto the highway from the gas stop, a truck was barreling down on us, not a big deal, we just gassed the engines, then immediately afterward another truck in the right lane had a blow-out - bits and pieces of the giant tire flying everywhere, all of this in the dying light of the day under an increasingly cloudy sky. By the time we made it to Hwy 380 in Decatur, it had started to rain. Gary had been talking to his wife Rachel several times throughout the day, and each time she had said it was still raining in McKinney. We kept looking at the weather on Gary’s iPhone, but thought the rain would be moving as we were riding, apparently the Amarillo Dance was working quite well in McKinney and vicinity as the rain stuck around to welcome us home. In Wichita Falls, we thought we might run in to spotty showers, so we both slipped on our rain jackets, did not bother with the full gear, as we did not think we would need it. This would have been a big mistake if we were still going to be on the road, and we probably would have stopped and put on the full gear if we were still going be traveling a few more days, but as we were on the very last leg of our epic ride, home awaited and so did dry clothes and washing machines. So onward we pushed. As any last leg of a long trip goes, this last 60 miles of 380 seemed to never end. While our speeds really did not decreases that much, the torrential rains did not seem to make the time pass and quicker, and the stop and go traffic of Denton did not wile away the hourglass either. At the intersection of 287 and 380, Gary and I gave each other a high five and said “good ride”, when we approached the intersection of the Dallas North Tollway where I would turn south and Gary would continue west, we honked, waved and made the last 10 or so miles on our own. I pulled into my garage in Plano at 10:15 PM, exactly 16 hours after pulling out of Bill’s garage in Estes Park. 865 miles collect by the 1200 cc’s of the big boxer engine that day. Another great ride to Colorado, and more great memories stored in my mind and on the flash drive of mine and Gary’s camera cards. I’m already looking forward to next year.
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