Day 54 August 16

Into the prairie!

Riding out before dawn to beat the Denver traffic and the heat east of the Rockies, we faced the rising sun on route 70. We have jumped on and off this highway for the last two weeks and it is an amazing lifeline from the West, through middle America, to the East.

After negotiating Denver, we rode with the big boys. We passed tractor trailers from every state, riding small in their shadow, and I was fascinated by their wheels, their logos, their cabs and their cargo. From the mountains on, there is little else to keep your interest.

Colorado bleeds into the prairie and any vestige of mountain majesty disappears in barren flat land, dotted with cattle. A two-faced state, it is difficult to comprehend the disparity between the west and the east.

Following route 40 when it split from the highway was an education in The Plains. Straight onto never, the road occasionally treated us with a small town that had no gas, 2 visible homes and a state champion basketball team. With a graduating class of 12, seven must have played and played well. We passed into Kansas and nothing in the terrain gave us a clue, except a small roadside sign.

Corn. Corn. Corn. The poor quality of the un-irrigated fields told a story of drought. Mile after mile of crops that failed will leave silos empty and farmers struggling to survive. Dust blew up in clouds where tractors attempted to work. Depressing in that it mirrors scenes from eighty years past.

The Fort Wallace Museum was our picnic spot. Absolutely in the middle of nowhere, picnic tables appeared. This fort was one of many in Kansas, built to protect the trails from attack as the country moved West. After lunch we actually toured the museum (what else is there to do in Kansas). The artifacts in this lonely, isolated attempt to maintain history were worthy of the Guggenheim. Newspapers from the assassination of Lincoln; artifacts and letters from the Buffalo Soldiers; insignias and guns from Custer and other generals; life stories of families massacred and children taken by Indians only to escape and tell their tales. It was fascinating, with a slant that gave credence to the Westward Movement and, for a short time, took the onus off us, the interlopers.

Back on the highway, a wicked wind from the west challenged Jules and Magic to the max. Following the yellow dotted road, we skipped toward our goal. Working all day, we still have half of Kansas and half of the country left. "Livin' on a Prayer" played on the radio and with tears, we screamed "Halfway there" to the wind.

Another lesson in America, this state adds a new level of respect to those pioneers who dared to take the trip west. Unpolitical, they were seeking a better life. Unknowingly, they got caught in wars between soldiers and Natives. In sheer bravery and numbers, they travelled through hundreds of miles of wasteland and landed where their hearts lead them.

We too travel through these same paths. Our luxuries are taken for granted. We fly over ground in hours that took days for the pioneers. Dangers are few. We always land where our hearts lead us. Jules and I are forever grateful for the sacrifices made by these unnamed American heroes and heroines. Because of them, we can travel across any part of this country freely. Tonight we sleep where wagons once circled and campfires warded off the night.

Day 53 August 15

This was a day of ups and downs and they weren't all altitude related.

Huddled together, we rode out of Winter Park, fighting the cold. Up Route 40 through Granby, Grand Lake and into Rocky Mt. National Park. Our last ride in Colorado, it epitomized the Rockies and engraved their grandeur in our memories.

The Trail Ridge Road, immaculately maintained, lured us upward. Soon switchbacks took us to the alpine tundra where no trees grew. I have been on this road before, both in car and on motorcycle, but I was so terrified of the height and the drop from the road that I didn't realize the magnitude of the view. Today, steeled by the rides up Pikes and Evans, I relaxed into the moment and was consumed by the Rockies. This place of all gives one the sense of the magnitude of this range. Surrounded by multiple peaks of 12,000 feet and more, weathered and eroded into art created over hundreds of thousands of years, we as riders through this wrinkle in time were insignificant.

Roadwork and dirt roads kept us on the main drag, but it was all good. Out of the park, we followed route 34 through the Big Thompson Canyon. Established as one of our favorite rides a few years ago, we had to revisit it, even though it was in the wrong direction. A small, winding trout stream has over the ages carved a narrow ledged canyon that rises far above the road. Fishermen cast into the water flanked by massive walls, home to big horn sheep. We rode it both ways and each was its own.

Now down route 72, an amazing trip that took us over mountain passes, into valleys with small towns and then up into the rare air again.

But then, suddenly we were in a hot grassy plain. The Rockies were in the rear view mirror and the skyline of Denver loomed before us. The absolute exhilaration of the day crashed down around us as the reality of the city became apparent.

Leaving the Rockies is extremely difficult, but it is more. Symbolic of our entire journey, we are leaving behind the mountains, the oceans, the deserts that we have called home for two months. What we bring with us is immeasurable ... respect of nature, gratitude of the road and love for each other. So tonight we are down - in altitude and attitude. Desert and corn tomorrow.

But all that came before will see us through.

Day 52, August 14

Fall comes early to the Rockies.

We set out in 30 degrees, light frost clinging to the bike. So happy it was clear, the cold didn't bother us and we were warm by 11.

Last night, I read that Pikes Peak is not the tallest paved road - Mt. Evans, near Idaho Springs surpasses it by a few hundred feet. On our ride to Granby today, we took the road less traveled by, so we could conquer an even higher peak. Yes, I stand corrected - we were not peaked out.

Route 24 boxed us in with the Rockies at every turn. Then on to 70, a major highway, the likes of which we usually avoid. But this freeway is different. From Utah and the San Rafael Swell, into the Rockies, four to six lanes speed through constant bombardment of changing scenery. The Eisenhower Tunnel itself is an attraction in its length and the fact that it passes under the Continental Divide. So highway wasn't too bad today.

We turned off 70 at Idaho Springs to climb Mt. Evans. Not an advertised park, it was difficult to find. Route 103 was the gateway and I thought that this climb had to be easier than Pikes because we hadn't heard anything about it. Well ......

On the way to the entrance we picnicked at a secluded table by a cold stream. So many days our stops have been graced by settings that defy description. This one was at the top of the list.

A Ranger met us at the gate and immediately warned us of some road heaves at mile 9 that he called moguls. About 100 yards into the park, the road heaved and split. I knew immediately that this was going to be the ride of our lives. The forest ended about a mile in and the Alpine Tundra began. So poor was the road that chunks of it had fallen onto the switchback below. Ruts, potholes and cracks decorated our route. Each time we turned on ourselves, a car coming wide the other way could have pushed us out onto an eroding edge or into a sinkhole. The moguls that the ranger warned us about were mild in comparison because they were in a valley. Now, Pikes Peak seemed like a Sunday Ride.

Finally at the top, we realized that you had to hike to the summit. As oxygen-deprived as us flat landers are, we opted to take pictures instead. Most amazing of all was the appearance of mountain goats, climbing easily over the rocks and watching those of us who had to take the hard way up, with bemusement.

No big summit sign, no gift shop, no T-shirts. A place on the top of the world that few people choose to visit.... And I think the road stays unimproved for just that reason. Again, knees watery and eyes brimming, I gazed down at the road we had conquered and felt the powerful beauty of my country.

For me, the descent is always easier, because, at least I know what is in store for us. Even though we were often skirting road that disappeared over drop offs of hundreds of feet, we were going down!

To Jules, this was the ultimate challenge - the Black Diamond of motorcycle roads. As I clung to him with sweaty palms, he navigated curves and terrain like none other. I don't think either of us has ever been more alive.

Winter Park tonight. Rocky Mt. National tomorrow. The candle keeps burning brighter.

Day 51 August 13

We peaked out today!

Cold but fueled by anticipation, we rode toward mighty Pikes Peak. At 14,114 feet, it is girdled by one of the highest climbing paved roads in America.

Our disappointment yesterday at not being able to climb the mountain, because of the annual hill climb, blossomed into awe as we witnessed the after effects of the race. Squeal marks at every turn painted us a picture of how fast the pace was and how close drivers came to flying off the road. There was enough rubber laid down to outfit a fleet of tractor trailers. On the way down, we noticed a wreck in the woods. Luckily, we learned, the driver has been released from the hospital.

Our ride may not have been a race, but it was a feat of excellent driving on Jules' part and fear, trembling and euphoria on mine. Moulding myself to Jules' back, we leaned together into never ending switchbacks. Jules called it the motorcycle road that keeps on giving, and that it did. Challenging Jules' driving skill and my psyche at every turn, I thought we would never reach the top. But when we dismounted at the summit, I couldn't tell if I was trembling from anxiety, elation or altitude. Jules maneuvered Magic right up to the summit sign and I posed shakily beside him as proof of our ascent was recorded.

A monument here states that Katherine Lee Bates was so moved by the view from the top of Pikes Peak, that she composed "America the Beautiful" when she returned to Colorado Springs. "Purple Mountain's Majesty" surrounded me and as the awe inspiring experiences we have had on this trip came flooding back, I too was overwhelmed with emotion and unexpected tears washed over the panorama.

Descending the mountain, I relaxed into the curves. Bike, driver and rider swung gracefully into the valley. What a sense of accomplishment we had.

Out of Woodland Park, our focus was directed toward the sky as threatening clouds closed in. At Wilkerson Pass we gave in to rain suits, a wise choice as heavy rain soon assaulted us. In the small town of Hartsel, we sought shelter in the Highline Cafe and Saloon, an entertaining local spot. We celebrated our morning's ride with a lunch of buffalo burger and mountain oysters (yes... they are) plus a Bloody Mary or two. Relatively light rain saw us off as we headed to Leadville, our final destination of the day. We checked in early and rejoiced at being warm and dry.

Leadville, at over 10,000 feet, is the highest incorporated city in the US. Tonight's stay will constitute the greatest altitude in which we have slept. Breathe!!!!!!!!

Tonight we began scheduling our return. I am excited at the prospect of home and family, but feel a sense of loss. I have grown used to the road and will miss it. The constant change of scenery and miracles happening every day have become a way of life. Also, the three of us, Jules, Magic and I, have bonded in ways that only wayfarers on lonely roads can. There are a few more paths to follow, and I will cherish them all.

Day 50 August 12

Independence Day!

Crisp and fresh, our day started out with sun and hummingbirds darting at us as we boarded the bike. The morning menu was a canyon of red rocks that rose above the Crystal River. It's never too early to be assaulted by beauty. We followed 133 along the river and up over mountains until we reached route 82, the gateway to Aspen.

The aura changed immediately. Rusted out pickups were replaced with Porsches and Lamborghini. The only cowboy hats being worn showed no signs of sweat. As we rode into town, Gucci, Burberry and Polo advertised their goods. Not the West we've been used to. We are neither rich enough nor famous enough to stay in Aspen too long. The Independence Pass was the only reason to be here.

A pass over the Rockies like no other, it started out leading us through wild flowered meadows then up worn and eroding switchbacks that may only support one car. This was the second time we had done this on a bike, but on our last climb, it rained all the way and I was terrified. This day's ride was under blue skies with little traffic and much enjoyment. At 12,000 feet, we dismounted to experience the summit.

Down the mountain, we leaned over dropoffs and watched the river and road twirl beneath us. The complexity of this run took Jules and Magic to new heights. I, the proverbial Miss Daisy, went along for the ride, hyperventilating at the sheer falls, and rejoicing at the exhilarating climbs.

At the bottom of the pass, peaceful Twin Lakes was our picnic spot. Under the shadow of the stunning descent, we drank wine and listened to the rattle of grasshoppers.

Our attempt to reach new heights was foiled. We roared east across 24 to tackle the mighty Pike's Peak. Arriving after 2 hours of hard riding, we were disappointed by a ranger telling us that the road was closed because of the annual rally up the mountain, The Race to the Clouds. Sports cars, motorcycles and semis run the mountain all day at speeds that don't seem possible. Now we sit in our room watching the race on the news. The peak was conquered in under 10 minutes with a little snow and rain. Unbelievable. I think we might make the race a destination next year. Tomorrow we will be on the peak, but maybe we won't be racing and I hope there won't be any snow!

There have been times that things haven't happened the way we imagined on this trip, but the beauty of having no plan is that disappointment is short lived because around the next switchback, another electrifying canyon, mountain or river appears and we realize that we are where we are supposed to be.

Day 49 August 11

Two rivers ran through the tale of our ride today.

Into a cold and foggy morning, I huddled behind Jules and watched Route 149, the Silver Thread, unravel. Following the Rio Grande, it matched the dwindling river curve for curve. The mighty river became a narrow stream, essing through the valley. Rising up into the San Juan mountains, we passed through the small town of Creede, Bat Masterson's hometown.

Into the sun, the Rockies did not disappoint us today. Gearing up onto cliffs and forest switchbacks, Magic took us to the sky. We stopped at the source of the Rio Grande, to gaze miles in the distance at the magnificent Rio Grande Pyramid, the source of it all.

After stopping for breakfast in Lake City, we crossed the Continental Divide at Spring Creek Pass and 10,000 feet. Thinking we were headed downward another climb thrilled us as we entered the Gunnison Mountains and began our shadowing of the second river of the day. Magic loved Slumgullion Pass, at 11,500 feet, the most climbing she's done on this trip. To think that we were all impressed with Logan Pass at 6000....

The Blue Mesa Reservoir was our turning point to route 50 which followed the ever changing Gunnison. A swift running stream morphed into a torrent that carved mini canyons. Then it was a calm carved lake. We turned onto 92 for a backward ride on the edge of the Black Canyon. Even better than the first run, this leg of today's journey was the icing on a delicious cake of a day.

The last leg of our journey was over McClure Pass. At a gas stop, a crone of an attendant forewarned us of the dangers on the "deadliest pass in America." Heavy black clouds hung over the road, but all the warnings and omens couldn't make this road a tough one. Too much hype, too few curves.

We are in for the night at Red Stone, a town built on coal, but so small it has only one street. A wedding at the Inn was a big event. An antique carriage carried guests to the park located by our motel. The park was also the setting for a jazz concert that ended at eight, as they rolled up the sidewalks. The Crystal River borders the town and we ate dinner by the water, watching the sun set over the delicious ruby cliffs.


Throughout this trip, after an A+ day, I have often thought that we had topped out on experience. Yet again and again the road, the bike, and the landscape ups the ante. Is there a limit to joy?

Day 48 August 10

A bear visited us last night at the Gold Pan Motel as proven by the trash strewn around the yard. Luckily we took our picnic cooler off the bike or Magic might have been ursine dinner.

Leaving Eagles Nest in our dust, we headed out in 40 degrees and sun to complete the Enchanted Circle. The monotonous sage pave way to lush valleys and green mountains. A huge brown bear sauntered by us in a meadow. The bike carried us upward. Garmin blanks out at 10,000 feet, and we continued to rise well after that. The altitude made itself known in our breathlessness.

Turning west just north of Taos, we headed out 64. The Rio Grande Gorge took more of my breath. Spanned by one of the highest bridges in the US. the river flows over 1000 feet below. Jules held my hand as my shaking knees reluctantly led me out on the overpass. Jules has helped me overcome my innate fear of heights, but it came back as I peered over the railing and heavy trucks shook us in passing.

Early lunch because it looked like the weather was going sour on us. And it did. Shortly after the gorge, the rain caused us to suit up. Then after a few miles of cold clouds, the sun appeared and we began to swelter. Rain suits off!

Through Chama and across the line into Colorado again. At Pagosa Springs we changed direction north. Through Wolf Creek pass it was déjà Vu. Ten thousand feet and more. A twisty convoluted road brought us to the top where Jules picked me a dandelion, amazed that it is only Spring here. With temperatures falling and dark storm clouds gathering, rain suits back on. This time the rain did not stop and it was accompanied by thunder and lightening.

We reached South Fork and waited under a pavilion, but new storms kept popping up everywhere. We made the decision to quit early and stay dry. The road ahead is a great ride and we decided to save it for, hopefully, a sunny tomorrow.

One of the luxuries of having sixty days is that we can pack it in if it's too hot, too rainy, or we're just plain tired. We watched bikers ride by in the pouring rain and realized our good fortune to be warm, dry and together.