Passes & Canyons Blog

Friggs (right) and Bill inspect Friggs’s bike after his crash. Note his jeans and shirt.

We left Ruidoso early to take advantage of the cool and made good time down the mountain, to Alamogordo, and across the White Sands valley to Las Cruces. Then we turned north on I-25. I toyed with proposing to the guys that we go the 36 miles south and cross the border into Mexico, just to do it, but I didn’t. I realized later that none of us had our passports so we couldn’t have done it anyway. Years ago, on the eighth OFMC trip, Bill and John and I crossed into Canada for about an hour, just so we could say we did. Nevertheless, Las Cruces for me was about 1,500 miles south of where I had been in Canada, on a bike, just nine days earlier.

We got off I-25 at Caballo and headed west through Hillsboro on New Mexico 152 to ride “The Snake,” New Mexico’s answer to the “Tail of the Dragon.” But before we even started to climb we ran into a chip seal in progress. We actually waited on the pilot car on a surface that had only been spread with gravel earlier that morning.

The chip seal went all the way to the top of Emory Pass, probably two-thirds of the fun, twisty road we came to ride. The fun quotient was radically reduced. We made the ride slowly and carefully and I was so glad I was on the V-Strom. I can’t imagine how unpleasant it would have been on the Concours.

We stopped at the view area at the top of the pass and then started down the other side on the good, clean asphalt. I was in the lead and a short while later I was not seeing Bill behind me. I slowed and Bill caught up but he had his turn signal on so I pulled over in a good pull-out. He told me he had not seen the others behind him for too long, so we waited there a few minutes for them.

After about five minutes we headed back, fearing we were going to come around a bend and see something we were really hoping not to see. And the further we backtracked the more our apprehension grew.

Finally there was Friggs headed the other way and he gave us the OK signal. We kept going until Dennis and Brett also passed and we turned around. Obviously we were hoping to find them all stopped somewhere waiting for us and we did, in the same pull-out where we had first stopped.

Friggs had crashed. He was OK, a little skinned up with ruined shirt and pants and boots. Probably looking at a very sore shoulder tomorrow. He had been down-shifting as he headed into a curve and in the blink of an eye he was on the ground. He had no idea why. Dennis had been ahead of him and thought he heard a bang. When Friggs did not immediately come around the curve after him he turned right around. As Dennis rounded the curve he saw Frigg’s bike laying in the middle of the road and Friggs dragging himself out of the road.

The two of them tried without success to stand the bike up but a guy in a car stopped and the three of them got it up. This was just when Brett reached the scene after turning back.

So, only cosmetic damage to the bike and nothing significant with Friggs. But what a scare! This is the first time in the 30 years the OFMC has been taking these trips that someone has gone down. Sure, we’ve dropped bikes but we’ve never had a crash.

The rest of the ride in to Silver City was uneventful but oh, man, we sure had a lot to talk about over brews at the end of the road on this day.

Biker Quote for Today

Sometimes adventure isn’t fun while it’s happening — Mark Tuttle

Ride we must.

Leaving Angel Fire, we got an early start to beat the heat, and cruising down New Mexico 434 was sweet with the extremely narrow—barely more than one lane—and very twisty and sometimes amazingly steep sections. But the state is “improving” this road so it may not be so sweet for long. Go ride it soon–it’s a nice road.

We reached Las Vegas (New Mexico) and it was getting warm. A quick jog on I-25, then off on U.S. 84 and just start burning miles. At times, for no discernible reason, the speed limit drops for long stretches from 65 to 55. But all the traffic was screaming past us so we did 70, too.

Lots of drivers were absolutely blasting, passing us and continuing at 90 to 100. And one guy in a big pick-up hauled past us but not in time to get all the way past when another car approached from the other direction. He could have pulled in between two of us but he chose to stay in the oncoming lane and forced the guy coming to swerve onto the shoulder. Insane.

By the time we were getting within 100 miles of the day’s destination, Ruidoso, the temperature was hitting 100. So glad we started riding when the temp was about 60.

At a gas stop at Vaughn we were approached by a group of Christian Motorcyclists Association folks, who were doing their thing and asked to do a blessing of our bikes. I stood off to the side and when one of them approached me I said, “I’m not a Christian.” He said, “That don’t matter,” and I replied, “It does to me.”

We got into Ruidoso and I was leading the group to our hotel and as I came to an angular intersection, on a slope, I had my head turned way, way to the left to look for traffic and just dropped the V-Strom right there. Now, all the guys were there to help me lift it right back up, and there was no damage at all, so it was essentially a non-event. But it was annoying. That’s twice now in just a couple days I’ve dropped that bike. Still, if that’s the worst that happens on this trip I can live with that.

And then we arrived at the Inn of the Mountain Gods, and as we were checking in they brought us complimentary margaritas. On this blazing hot day that was truly a nice touch.

There was no travel the next day. We stayed two nights in Ruidoso and played golf and gambled and I hit the biggest win of my life–$280 on a single 60-cent spin. I’ll take it, thank you. This was the first day in 18 days that I did not get on a motorcycle.

Biker Quote for Today

Some will walk through the Pearly Gates and some will ride.

Getting ready to ride, headed for New Mexico.

Breakfast starts serving at the Lodge at San Isabel at 8 a.m. but we were up before that and mostly packed and ready to ride. As we waited, the four rat bike guys from the day before, with three others, pulled in to the restaurant. Man, did it look strange as they reached down to the left to shift gears by hand. I believe this is what is called the “suicide shift.”

These bikes were old, beaten up, with the tiny peanut gas tanks that must hold about one gallon. Two of the guys had gas cans tied on the rear. A couple of them had car tires on the rear and their front tires looked like they could have come off a mountain bike. And of course the high ape hangers. A very interesting crew.

After breakfast they took off just ahead of us. We continued down Colorado 165 to where we met I-25 at Colorado City and went south. Our destination this day: Angel Fire, New Mexico. South of Raton we left the slab and headed southwest on U.S. 64. This is a long, boring, straight stretch of road but partway along there were three of the rat bikes parked by the road with no one around. The river and trees just off to the side suggested they stopped for a dip. We then saw the rest of those bikes at a restaurant a little further along.

I had been in the lead but Brett got a wild hair and wanted to ride fast for a bit so be blasted past me and shot ahead. It was fortunate for him that he didn’t do so for too long because very soon after he slowed down we passed a state patrol car waiting for him.

Finally reaching Cimarron Canyon and starting to climb there were signs warning of post forest fire flooding potential. And oh yes, they had had a fire in that canyon, and not long ago. Sad.

After lunch in Eagle Nest we ran the last few miles to Angel Fire and settled into our motel, following a pretty short day’s ride. Now what? Checking around, we found there’s pretty much nothing to do in Angel Fire. Oh well, we have a long ride tomorrow. Just kick back and relax.

Biker Quote for Today

You only live once; don’t leave it covered in the garage.

It was very annoying to drop my bike while loading the bags on.

I had the V-Strom parked out on the driveway and was maneuvering the left side bag into position on the two pegs when a simple nudge of the bag sent the bike toppling over the other way. Was the loaded, already-mounted right side bag enough weight to destabilize the bike like that? I guess I’ll mount the left bag first from now on.

The main damage was busting the right turn signal but it still worked, so with duct tape it was back to OK.

So after getting home yesterday from the 3,300-mile Canada trip, I left today on the OFMC trip. Bill and Friggs and Dennis left early but Brett works and had to leave later so I arranged to go with him. Our first night destination: Lake San Isabel and the Lodge at San Isabel.

Brett and I got on I-25 to blast (as much as possible) down to Colorado Springs to catch Colorado 115 to Penrose, then Colorado 67 and Colorado 165 on down. Of course, for much of the way on I-25 there was no blasting, just the perpetual traffic jam that defines that highway.

Exiting the slab, we got turned around a bit but thanks to GPS got righted quickly. Heading south from Florence on 67 we hit major wind, with a couple gusts threatening to push me into the opposite lane. Yow!

Up to this point we had been very hot. Now, however, the sky threatened rain, a few drops fell, and the temperature dropped more than 30 degrees. We were cold!

Turning off at 165 for the final leg we pulled over to add layers. There were four guys on some old rat bike Harleys stopped there doing the same thing. We would see more of them later.

The rest of the ride was uneventful but when we met up with the rest of the group we soon heard what happened to them at that junction where we stopped. Seems Friggs was riding third and lagging behind, as is his wont, and a car got ahead of him, plus he got pretty far behind. Now Bill had explained a couple times what roads to turn on, so when he and Dennis got to 165 they stopped for Friggs to catch up.

But Friggs was doing his Mr. Oblivious thing. He blasted right past the junction, past Bill and Dennis sitting right on the highway such that a car coming the other way might have hit them. Bill took off in pursuit but it was right about this time that Friggs figured he ought to speed up a bit and catch up. Which left Bill racing at what he considered dangerous speeds on this twisty road, trying to catch Friggs.

All did end well but Bill was a bit angry with his clueless brother.

Biker Quote for Today

Up with the sun, gone with the wind.

Lane splitting and filtering as practiced in Paris.

Three times over two days recently I observed some interesting people on motorcycles.

I was up in the hills and had no intention of coming down on I-70 but a wrong turn left me doing exactly that. I was in no hurry and so I kept to the right lane, where I got passed by a couple guys in a bigger hurry than me. They were something to see.

These two guys were obviously traveling because their bikes–Harleys or something similar–were totally loaded with gear. But I’m not talking big bags on the sides and a big top bag. No, they had all their individual items bungeed on all over the back ends of their bikes. And they had a lot of gear.

They were barreling along the interstate and neither of them had a riding jacket on. Both were wearing sleeveless t-shirts, although they were wearing helmets. And on top of each helmet was a GoPro camera.

Yeah, they were an interesting sight.

Further along the way home on this same ride, I was coming east through town on Hampden and it was rush hour. Or crawl hour, more appropriately. I was aware of the traffic around me so it was with some surprise that I glanced in the mirror at one point to see there was another bike right behind me in my lane. Where did that guy come from?

I barely had time to wonder if perhaps he lane-split his way up behind me when the traffic came to a complete stop and he blasted on ahead, going up the middle. Question answered. Lane-splitting is not legal in Colorado but that obviously did not bother him.

Then the next day I was once again on Hampden, this time headed east near Kennedy Golf Course, when I came to a stop at a red light. In front in the left-hand lane was a guy on a sportbike. A big pick-up was in front of me, first in line, and to our right a small orange pick-up, with a riding lawnmower in the bed, pulled up first in line.

But this was no ordinary pick-up. This one had no hood because the engine stood up about a foot above where the hood would have been. And this guy was revving his engine, clearly planning to blast away as soon as the light changed.

The light did change and whether there had been some communication between them or what, both the bike and the orange pick-up rocketed away. Most likely, the biker decided it would be fun to shut down this orange guy, whose intentions were clear.

I quickly lost sight of them both because of the guy in front of me, but as we neared Havana, where the road curves hard to the left, I caught sight of the bike going about 70, screaming around the curve with no orange guy anywhere to be seen. I’d say the biker definitely shut down that orange guy. Just having fun, you know.

Biker Quote for Today

If you can park it and not turn around to admire it before walking away you bought the wrong one.

Canada is not the U.S., as details will remind you every now and then.

This seems like a good time to share some thoughts I’ve had about riding motorcycles in Canada, vs. riding in the U.S., where I normally find myself. I just finished telling about our two-week trip to British Columbia and Alberta and there were definitely some things that struck me on that trip.

First off, of course, is the fact that they measure distances up there in kilometers rather than miles. This is something you have to keep in mind as you read road signs. Else, you’re going to say to yourself, “Dang, another 80 miles to (wherever)” and then you’ll be amazed just 20 minutes later when another sign says “(wherever) 50”–you know you weren’t cruising at 90 mph.

But that sort of thing actually doesn’t happen too frequently. That’s because the Canadians do not sprinkle road signs as liberally across the landscape as we do. As far as I can make out, they put a distance sign out there only when the road you are on has intersected another highway, and they’re informing the folks newly turned onto this road how far things are. And if you don’t intersect any other highways you can go 90 miles or more with no sign at all. You start wondering how much further it is but they’re not about to tell you. You need to look at your odometer when you see a sign, do a quick calculation, and then try to remember what that odo reading should be when you get there.

Also, they don’t have mile/kilometer markers. You might figure, well, it was 50 kilometers away when we were at marker 164 and now we’re at marker 184. So you would know how far you’ve gone. But no, no markers.

And then, even if you do keep in mind that they’re talking kilometers, you have to translate your mph speed into km/h. Most speedometers do have both km and mph displays but one thing I learned about my Concours is that while mph is easily readable in white lettering, km/h is in a shade of blue that is absolutely invisible unless the light is hitting the console from exactly the right angle. By the time I finally figured out that I ought to take a good look at some point and memorize what, for instance, 80km/h is in mph, we were already back in the U.S. Next time.

Another difference is that Canadians measure gasoline (do they call it petrol?) in liters, not gallons. The first time you see a gas station sign listing the going price as $1.47 you’re inclined to wonder how the price can be that low. Then you realize it’s liters, and there are nearly four liters in a gallon, so the price is really close to $5.50 for one gallon of gas. Ouch!

Biker Quote for Today

Sometimes I ride to forget, but I never forget to ride.