Passes & Canyons Blog

Taking a break at the Flaming Gorge.

The OFMC, at this point consisting of Bill, Dennis, and me, took off on our yearly trip two Fridays ago, planning a longer trip than usual and thus an extra day to do the extra miles.

We headed out from Golden up Clear Creek Canyon, got on I-70 near Idaho Springs, and continued west on the slab. I was on my Kawasaki Concours, Bill on his Harley, and Dennis on his BMW. An uneventful ride to Vail, where we stopped for lunch at McDonald’s. That raised a question: Why does a place like that send a guy to clean the bathrooms during the lunch rush? Wouldn’t his efforts be more useful on the line at that point, and you know of all those customers there have to be quite a few wishing to use the restroom. Do these people ever think about these things?

Glenwood Canyon seemed especially beautiful in this very green summer. At Rifle we got gas, then turned north to Meeker. We got behind a truck and at a clear spot with no oncoming traffic I figured Bill would pass but there was a double yellow line and he didn’t. Then there was a dense stream of oncoming traffic and I was sure we were coming to construction. We did, but got there just as the tail end of the line started moving, so we didn’t have to stop. It was quite a few miles of gravel and dirt, and slow going.

We got to Meeker and typically for Bill, he rolled right past the motel. Dennis and I did not. My mantra on these trips is “never let Bill lead” but on a straight shot like this he could hardly go wrong . . . until he did.

Bill has friends who now live in Meeker and they said there were “doin’s” in the town park, come on down for free food and music. So we did. Bill and Dagney seemed quite nice and agreed to ride with us the next day to breakfast in Rangeley. They showed up the next morning on their Harleys and we had a really nice early morning cruise.

The place we went for breakfast turned out to have one cook and one waitress/cashier/drink preparer and the place was packed. It was 45 minutes before she was able to bring us water and ask for our orders. Everyone knows at this point how hard it is to get people to hire. We finally rolled out of there about 11 a.m.

We picked up US 40 at Dinosaur and went west to Vernal, Utah. Hot as blazes. It got a bit cooler as we gained elevation heading north toward the Flaming Gorge. That’s always a nice ride. Got a late lunch at Mountainview, Wyoming, passed under I-80, and rode another 45 minutes to Kemmerer, our stop for the night.

We learned from our waitress at dinner that there was a bluegrass festival going on in town that whole weekend, including right at that moment, but we were at a place just south of town and none of us was inclined to ride into town. Too bad, it would have been fun. Instead we spent a long time talking with a guy from Texas who had ridden his Harley-Davidson Pan America up to the Arctic Circle in Canada, then did a circuit through Alaska, and was now headed back home. Some people are more hard-core than us.

Biker Quote for Today

You know you’re a biker when you can identify bugs by taste.

Getting loaded up for a tow to Georgetown.

This story just came to a close about 15 minutes ago, although the broader story is still ongoing.

Yesterday we were coming home from a 10-day ride, 2,400-mile through Wyoming, Montana, Idaho, Nevada, and Utah and back to Colorado. We left Grand Junction about 8:45 a.m., taking I-70 all the way, and I was looking forward to being home about 1 p.m. Ha! I finally made it home last night at 10 p.m.

We figured leaving Junction when we did we would beat the really bad traffic down the mountain that you always get on Sunday. Ha! We started getting into heavy traffic at about Vail. Still, we kept moving at good speed. We stopped for gas and lunch at Frisco, then got back on the highway and traffic was no longer clipping along. Down to Silverthorne and starting up toward the Eisenhower Tunnel it was traffic like you expect to see on a Sunday at maybe 3 p.m., and it was only 11:30.

Laboriously, clutch-hand-killingly, we inched our way toward the tunnel. There are three traffic lanes going up and there is an emergency vehicle lane on the right and I was eyeing that really wanting to do it. If any other bike had come along up that lane I would have gotten right in behind them, but none did.

Suddenly, about half a mile from the tunnel, vapor started rising from my engine and I could smell coolant. Oh crap. I pulled my Kawasaki Concours over into the emergency lane and parked. Getting off the bike I could see coolant dripping onto the ground. Damn!

I belong to the American Motorcyclist Association and am signed up for their roadside assistance program so I immediately called. Yes, the bike is off the road and yes I’m in a safe spot. Fine, they’ll text me when a tow truck is dispatched for me. Fortunately, after all this ungodly hot weather it was cool up there, and in fact while I waited I added an extra layer to stay warm. Vastly better than baking out somewhere with no shade.

While I sat there a few bikes passed in among the rest of the traffic but three bikes individually cruised by in the emergency vehicle lane. I knew I should have done that.

Nearly two hours later I hadn’t even received a text and a tow truck driver pulled up and asked if I wanted a ride. Probably, I told him, but let me check with my service provider. The lady at AMA roadside assistance said yes, do it, especially since it was now starting to rain and there was lightning all around. File for reimbursement later.

This guy was a total character. He was an “emergency vehicle” so he used that status to his advantage to the hilt. He took routes you and I don’t even know exist. When he needed to get back into regular traffic he informed the cars on the road that he was coming–he did not ask.

We talked about where to go. I had figured it just made the most sense to haul the bike all the way to my house. He told me that would cost more than $1,000. For $350 he could take me to Georgetown, to the visitor center right there by the exit. Fine, let’s do that. Then as we cruised along he suggested that for a tip he could take me on to the Evergreen Walmart. Why would I want to go there? That’s way out of the way. No, he said, it’s right off the interstate. It’s at the Chief Hosa exit. How much for a tip? $100. I don’t think fast on my feet and just said no, Georgetown will be fine. Wrong choice!

At Georgetown I again called AMA and put in a new service request. This time I got a text almost instantly that Scorpion Towing, out of Idaho Springs, had the order and would be there in 90-120 minutes. A not unexpected time frame.

At the stroke of 120 minutes I got a text from AMA asking if he had arrived or otherwise contacted me. I said no. I immediately got a call from an agent who said she would reassign the order. After sitting on hold for a long time she came back on and said she was having trouble finding someone to do the tow and we would hang up and I would receive a text when a provider was assigned.

At the stroke of three hours I got another text asking me if I was still waiting. I said yes. Call the tow company or call us back, was the directive. I called the tow company but all I got was a message saying “if you’re calling about arrival time just wait and we’ll let you know when someone is on their way.” Oh, that’s encouraging.

Another hour passed and I called AMA again. Now the woman (a different person each time I called) told me it was time to take a different approach. Quite simply, she said, they were not going to be able to get anyone out to me today. But they could schedule a pick-up for 8 a.m. the next morning. OK, I said, I’ll call my wife in Denver to come get me in Georgetown. As long as the fork was not locked and the bike could be put in neutral I would not have to be there. Fine. I called Judy, she drove up, and finally at 10 p.m. I was home. But the bike was still in Georgetown.

In the morning I tried calling AMA but they were stacked up so I didn’t wait. The visitor center opens at 9 a.m. so at 9:05 I called and asked if there was still a burgundy motorcycle in their lot. Recall, the pick-up was scheduled for 8 a.m. Yes, the woman told me, the bike was still there.

I called AMA again and this time got right through. The guy I spoke with checked the ticket and found that it had a pick-up set for 8 a.m. on Tuesday, tomorrow. Oops. He corrected that and then set about finding a tow company. After being on hold a very long time he came back on the line and told me they simply could not find anyone to help me out. Every tow company he contacted declined either because of the distance or because it was a motorcycle. I was on my own.

I had no idea what to do but then I thought of Joel, my mechanic. I called him and told him, Joel, I desperately need your help. His truck that he uses for towing is in North Dakota with his wife at the moment but maybe he could get his neighbor’s truck and his own trailer and do it. He’d let me know. A little later he called and it was a go. Whew!

Finally, about 45 minutes ago now, the Kawi was delivered. At this point I didn’t care what Joel asked in payment, I would have given him the moon. But he actually asked a very modest–by towing standards–amount and I gladly paid it.

And by the way, he told me, it’s probably not a coolant line rupture, just overheating and overflow. He said if a line breaks it dumps all the coolant immediately. My description of watching it drip tells him it was just overheating, despite the liquid cooling system. You’ve still got to have airflow through that radiator. If it had been him, he said, he would not have hesitated to take the emergency vehicle lane.

So the simple test, Joel said, is just to fill the coolant tank with water and run the bike up to operating temperature. If it was just a matter of overheating it will be fine and nothing will come out. If liquid still comes out it really is a problem. But if it doesn’t, no problem. Just refill it with coolant.

Man, what a hassle. And if Joel is right, I could have just ridden on home after letting the bike cool off for a while. So now I need to run a test.

Biker Quote for Today

The path to enlightenment is not always straight and narrow.

Despite what the guy at the shop told me, Roy thinks the battery is the problem.

After that ride that wasn’t I got home OK but I still needed to figure out why my bike didn’t want to start. I figured–and hoped–it was just the battery.

I removed the seat on the CB750 and pulled the battery and then took it over to Batteries Plus and asked them to test it. I had forgotten it is a gel-pack battery and it had a sticker on it that said “7-18” which I took to be July 2018. So that’s five years, but I would expect a gel-pack might last longer. I googled that question and found that six years is considered typical. Fine, I’m not going to quibble.

At Batteries Plus the guy first did a simple meter test, and that was fine, so he did a load test. When a guy at a battery shop tells you your battery is good you kind of tend to believe him. They’re there to sell batteries and if he tells you he doesn’t need to sell you a battery I’m generally going to believe him. And what he told me was that the battery was fine, though it could stand to be charged.

So that’s good news that I don’t have to buy a new battery but it’s bad news because not I have to figure out what the real problem is. And I am now a skilled mechanic. But I know that Roy knows a lot more about these things than I do so I called him. He said he could come over the next morning and in the meantime I put it on the trickle charger overnight.

Come morning I put the battery back in the bike and hit the starter. It roared to life instantly. OK. Now I’m thinking alternator. We’ll see what Roy thinks after he does some testing.

Roy arrived and we got to it. The battery definitely had a charge, no question about that. But was the alternator feeding it power? The meter said yes it was. Roy had me start it, stop it, let the lights burn while the motor was off–all this stuff, testing this and that.

In the end he arrived at the same place he had been when he got started. Despite what the guy at the shop told me, he believes it is the battery. It might not be all the way dead yet but he figures a five-year-old battery is probably the problem.

Where this leaves me is that I will go on riding the bike with this battery and I’ll be observing. I’ll keep it on the trickle charger but after taking it out I’ll see if it is slower to start, indicating that the battery is draining. And maybe sometime soon it will be bad enough that I’ll pull it again and take it to the shop again and they’ll tell me it needs to be replaced. I don’t know what else to do.

Biker Quote for Today

No plans. No maps. No GPS. No rules. Just ride.

Is this where the problem is?

The RMMRC was doing a lunch ride last week and I figured I’d go. The bike to take this day was the Honda CB750. It seemed a little hesitant starting but I didn’t think a lot about that. But I did take note.

We were gathering as we so often do at the Phillips 66 station in Morrison so I headed out that way. Oh my god, what traffic! Bandimere Speedway is immediately north of this station and it turns out they were having some blow-out farewell event. Which is to say, after all these years, Bandimere is shutting down and presumably is moving somewhere else. There was a long line of cars coming off the highway from southbound and that line snaked around and made the right turn onto Rooney Road, which runs up to Bandimere. Normally I would turn onto Rooney and then do a quick left into the station. This time, fortunately, I could go past Rooney and turn into the station’s other exit.

I needed gas so I pulled up to the pump. After filling I wanted to pull over where the other guys were gathered but this time the bike very nearly did not start. Not the hesitation of at home; this time it was extremely iffy. But it did start and I pulled over.

I needed to hit the restroom so I parked and ran and did that and when I got back they were all firing up and getting ready to ride. I turned the key, pushed the starter, and nothing happened. Not for a second or two anyway, but then it fired and caught immediately. I leaned over to Roy and told him I was not sure about my bike, it seemed there was a battery problem. He said he thought I’d be fine, and if need be he had cables to jump-start me. So reluctantly I decided to cruise on.

We rode into Morrison just enough to get on Mount Vernon Avenue, which runs around the east end of town and heads up past Red Rocks. We went on up to and then under I-70 and made a left turn onto old U.S. 40, which runs alongside I-70 heading up Mount Vernon Canyon. For some odd reason there was a ton of traffic here and we had to wait a couple times before we could get through the light and make our turn. And some idiot woman coming the other way thought that she ought to go ahead and make her right turn onto U.S. 40 even though we were clearly using the space but I made it entirely plain to her that I was not yielding.

These were all red flags and I didn’t like how this day was shaping up. Plus, now that we were above the interstate on the side of the hill we could see that it was a parking lot. Good thing we’re not on that road.

Mixed in with us up ahead was a guy in a 1968 Impala and we hadn’t gone very far when he did a quick u-turn and held his finger up waving it in a circle as he went past going the other direction. I didn’t have to wonder why for more than a second or two because I then saw that our road was also a parking lot just ahead. OK, that’s it. I’m taking the hint and going home. I waved to Roy and Charley, behind me, and turned back.

I figured stop-and-go like that is never fun, it’s murder on your clutch wrist, and with a bike that probably won’t start again if I make a small error in hand and foot coordination one of the many times I would need to move forward–going uphill–this just was not something I was going to do. I hoped I would have no problem getting home but as long as I kept the bike running I should be fine. And I was.

At home I flipped open my Samsung tablet and immediately saw an item about a crash on I-70 up by Floyd Hill backing up west-bound traffic. Yep.

So I saw Roy two days later and he told me I made the right choice. They soon turned around and just headed over to a place in Golden to have a somewhat early lunch. Then they all went home. This was a ride that was just not going to happen.

Of course, then I was still going to need to figure out what’s wrong with my bike.

Biker Quote for Today

When writing the story of your life, never let anyone else hold the pen.

The EagleRider tour stopped at Marin Headlands on the last day of the ride.

I got a reminder on this recent RMMRC New Mexico ride of the differences in how Europeans ride vs. Americans. Alberto, who I guess I haven’t mentioned before, is Italian. He connected with the RMMRC for this trip because someone posted the ride on the BMW riders club‘s events listing. Welcome Alberto.

I rode with a bunch or Europeans way back in 2010 on a media tour hosted by EagleRider. There were French, Italians, Brits, Canadians, and even a few of us from the U.S. And it turns out that accepted protocol varies from one country to another.

Alberto reminded me of all this by the way he rode so close behind the leader whenever he was riding second. That is to say, he didn’t ride so close when he was further back. My interpretation was that when he had people in front of him riding at a decent gap he fell into the same pattern, but when the only one in front of him was the leader he was always right behind the leader.

For most people in this country–certainly for me–that’s a no-no. I don’t want somebody crowding me like that.

But here’s the thing: For the most part, those guys are much better riders than 90 percent of American riders. Their training and licensing rules are vastly stricter than what we have here. In short, they ride close together because they know the other people around them, in cars and on motorcycles, are highly trained and skilled and they can all do this together safely. Say that about Americans and you’ll get laughed out of the room.

I remember on that EagleRider tour being really annoyed by how these guys would be right on my butt, and some of the others were also not pleased. But for them it was perfectly normal. I mean, I consider myself a pretty darn good rider but I would not be at all comfortable going 130 on the Autobahn. That’s what these guys do–safely.

Could we have stricter training and licensing regulations–and safer roads? Probably not a chance. Over there driving is defined as a privilege, one you have to earn. Over here it is deemed a right and don’t you dare try to impinge on my rights. And yes, that includes my right to talk on my cell phone while I’m driving in heavy traffic. (Not!)

But even if you really are that skilled, I’d appreciate it if you would give me a bit more space. It’s just what my comfort level desires.

Biker Quote for Today

Riding a motorcycle is like an art–something you do because you feel something inside.

One of the sweet roads we rode on this trip.

Q: What do you call it when your whole group just splinters?
A: The last day.

Heading out on the last day of the RMMRC New Mexico ride it was every man for himself. Some wanted to get home ASAP and got up early and blasted. Others didn’t get such an early start but were gone before the rest of us had finished breakfast. Then there were those of us who were not in a hurry and still intended to have a enjoyable day’s ride.

John and Alberto got up early and headed out. Tom and Dave left without me knowing it, as did Bruce, who I was told planned to take I-25 and may or may not have been traveling with Dave and Tom. That left Charley, Gene, Randy, and me, and we got off about 8:15.

Gas at Questa, then north. At first Gene set an easy pace, about 75, and that was fine with me. His speed increased gradually till we were going about 85. Turned left at Fort Garland, over to CO 17 at Alamosa and north. There was a sign that there was chip-sealing going on along 17 and we soon ran into that, but at first they stopped us, let a car pass the other way, and waved us on. Turned out it was not a fresh chip-seal and in fact they were sweeping off the loose gravel. And it only went on for a few miles so we got past it easily and quickly. Much nicer than the chip seal we ran into coming into Grants a couple days earlier.

Then lots of blasting and passing. The weather was beautiful. Above us only blue and to the northeast some light clouds, not of the thunderstorm variety. We stopped for a pee break in Fort Garland and then rode on to Poncha Springs. Stopped for a bit at the same place we stopped on the way out. Then rode on just to Buena Vista and stopped to get gas. This is a much more civilized way to travel than the river trip where stopping in less than 150 miles was frowned upon.

Then we just rode. Running pretty fast and passing a lot of other vehicles. The weather held and it was a really nice day to be out on the road. Saw a lot of other motorcycles, which seemed a little odd considering it was a week day. But we’d seen a lot of bikes so I guess maybe it’s just summer.

I’m getting the hang of coming back to town down US 285 with a group on bikes. Leaving Fairplay I was not committed to keeping up with Gene and Randy but did so as much as possible and, because of traffic, succeeding. Charley seemed to be thinking the same thing. Then we got to Pine Junction and the two of them got in the right lane and I moved into the almost vacant left lane and blasted past them and was now well out in front. I cruised at a comfortable, for me, pace of 75 and after awhile they caught up and passed me, with Charley now having caught up with them so he followed me on in.

We got to C-470 pretty much together and Randy cut off and we three continued east. All the way. I was the first to turn off although Charley had moved to the left lane in considerable lead of his left turn. I believe Gene lives in Aurora, somewhere not far east of Havana. Not sure they even saw me turn. And then in another eight blocks I was home. All in all a really good ride.

Biker Quote for Today

Dad, why do people who ride motorcycles look so happy?

Look son, in my opinion they are crazy. Also, they have a weird philosophy, they think they are free, they believe in enjoying the wind in their faces, the dust, the rain, the sun and everything else. They call their friends brothers; they help each other, they greet each other even though they are strangers. When they get off their bikes they embrace as if they have not seen each other in years, they live for the day, they are likely to die at any time but apparently do not care.

Dad, can you buy me a motorcycle?

On the New Mexico ride.

If you only have one motorcycle then you have no issue, the bike you have is the best one for this ride. But I have three, so that requires some decision-making any time I go out.

On this recent RMMRC New Mexico ride I took the V-Strom and it ended up I was glad I did. It wasn’t in the plan and I’m not sure any of us knew what it was like, but we ended up riding US 191 which, as I mentioned previously, was a motorcyclist’s dream. On a road with lots of curves marked 15 mph and 10 mph it’s really nice to have a light, agile bike.

I was riding ahead of Charley and he really brought it home at one point when he told me it was just everything he could do to keep up with me. Now, Charley is a good rider but he has a really big BMW. Not one of the very biggest, but no small beast. So while he was really working that thing I was dancing.

I think the general tendency of a lot of riders is to discount something small like the 650 V-Strom I ride but then there are days like that one when they are forced to reconsider. It happened last year on the Great River Road ride. We did a day going through some hilly country and I was riding second, behind Dave, who is a very good rider, on a large machine. I was on the V-Strom.

Thinking about it at the time, I concluded that with Dave on that machine, surely my little bike was more agile and so if he could do it, I could do it. And I stuck right with him the whole way–a bit to his surprise I believe. That night as we walked to dinner he told me, “You did some fine riding today.” Yeah, it has a lot to do with the bike.

Later on this New Mexico ride we had left Grants but had to stop briefly to regroup at Milan. While there we talked with some guys on mid-sized dirt bikes. I watched one in particular who walked along the line of our bikes checking out each one. He came to mine, with me on it, and he broke into a big grin and gave me a thumbs-up. He came over and said this was his favorite street bike, that he used to have one just like it, even the same color. Then he leaned in and in a lower voice, conspiratorially, said “All these other expensive, fancy bikes . . . this one’s more fun to ride.”

So now the OFMC is getting set to take off on our annual trip and I’m torn. We’re going to be doing a lot of miles and the Concours is the better highway bike. But we’re also heading up to Lolo Pass, up near Missoula down into Idaho. At the top of Lolo Pass, heading west, there is a sign “warning” you that there is nothing but winding road for the next 99 miles. Please don’t throw me in that briar patch. And that’s the kind of road the V-Strom is best at.

I’ve ridden Lolo once before, and I was on the V-Strom that time. But my recollection is that these 99 miles don’t have the 10 mph and 15 mph curves that US 191 has. Whatever; I’ve already taken the V on a long trip this year and the Connie gets to have her chance.

Biker Quote for Today

Sometimes I wonder if my bike is thinking about me too.

Time to relax after a 300-mile day.

As the crow flies it is about 175 miles from Grants, New Mexico, to Red River. Of course that’s not how roads go but sometimes, if you really try, you can make the ride a whole lot longer. On this recent RMMRC New Mexico ride, we made it about 300.

Grants to Red River is northeast, so we started by going west. That’s because there’s really no way to make that run going east without going through or around Albuquerque. No fun. Plus, that would have entailed riding all the way from Grants to Albuquerque on I-40. Extra no fun.

Instead, we headed west on I-40 about 25 miles to Thoreau, and then turned north. But first, barely getting going, I noticed that Charley, riding sweep, was nowhere to be seen. It turned out that just as he was getting on the highway his glasses simply fell apart. Unable to put them back together there on the spot, he pulled out some prescription sunglasses and put those on, then cranked it to catch up.

Seeing that he wasn’t behind me, I slowed down a lot. Once he caught up with me I tried catching up with the other guys but they were blasting. I was hitting 95 at times and couldn’t catch up, although when we passed a radar sign the other day it said I was going seven mph slower than what my speedometer was saying, so who knows how fast I was really going.

The others pulled off at the next exit, Milan, which is where we caught up with them. We sat there a little while, during which time we chatted a bit with some guys on dirt bikes. Then we were off again.

At Thoreau we headed north on NM 371, and then reached CR 9, which turned east. We were on the rim of a basin right there, heading into the basin, and as far as I could see we were heading into a lot of nothing. That told me this next stretch was going to be long and mostly straight. And it was. Plus, a mileage sign said Cuba, our next destination, 94 miles.

So we cruised along a ways and came to an intersection of a road coming up from the south and there were three dirt bikes parked there. I wondered if those were those same guys. If so, either we took a longer route than we might have or they rode on gravel. Who knew?

After awhile we came upon maybe the biggest array of solar panels any of us has ever seen. There was a little store there and we were overdue for a stop so we did. Meanwhile, apparently the dirt bikers went past us while we were in there because when we stopped in Cuba there they were again. I asked and they said they came up on the road from where we’d seen them and it was paved and a nice road. Some of the navigation on this trip has not been the best, it seems. But it can be really hard to know what a road is like with just maps.

We headed on from Cuba, presumably to Alcalde and to the south end of Taos to do the Angel Fire loop. At some point Gene took the lead and we were headed the route I expected and then he made a left turn. I forgot my maps on this trip so for maybe the first time ever I was not able to check and see where we were and what our route was. But this seemed wrong.

We kept going north then turned east past a sign saying Ojo Caliente ahead. I thought oh man! Ojo Caliente? Why are we so far north? And then we hit US 285 and Ojo Caliente was south and we turned north. I thought, oh man, if we take 285 up to Tres Piedras and go east we’ll be on US 64 headed for the north end of Taos. And I decided if that happened I would go left to Questa regardless of what everyone else did.

But we didn’t go to Tres Piedras, we turned east on what turned out to be a cut-off. Nobody ahead of me stopped to make sure folks behind made the turn so I did, but I wasn’t really in a place where they could see me in time to make the turn. Bruce did made the turn, and Charley, but Bruce said later he knew about the turn and would not have seen me in time. We reached US 64 just west of the Rio Grande Gorge and yes, that’s where we were.

Coming up to the NM 150 intersection, Gene pulled over and said we had two options: go left to Questa and over and beat the rain or go through Taos and head right into the belly of the beast. “Look at that over there.” The sky “over there” was as dark and ugly as you could imagine.

We headed to Questa. We got to Red River and got checked in, then sat out on the deck drinking, smoking cigars, and talking. And then about the time we were heading out to dinner the rain arrived. Two days in a row now that we dodged it while on the bikes. Our luck continued to hold.

Biker Quote for Today

Happiness is a motorcycle, a full tank of gas and twisty roads.