Passes & Canyons Blog

King Browne operates a shop where you can come work on your own bike.

Sometimes I get tipped off to things going on right here at home by national magazines. This is one of those times. American Motorcyclist, the magazine of the American Motorcyclist Association, has a group of articles in the latest issue under the overall headline, “Get Experienced.” The lead article was about Jen Wyse, who moved to Colorado from New York and got involved with what is called a “community motorcycle garage.”

The shop in question is Moto Works Denver, at 2000 S. Cherokee. It is run by King Browne, who you see there in the photo. King runs a typical metric-only shop with a twist: There is a do-it-yourself corner with a couple lifts where you can use the shop’s tools and work on your own bike. The DIY fee is either $50 a day or $150 for one month. Storage is also available. The shop is set up for mechanical work, not so much things such as fabrication. If you want to build a bike from scratch, including welding and painting, this is not your place. If you want to do a valve job, a tune-up, or replace the engine, it is.

Walking into the shop I noted all kinds of older bikes, including a Honda CB1000 Custom, the big brother to the CB750 Custom I had arrived on. Aurora Honda fired me as a customer a long time ago because they don’t want to work on older bikes. That’s where shops like this one come in. You can pay King to work on your bike or you can pay less and work on it yourself.

Make no mistake, if you chose the DIY route you are going to need to do nearly all the work yourself. King and his staff don’t have time to babysit you and answer every question that you should already have found answers to by reading the shop guide for your bike and watching videos on YouTube. But if something in the manual is unclear they will help you clarify the matter and they’ll offer pointers and advice, plus help out if an extra set of hands is needed.

The clientele skews mostly younger, King explains, because most older guys who have an inclination to wrench already have their own spaces and their own tools. Younger guys, on the other hand, live in condos with no garage and they have no tools. What they do have is enthusiasm and the desire to work on their machines.

If this sounds like the sort of thing you would like to use, head on down to 2000 S. Cherokee. If it sounds like a business you would like to be involved in, hustle on down. King is looking for a partner.

When he opened the shop a couple years ago, he explains, he had a partner and figured between the two of them they could make it work and still have time to have lives. However, after only three months the partner pulled out. Although King has employees, he runs the business by himself. If you would like to join him as a partner he would welcome you, and if you would like to ultimately buy the operation that could be a possibility as well.

Either way, if you want to get greasy and feel the pride of having wrenched your own bike, this is your chance. I may just have to do this a bit myself, although King says it is best to use the shop in the winter rather than in the midst of the riding season. That gives me time to ponder whether I want to take on a valve job on the CB. Of course, if I do, you’ll be able to read all about it right here.

Biker Quote for Today

I guess the Harley crowd took offense at the old rice burner I rode in their midst. — Charles A Johnson

We pose with Buffalo Bill Cody in Cody, Wyoming.

Heading out of Heber City the next morning the OFMC was back on extremely familiar ground. We were already on U.S. 40 so we headed southeast and then east through Vernal and on to Dinosaur. We’ve ridden this road many times. At Dinosaur it was time to stop for ice cream.

By then our riding for the day was almost done. We turned south on CO 64, to Rangely, and there we were.

The ride through Utah had been nice, weather not too hot, countryside pretty. The heat came as we came back into Colorado.

At Rangely we had a whole afternoon free so considered playing nine holes of golf on the local course. A call told us, however, that they had a tournament going on so no dice. Then a huge storm with lightning and thunder hit right when we would have been out on the course so that was probably a good thing that we didn’t play.

As we relaxed on the hotel patio a guy on a really good-looking BMW adventure bike rode up and parked right there. So of course we struck up a conversation. He was from Connecticut (I think) and had trailered bikes out with a buddy with whom he had covered a couple thousand miles all within Colorado in the last week. Now he was off on his own for another week. He said he liked that because his buddy was very fond of speeds above 100, while he himself preferred to stay at about 90.

The next morning we were headed home. It was Sunday and we were going to be on I-70 and we all know what that means: Heavy, heavy traffic coming down out of the mountains. If we got an early enough start we hoped we could slip through before it got horrible.

Getting an early start had other benefits as well. We continued east on CO 64 to Rio Blanco County Road 5, the Piceance Creek Road, which is a jog around and avoiding Meeker. There wasn’t much traffic on 64 but there was none at all on this road. It was cool and beautiful in the early morning and the valley was the greenest I have ever seen it, thanks to all the rain we’ve had this year. The road was clear and smooth and we just reveled in it all.

I had been looking for a place to pull over and finally found one and we agreed that this was heaven. We were there more than 10 minutes and there were still zero other vehicles. Then we rolled on. All along the way on this loop until we hit CO 13 headed down to Rifle we saw exactly two cars. Talk about sweet.

Stopping for gas in Rifle we heard from other riders that there had been a landslide the day before that closed part of westbound I-70, a little west of Glenwood. No problem for eastbound, however, and we were headed east. We saw that slide as we went past and it was very interesting. It wasn’t like you might imagine, where a hillside slipped down. Rather, there were several washes where it had apparently rained really hard and the water carried a huge amount of dirt with it and dumped it on the road in the various spots where the washes–essentially gullies–came down to the highway. One lane of westbound traffic was moving while crews worked to clear the other lane.

Bill and Dennis and I made one last stop in Frisco for gas and lunch and then said our farewells. We knew we were going to get into traffic ahead and at this point trying to stay together was pointless. We took off together but before we even made it to the tunnel we were separated and on our own. We each made our individual ways home and the 2019 OFMC trip was over.

Biker Quote for Today

Some grandpas play bingo. Real grandpas ride motorcycles.

Bikers along the shore of Yellowstone Lake.

After a three-night stay in Jackpot, Nevada, it was time for us to do some moving. Our next night’s stop was set for Heber City, Utah, and nearly 300 miles away. The plan was to head south to Wells and then take I-80 east through Salt Lake City and on to Heber City. This is not what you would describe as a fun ride–it was just a matter of burning up some miles.

Before we headed out, though, Dennis checked his weather app and showed us that it was projecting heavy thunderstorms all along the I-80 corridor. Was there a different route?

Consulting the map we saw that there was. If we went back north to Twin Falls and then east the way we came on I-84 past Burley we would reach a spot where I-86 split off from I-84. I-86 was the way we had come down from Idaho Falls so we didn’t want that, but I-84 turned southeast to where it hit I-15 a little north of Ogden, Utah. The two roads merged and continued south until, a little south of Ogden, I-84 split off again and made a loop around Salt Lake City to the northeast, terminating when it hit I-80 coming west out of Wyoming. From there we would go west (theoretically–in actuality it was south) on I-80 to where we would jump off at U.S. 40 and go south to Heber City.

Either way we were destined to do a lot of interstate but this route would at least help us avoid Salt Lake and also the possible severe storms. We headed toward Twin Falls.

What can you say about interstate miles? You just ride them. We hit I-15 and went south and as we got closer to the urban areas the traffic started getting heavy. But those folks in Utah don’t believe in driving slow. We were in thick traffic going a steady 80 mph, and don’t you even think about going slower.

Heavier and heavier grew the traffic until we could see, just ahead, traffic at a standstill. Wondrously, this was right at our exit onto I-84 and we pulled into the right-hand lane hardly slowing down and passed all these stopped cars and left them all in our rear view mirrors. Hallelujah!

Now we were on a road none of us had ever been on before. Heck, I didn’t even know this road existed. I-84 cuts through a very pretty area that I’m sure not that long ago was completely rural but is now obviously becoming something of a bedroom community for the metro areas. Sad to see. But it was a very nice ride (for interstate), with sparse traffic and good speeds. I knew that somewhere along the way we were going to have to cut through the hills on either side of us, presumably down some canyon. And I was right.

We turned down this canyon and now it really got nice. And there was a very welcome rest area right there that we availed ourselves of. Rolling again, we came out of the canyon, cruised on a bit further, and hit I-80. The section of I-80 we were on was also pretty nice and in about 13 miles we got off onto U.S. 40.

Now we were seeing the storm clouds we had been warned about. Dead ahead of us it was looking pretty black. The sign said it was only 14 miles to Heber City but we were pretty sure we’d be getting wet. But with only 14 miles, nobody felt like gearing up. We’d just get wet for a few minutes if it came to that.

Then we hit the traffic we had avoided by going around Salt Lake City. This was Friday and everyone in the city was heading to the hills for the weekend. Traffic on U.S. 40 was backed up, stop and go, for miles. If the rain did more than just drip, as it was doing, we’d be drenched. But we got past a lone traffic signal that seemed to be causing the entire back-up and gained some speed again. It was dripping a bit more as we rolled into Heber City but we pulled into the entrance to our hotel and quickly unloaded.

Then the skies opened up. And we didn’t care.

Biker Quote for Today

I use to love the rain because I felt like it made my motorcycles exactly the same as everybody else. At that point it turned into a rider to rider battle. — Kevin Schwantz

You can’t tell because the image is washed out but that screen shows all 52 cards and whichever one the person blows the dart to hit is their card.

Continuing my recent series of scheduling screw-ups, I got it wrong on the Dart Run.

The Dart Run, I should explain, is a fundraising poker run put on each year by my own District 17 of ABATE of Colorado. I was prepared to be a volunteer working one of the stops on the run but they had all that pretty well settled so I figured I would do the run. That way I would at least contribute monetarily, plus I was intrigued at the whole idea of this variety of thrown/shot/whatever ways of selecting your card.

Those ways include a blow dart, ninja stars, bow and arrow, and I’m not sure what else. It sounded like fun.

Because I was not working the event I didn’t pay a lot of attention to the particulars. So Saturday when I wanted to know the schedule I went to the ABATE website and to the calendar. The event listing said 12 a.m., which I know is equivalent to midnight, but I also know not everyone is clear on whether noon is 12 a.m. or 12 p.m. I thought it a little odd to start a poker run at noon but I figured whoever put the event up on the calendar had made a mistake and really meant 12 p.m.–noon.

I showed up at The Shack, the starting and ending point at noon and there was not one bike in sight. I went in and asked and was told, “Oh yeah, they all left at 9:30.” OK. And I didn’t know the route but the waitress/bartender told me some place in the hills, then Wrigley’s and then the Rock Rest and then back to The Shack.

Now, The Shack is at the corner of Broadway and Mineral so I just headed west on Mineral, which turned out to be a road I may never have ridden that far on before. That was interesting all by itself. I got out to C-470 and went north and stopped at Wrigley’s. There was nobody there. I didn’t ask but just headed on to the Rock Rest.

At the Rock Rest I found Carol Downs who told me that actually, Wrigley’s was the first stop after The Shack, and then the group headed up to Rollinsville to a place up there. And that she had heard that it was pouring rain up there. So I hung out at the Rock Rest.

The Rock Rest itself is an interesting place. About 40 years ago I lived with my girlfriend just a short distance from there and we used to go dancing there on Saturday nights when they would have a country band playing. I haven’t set foot in the Rock Rest in perhaps 35 years. Here’s a shocker: it has changed. This funky little dive bar is now a popular local spot and it was busy on a Sunday afternoon.

Anyway, some of the folks made it down from Rollinsville and blew darts for their cards, while I did my best to shoot a usable picture in the poor light. Then I just figured I’d head on home.

But I mentioned to Carol that the website had said 12 a.m. and she said she had noticed the same thing just the day before. So hopefully future events will give an accurate starting time.

Biker Quote for Today

It’s a good day to have a good day.

It took about five of us to get this big bike up that ramp and into that truck.

Leaving Chico the next morning it was a short run up the valley to Livingston. We needed gas and right next to I-90 was a gas station. A big gas station. All the pumps in front were busy but there were more around back so I headed that way. Dennis followed.

When I looked at all the pump handles in different colors I was cautious and examined the labels on the machine. I filled my tank with gas. Dennis was not as careful, he just grabbed the red handle that in metro Denver means gasoline and filled his tank. With diesel. I’ve already told that story.

To sum up, his bike ran badly (imagine!) and a while later he pulled off hoping to dilute what he took to be bad gas with good gas. Then the bike wouldn’t start. He ended up renting a U-Haul truck and we diverted from our westward objective to head south 235 miles to Idaho Falls. The dealership got it running the next day. So now we resume the story.

Our intent had been to go to Missoula, ride Lolo Pass, and end up in Cascade, Idaho. From there we would head on to Jackpot, Nevada. There were going to be new roads none of us had ever been on in this loop, but this was not to be. We never got to Missoula and we never got to Cascade.

We did get to Jackpot, a day earlier than planned. We called ahead and the hotel could accommodate us so off we went.

Pulling into Twin Falls Bill, who was leading, made a sudden right turn that I correctly surmised was a bypass. There had never been a bypass here before but it made sense. But Bill had forgotten how far west it was to where U.S. 93 turns south so after just a couple miles he pulled over and said he wasn’t sure and wondered if we had passed the left turn. I took the lead.

Then I made a bad assumption. I figured it didn’t really matter where we turned left, we would just cut through town and find 93 and go west again. Just FYI, the north and south sides of Twin Falls are separated by a deep gorge. The only streets that go through are those with bridges, and there aren’t many of those.

We ended up wandering through neighborhoods, into and out of dead ends, and finally I found the way back to the bypass. I headed west again. Pretty soon I saw a sign that proved to me that this was the right way to go. But Bill didn’t see the sign so he caught up to me and waved me over, saying that he believed we had gone too far and needed to head back the way we had come. I told him no, follow me, and we finally reached the spot where the bypass turns south. And then we were clearly on the road to Jackpot.

We’ve always enjoyed staying in Jackpot because it’s a gambling town–and boy, does the OFMC like gambling–and they have a nice golf course. So we stay there two nights and play golf. This time, however, we were staying for three nights. And in case you’re unsure, yes, three nights in a gambling town can get expensive. Unless you win, of course, which none of us did.

We were hoping that perhaps Cactus Pete’s would have a show going on but they didn’t. Once when we were there they had had Bowser from Sha Na Na performing, plus they had a hula-hoop contest. I ended up one of the three finalists in the contest but the winner was a teenage girl who just had the technique down.

So we had three nights and it was nice to get off the bikes for a bit and to play some golf. We knew the next day’s ride was going to be a long one.

Biker Quote for Today

You’re a biker wannabe if you’re too cool to wave at the kids in the mom-mobile in front of you.

We’re not even in the park yet but it’s gorgeous just the same.

Not to take anything away from Yellowstone National Park–it’s an incredible place, no question–but we’ve been there before, as in more than 4 or 5 times. I myself have probably been to Yellowstone at least 15 times over the years. So as we headed out of Cody toward the park the main thought in our minds was, just how terrible was the traffic going to be?

Dennis had aptly noticed that riders coming into town from the west were warmly dressed, so we followed suit. Good plan; the morning was definitely cool.

One thing you need to understand is that the beautiful scenery you come to a park for does not begin at the entrance to the park. You’ll ride 20 miles west out of Cody before you actually enter the park but it is a stunningly beautiful ride. And on this morning, fresh and cool, with–as it turned out–very little traffic, it was heaven.

We got into the park, still expecting but not finding heavy traffic, and enjoyed the relaxed ride. The road runs up and over a line of hills and yes, we did get behind some campers at times, but they usually pulled over and let us pass so it was a good run. Then, approaching Yellowstone Lake, we hit a construction zone. Good-bye pavement.

Because I was on my V-Strom I actually welcomed the unpaved road, but Dennis hates it on his Indian and Bill does not love it on his Harley. No matter; you just have to do it. It’s not like we had any choices. And it wasn’t bad. Dennis and Bill said later they had no problems.

We hit pavement again at Fishing Bridge, where we turned north to run up to Canyon Village. Now we had traffic. This is a stretch where bison are common and yes, we did find ourselves behind a camper that stopped dead in the middle of the road to look at a bison. Really? You can’t pull off to the side at least? This is Yellowstone.

While I blasted on around this guy, Bill and Dennis did not, so I rode for miles with an unobstructed view at my own pace. And yes, there were a heck of a lot more bison further along. With most of the tourists pulled off to look at them, the road for me was largely unobstructed.

At Canyon Village we turned west, heading over to Norris Geyser and U.S. 89, which goes north and on out of the park. Traffic continued to move pretty well so we were making good time while enjoying an easy ride. There were more bison along here, including one big fellow who was lounging pretty much right on top of the white line at the edge of the pavement. So yeah, we steered a pretty safe distance away from him.

Then guess what? More construction zone and unpaved road. Here we go again, only this time it’s a little slick because the tanker truck we saw filling up from the stream apparently just wet the road down to control dust. But that makes things a bit trickier on street tires. Again, though, no issues. The bikes did get dirty.

Reaching Mammoth Hot Springs we passed through the village and found ourselves descending a steep incline down into the canyon of the Yellowstone River. This was when we realized that none of us had probably ever gone this way before. We had been at Mammoth Hot Springs before, but then had turned east to go out the northeast gate and on to the Beartooth Highway. Not this time.

And it was a beautiful ride. Again, the scenery doesn’t stop at the park boundary.

After lunch at Gardiner we continued north just a short distance to where we turned off for Chico and the old Chico Hot Springs resort. This is not a place you’re just going to see riding along, and it was probably a good thing Dennis had his GPS fired up to guide us to the off-the-main-road establishment.

Although we stayed in the old lodge, which features restrooms down the hall as so many old places did, there are more modern facilities where I assume the restrooms are in the rooms. But it’s a grand old place with hot springs pools, restaurants, horseback riding, hiking, and more. We opted to play Frisbee golf which, through the sage brush and going up and down hills, was some good exercise, especially after spending the last three days on the bikes. And then the hot pools were just what sore muscles needed.

Biker Quote for Today

Why bikes are better than women: Motorcycles always feel like going for a ride.

The OFMC (just three of us!) stopped along the road.

It was like the early days of the OFMC when Bill and Dennis and I took off for this year’s trip. Originally the group was three of us–Bill, John, and me. John no longer rides and a lot of others who used to ride with us have gone their separate ways so now we are back to three. We miss the camaraderie of the others but riding with three bikes–rather then ten–is a pleasure.

On a blazing hot day we headed west on I-70 and then north on U.S. 40 over Berthoud Pass and down to Winter Park and Granby. Just west of Granby we turned onto CO 125. This road goes over Willow Creek Pass to Walden, in North Park. I don’t have Willow Creek Pass on this website but after riding it a number of times I have concluded I need to add it. We’ll see if I get it done this year or not.

We have ridden Willow Creek Pass north to south before but I’m pretty sure this was the first time we’ve ridden it south to north, so it was sort of the first of several firsts on a variety of roads on this trip. And it was terrific. A really nice road through a very nice area–albeit with about a million dead pine trees–and almost zero traffic.

We stopped for lunch in Walden and as we were getting ready to head onward three other guys on bikes–younger guys–pulled in. Of course we talked. Like us in the old days, they were out for a week and had no plans as to route or stops. And like us back then, if there were no motels available they had their camping gear. The one difference was that they were on much more capable machines and their gear was probably better than even ours is today. For us in the beginning, gear consisted of two gym bags loaded with stuff tied together and thrown over the seat behind us, plus tent and sleeping bag bungeed on.

Heading north out of Walden we entered Wyoming and made our next stop at Saratoga. All we wanted besides to stretch our legs was shade–it was still blazing hot! Then on to Rawlins for the night.

In the morning we expected more heat so we didn’t put on anything for warmth. We were going to be crossing central Wyoming on U.S. 287 and that is usually a long, hot, dry run. And we got cold. In fact, we stopped twice in the first 80 miles to put on more layers because that heat just never showed up. Meanwhile, it was above 100 in Denver that day.

So north and west on 287 as far as Sweetwater Station and then north on WY 135 to Riverton. Then U.S. 26 to Shoshoni and U.S. 20 to Thermopolis. Then finally WY 120 to Cody, our destination for the day. And just a few miles out of Cody it did finally get hot.

Cody was a bustling place. Apparently the hundreds of motorcycles roaring up and down the main street were there in connection with the Beartooth Rally, which we had not been aware of. Of course, this is why we make our motel reservations in January, and this was not the only time we were glad we had done so.

Tomorrow would be crossing Yellowstone National Park. How ugly is that traffic going to be?

Biker Quote for Today

Do you really have to ask why I would want this big vibrating machine between my legs?? – Anonymous Female Racer

Take a good look at this photo. It tells the whole story.

“We’ve got a diesel truck running out there.”

Those are not the words you generally want to hear about your motorcycle. Dennis was ecstatic.

We’ll start at the beginning.

We stopped for gas in Livingston, Montana, at a big station where the pumps in front were all busy. So we went around back and filled up. Then we headed west on I-90, destination Missoula. But right from the start Dennis could tell the big Indian wasn’t running properly. Bill, just behind Dennis, smelled something that puzzled him.

After about 60 miles Dennis decided to pull off at another station. He figured he had gotten some bad gas and that adding some good gas would dilute the bad. But after he filled the tank the bike would not start at all. It wouldn’t even turn over.

Maybe that bad gas had fouled the plugs. He didn’t have the tools to pull the plugs so Bill gave him a ride to the nearest town where he bought tools. Pulling the first plug it looked just fine. Now he was truly stumped.

Checking online Dennis found that the nearest Indian dealer was in Idaho Falls, about 235 miles away. The towing company he reached said that would cost $900. A U-Haul truck, 25 miles away, would cost $260, plus he would have to buy tie-downs. A no-brainer. Bill took him to Whitehall to get the truck and we returned to the station that was now becoming a second home to us.

Now, how do you roll a non-running 800-pound motorcycle up a steep ramp into a truck? When we first got to this station there were several burly young guys around who we sorely needed. None now. We finally recruited a couple older guys who seemed kind of iffy but you take what you can get. Miraculously we were successful. Tie it down securely and off we go.

The dealership was closed by the time we got there and there were supposedly zero motel rooms available in town. Dang. However, luck was with us and we found one small, older place that had a room for us. Big sigh.

Dennis was over to the dealership before they opened in the morning and immediately got the bike checked in for work. Then we walked a few blocks for breakfast. Returning after breakfast, Dennis asked at the counter about his bike. “The dead one?” the guy asked. He turned and carried over that vial you see in the picture. It had come out of Dennis’s tank and it was red diesel. How the heck did that happen? Was the gas station accidentally dispensing diesel from a gas pump, wreaking havoc with who knows how many vehicles?

More importantly (for Dennis) was what damage might have been done. Worst case scenario is that the pistons might have seized up. Nothing to do but clean it out and see if the bike will run. This will take an hour or two.

Meanwhile Dennis pulled out his gas receipt and it said right there, “red diesel.” He was the one who made a mistake. How?

Looking at the pumps he had seen a couple with green handles and he knew that was diesel. The other handle was red. Now here’s the thing: in Colorado for the most part, red is the color for gasoline. But in the more rural areas in a place like Montana, green means regular diesel, red means red diesel, and black is the color for gas. When I filled my tank I looked at the labels on the pump. Dennis only looked at the color of the handles.

So by the way, what the heck is red diesel? Red diesel is for farm implements and construction equipment that does not use the highways. Because they don’t use the highways they are exempted from the taxes that pay for the highways. Regular diesel has a red dye added. If your semi is stopped and they find red diesel in your tank you are in trouble.

With the dire possibilities in that worst case scenario you can now see why, when the mechanic came out and said, “We’ve got a diesel truck running out there,” that Dennis was ecstatic. His motor was not destroyed, and it was running so we could actually get back on the road.

Be aware, they told him, it may smoke for awhile.

Biker Quote for Today

Why Motorcycles are Better than Men: If your motorcycle smokes, you can do something about it.