Spring 2013 Trip to Colorado

Our group of friends from around the country decided to spend a few weeks in near Carbondale, Colorado this year. This area is rich in history, scenery, and some of the best motorcycling roads in the country.  You can view the pictures at any time.

Land of Lincoln

I headed west from Ohio, and decided to visit the ‘Lincoln Log Cabin’ in Illinois.  Is it a cabin made of ‘Lincoln Logs’, or somewhere Abe Lincoln lived?  Well, neither, actually.  It is the farm near Lerna, Illinois, where Abe’s father lived, and like a good son, Abe did visit on many occasions while he lived in Springfield, the state capital.

There is a museum on the property, where you learn that the actual original cabin was moved to Chicago for the 1890 World’s Fair. A new cabin was built many years later on the same foundation as the original, using photos and written records for accuracy.  The working farm demonstrates the techniques available at the time, and livestock remain a necessity for both food and labor.

I ended my first day of riding in Fulton, Missouri and found a nice local restaurant. I ordered the chicken with a homemade chipotle cream sauce that had a wonderful spicy flavor. At exactly 5am, the hotel’s fire alarm sounded.  While I couldn’t possibly carry all my gear out in one trip, I got dressed and checked to make sure I had the bike key, room key, and wallet.  Many groggy guests waited in the parking lot while the fire department verified this was a false alarm.  It took several hours to get back to sleep, so it wasn’t until 9am before I finally crawled out of bed.

There was a thunderstorm coming my way, according to the weather maps. It was supposed to start around midnight, but slowed to wait for me (well, it seemed that way).  After debating whether to wait it out and sleep (and stil might get rain), I checked several local weather stations to see that they were reporting only light rain.  I decided to go for i

I don’t really mind riding in the rain if I come across it, but I really hate to start a ride in the rain. “It’s all fun and games until my butt gets wet.”, and starting in the rain guarantees a wet seat.  The rain held off until I was just five miles down the road.  While initially a heavy rain, I have been in worse, and this lasted just 45 minutes. In another hour, the pavement was dry and the sun was out.

Kansas City

My first stop was in Kansas City, to see an email friend of many years. Dean also rides a motorcycle, but our adventures have never crossed.  It was a rather brief visit, as I wanted to head down the road and into Kansas.

TruckHenge

I checked the GPS and found that I had stored the coordinates for TruckHenge.  This sounded like a short, and fun detour off the interstate.  I got to the property, and there was a closed gate with a hand-painted sign pointing down the gravel road to a house. I didn’t want to show up on private property, so I took a few short pictures through the gate.  I heard someone yell, and I looked down the road, and a man was waving me back towards the house. An old redneck hippie greeted me and offered to show me around (while he did, in fact ask if I was in a hurry, I said ‘not too much’…). He showed me around the property, and the rocks and fossils he has found on his property. And that was just the beginning. There was a peacock strutting around outside. A tree with shoes hanging from it (‘The tree of lost soles’). His home was fabricated out of an large old quonset hut, with iron, steel, and who-knows-what-else. He made a point to tell me that while the average house in the area cost $120 per foot, his cost him only $20, and that it was all recycled.  The floor was covered in paintings, and the walls had more gadgets and gizmos strewn between more paintings. The home even had an elevator with a sofa (well, actually a forklift), and their main living area was upstairs (that would make it very handy to bring in the groceries).  I met his wife and a few friends who were visiting. We walked out on the back porch (aka ‘the bridge to nowhere’). The backyard had more wood carvings and yard art.  There was a large spring-fed pond, stocked with fish years ago.  After the ‘tour’ was done, about an hour later, he pointed out the path I should take to ride over to the trucks and other creations on his property.  He got a good laugh when I asked what he did when he got bored, “I don’t know, I never sat down to think about it!”  Good answer.

The trucks aren’t arranged in a Stonehenge pattern, but there are many of them buried on-end. And the same with boats. He told me how he had to fight with the local authorities when they said he had scrap bumpers in his yard, buried on-end is his ‘bumper crop’.  Some folks just don’t understand yard art.  Still, his property is listed in a Kansas tourist magazine as one of the top attractions in the state (it is not entirely clear if that is because of the quality of his artwork or the lack of other attractions in the state).  Still, be sure to stop here if you have a sense of humor and want to see some very creative and interesting uses for re-purposed items.  It is entirely free, and he does not sell his creations.

After more than an hour at TruckHenge, the day had gotten away from me. I made it only as far as Salinas before stopping for my last night in a bed.

Reaching Colorado

I was on the road at 6:30am, heading across most of Kansas and a good chunk of Colorado.  The eastern half of Colorado looks much like Kansas, but the Rockies become visible as you get close to half-way across the state. There’s a vendor I work with that is based in Boulder, and I have always promised a visit.  I find his office, but he is out for a bicycle ride (NOTE: there are health-nuts in Colorado who ride bicycles up into the mountains… I am so glad I have an engine). One of his coworkers and I talk about traveling and my biker friends.  I drink lots of water.  Finally, after an hour, with David still out riding his bicycle, I head towards Glenwood Springs, about 2/3 the way across the state).  I get a voice mail just a few minutes later that David made it back, but by that time I was miles away.

Luckily the GPS plotted a direct route to I-70 that didn’t involve going through downtown Denver. I met up with the interstate just outside Golden.  This stretch of highway is some of the most scenic interstate in the nation.  There are tall mountains, tunnels, and plenty of curves that are great fun to ride on a motorcycle.

Almost there when…

Just as I enter the last tunnel, just five miles before my exit, I hear a loud POP. The engine starts running rough.  Wonderful. In a construction zone with nowhere to pull off (or certainly nowhere for a truck to get in to tow me), I limp through the tunnel with the bike sounding like a poorly tuned lawnmower.  The confines of the tunnel echo and reverberate the sound, so it was incredibly loud.  Just as I exit the tunnel, there is a sign for a rest area. Perfect!  I pull off and stop the bike.  I am just 5 miles from my exit, and just another 15 from the campground.  It’s a good thing this didn’t happen in the middle of Kansas.

I call Bubba, and tell him where I am and what’s (not) going on. He gets Mike and Paul (my great friends from Texas) to hook up their trailer and they come to my rescue.  We load the bike on the trailer and head to the campground. We’ll take it to the local Harley dealership the following day, but the goal for the moment is to get to camp and get my tent setup and eat dinner before it gets dark.

The Campground

Someone in our group grilled burgers, chicken, and steak, and supplied other extras from the local grocery store.  More food than a bunch of hungry bikers could eat, so it was a successful meal.  No one wants to be around when the bikers are hungry.

Most everyone arrived that day, Monday. We have close to 30 guys from al over the country. There is a group from southern California, someone from Washington state, another group from Minnesota, a few from Texas, New Mexico, and as far east as North Carolina.  We had several guys from Colorado, Illinois, and Missouri.  I am sure there are a few states I am forgetting.

The campground was private and is just converting into a KOA. There are nice tent sites, right along the Crystal River, which is almost overflowing from the spring snow melt.  Almost everyone in our group is staying in cabins, which have at least two beds and a futon, a full bathroom and a kitchen with stove, oven, and a full-sized refrigerator. The campsite also has RV parking, but no one from our group brought one.  The KOA uplift is building a showerhouse, a pool, and some other amenities.

Since everyone had a long day of riding, it is a rather early evening.

Tuesday morning, we’re waking up and preparing to take my bike to the dealership. One of the guys notices that my spark plug wire is dangling loose. Sure enough, it is, and the spark plug is still dangling from it. The loud POP I heard was the spark plug getting blown out of the engine casing!  Wow!

I screw it back in and it seems tight, but as soon as I try to start the engine, the plug pops out again.  Darn. I was hoping for an easy fix.  Oh well.  We grab breakfast at a really good outdoor restaurant in nearby Carbondale, then haul the bike the ten miles into Glenwood Springs.

As I walk into his office, the Service Manager asks “How are you doing today?”  I laugh, and commented on how many people who stop in are having a really bad day.  He laughs.  I explain the problem with the bike and he hardly seems phased by it (YAY!).  It is the bad repairs where they all come outside to see what’s making the horrid noise is when you have to worry. He wrote up the service order and gave me a $300 estimate. Sweet.  But, the mechanic who has been with him for 30 years, who he wants to work on my (old) bike is off for a few days.  I just rode 1,400 miles from Ohio, so I don’t really have an issue with a few quiet non-riding days.  I ask about bike rentals, but don’t feel the overwhelming urge to rent one.

It was really nice to enjoy the campground. Since I arrived just before dark, this gave me some time to look around and figure out where everything is.  One the way back from town we do a big shopping trip to get beer, water, munchies, and other food stuff.  Mike and Paul brought some spaghetti sauce, kept frozen for their trip from Texas. They will be making the dinner on Wednesday night for the entire group.

While we were taking my bike into town, the rest of the group when on a ride. One person said it was going to be an easy 100-mile ride, but someone else said 300.  It was the longer route, and the group separated into small chunks since the 12,000-foot elevation was affecting several of them.  The campground was at just over half that elevation and we were all finding ourselves easily winded.  So, some of the bikes when further than others, and some stopped for dinner and others didn’t. We ended up getting both pizza and Chinese food delivered to the campsite.  What an assortment, but it was easy and fast.

The following day, Wednesday, was another opportunity to relax.  After the long group ride the prior day, everyone wanted a day to rest.  There was no chance that my bike would be ready yet, so we just relaxed around the camp.  It was very pleasant since there was little phone service and we could not get Internet at the cabins.  My kind of vacation!

Thursday morning, I got the call that my bike was ready.  We head into Glenwood Springs and pick it up. The total cost was $135.  Wow.  Not bad.  There’s an old joke that ‘HD’ stands for ‘hundred dollars’ as that seemed to be the minimum price of any repairs.  That was long ago, and I figured the $300 estimate was going to be low, but it wasn’t. Impressive.  They had to put an insert (basically a spring) in my engine to hold the spark plug in place. This is a well-known way to fix this problem, but I was really amazed at the low price.

I rode back to camp, stopping a few times to take pictures.  I still feeling the altitude and wasn’t in the frame of mind for a significant ride, and the twenty miles in the hot sun was plenty for me.  I helped Mike and Paul get ready for the spaghetti feast. There was as much food left over as was eaten. MMM… more leftovers in our future… easy meals.

On of the guys had rented a bike, and needed to return it to the Harley dealer.  Since I knew the way very well by this point, I offered to give him a lift back to camp.  On the way back, my bike starts making some unusual rattling noises in the engine/transmission area. Hmm. This doesn’t seem related to the work they did on the spark plug, but something was definitely not right. That evening, a few of us rode into Carbondale to the Pour House, a bar/restaurant with dedicated motorcycle parking. As we got a table, an older gentleman asked where we were from. “All over”. He looked at the license tags, and said “Sure enough!” and chatted with us about bikes.  He has one for sale for a steep price.

More trouble

On the way back to camp, the rattling noise is getting louder. I decide that we will need to put it back on the trailer and take it back to the Harley dealer for this new problem.  Oh well.

I walk in to the Service area and tell the manager that I missed him. He laughed.  I told him what was going on. He was optimistic at least.

Friday night around the campfire was without a fire. Strong winds and dry conditions had fires starting all over Colorado, so the KOA didn’t want to be next on that list.  One of th guys had a lantern he sat on the fire ring.  It was no fire, but it was something to stare at while we drank and laughed.  Bubba gave us a light show with his green laser, shining it on the mountain, in the trees above us, an in my beard (looked really cool, I must say).  We are so easily amused.

About one third of the group left on Saturday, heading for various parts of the country.  Mike and Paul and I had only been from the campground, through Carbondale, and into Glenwood Springs about half a dozen times, but that is about all we have seen.  We have all been in Colorado before, and while the riding is simply incredible, we were all OK with not going on big all-day rides.

Drive to Crested Butte

Paul found a town, Crested Butte, that appears to be well off the paved roads.  Since we had the truck, we decided to scope it out in safety. If the road is passable, maybe we can do it on th bikes sometime.  The scenery over Kepler Pass was stunning.  I think I figured out that all the great scenery that was supposed to be between Ohio and Colorado all got scrunched to the west, leaving the middle states rather empty.  The road started off paved, then got a tiny bit of gravel in the curves, then a bit on the straight sections and a bit more in the curves. It gradually increased until the road was mostly gravel. And mountain curves without guard rails.  There were no ruts, so it would be a moderately stressful ride, but not awful.  Still, the gravel lasted for just about an hour until we returned to paved roads.

The town of Crested Butte is isolated in the mountains, with no paved roadways making their way there. A very active downtown main street with restaurants, shops, and galleries. Their claim to fame is that they are home to the Mountain Bike Museum.  Hmm… didn’t know there was such a thing, but in Colorado there are more mountain bikes than people, I think.  We found a restaurant at the Old Croatian Hotel, with a table right next to the river’s edge, so we thought we’d get some good Italian-like food options. Nope. It’s not the Croatian Hotel anymore.  Slightly disappointed, we ordered lunch and enjoyed the river. When our food arrived, we were quite pleasantly surprised with the combination of flavors.  It was a pretty good find, after all.

The town has park benches everywhere. Certainly handy at the altitude. Several of them were quite unique. There was one made from snow skies (instead of planks). Another was fashioned out of a chrome bumper. That is an interesting way to spruce up the city street.

After spending an hour or more walking through town, we decided to head back to camp. I decided that, if I had to do an hour of gravel road, I would want to spend the night in this cool little town.  Gravel and motorcycles don’t often play well together, and even though the road could be much worse, I know I would have white knuckles for most of it.  A beautiful valley. I don’t think I would even have time to enjoy it if I were on the bike. This was a nice day-trip.

Needing amusement…

On Monday, there were 9 remaining in our group.  After hearing reports from a few others, we ventured to Glenwood Caverns Amusement Park, high over Glenwood Springs. If one is very energetic, they could hike up the mountain to the park, but for the rest of us mortals, there is a tram that offers a wonderful view of Glenwood Valley. While the park doesn’t have a large choice of rides and attractions, some of the ones they have a made extra-fun by their setting on the mountain.

The first ride we went was the Aspen Slalom, where you get strapped into a small cart and launched tobbogan-style down a course that winds a good distance down the mountainside. You can control the brakes, but since the cart is permanently attached to the track, there is really no need to use it.  Once at the bottom of the course, the rider enjoys a leisurely haul back to the mountaintop. Sort of like a rollercoaster where you start at the top of the hill, rather than the bottom.  It was great fun, and we each rode this several times throughout the day.

Next, we walked up the hill to the Cliffhanger rollercoaster. It’s not a huge coaster, but it is at the highest elevation of any coaster in North America.  It’s a fast a furious ride, and the wild curves make you think you just might go over the edge of the mountain.  Another hit with our group.

Bubba, Mark, and Tom each took their turn climbing a rock wall. Not really a ride, but it was fun to watch. Especially when they reached the top and were told to repel down. Only one of the three landed on his feet.

As we were having lunch, I called the Harley dealership. They told me that the estimate would not be done for another day (a very bad sign) and to check with them then, but basically, the transmission fluid was gone.  Well, since 2004 when my bike was stolen, my motto has always been to come home with the same bike or better.  If the news is very bad, it is certainly an option to purchase a new or used bike from the dealership (maybe not the best option, but an option).  My mechanic in Ohio just did some major work on my bike, and (not to place blame), it is possible that the transmission leak was at least partially involved. At least it is worth giving him a call, not that he will be able to get me home.  I will think more about that later, however, as we have rides to amuse us!

The Giant Canyon Swing is similar to a tree swing, except it is at the end of a fixed arm, rather than a rope, and instead of getting pushed by a friend, it is hydraulic and seats four riders at a time, two facing forward and two facing back.  The ride starts swinging slowly backwards to a 30 degree angle. The expressions on the rider’s faces changes as they are then pulled forward to about 60 degrees.  The next push back takes them out over the edge of the cliff to almost 90 degrees, with the forward-facing riders looking straight down the mountainside.  The subsequent swings are just a little stronger, swinging the riders past 90 degrees (horizontal) 1,300 feet above the ground.

When I rode the swing, I wanted the forward facing car, and sat next to a young girl who said she had been on the ride several times already.  As soon as the ride started, she put her hands in the air, since the biker could not be outdone by a kid, I had to do the same.  It was great fun!

There were several caves and other rides that we didn’t find exciting enough for our group of adrenalin-fueled bikers.  Being a weekday, the park was hardly crowded, so it was really fun to ride as many rides as we wanted.  Despite the news of the bike, it was a fun day.

That night around the campfire, my thoughts wandered back to the broken bike.  I still don’t know the extent of the damage, but it is wise to think of some possible alternatives to get back home, eventually.  I presented some of the options (hoping for comments, suggestions, and alternatives). The way I saw it at the time, the options were to (A) trade the old bike for a new/used model, (B) Mike and Paul offered to give me a ride in the truck with them, checking dealerships along the way from Denver to Albuquerque until I find a bike I want to purchase, (C) sell the old bike and figure out another way to get home, then get another bike when I got home and had more time.  Option C sounded best.  I have a credit card with airline points, and I have been flying a lot for work lately, so it is possible to fly home.

Overnight, I thought of another alternative. First thing in the morning, I went to the campground house where I could get an Internet signal, and checked Amtrak. Sure enough, there is a train from Glenwood Springs to Denver.  From the city, I could get a shuttle to the airport and fly home.  The idea of a train ride through the Rockies sounded like a fun idea, and something I would probably not have a chance to do again.  Hmm.

One of the newer members of our group commented on how calm I was about the whole thing.  I told him the story of how my first year at Sturgis my (previous) bike died, and someone pointed me to the mechanic just a block away, who already had the parts on order. The next day, when Paul’s bike died (with me riding on back-whatever, I wasn’t going to miss a chance to get out of the campground for a ride), we got towed back into town. I pay the mechanic for my bike, and he looks over my shoulder to see Paul: It is his regular mechanic from Austin, Texas. That’s when I learned that this is all under control by what I call ‘The Universe’, and promise myself to roll with it. It has been a life lesson that has proven well for me, time and time again. So, even though it isn’t clear what option I will choose, I am fine with how things are going. There are plenty of decent options, so there’s nothing to worry about in the long-run.

I was talking about this with Tom, from Palm Springs, California. He had not heard of my bike problem, so I tell him about the situation. He immediately offers to let me ride his bike to Ohio. He wants to go to Sturgis this year (I am not planning on it), but doesn’t want to ride through the desert in Southern California, Arizona, or Nevada. By having his bike in Columbus, he would have better temperatures. Furthermore, he’s retired from an airline, so he can fly free, so he can easily get to Columbus for a visit.  Hmm… Interesting.  I’ve known Tom for almost 15 years, and we have ridden many miles together, so it is really overwhelming that he would offer me his bike.  He also suggests that I can ship my bike home (he said it wasn’t terribly expensive when he had to do it once). Interesting.  I decide to try his bike out as I go to the dealership.  Nice ride!

I call my mechanic in Ohio. He doesn’t think he messed up, but agrees that it is entirely possible that something wasn’t ‘just right’ when he gave me the bike back after the bike repairs. He’s willing to make things right.  Phew.  Now, I need to get some more details so I can make a good decision.

Well, with about 5 options floating around now, the first requirement was to find out about the bike. The Service Manager took me to talk to the mechanic.  He found that the transmission fluid was empty, and even though he didn’t open the transmission, a scope showed no sign of damage. It’s entirely possible that the bike will function if fluid was added, but we agreed that it would be a bad idea without more investigation. That will take days, and I am due to leave Colorado soon. I have to be back to work within a week (leaving 3-4 days for a ride home and a spare day to rest before going back to work).  OK, now we know a bit more.  The Service Manager gives me the phone number of a company they use to ship bikes.  I call and leave a message.

Next, I talk to the Sales Manager. He was aware of my situation already, and gave me a price for my broken bike (assuming a new transmission would be needed). Not terribly much. Yuck.  Then he shows me one of their used rental bikes of the same style as mine, but much newer. It wasn’t a bad price, and there weren’t many miles on it, even some warranty left.  The Sales Manager gave me the phone number for another shipping company, so I give them a call and get an estimate for shipping my old bike to Ohio.  It wasn’t terrible.  It is certainly worth getting the bike home and repaired.

Once I get back to the campground, I discuss the options with the guys, and I decide to take Tom up on his offer of riding his bike to Ohio (this fits the ‘same bike or better’ goal), and better yet: I get to ride home! YAY!

Maroon Bells

That afternoon, our group decides to stop at a certain bar for dinner, and it is on the way to a very scenic spot.  Everyone has had enough riding, and with the prospect of drinking, we opted for a truck ride (good thing, as we didn’t get back until way past dark).

We drive towards Aspen, to a scenic area known as the Maroon Bells.  These mountain cliffs get their name from the color when the light first hits them in the morning. This is supposed to be the most photographed scene in Colorado.  I can understand that, with the crystal clear lake collecting the snow run-off, reflecting a perfect mirror image of the mountain.  Beautiful.  We take many photos here, as the scene changes every few steps.

We enjoy dinner at the Woody Creek Tavern, made famous by author and local resident Hunter S. Thompson.  As always, there was great food and lots of laughter.

It was late when we got back to the campground, and I needed to get an early start, so I went to bed.  I haven’t had a ride of any significant length since I arrived in Colorado, and now I am riding home. It was really relaxing just being in the mountains and enjoying time with friends. Ultimately, that is why I meet up with this group whenever I can.

Homeward bound

The ride home was mostly uneventful, as I really wanted to get Tom’s bike home quickly and safely.  His Road King rides very smoothly.  I really enjoyed the 6-speed transmission and a REAL cruise control (my bikes have always had a throttle lock, which works only in flat-lands like Kansas and Nebraska).  I could get used to this.  It’s way too quiet for my taste, as I hardly hear it.  I like to hear my engine.  Not rattling, of course.

So, at the time of this writing, I know that the shipper was supposed to pick up my bike on Friday (the day I got home), and will call to let me know when it will be delivered.  It was great to have time with everyone. I am very good with things.

So, the ’96 Heritage was shipped home and has been repaired.  Luckily, the problem was ‘only’ a transmission bearing that tore a seal, which let the transmission fluid escape. My truly wonderful mechanic fixed this at no cost, as the problem was there after the winter’s repairs (we had much trouble fixing a persistent oil leak, and assumed it was the primary, not the transmission).

Still, the bike is 18 years old.  With the significant miles I put on a bike each year, and some big trips planned for the coming years, I decided that it was finally time to purchase a new bike.

My last few bikes have been used (gently), but the idea of a warranty really makes me happy.  I went to the local dealership and took a look at their selection. They had a beautiful Heritage that I would have purchased, except the cruise-control was not an available option for that model.  I ended up selecting a 2013 Road King with the same beautiful colors.  WOOHOO!

For now, I will hold on to the Heritage as a spare bike.  If I find that I don’t get use out of it I will look for a new home, but it is paid for and doesn’t cost anything to keep.