Touring Colorado on a Motorcycle

Well I have to start somewhere so I'll begin by reporting a series of kidnappings. From 1969 to 1973 my father drug me (and mom) kicking and screaming on two-week camping trips to Colorado and points west and north. Of course I didn't appreciate it then, I was just a kid but I must have retained something of the indescribable splendor of the Rockies. In recent years and especially after discovering the joys of motorcycle travel, Colorado has been calling, beckoning, louder and louder and those majestic online images have been taunting me until I could resist no longer. When asked what I wanted for Father's day, road trip was my reply and the first week of July was the time. The excitement ensued. I was actually planning a ride to Colorado. I asked for advice from fellow yearroundrider Domingo Chang, the most knowledgeable, as far as I'm concerned, authority on riding in the Rockies. Not only was he more than willing to help, he had a couple of days free to run the roads with me!

After filling in a few logistical potholes and putting out a few fires at home and at the shop, I could see this trip becoming a reality. My gear is ready, the old Bandit is ready, ready enough and June 30th is the day. I'll try to avoid the play-by-play of a ride report here to concentrate on how these events moved me instead. It was good to be in the company of friends Taz and Jim the first two days. They made the otherwise long boring "getting there" leg of the trip much more pleasant. When they cut me loose in Colorado Springs I had to remind myself that I had intended to ride solo, at least some of the time and then welcomed the solitude.

I peeled off a layer of wet gear and let it fall to the floor in the Cascade, CO post office. The woman at the counter did not seem phased by this and gave me directions to the campground.

It felt good to camp again, somehow I slept more comfortably than one might expect. It was not exactly what I'd call roughing it, though. The next morning I treated myself to coffee, pancakes and sausage and Weather Channel updates in the lodge.

Pike's Peak was spectacular, of course. I did get a bit lightheaded in the thin air the first time.

Almost as an afterthought I diverted onto Boreas Pass Road and found it immensely enjoyable. From my mental list I checked off Loveland Pass and the Eisenhower Tunnel as I encountered them. More rain the next morning. I reached my goal, Rocky Mountain National Park but it was not as I envisioned it. At the southwest entrance, Trail Ridge Road was undergoing a resurface and was quite rough. The first potential campground had been clear cut and still had piles of timber and debris all around. Stark and disappointing but fully occupied nonetheless. As I wound my way toward the pass the beauty of the place reemerged. What a relief but I still had to find a campsite. I claimed what may have been the only vacancy in the park in yet another cloudburst just as its previous occupants pulled away. I hastily assembled the tent and tossed my gear in. I knew where I would go next.

Of all our family travels in my youth there was one place dad talked about more than any other and even I had fond memories of tent camping a few feet from the clear cold babbling Fall River in Endovalley. The time had come to see Endovelley again. I am told the area had been closed for some time and recently reopened as a picnic area. Dad was foremost in my thoughts as I came upon the places we camped. How vividly I remembered the crisp mountain air and how we arranged rocks in a crescent shape on the bank to keep our groceries cold in the river. I retrieved a cupped handful and brought it to my lips, as cold and clear and delicious as I remembered. This was a touching moment, in some ways the high point of the trip.

The Old Fall River Road brought back memories too. Scenic and rugged and eventually slick as the rain returned. Once again I slept like a baby under the light of a near full moon in the mountains. I awoke to a crisp clear morning. My Seaport Coffee never tasted so good.

I met my new riding buddy Dom and his legendary '87 R80, Brigitta in Idaho Springs and we set out to conquer Mt Evans. This has to be the most singularly awe inspiring piece of real estate I encountered. I simply could not stop taking pictures.

Later as we traveled east on CO103 I watched as the wind drove the clouds up the side of the mountain toward us. I saw the clouds revolve in a vertical circular motion like perfect surfer's waves as they reached the carved out area which was the road we were on. I wish I could have captured an image of Dom shooting the curl ahead of me. I had never seen anything like that before.

My nebulous bliss was interrupted when poor Brigitta suffered catastrophic input shaft failure and had to be carried to the shop. Too bad but not to worry, Maria will come out to play tomorrow.

Sure enough, Maria, Dom's '04 R1150RT led me through even more of what Colorado has to offer. It was a splendid 340 mile day.

Monday morning. The long grasp of the real world took hold and pulled me southward granting me respite briefly to camp once more in Palo Duro Canyon State Park. Thirteen more hours of uninterrupted riding would put me home again. As therapeutic and revitalizing as it was, this long overdue trip has done nothing to satiate my longing to see and ride Colorado. It will certainly not be another 35 years until I see her again.

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