Day 13
June 14th, 2001
East of Cortez, Colorado
I awoke to a chilly 32 degrees. I broke camp and pulled out of
Mancos State Park in the early morning light.
I emptied my cold weather armory for the trip across the Rockies. I had to knock
off ice from the ST's seat. At 6000 feet snow flurries passed through the area
during the night. I was correct in thinking those flurries would be snow at the
summit.
I gassed up at a Conoco station at the park entrance. The attendant noted
it was a chilly morning to be riding. It was a brilliant, cloudless
morning.
I took US 160 east and headed for Durango. My routine has been 100 miles
first thing in the moring. Today would not be different. I planned on
making it to west Kansas, before stopping for the night.
I had enough cold weather gear to handle anything above 32. Colder then
that and I was in trouble. It was right at 32. I was chilly but not
cold. I had on heavy Joe Rocket gloves, sweat clothes, and insulated liner
under my Roadcrafter. My lower face and neck were the coldest, as they had
no extra cover.
Traffic was light, it was only 630am.
A few miles east of Durango the sun finished rising. I could see water
dripping from the tall trees as the warm sunlight, began to melt the snow
dusting from the night before. The surrounding mountains were nothing short of
majestic on this fine morning. I could see snow blowing off the peaks, and
clouds swirling around rocky summits.
I passed through the ski town of Durango, noting a guy can get a excellent deal
on lodging in the area this time of year.
Traffic picked up considerably north of Durango. I was bogged down for
several miles. Finally, I made it into a few valley areas, and zipped past slow
moving RVs and blue hairs.
In Pagoda Springs I found a McDonalds to take my morning break. It would
be warm inside I thought. Well, it was warm, but nothing else. The
staff was totally inept, and my short morning break turned out to be a hour long
ordeal.
In the restaurant I saw a man with a blue baseball cap advertising some kind of
seed. His family was ill about the long wait, and he seemed at his wits end.
I finished my breakfast and got back on the road.
I could see Wolf Pass in the distance. It looked snowy and cold up there.
US 160. northbound out of
Durango
I was riding US 160 about 70 mph when a Colorado State Trooper
topped a rise about 1/4 mile ahead of me. I jammed on the brakes, but too
late, his light bar lit up. Damn. He quickly turned around fell in
behind me, and I diligently went to the side.
I removed my helmet, and got off the bike.
"How ya doin?"
"Good, so how fast did ya get me?"
"68"
"dang, ok ya got me"
He was young athletic looking guy. He asked for my DL and insurance info,
and said it was just going to be a warning today. YEAH. He checked the ST
out while I was getting out my paperwork. He took my info back to the car
to check me out. When he came back, I quipped with a smile-
"Did I check out out OK?"
"yep, just fine"
We talked bikes for a short time, then I was off. Thankful for the break,
I watched my speed the remainder of my time in the mountains.
I noted a electric sign flashing a work zone at Wolfs Pass, and to get a
alternate route if possible. Now how am I going to do that? Wolf
Pass is the only pass over the Divide for 50 miles at least.
The road twisted as it went up, but the loaded ST was back and top heavy from
all my gear. I had to refrain from any serious leaning.
It was indeed getting colder as I went up, my breath fogging up the shield of
the Bieffe.
Near the summit steam was blowing off the road as warm sun rays heated up the
cold wet road. The surrounding area sported about 4 inches of snow.
I tip toed the ST on the extreme twisties, it was scary. I was on constant
lookout for ice. I knew speed was not going to matter if I hit a patch of
ice. I was going down.
I asked myself what in the world a boy from Alabama was doing in such a high and
cold place.
I pulled off and took a few pictures of the ST straddling the CD marker. A
RV thought I had a good idea, and pulled in at the last second. He was
coming off the road way to fast for the conditions and hit a ice/snow patch
tossing him into the guardrail. I ran over to check things. He
stepped out of the RV-"how did that happen?"
Crossing the Divide at snowy Wolf Creek Pass
A mile down from the summit I found the construction area. Only 1 lane was
open, and it took 30 min or better for traffic to clear the open lane. I
took my helmet off and walked around, chatting with couple in a RV that allowed
me to come inside and stay warm. They were from Texas. It was good to hear
a southern accent after almost 2 weeks from home. Good people.
As luck would have it, a southbound truck crashed blocking the ONLY lane.
Another delay. I asked the "gatekeeper" "Look here,
ya reckon I can slip my bike past the wreck?"
"NO! now get back in line!" Sufficiently scolded for such a idea I
shuffled back to my ST and sat there.
Ninety minutes later, I was moving down the mountain. It felt much warmer
now. Passing the accident area, the truck was heavily damaged.
I was anxious to get out of the mountains. For all their beauty, I was
ready to ride. I had been on the road almost 4 hrs and had barely covered
100 miles.
In Monte Vista I pulled over to check my atlas and see how much more mountain
riding I had to go. I could see I would enter the Front Range at
Walsenberg, about 50 miles ahead. I also stripped off the cold weather
gear. I went back to touring gloves and t shirt and shorts under the
Roadcrafter.
I rode non stop into Walsenberg. A small city bordering the Plains and the
Rocky Mountains. A beautiful place. It was a busy little city on
this day.
I tried to get back out on the highway but a wide load convoy was trying to get
through the town. The truck pulling the load had to swing wide to make the
turn, chasing me from the shoulder back to the highway. The accompanying
chase car was cut off by a pick up truck and the 18 wheeler was left to just
bulldoze oncoming traffic going through town. It was a mess.
I rode into town looking for SR 10. It would take me to SR 96 and then to
Kansas. I made a wrong turn looking for the route sign. Totally confused I
pulled into a closed down store parking lot scratching my head. A few
seconds later, 2 loaded Harley riders breezed in beside me and asked-
"hey you seen SR 10?"
"no but I am damn sure looking for it, trying to get to Kansas"
"so are we, lets check out the other side of town"
I followed the 2 Harleys, loud pipes and all. Heads turned when we rode through
town, the exhaust echoing off the buildings. I wanted to yell at the
pedestrians-"hey it ain't ME making all this noise"
We found SR 10, and I thanked my escorts and said I was going to eat at the
hamburger place across the street. I said my goodbyes and they continued
on. They didn't believe me when I told them I had left Phoenix less then
48 hours ago.
Lunch was a too dry chicken sandwich from said hamburger joint. I read the
paper while I digested things.
With tummy full I started back on SR 10. The scenery was awesome, and the
road was smooth with a nice tailwind. I rolled the throttle on the ST
determined to make up for some lost time.
I checked my gas gauge and noted its getting time for the reserve light to come
on. I pulled off and got my map out to check the distance to the next
town. 60 miles easy. Damn. I closed my atlas back up in my
saddlebag, and looked at the open highway ahead. Is there another station
up there? I could make it to La Junta-probably. Should I ride back to
Walsenberg (20 miles) and fuel up? If I do that's 40 miles up a wild hogs
butt. Miles and time that could be applied to going east.
Damn. I played it safe and went back, as much as I hated to.
Pissed off but full of gas I get back on SR 10 and turn it up. I am
frustrated. It is mid afternoon and I still have a long ride. I have
been on the road 7 hrs and hardly have 200 miles to show for it.
I put the ST on 100. I watch the mountains disappear in my mirrors as I
fly across the Colorado Front Range.
I wonder as I ride what the early settlers must have thought, after crossing
1500 miles of plains, to be confronted by the Rockies rising up from nowhere. No
foothill introduction, just plains to mountains.
I roll into La Junta and top off the gas tank. There were no stations
between Walsenberg and La Junta.
I take SR 71 and quickly hook up with SR 96. After all the twisty roads I
am looking forward to 96 and I am not disappointed. It is straight and
fast.
I get caught by a train in Ordway. I could see several cars escaping the
line and going to another road. I figure they know something I
don't. I follow them and they take me around the stalled train on the
tracks.
I get back on 96 and pick up where I left off. The ST is running along at
100mph. The smooth and quiet motor feels like its 50 mph. I ride with my
shield flipped up. Other traffic is non-existent. The landscape is
nothing but prairie. Void of buildings or trees. Unlike most riders, I
love this type of country. I have twisties back home, but no place to run
the ST like its suppose to be ridden. Out here I can go on auto pilot and
ride.
I only slow down when I pass through what I call the "elevator
towns." A grain elevator, a few stores, few houses. These
little communities support the grain elevator. They are strung out every
30-40 miles on SR 96. They are also connected by a rail line. A
train goes down the line stopping in each town, and leaving with a load of
grain.
I feel much better now. I am enjoying the ride. I am lost in thought
as I ride. I sing every song I know . I think about home, and what is
going on there.
In the "elevator town" of Covington I pulled off for something to
drink at a quiet old fashioned gas station. I chatted with the
owner. A nice guy, but he says he can't make a living anymore, and plans
to sell the store. I wished him luck and moved on.
I crossed into Kansas and its more of the same. The route number does not
even change. Instead of Co. 96 it is Kansas 96. That's all. More
open plains, and long stretches of lonesome highway, and more "elevator
towns" but they appeared a little more vibrant then those in Colorado.
My shadow has moved from my right side to directly in front now.
I ride through a string of "elevator towns." They are just places on a
map for those who travel the interstates, but not for me. The towns of
Tribune, Moco, Scott City, and Beeler decorate SR 96. I see them upclose,
I see the people that call these towns home. I watch them amble over to
the local post office, and see them leaving them stores with small bags.
If you want to know what this part of the country feels like, take a ride on SR
96.
Riding through Selkirk I see a lady cutting grass on her Main street home.
I wave as I go by. On the far east side of town I note the "Cowboy
Corner" has only 2 trucks in the parking lot. I assume they don't get
busy till all the "hands" are finished, and that won't be till dark.
I am now at my planned stopping point for the day. I feel good, I am
having a great ride, and even after 500 miles I don't want to stop. I get
out my atlas and take aim at Salina.
Back on 96 I keep the pace, and gobble up huge tracts of the Kansas
Plains.
Passing through the town of Dighton I see Little League baseball game going
on. I pulled off and watched a inning from the saddle of my bike.
Kids are kids no matter where you go. The families looked liked they
enjoyed this time away from the fields and cows that take up so much of their
other day.
I am treated to great sunset in my mirrors as I ride east. I witnessed a
great sunrise today, and now get to see a spectacular sunset. I am
thankful to be so lucky.
As the sun disappeared the cold returned, so I pulled off and changed gloves,
and glasses, and added a liner to the Roadcrafter.
In the dark, I smell scents of things I can't see. Its funny how acute
your other senses become, when you can't see.
It what seems like no time I covered 220 miles across Kansas and rolled into
Great Bend at dark looking for gas. I take this time to find a route to
I-70 to take me to Salina, and a Motel 6 I know to be there.
I take 156 to I-70 and find myself quickly being routed to a detour. Dang, I
don't have time for this.
The detour is narrow, and full of potholes. I run into a bug swarm, and
they cover the ST and my helmet. My speed in the dark and bugs was reduced
to 35.
Passing through a town, I spotted a local patrol car running radar. I quizzed
the officer, and he assured me this is the correct route to I-70.
I completed the detour, and was back on SR 156. The road was dark, and I
was thankful for my PIAAs. Well worth the money.
Reaching I-70 I veered right to get on the east bound lanes. The signs
tell me only 30 miles to Salina. The road is smooth and traffic is moving
briskly. I am tired now, and looking forward to reaching Salina and a real
bed.
I keep a sharp lookout for blown out tires and retreads.
I took the first Salina exit, and stopped at the Motel 6. It is 11pm and
the ST trip meter reads 780 miles for the day.
The clerk advised me he only has smoking rooms available. I took it
telling myself I will survive, I'm tired, and don't feel like shopping.
I unloaded the ST, and plopped down on the bed.
I took a long hot shower. The best shower of the trip. When I finished, I
made notes in my travel journal.
Feeling kind of hungry I hustled over to the nearby truck stop and bought some
junk food. Drinking Mountain Dew and munching popcorn, I clicked channels
for a hour then drifted off to sleep.
