Saturday, June 12, 2021
I was rolling north on CO-141 shortly before or after sunrise, depending on which mountain or canyon wall was between me and the sun at any given moment.
It was 47 degrees F. With handgrip heaters, a fleece sweater under my jacket, and all my vents zipped up, I was perfectly comfortable.
The sky was cloudless.
I had 35 miles of flawless blacktop -- and all the miles beyond it, up to the chip seal project -- entirely to myself.
Yadda freakin' yadda.
I was rolling north on CO-141 shortly before or after sunrise, depending on which mountain or canyon wall was between me and the sun at any given moment.
It was 47 degrees F. With handgrip heaters, a fleece sweater under my jacket, and all my vents zipped up, I was perfectly comfortable.
The sky was cloudless.
I had 35 miles of flawless blacktop -- and all the miles beyond it, up to the chip seal project -- entirely to myself.
Yadda freakin' yadda.
My peculiar usage of "yadda yadda" comes from 2017's Military Sinkhole Dispatch
In which your humble narrator attempts to achieve empathy with his audience.
“A crisp, brilliantly-sunny fall day blah blah blah.”
“Awe-inspiring mountain vistas ablaze in spectacular autumn glory yadda yadda yadda.”
“New lines on the map…incredible motorcycle…had the roads all to himself. What. Ever.”
In which your humble narrator attempts to achieve empathy with his audience.
“A crisp, brilliantly-sunny fall day blah blah blah.”
“Awe-inspiring mountain vistas ablaze in spectacular autumn glory yadda yadda yadda.”
“New lines on the map…incredible motorcycle…had the roads all to himself. What. Ever.”
*
I honestly don't know if I rode the most spectacular stretch of Gateway Canyon a total of 7 times.
It might have been 9.
*
On one run I asked myself, "Would I rather wake up tomorrow looking at the walls of that cheap motel...or looking at this?"
I started seeking, and quickly found, the perfect campsite.
The locals had found it first, of course; they'd left a few camp chairs and a tent and even staked some solar footpath lighting near a fire ring behind a prominent boulder a couple hundred feet from the road.
I wondered, considering it was Saturday, if said locals might show up while I was camping. But if they did I had a feeling I'd get on well with the folks who hung out here -- the place was loved, not trashed.
I continued to run up and down the canyon until I was bingo fuel, then headed back to Naturita with the intent of finding breakfast and then hiding in my room until the heat of the day passed. Shortly before dark I'd head back up the canyon and make camp. In the morning I'd depart for Flagstaff, the first ride of my day being a final run through the canyon (#9? or #11?).
*
On the way back to town, while stopped at a scenic view, a massive northbound parade of Jeeps passed. It was miles long, crawling along at maybe 45 mph, a sheriff's SUV playing caboose.
Soooo glad I'd gotten that early start.
*
When I reached Naturita, my plan changed again.
While I'd had the Most. Fun. Ever. all morning, as I rode through town Therese was a very unhappy motorcycle. The poor low RPM behavior had manifested a few times in recent days, mainly during descents from Independence Pass when I'd occasionally find myself following traffic downhill and thus running at idle or just off idle. Coming into Naturita was a bit like that and she was now running worse than ever, nearly unrideable as I crawled through town. The engine died as I rolled up to the gas pump, and after refueling it took so many attempts before she started I feared the battery would give up. Once running, getting back on the road was a dodgy maneuver; she wouldn't idle and I had to keep her revved high to prevent stalling, so I launched into the fortunately thin traffic flow with grossly inadequate engine control.
There was no way I was going back up the canyon with a machine running this poorly; I wondered if she'd even get me home.
I returned to the motel and disconnected the battery negative terminal, leaving it off for about an hour in the hope the root cause was a confused Motronic computer that a power cycle would reset.
And indeed, after that she seemed OK. I rode her down to the town's central gas station/convenience store/car wash.
The place had a surprisingly good hot food service; it was too late for breakfast by then but they had a fine loaded potato soup simmering.
I enjoyed my meal at a well-shaded picnic table where I conversed with a Gold Wing rider from Tennessee. He was doing pretty much the same thing I was: riding around the west without specific plan. He liked the Wing "for what it was" but spoke highly of his BMW K1200S -- the precursor to the K1300S. He also owned a BMW S1000RR but admitted it wasn't practical for much but the track -- and he'd rather just tour than spend the money track time demanded.
Like me, he'd ridden his K1n00S to Alaska; unlike me, he'd ridden it beyond the pavement at Fairbanks, all the way to the Arctic Circle. That was impressive. His K1200S now had 108 thousand miles on it.
I used the car wash to blast a week's worth of bugs off Therese, then went back to the motel and chilled. I watched a bunch of NASA TV and a series of SoundStage concerts featuring female performers: Heart, Stevie Nicks, Alanis Morrissette, and Sheryl Crow.
Cyndi Lauper went on without me while I walked back down the hill for dinner at the restaurant of a motel right on the main drag that might have been a higher quality choice than Naturita Lodge. After hearing the beer choices I ordered Jameson, and couldn't dump enough pepper on the fettuccini alfredo to make it interesting.
Back at the lodge I stayed up late. Naturita, to its great credit, is a certified Dark Sky Community. By walking around behind the motel I was able to block out the lights of the parking lot and front walkway.
The sky was still crystal clear, and I enjoyed a fine view of the Milky Way.
The locals had found it first, of course; they'd left a few camp chairs and a tent and even staked some solar footpath lighting near a fire ring behind a prominent boulder a couple hundred feet from the road.
I wondered, considering it was Saturday, if said locals might show up while I was camping. But if they did I had a feeling I'd get on well with the folks who hung out here -- the place was loved, not trashed.
I continued to run up and down the canyon until I was bingo fuel, then headed back to Naturita with the intent of finding breakfast and then hiding in my room until the heat of the day passed. Shortly before dark I'd head back up the canyon and make camp. In the morning I'd depart for Flagstaff, the first ride of my day being a final run through the canyon (#9? or #11?).
*
On the way back to town, while stopped at a scenic view, a massive northbound parade of Jeeps passed. It was miles long, crawling along at maybe 45 mph, a sheriff's SUV playing caboose.
Soooo glad I'd gotten that early start.
*
When I reached Naturita, my plan changed again.
While I'd had the Most. Fun. Ever. all morning, as I rode through town Therese was a very unhappy motorcycle. The poor low RPM behavior had manifested a few times in recent days, mainly during descents from Independence Pass when I'd occasionally find myself following traffic downhill and thus running at idle or just off idle. Coming into Naturita was a bit like that and she was now running worse than ever, nearly unrideable as I crawled through town. The engine died as I rolled up to the gas pump, and after refueling it took so many attempts before she started I feared the battery would give up. Once running, getting back on the road was a dodgy maneuver; she wouldn't idle and I had to keep her revved high to prevent stalling, so I launched into the fortunately thin traffic flow with grossly inadequate engine control.
There was no way I was going back up the canyon with a machine running this poorly; I wondered if she'd even get me home.
I returned to the motel and disconnected the battery negative terminal, leaving it off for about an hour in the hope the root cause was a confused Motronic computer that a power cycle would reset.
And indeed, after that she seemed OK. I rode her down to the town's central gas station/convenience store/car wash.
The place had a surprisingly good hot food service; it was too late for breakfast by then but they had a fine loaded potato soup simmering.
I enjoyed my meal at a well-shaded picnic table where I conversed with a Gold Wing rider from Tennessee. He was doing pretty much the same thing I was: riding around the west without specific plan. He liked the Wing "for what it was" but spoke highly of his BMW K1200S -- the precursor to the K1300S. He also owned a BMW S1000RR but admitted it wasn't practical for much but the track -- and he'd rather just tour than spend the money track time demanded.
Like me, he'd ridden his K1n00S to Alaska; unlike me, he'd ridden it beyond the pavement at Fairbanks, all the way to the Arctic Circle. That was impressive. His K1200S now had 108 thousand miles on it.
I used the car wash to blast a week's worth of bugs off Therese, then went back to the motel and chilled. I watched a bunch of NASA TV and a series of SoundStage concerts featuring female performers: Heart, Stevie Nicks, Alanis Morrissette, and Sheryl Crow.
Cyndi Lauper went on without me while I walked back down the hill for dinner at the restaurant of a motel right on the main drag that might have been a higher quality choice than Naturita Lodge. After hearing the beer choices I ordered Jameson, and couldn't dump enough pepper on the fettuccini alfredo to make it interesting.
Back at the lodge I stayed up late. Naturita, to its great credit, is a certified Dark Sky Community. By walking around behind the motel I was able to block out the lights of the parking lot and front walkway.
The sky was still crystal clear, and I enjoyed a fine view of the Milky Way.
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