Rocky Mountain High and Homeward?
Getting up in Steamboat Springs, we rode through the Routt National Forest on US 40 over Rabbit Ears Pass (9,426 ft). The road up to and down from the pass was gorgeous, alpine meadows, forested mountains, the whole Colorado kick.
Stopping for gas in Granby before heading up 34 into Rocky Mountain National Park, I found a nail in Dad's rear tire. I stopped him before he could pick it out! We needed it to keep the air in there over the mountain and into Loveland, the nearest dealer I knew of.
We paid our fees and headed into the park. As we started to ascend the Trail Ridge road, elk and deer both caused traffic stoppages. Elk are as big as horses and you sure don't want to hit one on a motorcycle. Deer either, of course. And the males tend to have sharp pointy things on their heads for extra bodily damage in case of impact...
Heading up past the tree line...
Somewhere along the way there's a sign as you pass through 10,500 ft elevation - "Two miles from sea level". That's a loooong way up.
Top of the world, ma....
We stopped at the visitor center and had some coffee and hot chocolate to warm up. Took a few pics from the overlook also.
And the road heads up from the visitor center. I'm not sure of the highest elevation on the road, but I'm sure it's over 12,000 ft. The speed limit along the way is 35 mph, and the traffic wasn't bad, so once we crested the high point, I put it in 3rd and one handed my way down, taking pics along the way. I hope regular readers aren't tired of mountain pictures because here we go again....
I'm not sure what the fascination with mountains is, but I've sure got it bad. And the American West is full of them. I get excited with 6000 ft peaks in the East and here I am riding at 12,000 feet taking pictures of 14,000 ft peaks.
34 drops you into Estes Park and then takes you out a canyon along the Big Thompson river.
There are signs all along the route stating, "Slow vehicles use turnouts", to allow faster traffic to move along. There was a guy in a Mini Cooper ahead of me that could not read. He'd futz along, braking to 20 in the corners, almost getting to 40 in the straights, and would not pull over (speed limit was 45 if I recall). Finally passed him on a long straight and he sped up to try and keep me from getting by. Jerk. And I wasn't riding his bumper prior to passing, either...just close enough to let him know that the "Slow Vehicle" signs applied to him.
We got to the dealer in Loveland and got the tire replaced. I hope Dad's HOG roadside assistance covers road hazards, because it was a fairly new tire and the replacement was not cheap. They did get us in and out in a hurry.
We wanted to clear Denver before stopping so we wouldn't get the morning rush hour when we left. Of course, it started raining. Hard. We put on the rain gear, over already wet clothes, and soldiered on. Dad said, " I think it's going to blow over."
Cue the Bill Murray character from Caddyshack: "I don't think the heavy stuff is going to come for a while". (paraphrasing, I don't remember the exact quote).
It poured rain, big fat drops the size of golfballs, water 3 inches deep on the road, lightning in every direction. Great.
We made it as far as Colorado Springs and quit for the night.
The next morning we headed south out of CO on I-25 into New Mexico, where we picked up 87 down into Texas. In Amarillo we hit I-40 and made the turn eastward. We're in Weatherford, OK as I write (I love a high speed internet connection in my hotel room) contemplating Memphis for tomorrow.
The turn eastward brings the question of "home". What defines home? I've gotten the "Where are you from?" question quite a bit on this trip (not as much as the Sturgis question, though) and it's a bit hard to answer. From? Well, I was born in North Dakota and haven't been back in over 30 years. I live in Kentucky, but I'm not from there. It's where my stuff is, and where I live and work currently, but is it really home?
I guess most people have a familial connection associated with a location, defining home, but my parents have moved more than I have. They currently live in Georgia, in a town I've never lived in, so it's sure not home. Most of my formative years were spent in Michigan, but there's no family there - some friends close enough to be family, though. Ten years in Georgia made me awfully fond of it, and a bunch of people there, but again...
What brings the question is, Dad and I will be back in Georgia by the weekend, and I have another week off. And no real desire or need to go back to KY until I have to be back to work - well, maybe a day or two to decompress. So I think once I drop Dad off, I'll go visiting. Grandpa Chub in Little Falls, NY isn't getting any younger - and I've got all next week. And friends to see in Athens and Asheville. Pile up the miles while I've got the time.
I'll pop back with any interesting updates from the road, and a wrap up once I get home. The Art of the Motorcycle is in Memphis, and it should be interesting.
Thanks for listening.