Y'know, this is really weird. One day its perfect, next day its crap. Have I been cursed because I killed a chinaman, or possibly an albatross, without realising it? I dont think so, to the best of my recollection. After a near perfect ride thru the splendour of southern Utah, I finished up at Monticello. From there I planned to ride down thru Monument Valley, then up thru Four Corners, to Cortez, Colorado, ticking a few boxes on the Bucket List as I went. Fate would determine otherwise. For the record, I headed south and after 20 miles or so, I decided that the weather was not conducive to seeing Monument Valley. It was windy and dusty, and visibility was poor. I did a u-turn, thinking that instead, I would head north and have a look at Moab, as the weather may improve. The only improvement was that I had a tail wind, which lulled me into a false sense of security. By the time I got up to Moab, it was blowing a gale, and visibility was severely restricted. Never mind, I'll stay here if I can get a motel. Moab,on the Memorial Day weekend. Surely you jest? After a couple of rejections, and an offer of a fleapit for a very unreasonable $180 a night, I thought ok, I'll go back to Monticello.
The fact that I had already pre-booked and paid for a room in Cortez was a moot point. There was no way I could get that far in these conditions. The ride back to Monticello was hell on earth. It was worse than the hammering I got when I first hit Arizona a few days previously, which I did not think was even possible. Twice I was just blown across double lines in a split second, into the path of oncoming traffic, and at one point, when I felt the front wheel lift off the ground, my life flashed before my eyes (of course, I'm getting used to that by now!). I was the most relieved guy on the planet when I finally got back to Monticello. I had just ridden about 160 miles in appalling conditions only to end up back where I started from. So much for meticulous planning. Monticello was populated by about 50 bikers all desperately trying to secure a room. The guy in front of me on the line got the last room in town. What happens on tour stays on tour, but suffice to say, we ended up sharing a room. Room, I said. Not since I shared a smallish double bed in a BnB with Cyril the Squirrel at the TT Races on the Isle of Man in 1977, have I had such an unnerving nights sleep, and let's just leave it at that. Oops, too much information.
This was the road into Moab, before the weather turned to crap! After that, I was too busy trying to live to get the camera out again.
So, by next morning the wind had gone and I headed off into Colorado. And it was cold. How cold? Well, this cold. As soon as the bore water hit the ground, it froze.
I swear, it was so cold that the pawnbrokers had their signs covered up. But I pushed on through to a nice little town called Pagosa Springs, with the intention of deliberately seeking out places where nobody else would even think of going, just so I could get accommodation. But this is America, every place is crowded. Nevertheless, the next day I rode through some of the most pristine, picture postcard perfect countryside it has been my good fortune ever to see. Mountains with snow covered peaks, crystal clear streams, spectacular views, beautiful farmhouses, twisty roads as smooth as a baby's bum, the whole bit. And it was too bloody cold to stop and get the camera out, so bad luck.
As I pushed on towards Gunnison, I went up through a pass about 11,000 ft high, and it got even colder, and I saw the first bit of snow by the roadside. The road was a bit bumpy, but nonetheless a pretty exciting ride. I even saw quite a few guys on bicycles out on the road, out in the middle of nowhere. Obviously not scared of bears. I left them in their private world of pain as I blasted past and scraped the pegs on some beautiful sets of twisties.
Next day, with the winter linings hauled out of the panniers for the first time, I headed up through Breckenridge, which is actually the place where the final sequences of the movie Dumb and Dumber was filmed, purporting to be Aspen in the movie. Well, I got a few chuckles out of it as I went through. Much further on through Rocky Mountain National Park, it just kept getting higher, 12,000 ft this time, and colder. But I finally saw a moose! Even though it didn't have antlers.
And did I mention it was cold? That white stuff is snow, people. (Grimes, seeing as you are in Moscow, I don't expect you to be the least bit impressed by this meagre bit of atmospheric dandruff.) Everybody else, empathise.
And have a look at that back tyre! Lucky I am now in Loveland, CO (that's the name of the town, not some knock shop), where the bike gets a service, and a new set of tyres, and I get to take it easy in a nice warm bar with a blazing log fire for a while. With a glass or two of 08 Peter Lehmann Barossa shiraz, and at Aussie prices again too. The world is evidently shrinking, but from where I'm sitting, it still looks like it goes on forever.
Thanks Peter, you're a champion. Christ, what is it like here in Winter?
The fact that I had already pre-booked and paid for a room in Cortez was a moot point. There was no way I could get that far in these conditions. The ride back to Monticello was hell on earth. It was worse than the hammering I got when I first hit Arizona a few days previously, which I did not think was even possible. Twice I was just blown across double lines in a split second, into the path of oncoming traffic, and at one point, when I felt the front wheel lift off the ground, my life flashed before my eyes (of course, I'm getting used to that by now!). I was the most relieved guy on the planet when I finally got back to Monticello. I had just ridden about 160 miles in appalling conditions only to end up back where I started from. So much for meticulous planning. Monticello was populated by about 50 bikers all desperately trying to secure a room. The guy in front of me on the line got the last room in town. What happens on tour stays on tour, but suffice to say, we ended up sharing a room. Room, I said. Not since I shared a smallish double bed in a BnB with Cyril the Squirrel at the TT Races on the Isle of Man in 1977, have I had such an unnerving nights sleep, and let's just leave it at that. Oops, too much information.
This was the road into Moab, before the weather turned to crap! After that, I was too busy trying to live to get the camera out again.
So, by next morning the wind had gone and I headed off into Colorado. And it was cold. How cold? Well, this cold. As soon as the bore water hit the ground, it froze.
I swear, it was so cold that the pawnbrokers had their signs covered up. But I pushed on through to a nice little town called Pagosa Springs, with the intention of deliberately seeking out places where nobody else would even think of going, just so I could get accommodation. But this is America, every place is crowded. Nevertheless, the next day I rode through some of the most pristine, picture postcard perfect countryside it has been my good fortune ever to see. Mountains with snow covered peaks, crystal clear streams, spectacular views, beautiful farmhouses, twisty roads as smooth as a baby's bum, the whole bit. And it was too bloody cold to stop and get the camera out, so bad luck.
As I pushed on towards Gunnison, I went up through a pass about 11,000 ft high, and it got even colder, and I saw the first bit of snow by the roadside. The road was a bit bumpy, but nonetheless a pretty exciting ride. I even saw quite a few guys on bicycles out on the road, out in the middle of nowhere. Obviously not scared of bears. I left them in their private world of pain as I blasted past and scraped the pegs on some beautiful sets of twisties.
Next day, with the winter linings hauled out of the panniers for the first time, I headed up through Breckenridge, which is actually the place where the final sequences of the movie Dumb and Dumber was filmed, purporting to be Aspen in the movie. Well, I got a few chuckles out of it as I went through. Much further on through Rocky Mountain National Park, it just kept getting higher, 12,000 ft this time, and colder. But I finally saw a moose! Even though it didn't have antlers.
And did I mention it was cold? That white stuff is snow, people. (Grimes, seeing as you are in Moscow, I don't expect you to be the least bit impressed by this meagre bit of atmospheric dandruff.) Everybody else, empathise.
And have a look at that back tyre! Lucky I am now in Loveland, CO (that's the name of the town, not some knock shop), where the bike gets a service, and a new set of tyres, and I get to take it easy in a nice warm bar with a blazing log fire for a while. With a glass or two of 08 Peter Lehmann Barossa shiraz, and at Aussie prices again too. The world is evidently shrinking, but from where I'm sitting, it still looks like it goes on forever.
Thanks Peter, you're a champion. Christ, what is it like here in Winter?
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