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For What It's Worth

It was at this point in my trip that I had my closest calls with danger. Three in fact. I've heard that things come in three's, perhaps getting this all over within 30 minutes was a good thing? All near Loveland Pass on the I-70.

The first was a near collision. A minivan pulled in front of me and nearly cut me off. I backed off and let it go. This, however, is just the begining, and I should mention I am hard not to see from the front since I run "on" at all times PIAA 540s with H3 extreme white bulbs. A mile or two down the road I am passing a transport truck and rounding a dogleg-right corner. Suddenly in front of me is the offending minivan, in my lane, moving slower than myself or the transport. The van puts on its left turn signal (yes left, and this is in the left lane of a two lane interstate where vehicles are travelling 75 mph) brakes hard, and starts to pull over to the left. The only problem is, there is no room for it on the left. Those of you who have travelled this road I'm sure can relate. I hit my brakes, horn, and try to think of what evasive action I can take so as to not hit the back of this vehicle. Or more importantly, stay in one piece. The transport truck sees what is happening, anticipates a possible move by the van to the right across its path (remember there really isn't room to stop on the left), and hits the brakes as well. So, there is a transport on my right braking hard, about 3 feet away from my right shoulder, a van in front braking hard moving left, and cars behind me doing 75 mph. Basically I am boxed in. A 5 foot gap between the right side of the van and the left side of the transport opens, and I go through it, at about 60 mph. I don't know what happened after that, because I didn't stick around to find out.

I don't like to judge situations when I may not have all the facts. For example, what if the minivan driver was having a medical emergency? All I can say for sure is that it was a close call.

Now for number two. I'm usually pretty calm. But I don't mind admitting this shook me up a little. A few more miles up the road I pulled off at a rest stop, to collect my wits and calm down. I stop the bike, put the sidestand down, and start to swing my right leg back over top to dismount. But I haven't paid attention to the incline. The bike starts to roll forward, the sidestand collapses up, and in this compromised situation I am trying to keep this heavily laden bike upright. I struggle for what seems like an eternity (a few bystanders look on with wide eyes and don't know what to do), and need every ounce of my strenght to right the bike and swing my right leg back on. I sit with my right foot firmly over the brake, preventing the roll, panting out of breath. I sat like that for 15 minutes remembering there would be days like this.


So, once calmed down, I'm off again. Now for number three. As I climb Loveland Pass, elevation 11,902 feet, I see dark clouds looming. But in other parts of the sky, it's reasonably clear, so I press on. The sky gets darker, and it starts to rain. I don't mind rain at all. Like yourselves, I am geared for it, often ride in it, and sometimes would even say I like it. Hail, however, is different. Especially big hailstones that hurt when they hit you. Which is exactly what happened. Beside damage to me and my bike, I was concerned about traction. And the traffic wasn't slowing down much. I drove for a few minutes looking for a safe place to pull off. A clearing on the right appeared, at what I would later determine to be the entrance to Eisenhower Tunnel at Loveland Pass. As I am standing in the hail, by the side of the road, trying to put my 'stitch triple digits on, all of a sudden a very loud siren wails (even through my earplugs I hear it loudly), and lights start to flash. Gates are closing. I see a huge truck coming to a quick stop in front of the tunnel. There is a man in a yellow outfit with a big stick running towards it, in the hail, and the cars are stopping as well. What is going on!? Am I safe? What more could happen today?

There is a reasonable explanation for most things. As best I can figure after the fact, the truck tripped a height sensor which prevents oversized vehicles from running into the top of the tunnel. The man with the stick uses it to measure maximum permissible height.

In any event, the hail stopped, and I moved on. This photo shows my GPS at an elevation of 10.6 K feet, somewhere near where all this happened.
 
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When I got to Denver I found Foothills BMW easily. True to his word, Murray the service man looked after me efficiently and happily. I looked through the store, and found things I had never seen before in Canada. All manner of BMW gear. Gloves and other apparel in the flesh. "Held" gloves, very nice. And a waiting lounge with coffee and cookies. Life can't be bad can it?

I met a nice couple from Davenport. They had lived in the Denver area and gave me some tips for things to do with my wife, who would arrive the next morning. They said they were considering a move to Canada, but were concerned about the short biking season. I explained that in some parts of Canada, such as southern British Columbia and southern Ontario, the season is almost all year, other than for the odd bit of nasty weather. My home province, Saskatchewan, would have a much shorter season.

All done in short order, I'm off to the hotel to meet with Sheila the next morning.
 
Rocky Mountain National park was great. The road over the top spectacular, above the tree line and at the snow line. Here are my wife and I at the visitor center at over 12 K feet elevation........
 
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great report, great photos, great writing. your 'three dangers' section was well put-together. sounds like you kept a cool head and did well in all situations.

keep it coming! :thumb
 
jgr451 said:
Yes I love the BIG SKY too,you described it very aptly.
I grew up in Manitoba and have crossed the prairies from BC to the east by bike a number of times.People dismiss that drive as straight and boring but there is a majesty and subtlety there that is not like any other place.

I couldn't agree more!! Thanks....
 
cgarr said:
Nice photos rider......:clap :clap :clap

Southern Utah is one of my favorite places to kill time on the bike, no matter how many times you go, there is always something you haven't seen yet

Thanks for taking the time to share your ride with the rest of the asylum

Thanks my pleasure!! You are lucky being close to such great riding......
 
username said:
great report, great photos, great writing. your 'three dangers' section was well put-together. sounds like you kept a cool head and did well in all situations.

keep it coming! :thumb


Thanks!!
 
I'll try to finish this report now, but I've caught a little bit of trouble. My wife read the post on the dangers, and although I had previously "alluded" to that day, I hadn't quite related it with the same precision and detail. Sheila supports my biking, but understandably doesn't enjoy hearing about the danger parts.

I have always done what I can to be safe. I believe in proper training, safe equipment, and mostly an appropriate attitude. I try my best to never let annoyance or even anger stand in the way of good judgement. As my wife's grandfather (who was a train engineer on the famous Newfoundland or "Newfie" Bullet) often said, "it's better to be wrong than to be 'dead' right". Nonetheless, as you well know, there are risks.

Denver was great. We enjoyed many good meals, the 16th Avenue walkway, and the spectacular scenery. We also visited the famous Red Rocks Amphitheatre to the west of Denver. I had first heard about this theatre in the rocks when watching the DVD of Neil Young at Red Rocks. I subsequently found out the Beatles played here on August 26th, 1964. Almost exactly 40 years ago. In Neil Young's DVD the amphitheatre seemed like an incredible place, in a natural red rock setting, and it absolutely is. With huge natural rock formations on either side, the sound is apparently spectaular. Here is a picture of the rock formation to the north of the seats, with my wife sitting on a ledge at ground level.
 
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It came time for Sheila to fly home, and for me to ride home. On the day of my departure I left Denver at about 4:45 AM. I wanted a solid mileage the first day, to make a reasonable three day return possible. The northern route, avoiding Chicago, was my plan. I rode through Colorado, Nebrsaka, and Iowa into Albert Lea Minnesota. About 840 miles. I knew in advance what this would feel like, since I had previously completed the Saddlesore 1,000 in 16 hours. When I pulled into the Comfort Inn in Albert Lea at about 7:30 PM, there were several HD riders in the lot, checking in. They asked me if I was on the 'circuit'. I wasn't sure what the circuit was, but thought it could be an arranged routing for HD riders. I had seen dozens of them, and put two and two togther given that I was close to Milwaukee as well.

I don't think it's good practice to brag at any time, especially out on the road. But I couldn't help replying that I had left Denver earlier in the day, and that yes, I was a little beat too. I figured my 15 hour ride earned me that small indiscretion. I wasn't asked any more questions, but they did look at me as if I was somewhat over the top.
 
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Riding north through Minnesota, Wisconsin, and Michigan was great. As I crossed into Michigan, helmets appeared. It was like seeing a long lost friend, and I no longer felt as different in my ATGATT. The other appearance in Michigan was of highway police. I saw more patrol cars on highway #2 than in the rest of my trip combined. I watched my speed closely.

Northen Lake Michigan was really pretty. Here are a few photos.
 
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Taking the trans-Canada highway from the Sault home to Ottawa was covering well known territory. I made my customary gas stops in Espinola and Mattawa.

It was terribly cold. In fact the whole trip home, while trying to stay ahead of some bad weather, I had worn my electric vest. I never rode without it, and it was on most of the time. I can't imagine what it would have been like without the vest to keep me warm. The grips were on often as well. Beside the hail and rain at Loveland Pass in Colorado, the only other precipitation I encountered on my trip was this rain the last few hours west of Ottawa. Heavy rain.

Just west of Deep River I was passed by a couple riding two-up on a cruiser. A half an hour later I pulled into Deep River for a coffee and found them stopped having coffee and food at the same place. Both about my age. I felt so badly for them, they looked miserable, cold, and drenched. As I sat having my coffee, I noticed that neither had any electric clothing. The woman was wearing a North Face winter coat and a winter overall. The man had a rain suit, but was wearing running shoes that were soaked. Neither had full face helmets. The man poured over maps, barely looking up, while the woman stared vacantly into the rain outside. They hardly spoke a word to each other.

I imagined them talking about and eagerly anticipating this trip, through northern Ontario. Time off together, on the bike, enjoying the scenery and the wind on their faces. And then this, days of cold and rain. I was embarrassed for how smug I had been the day before, and made a silent wish for their improved comfort.

I finally made it to Ottawa, after hours of rain. Miraculously, the rain let up just as I arrived home, looking a bit like a refugee from a home for wayward motorcyclists:
 
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That smile on my face is real. Glad I did it. Glad to be home. After several thousand kms.

(Many thanks to Jessie McGrath, Master BMW mechanic (the best!!) and owner of Premier Cycle in Ottawa, who keeps my bike going).
 
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L Rider said:
There were roads that seemed to go miles and miles into the horizon.

Lord, that is straight! Too straight!

I wonder if that explains why raked out Harleys originated down there?

Thanks for the report. Ahhh, to win a lottery and travel. Wouldn't that be pure heaven?
 
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