flash412
Loose Cannon
Solstice Dualsport Faucet Ride
The Solstice Dualsport Ride - June 24-25, 2006
Copyright 2006
- Flash#412
So my pal Shank and some guys who will remain nameless were supposed to go on a ride. I was invited. I had a discussion about this ride with some fellows who live further south from where I live. A couple of them said they wanted to go. Then one said he was probably coming. Then he didn't come onna counta fam damnly stuff. The local guys decided getting their hair done or some such crap was more important than a motorcycle ride. So they didn't come either.
Shank and I went on a ride on Saturday and came back Sunday. Things didn't turn out the way we had planned and we had more adventure than we wanted. But nothing (much) got bent or broken. And other than being sore as hell and having my bike brand me at its bitch for life, I don't think we had any injuries worthy of more than a kiss from a loved one.
Shank was originally gonna spend Friday night at my place so we could get off to an early start. Wingnuttery being his middle name, he later asked what time he should arrive in the morning. I figured we should leave at 8:00, so I told him 7:30. He showed up a little after 8.
It seems that there was some sort of bicycle race in Loveland that closed nearly all the streets running east-west and thwarted his Grand Plan to arrive fifteen minutes early. At some juncture he realized that, "If dey was two cops at dat intersection ovah dey an two mo' at dat light ovah dey, den dats ALL the cops in Loveland!" So he ducked into a neighborhood and came out between the lights and crossed the blockage.
Suited up, we left at the crack of 8:15. I was astride "Jabu," outfitted for dirt with all the pre-broken and pre-scratched parts, and my Pelican cases. And I was wearing dual sprot gear, cuz we was going dual-sprotin'!
We went up the curvy-pavement Rist Canyon over Buckhorn pass and down into Stove Prairie.
Top of Buckhorn Pass
Then we headed over to Pennock Pass, which is dirt.
We came out in Poudre Canyon and ripped it up over Cameron Pass, which is pavement.
We took the (dirt) Gould to Rand cutoff. I stopped to take a photo of an xmas tree.
Then after a couple of miles of pavement, we took the dirt Rand to CO-14 cutoff. A couple miles up the road was Coalmont. A road leaves Coalmont and heads for Buffalo Pass, which is dirt. I stopped and took a picture of a train in some guy's yard.
At the bottom of the road up Buffalo Pass was a sign that said, ~"Buffalo Pass 13 mi. Steamboat Springs 23 mi." We stopped for lunch. It was not quite noon. I said, "We'll be in Steamboat by two and at Elk Springs by four."
Our plan was to get off of US-40 at Elk Springs and take some nasty dirt road that Shank and Nate and Dinskeep had taken on their way OUT last year. We would go to some swell campground in Dinosaur National Monument. But, it had taken them about four and a half hours, stopping to shoot photos along the way. June 24th is three days after the longest day of the year, so we should have plenty of daylight.
We mounted up after lunch and up we went. About eight miles later... there was a gate across the road. As if by magic the gate opened up and we found ourselves on the other side of it.
Up and up we went. I took a photo at the snowline.
Then, there was a snowdrift across the road. I rode over it. Then there was another, higher, longer one. I went for it... and got stuck. Shank took a picture.
As we were considering our options, a fellow on a KLR650 who went by while we were eating lunch came DOWN the hill to where we were. He stopped and asked if we needed help. Shank and I lifted on the bags and he pushed on the front and we extracted the bike from the snowbank.
He asked us how if we had taken road 615 around the barrier and come out on the road like he had. Of COURSE we had. We asked him how he got above the snowbank and he said he had just ridden around. I'm telling you, a nekkid KLR might have made it just as quick as you please but there was no way a lumbering F650 with 150 pounds of luggage was going to leap up that hill.
Anyway, the fellow said that up higher it got a lot worse, that there was a snowbank twice as high and maybe 30 yards long covering the road. MAYBE with a couple of shovels and a couple of hours, the way could be cleared. But then... what came after that was anybody's guess.
So after looking at a map, we determined that either we were gonna hafta go all the way around on pavement or else take a county road number 1 that looked like it MIGHT go through.
Back out of the national forest, we found road 1. It had a big NO OUTLET sign. Ah, crap. While we were allowing as how, a pickup came out from there. I asked the occupants if it was really a dead end or if it would actually go through. They said no way. So did another truck that came out while we were figurin'. But hell, if I lived there, I would not want all sorts of yahoos coming down my road, either. Would you?
But we were rapidly running out of time. So rather than take another possible dead end, we opted for the highway. Muddy Pass is pretty lame, at the corner of US-40 and CO-14 at the foot of Rabbit Ears Pass.
Rabbit ears gains some serious altitude. But it is like going over a pass on the interstate, with a runaway truck ramp and such. Down we went into Steamboat. Gassed up and beat feet west. 75 miles later, we stopped in Maybell to top up and have a personal relief break. 22 miles later was the steaming metropolis of Elk Springs. The overstuffed chair next to the non-working pay phone had been removed since Shank's last visit.
At 5:30 PM, the tires were aired down and we were ready to go. Some map eye-balling indicated it would be about 35 miles to the campground. Piece of cake, right?
I suggested that Shank lead for a bunch of reasons. First I am faster than him and by following him, I would not have to worry where he was. Second, I had goggles and he was wearing a street helmet and sunglasses. I knew if he followed, eating my dust would quickly make it impossible for him to see. Third, he'd been this way before and might have a half a clue where we were going, which was half a clue more than I had.
About two miles in, we hit our first deep sand. I hate riding a fully loaded touring bike in deep sand even if it has TKC80s. Shank went a lot slower than I would have. I would have been going twice as fast every time we hit deep sand and probably gotten good and messed up. At about 8 PM, we had gone about 40 miles to a place called "the Bench." It was about a two mile long stretch of sand about a foot deep. Shank fell off. He got up. While he was catching his breath, a fellow in a 4wd truck came along and told us that the campground was only a few more miles. Then he left.
Shank started after him. Because the sun was so low and my goggles were dusty, I had to let him get way out of sight and let the dust settle before I went, otherwise, I was staring into a white sheet of paper for all I could see. I took off. The bike started to handle really well. Then I got out of the sand and onto the pavement. The bike was making a funny noise. I stopped. Flat tire.
I started going again. Heck as hard as it is to remove the rear tire on an F650 and as slow as I was going, I figured it would not be any problem. I waggle my way down the road, across a water crossing and down the road some more, about another mile and a half or two miles. Then, I saw an old log cabin with a clear spot where it looked that we could camp if necessary. It was 8:15 PM and the sun was VERY low. I decided to stop and wait for Shank to return. I figured that he would KNOW how far it was to the real campsite. If it was more than two more miles or if there were rocks, I was not gonna destroy my tire. I was gonna stay HERE.
We had come 44 miles since 5:30.
The Solstice Dualsport Ride - June 24-25, 2006
Copyright 2006
- Flash#412
So my pal Shank and some guys who will remain nameless were supposed to go on a ride. I was invited. I had a discussion about this ride with some fellows who live further south from where I live. A couple of them said they wanted to go. Then one said he was probably coming. Then he didn't come onna counta fam damnly stuff. The local guys decided getting their hair done or some such crap was more important than a motorcycle ride. So they didn't come either.
Shank and I went on a ride on Saturday and came back Sunday. Things didn't turn out the way we had planned and we had more adventure than we wanted. But nothing (much) got bent or broken. And other than being sore as hell and having my bike brand me at its bitch for life, I don't think we had any injuries worthy of more than a kiss from a loved one.
Shank was originally gonna spend Friday night at my place so we could get off to an early start. Wingnuttery being his middle name, he later asked what time he should arrive in the morning. I figured we should leave at 8:00, so I told him 7:30. He showed up a little after 8.
It seems that there was some sort of bicycle race in Loveland that closed nearly all the streets running east-west and thwarted his Grand Plan to arrive fifteen minutes early. At some juncture he realized that, "If dey was two cops at dat intersection ovah dey an two mo' at dat light ovah dey, den dats ALL the cops in Loveland!" So he ducked into a neighborhood and came out between the lights and crossed the blockage.
Suited up, we left at the crack of 8:15. I was astride "Jabu," outfitted for dirt with all the pre-broken and pre-scratched parts, and my Pelican cases. And I was wearing dual sprot gear, cuz we was going dual-sprotin'!
We went up the curvy-pavement Rist Canyon over Buckhorn pass and down into Stove Prairie.
Top of Buckhorn Pass
Then we headed over to Pennock Pass, which is dirt.
We came out in Poudre Canyon and ripped it up over Cameron Pass, which is pavement.
We took the (dirt) Gould to Rand cutoff. I stopped to take a photo of an xmas tree.
Then after a couple of miles of pavement, we took the dirt Rand to CO-14 cutoff. A couple miles up the road was Coalmont. A road leaves Coalmont and heads for Buffalo Pass, which is dirt. I stopped and took a picture of a train in some guy's yard.
At the bottom of the road up Buffalo Pass was a sign that said, ~"Buffalo Pass 13 mi. Steamboat Springs 23 mi." We stopped for lunch. It was not quite noon. I said, "We'll be in Steamboat by two and at Elk Springs by four."
Our plan was to get off of US-40 at Elk Springs and take some nasty dirt road that Shank and Nate and Dinskeep had taken on their way OUT last year. We would go to some swell campground in Dinosaur National Monument. But, it had taken them about four and a half hours, stopping to shoot photos along the way. June 24th is three days after the longest day of the year, so we should have plenty of daylight.
We mounted up after lunch and up we went. About eight miles later... there was a gate across the road. As if by magic the gate opened up and we found ourselves on the other side of it.
Up and up we went. I took a photo at the snowline.
Then, there was a snowdrift across the road. I rode over it. Then there was another, higher, longer one. I went for it... and got stuck. Shank took a picture.
As we were considering our options, a fellow on a KLR650 who went by while we were eating lunch came DOWN the hill to where we were. He stopped and asked if we needed help. Shank and I lifted on the bags and he pushed on the front and we extracted the bike from the snowbank.
He asked us how if we had taken road 615 around the barrier and come out on the road like he had. Of COURSE we had. We asked him how he got above the snowbank and he said he had just ridden around. I'm telling you, a nekkid KLR might have made it just as quick as you please but there was no way a lumbering F650 with 150 pounds of luggage was going to leap up that hill.
Anyway, the fellow said that up higher it got a lot worse, that there was a snowbank twice as high and maybe 30 yards long covering the road. MAYBE with a couple of shovels and a couple of hours, the way could be cleared. But then... what came after that was anybody's guess.
So after looking at a map, we determined that either we were gonna hafta go all the way around on pavement or else take a county road number 1 that looked like it MIGHT go through.
Back out of the national forest, we found road 1. It had a big NO OUTLET sign. Ah, crap. While we were allowing as how, a pickup came out from there. I asked the occupants if it was really a dead end or if it would actually go through. They said no way. So did another truck that came out while we were figurin'. But hell, if I lived there, I would not want all sorts of yahoos coming down my road, either. Would you?
But we were rapidly running out of time. So rather than take another possible dead end, we opted for the highway. Muddy Pass is pretty lame, at the corner of US-40 and CO-14 at the foot of Rabbit Ears Pass.
Rabbit ears gains some serious altitude. But it is like going over a pass on the interstate, with a runaway truck ramp and such. Down we went into Steamboat. Gassed up and beat feet west. 75 miles later, we stopped in Maybell to top up and have a personal relief break. 22 miles later was the steaming metropolis of Elk Springs. The overstuffed chair next to the non-working pay phone had been removed since Shank's last visit.
At 5:30 PM, the tires were aired down and we were ready to go. Some map eye-balling indicated it would be about 35 miles to the campground. Piece of cake, right?
I suggested that Shank lead for a bunch of reasons. First I am faster than him and by following him, I would not have to worry where he was. Second, I had goggles and he was wearing a street helmet and sunglasses. I knew if he followed, eating my dust would quickly make it impossible for him to see. Third, he'd been this way before and might have a half a clue where we were going, which was half a clue more than I had.
About two miles in, we hit our first deep sand. I hate riding a fully loaded touring bike in deep sand even if it has TKC80s. Shank went a lot slower than I would have. I would have been going twice as fast every time we hit deep sand and probably gotten good and messed up. At about 8 PM, we had gone about 40 miles to a place called "the Bench." It was about a two mile long stretch of sand about a foot deep. Shank fell off. He got up. While he was catching his breath, a fellow in a 4wd truck came along and told us that the campground was only a few more miles. Then he left.
Shank started after him. Because the sun was so low and my goggles were dusty, I had to let him get way out of sight and let the dust settle before I went, otherwise, I was staring into a white sheet of paper for all I could see. I took off. The bike started to handle really well. Then I got out of the sand and onto the pavement. The bike was making a funny noise. I stopped. Flat tire.
I started going again. Heck as hard as it is to remove the rear tire on an F650 and as slow as I was going, I figured it would not be any problem. I waggle my way down the road, across a water crossing and down the road some more, about another mile and a half or two miles. Then, I saw an old log cabin with a clear spot where it looked that we could camp if necessary. It was 8:15 PM and the sun was VERY low. I decided to stop and wait for Shank to return. I figured that he would KNOW how far it was to the real campsite. If it was more than two more miles or if there were rocks, I was not gonna destroy my tire. I was gonna stay HERE.
We had come 44 miles since 5:30.
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