Ride on 12-7-08

On Sunday mornings in December, one would expect cold weather. On this Sunday, it's pretty warm. It was the perfect temperature for a ride, so I decided to run out and grab the day early. Knowing that things can change pretty quickly, I dressed in all my snivel gear; my warmest leather jacket, thick boots and all that stuff, so that I felt kind of like Randy from "A Christmas Story," wearing so much stuff that I was having trouble moving. I felt even more stupid, when I pulled up to a stoplight, and another motorcycle pulled up next to me. The rider wasn't wearing anything more than jeans and a sweatshirt.

I decided then to get out of town a little. That way, I wouldn't feel so stupid wearing as much as I was, so I decided to head up north through Elbert, to Kiowa. From there, back through Elizabeth and Franktown, back to Colorado Springs. Since that was heading north towards Denver, I would need the extra clothing.

My first leg of the journey was along Woodman Road in Colorado Springs. That took me through a construction area, which slowed me down, but made me aware of the loose sand on the pavement. As any biker will attest to, loose sand can be as treacherous as black ice, causing a bike to lose traction in an instant. I would have to be extra careful on this ride.

I hit Highway 24, heading out to the northeast. This was a road I was familiar with, having taken my bicycle along this route, as well as drives last Winter to see abandoned homes along the way. It was an interesting route. I hit the Elbert Road, and was able to open up a little. There isn't much traffic here, if any at all, so I was able to see for miles ahead and all around.

Rougly five miles into the Elbert Road, I passed the Monument turn off, and headed into some small rolling hills. These hills were topped with Evergreens making them look like little hairy topped heads sticking out of the ground. In these woods were ranches, a Boy Scout camp, and even a tiny airstrip, adjacent to a metal hangar and a wind sock.

The tiny town of Elbert sits just within Elbert County. I suppose that makes it the County Seat, but I could be mistaken. There was a school there, along with a football field, and a classic old country church. It seemed to be the most well kept building in town, so I stopped to take its picture.

My next landmark was Kiowa. I had never been there, but a few months earlier had found a photo on Google maps. The photo was descriptive, showing a crossroads and a couple of buildings off in the distance. The photo did not lie. I decided to head out west, on my next leg of the trip.

This took me through Elizabeth. This town does have a historic district, so I felt obliged to stop and see what it was all about. I found a few buildings that were about a hundred years old, and one that caught my attention was the old Railroad Section house. I didn't know that there was a railroad here, but apparently there was, but this house was the last remaining bit of it.

From there, it was on to Franktown. This is a spread out area, so not too much of a town. I do know that the actress Pamela Grier has a ranch here, so I brought an extra helmet, just in case I should find her hitchhiking for a ride. As I really expected, I had no such luck.

My last turn was back to Colorado Springs along highway 83. There was an uncharacteristic breeze from the South, slowing me down and finally making me glad that I had all the extra layers on. I fell in behind a few vehicles, and kept my speed reasonable. The sun was still out- it would be up for another five hours- and I still had time to fulfill my plans for the rest of the day. I wanted to get lunch at my daughter's restaurant, and get my dog into the dog park.

I made it home by 2 PM.

Ride on 11-2-08

It's one of my favorite days of the year. It's the day after Daylight Savings Time ends, bringing back the one hour of sleep that I lost last Spring. Sure, it gets dark earlier now, but I'm kind of a night hawk anyway. I really like the "extra" hour of sleep. I also heard that a recent doctor's study found that people suffer fewer heart attacks on the day after Daylight Savings Time ends. Somehow, that doesn't surprise me.

So there is a Colorado Patriot Guard Riders mission going on today. The good news that it is not for a hero returning to the States after being killed or wounded. The bad news is that it is for a hero on his way over to Afghanistan. Army Chief Warrant Officer James Henry recently found himself in receipt of orders sending him and his family to another installation away from Fort Carson where he has been stationed for the past several years. The timing was typical of the US Army. Mr. Henry's daughter was about to turn 16, and his son was six months away from graduating from high school. Mr. Henry approached the Army about what he could do to prevent moving his family. He had one other option, and that was to volunteer for another tour in Afghanistan. Thus his family could stay in their home. Mr. Henry is a hero.

The PGR volunteered to escort Mr. Henry from his home to the Colorado Springs Airport. Considering his sacrifice for his family and his country, it is the least we could do.

Our mission was short, but well worth it. There were about 30 riders, and CW3 Henry in the middle, driving with his family. We had a number of people stop and wave to the impromptu parade ushering the soldier to his deployment. We took the liberty to park in the loading zone at the airport, and cheer Mr. Henry on his way. From there, we left him with his family, and went our own seperate ways.

I went to have a late breakfast/early lunch at my daughter's restaurant. It was pretty crowded, but I managed to get a seat in Natalie's section. We talked a little about stuff, and I left my customary $5.00 tip, which was about 35% of my bill. My daughters are the only ones who get that gratuity rate.

From there, I was on my way out on the road. I decided to head out west, because the roads are much more interesting that way. I hadn't decided on a ending point, but I wanted to get back soon enough to take my dog to the dog park. I was in Manitou Springs, when I looked up at Pikes Peak. I realized that I had not taken Steve McQueen to the summit, and it was probably my last opportunity until next Spring to do so.

I was about to take the turn to the Pikes Peak Highway, but had a couple of obstacles to overcome. First was that I had just below a half a tank of gas. At higher altitudes, Steve tends to cough a little, so I should really go with a full tank, and even though the temperatures were in the 70s in Manitou Springs, at a loss of ten degrees for every 5000 feet, I was looking at a cool summit. I figured that I would get gasoline in Woodland Park, and if the temperature didn't bother me there, I'd give the summit a shot.

I dropped the idea in Woodland Park, when the temperature was cool; not enough to stop my ride, but enough to tell me that it would be cooler at 14000 feet at the top of Pikes Peak. I tabled the idea until next year.

So I decided to go to Deckers. That ride is always beautiful. The road is in
good condition, the curves and hills always keep the thrill of motorcycling alive, and the views of the mountains are beautiful. This time of year allows for a view that's much different than the rest of the year, but now for over five years, the scars of the Hayman Fire of 2003 are still there. I never thought this devastation would last this long.

I made it to Deckers, and stopped for a Coke. I spoke with another rider about the bike he did not take on the ride that day. He had a 1965 Moto Guzzi. I don't know a lot about that make of bike, but vintage stuff is so cool visualize. I'd like to think that my Harley would some day be vintage.

I checked my map and figured that I could take a back road from Deckers back to Lake George. I was not in the mood to take any unpaved roads. I decided to give it a shot, but the minute I saw any gravel, I would turn around.

The highway from Deckers headed to the northwest. It was a well paved road, and was just as interesting as the rest of highway 67. It went up a pretty nice hill, and right over the top was a scenic overlook. It was worth stopping for, but not right then. I kept going, passing a few trucks stopped so that hunters could get out and bag a deer.

I made it to a small town called Buffalo Creek. I saw a number of cabins and homes that were settled into the woods looking absolutely natural. I wasn't going the right way to get to Lake George; I had missed the turn-off. I'm glad I missed it, because finding this town was worth the ride. It was hidden in the woods like a secret place, a hideout from the rest of the world. I liked that route.

I used Buffalo Creek as a turn around point, and stopped at the scenic overlook on the way back. I did not have any problems or stops on the way back, and made my way back home. There, my dog, Andy stood anxiously awaiting to see his friends at the dog park.

Ride on 10/26/08

It's a clear Sunday, and I'm not working. What a great excuse for a ride, this late in the season. I didn't know exactly where to go, but I've got a schedule to keep. I usually have lunch on Sunday at the restaurant where my daughter works, and Sunday is also the day I take my dog to the dog park to see his friends. Since I had a little time for a ride, I decided to go south. I packed up at around 10 AM, and figured that I'd take almost a reverse route from one I had taken a few months earlier around Bishop's Castle. The big difference was that I decided that I wouldn't ride on any unpaved roads.

My ride started out excellent, with my MP3 player randomly selecting the Afro Celt Sound System's Mojave, a piece I could listen to every day. At 10 AM, riding through the central part of Colorado Springs, Mojave was a perfect listen while the streets were cool and quiet.

I headed down south on Highway 115, stopping at the gas station to top off. I took a quick bathroom and breakfast break there, while I talked with a few other bikers who were doing the same while I was there. One of them was riding a Valkyrie, which is a purely beautiful bike. If I didn't have a Harley, I'd probably lean toward the Valkyrie.

I hit the road shortly thereafter, and was still grateful to have a Harley - a respectable bike in its own right. Within a few minutes, I found the temperature dropping quite a bit. The forecast called for temps in the mid 60s, but at the speed I was travelling, I was getting cold. Still, I continued on.

The route was familiar; Highway 115 along the western edge of Fort Carson, down to Penrose. I was familiar with Fort Carson on the other side of the fence. Back in 1987 when I was first stationed there, I spent a week on a field exercise just to the northeast of Turkey Creek Ranch, and another three days just east of the May Bug Museum. I even remember a few of the old tank trails that me and my friends used to hide out on during weekly training days. Ah, the good old days!

In Penrose, I decided to take a side journey through the actual town. I had never actually been there, but I have a soft spot for small towns. This one was small; it's "business district" consisted of a few buildings along one block. As I rode around the corner, I saw two young men, one of whom was disassembling an AR-15 rifle. I guess there is really no need for a Police Department here.


I headed south across highway 50, and saw an abandoned home there that I had never seen before. It did not seem to have much time left as an assembled home, so I decided to photograph it while it was still in place. It still had some beauty to it. I can only imagine what it was like when it was occupied.

I headed into Florence, and passed a few old homes. Highway 67 was my next turn, which headed straight down to Wetmore. There was lot of wide open space, as I saw the Wet Mountains straight ahead of me. It looked like a lot of fun to ride into them, but it was getting cooler, and I wanted to meet my daughter for lunch. Instead of heading south, I cut to the east, heading out to Pueblo.

The last time I went from Penrose to Pueblo, I took highway 50, and rode right into a headwind that nearly took my head off. Today felt about the same; a headwind that pressed against me like I was standing in a hurricane.

I found my way into Pueblo, and stopped to top off my gas tank. After that, I hit the expressway and started north. I veered off in Fountain, and bounced around until I hit Powers Boulevard. From there, it was a straight shot to my daughter's restaurant.

I arrived at 1 PM, right as she was off signing off duty. We had lunch together, something we hadn't been able to do for months.

That's why I never argue with fate. I'm glad it was too cool for a long ride.

Ride on Sept 20th

So this week, I’ve been recovering from a cold, and I’ve finally got the upper hand over it. I don’t really need an excuse to ride, but the fresh air does my sinuses well, so there’s my excuse.

I started late, by going out to lunch at my daughter’s restaurant, and time to hatch my route. I was planning on heading out east of the city, which is a pretty boring ride, but I was looking for fresh air-not interesting views. I remembered that I had suggested a ride to Breckenridge this past week, so I decided to go west, which is a ride filled with great views and good roads. The air was just as clear out west as it was to the east.

I left town at about 1 PM. The sky is mostly cloudy, but there is enough blue to keep me clear. The air felt great. I rode up Ute Pass along side of two other bikers, and some surprisingly heavy traffic. I discovered later that there was an Oktoberfest going on in Woodland Park.

I rode through Woodland Park and stopped at a custom bike shop there to stretch my legs and look at new stuff. There wasn't too much there that interested me, so I rode onward. The route was pretty familiar, and easy to look at. In between Divide and Florissant are a great deal of trees and rock formations that look down on the biker zipping by.

Clouds were growing on the western horizon, and the unmistakable vertical gray of rain coming down was ahead of me. I didn’t want to get wet, seeing as I’ve got this upper hand on my cold-and I hadn’t sneezed once during the ride so far. I figured that I would stop at the Wilkerson Pass ranger station to re-evaluate the ride and put on my rain suit, if necessary. That meant that I had about 7 miles to ride in a light rain.

What bothered me the most wasn’t that my pant legs were getting wet, but that the drops were stinging my neck. The rain felt like tiny beestings, and I needed to get out of the rain pretty quick. The ranger station appeared in time, at the western edge of the Front Range.

I went in to the book store at the ranger station, and spent a great deal of time looking at the tour books. There were maps that I wanted, and a huge relief map on the wall that gathered my interest. The route to Breckenridge looked close to where I was at the time, and the clouds were clearing. I bought another map at the station, and headed out again.

I considered headed back in to town just in case the rain started up again. It was a little after 3 PM, and the sky was pretty clear, so held a quick vote when I exited the parking lot. Breckenridge won, and I started out again headed west. The next leg of this journey was down the western slope, and in to South Park. This open area of land is a straight shot out west towards the Sawatch Range.

I went through Hartsel, a small town nestled next to one small hill which looks to be like a bump on a huge putting green. There were a couple of buildings and two abandoned gas stations to pass by, before I turned off of Highway 24 and north on Highway 9.

I never took this road before. It darted up along the side of a ridgeline that became a wall along the eastern side of the road. It wasn’t more than 20 or so minutes before I reached the town of Fairplay.

I turned off of Highway 9 and on to Highway 285 for a few moments when I came to a gas station. While I topped off, I looked off into the distance to where I was headed. It was not looking good. As much as I wanted to go to Breckenridge, I didn’t want to screw up my fight with the cold. I examined the map and looked at the distance I was headed back over. Suddenly, I had another idea. Instead of heading back to Colorado Springs the same way, I decided to head up to the northeast along Highway 285. This went straight in to Denver, and I would hit C470 outside of Denver that would take me back home.


This was also a new route for me. I was patting myself on the back for this route. I didn’t want to take any more gravel roads and wanted to stay close to civilization. Highway 285 would meet that criteria. I headed up northeast. The road took me up a hill that overlooked the northern edge of South Park, just south of Red Hill Pass. I would go through this pass, then more; Kenosha Pass, Crow Hill, and Deer Creek Pass.

There were small towns to go through, such as Webster, Singleton, Glenisle, and Pine Junction. It was in Glenisle where I found a hot dog stand in the shape of an actual
Coney Island dog. It was one classic building similar to the giant covered wagon building along Interstate 70 or the world’s largest rocking chair in Penrose. I love those buildings, and it was strange to see it out in the Rocky Mountains.

I stopped down the road at a gas station for an apple and a Coke. While I was there, I noticed on the map that another road would take me right down to Deckers. Deckers would take me right back to the Springs, and cut off an hour on my ride. My only problem was that the map didn’t tell me what condition the road was in.

I learned a long time ago to not argue with certain fates, and my risk was high. If the road was not paved, I may knock off some time from the ride, but if I had any problems, I would be in trouble. Fate told me to continue on my route toward Denver. The view was excellent while I skirted along south of Mount Evans. I did not argue with my route.

At about 6 PM, the Denver skyline appeared in front of me. I had no trouble finding C470. I really enjoyed riding on 285, and decided to do it again sometime. After a quick ride on 470, I found Highway 85 and headed south. It had rained earlier, and the air was still cool with the moisture. I was anxious to get home, and was happy that I hadn’t sneezed once during my ride. The fresh air did me a lot of good.

Remembering Staff Sergeant Kenneth Mayne

The opinions reflected in this blog do not necessarily reflect those of the Patriot Guard Riders, its members or affiliates.

On September 4th 2008, Staff Sergeant Kenneth W. Mayne was killed by an enemy explosive during combat operations in Baghdad, Iraq. Sergeant Mayne lived in Arvada, Colorado and was an 11 year Army veteran. He was originally assigned to the 101st Airborne Division, but transferred to the 4th Infantry Division, so that he could be stationed at Fort Carson; close to home. After his passing, his mother,
Michelle Benevidez, told a news station in Denver that he felt strongly about his mission in Iraq, and that he knew he was helping the people of Iraq,
regardless of why the US went to war. She went on to say that he enjoyed helping the children in Baghdad’s Sadr City slum. Benevidez recounted that her son said that if we can change an Iraqi child’s view of Americans, we won’t need to be there in 20 years. Sergeant Mayne was a patriot.

The Patriot Guard Riders were formed in response to protests at military funerals by a group from a church in Kansas. The Kansas group used their First Amendment rights to suggest that the American casualties in Iraq were brought about by our own moral lapses. The Patriot Guard was formed to provide a way to respectfully shield the family of the fallen service member from these protests with lines of its members bearing American flags.

Earlier this year I joined the Patriot Guard Riders. On Saturday, September 13th, SSG Mayne was put to rest. I was honored to participate in this ceremony, by being a part of the Patriot Guard Riders.

We met at 8:00 AM at a Denny’s restaurant. I had never met the other riders before, but they were easy to spot. The Patriot Guard Riders are usually clad in black leather jackets emblazoned with military and ride patches. Like me, many have gray(ing) beards. I was welcomed to the organization by the local captain, and presented with a first time riders’ pin. When we took off and headed north on I-25, my only regret was that I had a third cup of coffee at Denny’s.


We stopped at the Newcomer Funeral Home in Denver. There, we met up with the rest of the Colorado Chapter of the Patriot Guard Riders. There were probably a hundred of us, give or take a few. The state captain, Steve “Road Dog” Deboer, briefed us about our mission for the day. We weren’t expecting any protesters, but we really did not need that reason to honor Sergeant Mayne. At 10:30 AM we lined the parking lot of the funeral home with riders holding flags.

From there, we travelled to Fort Logan National Cemetery. This was a place where, as one rider described to me, the price for freedom is visible. Grave markers, lined with military precision, covered acres of Colorado land. This was where my children’s Godfather, Raymond DeWitt was buried.


We lined the route with flags. The horse drawn caisson pulled the remains of Sergeant Mayne to Pavilion A at Fort Logan. The family and friends followed. Many were wearing Hawaiian shirts – part of Sergeant Mayne’s own request. He did not want mourning at his passing. He preferred a festive atmosphere, and music by Jimmy Buffett.



We stood for close to two hours holding flags at this funeral. It was the least we could do in respect of the sacrifice that Staff Sergeant Kenneth Mayne gave for us.

It was an honor to participate.


Rocky Mountain News September 5th 2008

The Patriot Guard Riders website

Ride on 9-6-08

We’re back in the saddle on Saturday, and our ride is a routine ride up to Deckers. It’s one we’ve taken before, and it never (at least so far) gets old. We started out at about 8:30 AM.

Our route took us south along Powers to Fountain Boulevard. This was maybe the wrong day to take that route, although it wasn’t as bad as I had imagined. On Sept 6th, John McCain and his VP candidate Sarah Palin were speaking at an event center, not far from the intersection of Powers and Fountain. There was a lot of traffic in the area; most of it going the other way.

We trekked up the Ute Pass, feeling the early morning cool air. We were pretty much prepared for the cold, especially at the higher altitudes, but most of us did not expect our hands to get as cold as they did. I was wearing full finger bicycle gloves which are lined with Gor-tex, but that didn’t really seem to matter. If we were riding further than Deckers, I may have stopped to put on my heavier gloves.

We rode in to Woodland Park, and turned on to Highway 67. Not stopping to take a quick break at all, we continued on. The route travels in such a manner as to go every different direction. The twists add to the fun of the ride, coupled with the smell of the trees and morning air.

We reached Deckers at about 9:45. We took a long break to drink a cup of hot cocoa or coffee, and collectively mourn the passing of the warm weather. Sad as it was, we knew it would happen.

The ride back was pretty good, in that we decided to ride past the Garden of the Gods on 31st street, rather than continue on Highway 24. This route took us through a construction site, which brought us a little laughter when a couple of guys hit and knocked down some rubber construction zone cones. It was there that a couple of construction workers shouted out to our riders on Suzukis that they should get a Harley.

After the ride, I had a couple of errands to run, including having lunch at the Village Inn where my daughter is a waitress. One thing I had to do was to pay my utility bill, which I had sealed in an envelope but had neglected to buy a stamp for it. I figured I would stop at the utility company to drop it off.

During my lunch, I examined a map that would lead me on my afternoon expedition. This one would be on my own, and I didn’t have any time frames to work with, except I did want to make it home before midnight. I decided to take a route to Pueblo that looked good on the map, and then find my way down to Bishop’s Castle along Highway 165. The route seemed easy enough once I got to Pueblo. Hit Highway 50, then 45 south, 78 to the southwest, and then 165.

One thing that I learned in the Army was to never trust a map. Put a great deal of faith into it, but don’t bet your life on it. This ride would remind me of that fact.

I found my way south along the Old Pueblo Road. After it started heading west, I ran in to Meridian Road, which promised to take me to Pueblo. It didn’t tell me that the road was gravel and hard packed dirt.

I take it slower on the gravel because the traction on the motorcycle is decreased quite a bit. I worked it okay, and had to slow down quite a bit where some new gravel had been dropped. It made the ride at that part a bit like walking through deep sand. The land along this route was almost completely devoid of any signs of human life, save for the road itself, and the barbed wire fence that lined either side. There were cattle ranches along this route. But I stopped at one point and stood, and did not see any animal except for one bird flying overhead.

As I got closer to Pueblo, the road magically turned to pavement. I was happy to see that, and figured that I wouldn’t have to deal with that again for the rest of the day.

As sure as my navigation, the road intersected with Highway 50. I made my right turn, and started out west. The time was about 4:30 PM, so I had plenty of time.

Highway 45 did not stand out. I turned where I figured it should be, but ended up in a neighborhood. No problem, I thought. Pueblo isn’t a bad town to get lost in. I’ll be able to find my way out. About ten minutes later, I had found my way into downtown Pueblo. This was one part of town I had never stopped to explore. I had seen it from the expressway in the past, but never knew that they had a Riverwalk or some really classic buildings. They had an event finishing up; I believe it was some kind of swap meet, so there were a lot of people in the area, having just picked up that piece of junk they were looking for, and now headed out for something to eat.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t stay. I had a highway to find. I found Northern Avenue, which I remember when I was part of the Colorado National Guard. Our drill hall was just off of Northern Avenue, and I remember it from many Saturdays and Sundays. I followed it out to the drill hall. The last time I had been there was in 2001, when I dropped off my Christmas Tree at the nearby fairgrounds for recycling. I dropped in then to see some old friends that I haven’t seen since. On this day, it was empty. Something about National Guard drill centers. They never really seem to change. This one was no exception.

I took the next major street south, and got lost in another neighborhood. After making several U turns and going around many blocks, I decided to hit a major street, and follow it until I found a landmark. Strangely enough, the next major street I found was Highway 45.

I did not realize that I had found it until I found Highway 78. Even more amusing to me was that Highway 78 was also known by a more traditional name, Northern Avenue.

This road took me directly out of town. Within a minute or so, I was past the cross streets and Valhalla Memorial Park, which I did not stop to look at. The next thing I knew, I was on an open road, with very little traffic. I was also on a hilltop, looking down on a straight shot. The map told me that it was 22 miles to my next landmark, a small town called Beulah.

I opened up the bike to 85 miles an hour. There was no one ahead of me to pass, and no one behind me. I encountered a few people coming back my direction, but that was it. The land around me was all grassland. There were a few trees and a couple of homes along the way. The area was a large valley surrounded by moderate hills, on Pueblo’s western slope.

Finally, I entered a grove of trees, and slowed down to enjoy the area. I finally saw the signs indicating that I was approaching Beulah. My plan was not to stop there, so I continued on until I saw a road sign. The sign led me to the right for Beulah, and to the left to hit Highway 165. Well, I was planning to go to Highway 165, so I found my route.

This leg of the journey was to be 12 miles. It looked good to me; I could ride 12 miles standing on my head. It also took me through the San Isabel National Forest, which added another landmark to add to my ride, so I was more than happy to take it. What the map did not tell me, nor did I realize it; was the next sign that I encountered. Next 9 miles were unpaved.

How ridiculous this is, I thought to myself. This is a State Highway, and it isn’t even paved! I still continued onward. My earlier run with an unpaved road took me over mostly hard packed dirt, and only a few spots of loose gravel. I shouldn’t worry too much.

The road did take me to some very scenic places. I was just a little concerned that the sharp rocks would cause damage to my bike. Then, another concern came to mind. I filled up my gas tank in Fountain over two hours earlier. Since then, I had traveled quite a few miles, so I wasn’t too sure how much fuel I had left. My tank has a bag strapped on it concealing my gas gauge. I hate to admit, I was a little afraid to look. So, I ran on as little gas as I could. I shut down the engine and coasted down hills where it was safe to do so, and didn’t accelerate too much. All I could think was how stupid I would feel, calling up my son to pick me up in the San Isabel National Forest, somewhere! There was very little civilization there. I did encounter a few hunters and one guy driving the other way, but it was just me and the forest creatures out there.

When the road finally overlooked the paved road, I knew I was close. It was getting cooler, with the sun dropping behind the mountains, so I was glad to have something familiar to look at. I found the asphalt, and headed north.

Highway 165 went north, past Bishop’s Castle, for about 20 miles from where I turned on to it. It was a great ride, with a few twists, and a lot of downhill travel. I passed Bishop’s Castle without stopping. It looked about the same as it did the last time I was there, but the temperature and light dropping made me drive onward.

I reached McKenzie Junction, a small crossroads without any services, and started on toward Wetmore. It was there that I stopped to put on my leather jacket over my sweatshirt, and gathered the nerve to look at my gas gauge. I had over a half a tank full. I had more than enough gas to get me where I wanted, but decided to play it safe and stop at the next station.

I passed the Federal Prison in Florence, and found a convenience store in town. I stopped there, and took a quick break.

From there, I was on Highway 115; a road I am pretty familiar with. It took me over Highway 50, through Penrose, and back on my way into Colorado Springs. I made it back in to town without any other events, and stopped off at the utility company, where I dropped off my bill that I had been carrying around with me all day.

When I got home, I tallied up my miles for the day: 320. Not as many as last Sunday, but a good chunk nonetheless.

Ride on 8-31-08

My friends and I had planned this ride for several days, and still, our plans were not entirely final. It’s Labor Day Weekend, known around Colorado Springs as the time for the annual Hot Air Balloon Festival. I always liked this event, as balloonists from all around converge on the park in the center of town, and weather permitting, launch all at once to a great view. This morning, as I rode over to my friends, I could see the balloons off in the distance. We would be going the other way.

I stopped to fill up my gas tank, and since I was early, I bought a cup of coffee to drink while I watched the balloons off in the distance. While I waited there, another motorcycle rider stopped in to top off his tanks. I said hello, and admired his bike, a souped up Harley with flames painted on his gas tank. The rider himself was a nice enough guy who resembled the actor Billy Bob Thornton. I asked him were he was riding to today, and he told me that he was waiting for his brother to arrive there and that his brother was making the decision on where to ride. I told him our plans, to ride north to Estes Park, a good 185 miles away. Before I left, he stopped me and picked up something off the ground. “I found a penny on the ground,” he told me. “I understand I should give the found penny to a friend for good luck, so there you are.” I shook his hand and was on my way.

This ride was also an experiment to see if I could add another aspect to this record of rides. I found a cheap camera tripod, and managed to affix it to my handlebars. Then, I attached the camera to the tripod. Now I had a way to film parts of the ride. I don’t think that Martin Scorsese really has anything to worry about with my filmmaking.

We started out at about 8:15, heading north on Highway 83. We had taken that route many times before so it was nothing unusual. The weather was still a little cool from the night before, but by the time we reached Sedalia, it was too warm for jackets. After a quick break, we flipped over to Highway 85, which took us north to C470, an expressway that does a three quarter circle around Denver. Our route took us along C470 to Golden.

I was pretty familiar with the route, having taken it last Sunday, and a few weeks earlier when I rode to Blackhawk. I was offered the position of group leader, but deferred to Steve, because he has a lot of experience leading groups, while I have an exhaust pipe that kicks out black smoke. It’s probably better for me to ride closer to the back. As we approached Golden, I had the uneasy job of trying to signal to Steve when to turn and what lane we should be in. Good news is that Steve was pretty much acquainted with the route, and didn’t have any problem getting us on the right path.
From Golden, we took US 6, which morphed into Highway 119. This would take us through the mountains and canyons.

We rode through tunnels. As we all have discovered from our childhood playing with cardboard paper towel tubes and vacuum cleaner hoses, making noises through these things can be fun. Riding loud Harley Davidson motorcycles through tunnels just expands on that idea. We rode through the tunnels, and accelerated our engines just to hear the noise. It was loud.

We stopped for gas just south of Blackhawk, and then on into the gambling town to get some lunch. I discouraged our group (easily) away from the buffet that charged me an arm and a leg last time I was here, in lieu of a smaller casino and restaurant up the street. I was only ticked that the sink in the men’s room didn’t work.

After lunch, we hit the road, heading north again on 119. We took the switchbacks going up okay, but coming down, we all were a little uneasy. Slowing down on those tight turns was hard sometimes, but we got through okay.

We hit the town of Nederland, where I had taken a wrong turn last week. In the middle of town, there’s a traffic circle. Since the roads kind of spoke out from this hub in unusual directions, it’s pretty easy to take a wrong turn. Steve circled past our turn off, but knew traffic circles. If you miss your turn, there’s no problem making another circle.

From there it was 44 miles to Estes Park. We continued on our route, past Ward where I finally ended up last week, and through the roads traveling at an altitude of 9100 feet. The clouds started forming overhead, but the rain wasn’t enough to interrupt us to get the rain suit on. We did stop about 15 miles south of our destination for a quick breather and to put on any jackets we needed, but we were doing okay.

At about 2 PM, we pulled in to Estes. My camera had been working most of the time. I found that I couldn’t really see the display to know if my camera was recording or not. I found out later that many times when I hit the record button to start recording, I was actually stopping the recording! It was something I’d have to work on.

Estes Park is known for its beauty in the mountains, and wildlife that will wander through the town as if they own the place. It’s also known for a beautiful hotel, the Stanley, which was allegedly the inspiration for Stephen King’s book The Shining. The hotel is prominent in the town, and looks the way King described it, except of course, for the town that is within shouting distance of the hotel.

We wandered up to a restaurant, where we could grab a beer and some chips before we headed back down. While we were there, the ladies went to a shop two doors down that sold exquisite chocolates. They came back to our beer chips and salsa with a bag of designer candy, which I will admit, did taste quite good.

At 3 PM, we started up again, and headed down to Loveland along highway 36. A few years ago, I drove up here, and was stopped along that road when a herd of elk decided that the roadway was a good place to stop and look at the cars trying to get through. Fortunately for us, we did not run into any of the larger beasts, and our ride down the hill was pretty quiet.

In Loveland, we tried to find the Thunder in the Rockies motorcycle festival which was going on. It was around; we could tell by all the motorcycles in town; but hard to find. Besides that, we saw some dark clouds to the south of us, and felt it best to just head on home. Before we hit the expressway, we tanked up, and started out.

We decided to take the expressway home as it would be quicker, but much less scenic. The clouds were making a number of our decisions, and we had been riding for about 8 hours. We did hit some rain, but the clouds were telling us that it wouldn’t be long before we were out of it, so we just drove on through it. By the time we hit Denver, the rain had stopped, except for a few stray drops hitting us.

When we got to Castle Rock, we jumped off the expressway in lieu of Highway 83 again, this time southbound. By the time we hit our first red light in Colorado Springs, we had gone about 119 miles. All of us were a little sore from that long a stretch.

I made it home at about 7:30, and calculated out that we rode 342 miles. I now have about 18 minutes of video evidence to support that claim!

Rides on 8-24 and 8-25-08

It’s a busy weekend, but what a better way than to start it with a ride on Saturday. Our plan was to shoot out highway 24, past Florissant, to the eastern edge of South Park. I had been on that road two weeks earlier, but I was going east instead of west. It was about a 100 mile round trip, and gave us enough time to get out and back in time for lunch.

There were seven of us, and we started at about 8:30. Our route took us through town and then on to Highway 24. The weather was clear, and I really couldn’t see a single cloud in the sky. Knowing Colorado, one only has to wait a few minutes for the weather to change.

We didn’t have any problems at all going up the pass. We had to pass a few people who were just travelling too slowly for the ride, but nothing was too hazardous. We rode through Woodland Park, which was having a Biker’s rally that day, and rather than participate, we continued on to our destination. After another half hour, we ended up at the ranger station on the east side of Mineral Spring Road at highway 24.

This was a rest area and nature center that overlooked the South Park basin. The area was pretty clear, giving us the ability to see Mount Princeton, Columbia, and Harvard, but I couldn’t see Shavano way off to the southwest. After our time there to stop and drink a coke, we headed back east.

It turned out that all the bikers from Woodland Park seemed to be headed out west from there. We probably encountered 150 motorcyclists heading west. As is the tradition amongst bikers, everyone gets a casual wave with the left hand as you pass each other, low so as to not confuse someone behind you as being a right turn signal. There were so many bikers that we just held out our left hand for miles at a time!

We got back to the Springs at around 12 noon, in time for the barbecue for the rest of the afternoon.

On Sunday, I was planning on a much longer ride. This one was to see my cousin’s cabin up in Ward, Colorado, which is a small town about 20 miles northwest of Boulder. The 20 mile distance is through the mountains along the winding roads. This makes the 20 miles seem much more like 40. Last summer, I tried that road on my bicycle. Since it was all up hill on a hot July day, I only managed to go about seven miles before I called it a day.

I decided to travel the back route-from Golden to Blackhawk, and then on to Nederland. From there, it would be a straight shot to the top of Ward. Unfortunately, I took a wrong turn at Nederland, and ended up in Boulder-adding about 25 miles to my trip up to Ward.

Ward sits on a hillside. It’s just east of the Continental Divide. Established when Colorado was part of the Nebraska Territory, it was originally a mining town. It’s over 9000 feet above sea level, and several degrees cooler than the rest of the state. In 1900 a huge fire burned 50 buildings, but it didn’t close the town down. In the 60s and 70s, Ward was known as a haven for counter-culture youth, or a polite way of saying drug using hippies. Now, it still is a home for older people who still wear sandals and hemp shirts. It has quite a history.

My aunt’s family had a couple of cabins there, but they were anything but counter-culture. They still enjoyed the mountains and its area. As a child, my parents took vacations out to the area and we spent many times in Ward. I vaguely remember taking a vacation there at one point, probably in the mid 1960s.


Since then, the cabin fell into disrepair, so my cousin, Rick, has been working for the past couple of years restoring it to a usable state. It’s a ton of work, but it looks so rewarding. The cabin was built around the 1920s maybe… and some of the items seem to be from those days. Rick finally built a bathroom in the cabin within the past few years. Up until then, it had an outhouse near the back door.

I spent Sunday with my cousins Rick, his older sister Betty Ann, and brother Pat. We had another half a dozen relatives there, all of whom I was meeting for the first time. It was a great time, and I hope to keep in touch over the next several years better than I have over the last few.

At 6:30, I had to leave, in order to get back to town within the same calendar date. I headed down the hill back to Boulder. The hill wound around, and my safest speed was about 35 MPH. I made it in to Denver at 7:30, a full hour after I left Ward.

In Denver, I was interested to see the preparation for the Democratic National Convention, starting Monday. Invesco Field was surrounded by security people, and the hotels were all lit up. It looked like an exciting week.

There had been some rain, so I expected that in had passed over without worry. I was slightly mistaken. When the interstate took its southerly direction, I saw some very dark clouds and lightning over southern Colorado. I knew I’d have to stop and put on the rain suit. At Castle Pines, I stopped for gas. When I was through, I donned the suit. Another driver called over to me, and said that the rain wasn’t too bad south of where we were. He also told me that the rain stopped at around Monument Hill. I thanked him for the report, and he wished me good luck.

In Castle Rock, the rain started. It was pretty convenient, because the road went through a construction zone, reducing the top legal speed. I managed okay, but worried about the visibility, traction, and wind. The only way to counter this was to ride slower, but that increased the risk of getting into a collision with someone who was also having problems with visibility. Good luck for me followed: I fell in behind a recreational vehicle that ran at a steady 50 MPH. I found that pretty strange that there were times when I was driving in a big hurry, and frequently swore at the RV drivers who travelled slower than the flow of traffic. Tonight, I needed this guy right in front of me.

We drove at our steady 50 MPH all through Castle Rock, Tomah, Larkspur, Monument, and to the Air Force Academy, where the RV pulled off. Throughout that time, I stayed behind the vehicle, keeping close enough to stay out of the way of faster moving traffic. The only thing that impressed me was that there were two other bikers who passed me like I was in reverse. Either they were really dumb, or really experienced. I gave them the benefit of the doubt, that they had more than my eight months of riding experience.

Only when I got home at 9:00 PM did I discover that there had been four tornados that had touched down in that area where I was riding. That was pretty crazy. It felt really good to be back home.

My motorcycle, (named Steve McQueen) had put 293 more miles onto its odometer.

Information on Ward

No Ride on 8-16-08

It’s raining outside, so I am not riding today. This rain is bothering me now, because it makes my xeriscaped front yard look stupid, now that it’s growing grass. The rain does give me an excuse to do some housework that I’ve put off for a while. One of these jobs is to scan a stack of papers into my computer that have been sitting around. Some of these papers are my homeowner’s insurance policy. I had never read this before. I don’t think I’m alone-quick show of hands: who has actually read their homeowner’s insurance policy? Anyway, I discovered that my home is not covered in the event of accidental or deliberate nuclear weapon detonation, whether as a result of war or not. Somehow, I believe if this occurs, I won’t really be concerned with my homeowner’s insurance policy. This did lead me to another silly question. The movie monster Godzilla was spawned as a result of a nuclear detonation. Would my home be covered if Godzilla left a big old footprint in my xeriscaped front yard?

My weekends are the best times of the week. Why is that? I think it has to do with taking back our lives. We usually work five days out of seven, and this tends to make us feel like we live our jobs. Yes, I need money to buy food; to support our kids; to ensure our survival. I think we also work to do more.

I can hardly meet someone from Chicago without saying that I used to manage a major movie theatre on the north side. It’s not important that now that movie theatre is a 24 hour workout gym. A couple of years after I left there, I had doubts as to whether or not I did any good as manager. I had poured my life into that job, and was wondering if I had any impact. So, I called the place, identifying myself as a government employee who had to locate current and former employees. I named off a few, and the person I spoke to hadn’t even heard of me.

Sometimes, I’ll read movie reviews. They usually start by saying, “Clint Eastwood plays a boxing coach,” or “Frances McDormand plays a small town police chief.” That prompts this question, who is going to play you in the movie of your life story, and how will the review begin?

Former Secretary of State Colin Powell had a list of sayings that he kept prominently in his office. One of these sayings was “Avoid having your ego so close to your position that when your position falls, your ego goes with it.” We work all through the week, and hope we’re making an impact. I just don’t believe any more that we make an impact out of simple employment.

So imagine the impact I’d make if I wrote homeowner’s insurance policies, and I were the first to add a Godzilla clause…

Seen between Colorado Springs and Denver: 8-12-08

While driving back from Denver on Tuesday, I saw this vertical rainbow that I had to stop and take a picture of... Something you just don't see every day

Ride on 8-9-08

I had a free Saturday, so there was a pretty good excuse again for a ride. I had an idea that I cooked up a few days earlier, so I was anxious to give it a shot.

My route was from Colorado Springs to Penrose; from there I would travel west to Salida, then north to Buena Vista. My home stretch was eastbound back to Colorado Springs. When I mapped it out on the computer, the distance came out to 220 miles. I think I planned this route because I really enjoy highway 50, which travels adjacent to the Arkansas River through a canyon, and parallel to a railroad track, which was an active passenger rail for many years. The railway was home to the Denver & Rio Grande Western Railroad, which started its leg in Pueblo and ended in Grand Junction, connecting to the Rio Grande Western Railroad. The railroad was completed in 1883, and was an active passenger line until it eventually became a tourist trap.

I started a little later than I wanted to, because I had new saddle bags on my motorcycle that I had to make sure were secure. To say ‘new’ is a bit of an overstatement-they were new to me, because I bought them at a used motorcycle part store. I did hit the road at about 10 AM, taking my familiar route along highway 115 to Penrose. I enjoy this area, because I believe that little about it has changed over the past two or three hundred years, except-most notably, the asphalt of the road that has been paved through it.

From there, I headed out west, passing the Fremont County Airport. This airport is familiar to me, because I have been skydiving and landing at this place. As I rode by, I saw a couple of parachutes overhead. One of the skydivers was enjoying his dive by performing some very wide spins. I remember a jump that I did last year, when I also did a wide spin. It scared me when I did it, because it meant that my body and the parachute were horizontal. What scared me appeared to be nothing but fun to the guy doing the jumping. I was envious.

The road took me in to Canon City, and beyond to the Royal Gorge area. After that, I was along side of the Arkansas River on one side, and a steep canyon wall on the other. I stopped along the way to watch the whitewater rafting. There were hundreds of people out on the inflatable rafts, each enjoying the adventure of an extreme sport.


I reached Salida after an hour and a half on the road. I had driven past Salida a few years ago, but I have never stopped in the town to have a look. I had been missing this. The town has been in Colorado since 1880, when the Denver & Rio Grande railroad made it a stopping point. It then became a hub for the expansive mining and farming in the area. The old buildings that are still standing captured my attention. On the keystone of most of the buildings, there is a year of construction, and on some, a name of the builder. I’m certain they built these structures hoping that they would last forever, but did they seriously think that the buildings would be standing over a hundred years later?



I was also interested in the signs on the sides of buildings. These had been painted, and in some cases, painted over. It was kind of funny to look at the Snow Drift sign that had been covered with a Coca Cola advertisement.

After I ate a hot dog and chatted with an antique shop owner, I headed back out. Highway 121 went from Salida to 285, which was my next leg. This road ran along the east side of the Sawatch Range, home of Mount Shavano, Antero, Princeton, and others. In this valley, there were more whitewater rafters out, and little traffic to compete with.
I did have to stop to capture another piece of history, with an old schoolhouse that was still standing. I didn’t get too close to the building because of the it did look like it had been transformed in to someone's home, but would have liked to. The swing set next to the building did not look to be older than 50 or so years, leading me to believe that it may have been put there by the school when it was active. I’d like to know for sure.
My final leg took me from just south of Buena Vista back to the Springs. I passed a couple of motorcyclists who had stopped to put on their rain suits. I didn’t think that was necessary, so I did not bother with mine. In five miles, I stopped to do the same. The rain wasn’t hard, but it penetrated my jeans, and the cool wind felt amplified. I started traversing the basin between the Sawatch mountain range and the western side of the Front Range.

I stopped to photograph an old home that had been abandoned at some time.
I also passed areas so desolate, that I wondered: given any random square yard out in this vast area, how many humans throughout history had actually stepped in that spot? A dozen? Fewer? Even more haunting: would someone in two or three hundred years fly over that area in his space ship and think the same thought?

I made it back to town at 3:30 PM, and finally pulled off my rain suit. I had traveled 229 miles.

Road Trip on 7-25-2008

I had a tough week. I had flown out to attend to my family after my mother’s passing. I was in Tennessee, and throughout the week, my family was saddened at her loss, but glad to be together. I saw relatives that I hadn’t seen in over twenty years, and connecting with them again was a great way to bring up a sad event.

I had the job on Friday evening of taking my Sister-in law and niece to the airport. Their flight left at 6:45 PM, but mine didn’t leave until 12 hours later. The car had to be back at the rental agency at 10:00 PM, so rather than get a motel, I decided to check out some of Nashville, get some dinner, and spend the night at the airport on their lush, comfortable chairs. My back would never forgive me.

I wanted to see one landmark, so I went to the home of one of my favorite Presidents; Andrew Jackson at the Hermitage. I figured that Old Hickory would be proud to know that an admirer would make his the first stop on his Nashville tour as opposed to the Grand Ol’ Opry, but sadly, the 7th US President’s home was closed for the evening.

From there, I went in to town. I was planning on a direct westerly approach, but after accidentally taking an exit, I found myself at the edge of the Cumberland River, and LP Stadium, home of the Tennessee Titans. This wasn’t the first time I had seen this stadium. I saw it the previous September, when I flew overhead headed back home from visiting my parents. I think the altitude was 15000 feet-the real nosebleed seats. I flew over a game between the Titans and somebody-and had a very hard time checking out the action in my 45 seconds over the stadium.

The Stadium is near a footbridge that crosses the river. I took to my feet, and crossed the river to the historic district. I ended up near a Joe’s Crab Shack.

I walked up 2nd Avenue to Broadway, and continued north through the district where partying was popular. I was a little upset with myself. Having to constantly watch my time, I didn’t have time to go in and check out the BB King bar, let alone the Coyote Ugly and Hooters on 2nd Avenue. I did take the time to walk through the Charlie Daniels’ Museum and gift shop, as I have been an admirer of Mr. Daniels.

As I began to worry about the time, I headed back to the car, and noticed a beautiful old building off in the distance. I stopped a couple when I was headed back, and asked them what the building was. The gentleman told me that the buildings I was pointing to was the old Nashville General Hospital, which was adjacent to an old cigar factory. Both were being torn down. I then scurried much faster than I had been, as if the building would be a pile of rubble by the time I found it. Fortunately for me, the building was still standing fifteen minutes later when I found it.

I could only get within a reasonable distance to the old hospital. I really felt its haunting beauty as it overlooked the city complete with the ultra modern Qwest tower, representing a depression era Tennessee contrasting to its modern self. Later, I looked up what people thought of the old hospital by finding blogs dedicated to its memory. There were people who recalled moments when they were brought to the hospital for an injury or illness, and every time, they believed they were being brought to a prison or execution chamber. Every note mentioned that the staff was the utmost of professional and caring.

I found that interesting, that in a cold and sterile environment, compassion can overshadow all else.

It’s good to know that people can overcome their environments with their good human nature.

Ride to Blackhawk - 7/12/08

My friends and I had been planning on the ride to Blackhawk for some weeks, but due to one thing or another, I was the only one of us able to go. The temperatures are in the 60s to mid 80s, sunny, and not a chance of rain. It appears that us 17 riders are in store for an excellent ride.

We started at the ITT offices in Colorado Springs. Jim Brewer was our leader, riding a Honda Gold Wing. The rest of us are riding Harleys, Kawasakis, and another Honda. We hit the road a little after 9 AM.

The route took us up I-25 to Monument, and then along Highway 105 north to Sedalia. It's a route we're all pretty familiar with, so there weren't any problems along the way. We stopped at the Sedalia Grill at about 10:15 for a break. It was there that we all agreed that it was a good thing the heat wasn't ten degrees warmer. The ride temperature was perfect.

From there, we rode north on highway 85 through Louviers, and west of Highlands Ranch. We then rode on to 470 west, an expressway that circles 3/4ths of Denver. We took it from the south post to the west-the city of Golden. From where we rode, we could catch a glimpse of the Coors Brewery, but that wasn't our destination. We took highway 6, and which then merged into highway 119. This took us directly into Blackhawk, and into the parking garage of the Rivera Casino.

We parked our bikes and started through the casino to the buffet. We had heard that the buffet at the Rivera was really good. Considering the price we paid for it ($16.00 a plate), I would figure that we would have someone butter our bread for us. The food was good, but not that good.

After lunch, I bummed around the casino. I don't like gambling, but I suppose if I were better at it than I am, I would like it more. So, I watched the people. I wandered through three or four casinos, and read up on the local history there.

That got me to think about what the appeal was to the casinos. The Colorado Casinos of Blackhawk, Central City, Leadville, and Cripple Creek are all old mining towns, made famous by their history. What I would expect from a casino in these towns is a saloon such as those in the TV show Gunsmoke or a John Wayne movie. Instead, there are casinos that really seem to me to be out of place. I really wonder what another 100 years of US history will show about this place.

We had agreed to ride up together, but not to commit to ride back together if we didn’t want to. I wanted to stop and take a lot of pictures, so I elected to make my own way back.

I went back the same way that we got there, until I reached Sedalia. After stopping for a Coke and to listen to the Blues singer performing at the Sedalia Grill, I fought my way back in to traffic and back home, by way of Deckers.

Deckers is a tiny settlement some 27 miles southwest of Sedalia, and a stopping point for a lot of bikers. I had heard that the roadway from Sedalia to Deckers is good, but in some areas it is unpaved. So I planned on slowing a little during my ride.

The first thirteen miles were uneventful. The road was clear and took me over a few hills and past some well maintained properties. Then, I arrived in Sprucewood. This is another smaller settlement at a crow’s foot intersection. I saw a road sign, albeit one carved in wood, but it pointed to a gravel road as the way to Deckers. Unfortunately for me, it was the road least traveled for a reason.

I figured that there would be a few patches of gravel and this was one of them. This patch of gravel went on for about 10 miles. It was all gravel, so I had to take those 10 miles at about 15 to 20 miles per hour. This road passed some smaller homes, an A frame, another dome style, and a couple of log cabins. There were some pretty good views, and a couple of places that stood out, but over all, I think I should have taken the other route that went more west than south.

When I got back to the asphalt, I had an easy five miles back east to Deckers, riding along side the South Platte River. I was then able to ride along Highway 67 through the acreage scarred by the Hayman fire which happened over five years ago. I passed a couple of bicyclists pushing themselves to climb a difficult hill, and found my way in to Woodland Park.

From there, it was about twenty some-odd miles back to the Springs, so I took the ride down the Ute Pass easily. When I got home at 6:30 PM, I had put 226 miles onto the bike from when I had started. I was pretty sore, and was really glad to be home.