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.

Ride on July 4th

It's Independence Day, and although the idea of staying home and watching back to back episodes of Law and Order is appealing, it's also the perfect day for a ride.

My friend, Shon, was racing his car at the Colorado National Speedway in Erie, a few miles north of Denver. (http://www.psyco-racing.com/) Since the ticket booth opened at 3 PM, I had plenty of time to get there.

I left at about lunchtime. I figured I would ride on I-25 until I got to Denver, then take the side roads from there. But, within two miles of getting on the expressway, I found three people pulled over by the State Police. Now I'm a pretty safe rider - I'd like to think anyway, I wasn't too worried about being pulled over myself. But, it's July 4th. As it is over every holiday that usually involves beer, the State Police make a habit of letting the world know that they're going after drunk drivers. So, it would make sense for those three who were pulled over, to maybe consider slowing down a little. Yet on this highway, I found that there are a lot of idiots driving. I would like to think that the second and third guy that was pulled over should have thought: Holiday Weekend/Police Crackdown/there's one guy that's been pulled over... hmmm, maybe I should slow down a little (ya think?).

So, I altered my route to highway 83. It's a two lane road with a 65 MPH speed limit and a couple of places worth looking at. It mostly drives through areas where people have built large homes, and have grass trimmed like putting greens. A couple of stretches of the road took me through some woods, where the smell of the pine forest comes through a thousand times better than any kitchen cleaner.

I stopped along the highway at the Castlewood Canyon State Park. It's a great looking park from the road, but today, there was a line of campers and cars on their way in. Since I was only going to stop for a break, I decided to stop on the roadway leading in.

I have never taken highway 83 all the way in to Denver. Every other time, I would stray back to the familiarity of the expressway that runs parallel to this quiet road. Today, I decided to enjoy my holiday away from work, by taking this road into Denver, and finding my way through.

As I travelled into the city, I soon found myself on familiar ground. Within a few minutes, I was two blocks away from my office. This is terrific-I thought to myself. It's a holiday and I still can't get away from the office! I forced myself to ride past the office and not stop, which was easier than I make it out to be.

I rode up to Broadway, in the Baker District of Denver. I've done some work on that street, but never get much of a chance to actually look at it. Today, I took the time. I found the Mayan Theatre at Broadway and Second. This was a theatre that was built in 1930 in a Mayan Art Deco style that has since vanished from modern architecture. It was nearly torn down in the mid 1980s, and restored after it was saved. I remember seeing The Last Emperor there in 1988, and was just overwhelmed at its beauty. As with many theatres having to compete with VHS tapes in the late 80s, this one was split into three theatres. I haven't been inside since, but it still looks good from the outside.

I made it to the racetrack at about 2:30. I found one of the greatest benefits of riding a motorcycle. Reserved parking. There's an asphalt apron on one side of the track for motorcycles only. That put my bike close to the track, and easy to find. Good Deal!

So, I sat in the stands and watched the trial runs. Shon did a time trial turning a lap in a hair over 17 seconds. That wasn't the best of the night, but his car was running great.

The temperature was about 95 degrees at this point, and the sun was hitting me hard. I don't want to imagine how hot it was on the track. I congratulated myself for remembering to bring sun-block skin lotion. I slapped that on, but later kicked myself. Sunblock with SPF 30 is good for days when you're walking through the woods. When sitting in bleachers in direct sunlight, SPF 1 Million is a much better idea.

After sitting for a couple of hours, and even dozing off between time trials, I realized that I did something really stupid. I did not have the key to my motorcycle, and did not remember taking the key from the ignition. So, I took a pass from the gate security, and ran out to the bike. Thankfully, it was still there. My headlight was still on-advertising that this bike belongs to an idiot who didn't take his key with him. I pulled my key, tested my ignition, and then breathed a sigh of relief, not only for the bike still being present, but seeing that there was another bike with it's headlight left on. I wasn't the only idiot! I wandered back in, and started my way to a concession booth to report the other bike, when over the loudspeaker, the announcer brought the other Harley to the crowd's attention! Of course, he had to joke about it some-and I was spared the humility of dashing to save my bike.

The opening ceremonies raised goosebumps, with a prayer before the race and the singing of the National Anthem, with the late model cars lined up, each with an American Flag. The VFW and American Legion presented the colors in a breathtaking ceremony.

Shon's race wasn't bad. His car had a technical problem which gave him a black flag, two laps into the race. This put him into the pit for a few minutes, but he came back out and finished the race, not in first place or second, but still finishing the race. In this league, there are a lot of competitors, and some high spending racers. Finishing the race is an accomplishment in itself, which is what earns points for further competition.


At the end of the night, there was the train race. This is an event that is more fun than competition. Many people have thought that I was insane for taking up skydiving last year, and helicopter rappelling back when I was in the Army. Sorry to say, skydiving is puppy dog stuff compared to train racing. This is where two racers get together and create a train. The train consists of one car with an engine, an accelerator, and no brakes. Behind it, another car without an engine is attached with cables. Behind that car, another car is attached. This final car has brakes, but no engine. One driver drives the front car, and the second driver sits in the rear car. One driver controls the accelerator, while the second controls the brakes. To make things even more interesting, there are ten trains racing simultaneously, on a wet, soaped, figure 8 track. This race led to several thrills and crashes, and thankfully, no serious injuries - just a lot of screams and laughs from the crowd.

At 11 PM, the fireworks ended, and it was time to go home. As I had a long ride ahead of me, I decided not to waste any time getting out of there. Again, I found another advantage of riding a motorcycle. I did not have to wait for traffic to clear. I simply followed another biker as he jetted along the roadside and on to the expressway.

So, it was 11 PM on July 4th, and I was really concerned about safety at this point. I have promised all my friends that I would ride safely, and I felt that the risk was getting very high at this point. I figured that I would ride into Denver, fill up my gas tank in Castle Rock, then take the side roads home from that point.

In Denver, a Rockies' game and fireworks had ended earlier, and the final stages of that traffic jam were clearing. The speed dropped to 35 to 40 MPH in that zone, which did not bother me in the least. Also, it allowed me to hear one of my favorite music pieces over my MP3 player: an instrumental by an Asian group called Yoshida Brothers. The piece was Fukaki Umi No Kanata which could mean "I'm an idiot for listening to this while riding a motorcycle and riding through Denver at 11 o'clock at night," but it still sounds good and added to the atmosphere.

In Castle Rock, I took to the back roads, which were much easier than the expressway. There was so little traffic that I could take the road as slow as I wanted to. I was worried that a deer would dash out in front of me, but with no traffic I allowed myself plenty of time to react.

I got back to my neighborhood at close to 1 AM, and had an adventure about three blocks from my house. Some motor-head had apparently obtained industrial strength fireworks, and set them off in the middle of the intersection of Fillmore and Hancock. This was a surprise to most people driving, as these type fireworks are best left to professionals, and even better to be exploded in the air instead of on the ground.

So, it was good to get home when I did, very tired, sunburned, and having enjoyed the holiday.