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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.
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
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.
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!
