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.