We awoke in Idaho
Springs, CO one the morning of the second day. I blearily stumbled into
my clothing sans coffee, blissfully unaware that this was to be as common an
occurrence as not for the duration of the trip. Steeling myself for
another day of endurance riding and vowing I'd do better, I stepped out the
motel door to join Denton, who was already loading the motorcycle, for a smoke.
In the inky blackness of the previous night, the
mountains were visible only as dark masses, something I could feel the presence
of more than see. By daylight, tantalizing features were visible from the
courtyard of our motor lodge, but I couldn't make out the whole. Idaho
Springs, like all the small towns in its area, is nestled along a relatively
level strip carved out of the mountainside. As we drove a couple of
blocks to a nearby restaurant, I could see that the town was long and narrow by
necessity, lacking the sprawl inherent in flatter areas. The restaurant,
like all the businesses along the main drag, proved to be adorably cozy and
cute, with quite decent coffee. Since we'd miraculously remembered to
charge the digital devices before succumbing to exhaustion the previous night,
I was able to snap a photo of an unfamiliar songbird outside of our table's
window, and Denton shot a vlog of me as we waited for our food.
We fueled up and got back on the road, arriving in
Georgetown (where we had originally planned to stay) within 30 minutes of
leaving Idaho Springs. We stopped to stretch our legs and chat with a few
fellow bikers--they were eastbound, and gave us an idea of what to expect for
the next 100 miles or so. We returned the favor, setting in motion a
pattern of similar exchanges that would prove to last the entire trip.
"Hug-hug--hug...hug," went the Gold Wing,
starving for oxygen, as our elevation rose. Though the sound concerned
me, it didn't frighten the bejeezus out of me as it had in the dark. I
saw snow-capped mountains in the distance, my first taste of the Rockies.
I saw endless alpine forests, which honestly, as a woodworker, impressed
me more than the mountains. The aspen trees appeared identical from the
road, tens of thousands of clones that I could see, hundreds of thousands more
that I couldn't. The thinness of the air and the atmosphere made the sun
feel less hazy, more sharp than it does in the Midwest. It was like
someone turned the contrast way up on the world. Humans teemed in small
resort towns, tucked into the few flat spots available, and along the
connecting thread of I-70. Other than that, I was impressed by how few
signs of habitation there were.
Sure, the rural Midwest has a lower population density
than the mountains of Colorado. But the landscape of the former includes fences,
farmed fields, outbuildings and irrigation machinery. These marks
comfortingly say "Humans have been here! Humans will return
here!" Staring up and down the mountainsides, I imagine that there
are plenty of places that humans have never been. Possibly never will go.
Can't go. I realized that I was seeing unspoiled nature, and it was
kind of forbidding.
(Denton takes over here) The next rest stop overlooked Lake Dillon which is next to the sleepy mountain town of Frisco, Colorado. The motorcycle had made it over Eisenhower tunnel and we were now on the speedy downhill run to my birth state of Utah. The oxygen deprivation was starting to show as everything was funny and seemed like a good idea; Frisco was a delight and the views were breath taking. Hannah noticed the rocks while we were exploring and noticed how different they looked; this would become a theme over the rest of the adventure.
Hannah had a railroad cap with a "Frisco Railroad" patch on it so we had to get a picture of her in front of the sign.
We stopped in another town (we later learned it was called Avon) to get coffee and talk with the locals. "Loaded Joe's" had great coffee. A couple that we started talking to during our break told us about the beauty of Glenwood Canyon that was coming up.
Many people had told us that Glenwood Canyon would be a highlight of Colorado and boy howdy, they weren't kidding. As we had said about the day before, we had to avoid some really bad storms coming across Kansas; those storms had dumped a ton of water onto an already water logged Rockies and the Colorado river was over flowing it banks. By the time we arrived into Glenwood Springs we could see the river roaring properly through the canyon.
We then started a fantastic run down through Glenwood Canyon toward Glenwood Springs...
When arrived at Glenwood Springs it was getting past lunch time so we pulled off the interstate to check out what the town had to offer. As it turns out, this is a town that is like the rest of the towns we had seen in Colorado; everyone was either high, recovering from a high, or thinking about getting high. Nobody could answer a simple question, do a simple task without stopping and staring off into space for an uncomfortable amount of time, or do anything for that matter. We stopped at a Village Inn and refreshed ourselves. The real highlight was when I pointed out to Hannah that there wasn't any condensation on the outside of our glasses. Bone dry, not a lick of moisture, and she had never seen that before. Once we got out of Glenwood Springs and the beauty of the canyon we headed West once again. The terrain started to change quickly at that point and the green and lush mountains started to give way to arid and brown soil and sand.
The air became easier to breathe and the bike was roaring like a lion as we got into the flat lands of Eastern Utah.
Once you leave western Kansas you cannot drink enough water. We had canteens and we were constantly refilling them and drinking our fill at every stop. This was getting into the real desert, the horizon seemed to stretch on forever and the land was barren in all directions.
I was born in Utah and spent the first few years of my life having my lungs develop in the dry desert and mountain air. I could BREATHE! I hadn't felt that good in a long time and was happy to fill my lungs with the air of my home state. We were on the final stretch to Moab; we were racing the Sun and I knew that we were going to get stuck driving in the desert in the dark. As the sun went down and Hannah and I discussed what constitutes a desert we felt the lucky winds of the evening stir up and start to blow. The temps started to drop and the coolness of the evening came over our motorcycle as we tore up the road running from our shadow. Finally the little town of Crescent Junction UT.
Crescent Junction is less a town and more of a place. Literally, it was called Crescent Junction before there was anything there. Eventually a gas station and restaurant we built there and that is what you find today. A giant neon gas station with a burger joint next to it.
The sun was down and it was cool so we put on our light jackets and headed South on 191 toward Moab. For those of you that have never driven in the desert at night it is an experience that is as frightening as you can get without a storm being present. It gets DARK... there is nothing telling you where you are going or what is around you except the inky blackness. I told Hannah we could always tell when we were in a canyon by the temperature changes. The rocks hold in heat and so when we were down in a canyon it always got warmer. I told her that we were driving through a stretch of highway that had some of the most breathe taking terrain and she would have to wait until tomorrow to see it. We finally came out if the canyons and the town of Moab lay before us. Moab is one of my favorite little desert towns because it has everything you would want and need without being too expensive or full of homeless people or drugs. Everyone was very polite and welcoming without being artificial.
(Note from Hannah): After a long, hard day of riding--something I was still getting acclimated to--the River Canyon Lodge in Moab felt like a palace. When we mentioned our weary aches and pains to the desk clerk, she was quick to recommend the hot tub out back. The hot tub proved to be big enough for swimming laps, and the snap-crackle-pop of our joints unbinding and tense muscles releasing was delicious. I cannot describe how luxurious that soak, shower, and soft bed felt.
Hannah had a railroad cap with a "Frisco Railroad" patch on it so we had to get a picture of her in front of the sign.
We stopped in another town (we later learned it was called Avon) to get coffee and talk with the locals. "Loaded Joe's" had great coffee. A couple that we started talking to during our break told us about the beauty of Glenwood Canyon that was coming up.
Many people had told us that Glenwood Canyon would be a highlight of Colorado and boy howdy, they weren't kidding. As we had said about the day before, we had to avoid some really bad storms coming across Kansas; those storms had dumped a ton of water onto an already water logged Rockies and the Colorado river was over flowing it banks. By the time we arrived into Glenwood Springs we could see the river roaring properly through the canyon.
We then started a fantastic run down through Glenwood Canyon toward Glenwood Springs...
The air became easier to breathe and the bike was roaring like a lion as we got into the flat lands of Eastern Utah.
Once you leave western Kansas you cannot drink enough water. We had canteens and we were constantly refilling them and drinking our fill at every stop. This was getting into the real desert, the horizon seemed to stretch on forever and the land was barren in all directions.
I was born in Utah and spent the first few years of my life having my lungs develop in the dry desert and mountain air. I could BREATHE! I hadn't felt that good in a long time and was happy to fill my lungs with the air of my home state. We were on the final stretch to Moab; we were racing the Sun and I knew that we were going to get stuck driving in the desert in the dark. As the sun went down and Hannah and I discussed what constitutes a desert we felt the lucky winds of the evening stir up and start to blow. The temps started to drop and the coolness of the evening came over our motorcycle as we tore up the road running from our shadow. Finally the little town of Crescent Junction UT.
Crescent Junction is less a town and more of a place. Literally, it was called Crescent Junction before there was anything there. Eventually a gas station and restaurant we built there and that is what you find today. A giant neon gas station with a burger joint next to it.
The sun was down and it was cool so we put on our light jackets and headed South on 191 toward Moab. For those of you that have never driven in the desert at night it is an experience that is as frightening as you can get without a storm being present. It gets DARK... there is nothing telling you where you are going or what is around you except the inky blackness. I told Hannah we could always tell when we were in a canyon by the temperature changes. The rocks hold in heat and so when we were down in a canyon it always got warmer. I told her that we were driving through a stretch of highway that had some of the most breathe taking terrain and she would have to wait until tomorrow to see it. We finally came out if the canyons and the town of Moab lay before us. Moab is one of my favorite little desert towns because it has everything you would want and need without being too expensive or full of homeless people or drugs. Everyone was very polite and welcoming without being artificial.
(Note from Hannah): After a long, hard day of riding--something I was still getting acclimated to--the River Canyon Lodge in Moab felt like a palace. When we mentioned our weary aches and pains to the desk clerk, she was quick to recommend the hot tub out back. The hot tub proved to be big enough for swimming laps, and the snap-crackle-pop of our joints unbinding and tense muscles releasing was delicious. I cannot describe how luxurious that soak, shower, and soft bed felt.
