From Amarillo to Denver
NOTE TO SELF: Do not stay at grungy motels adjacent to 24 hr truck stops...
The morning was a bit overcast but a welcome sight after the severe storm. I was groggy and cranky from little sleep due to airbrakes and big rig sounds all night. I also think adrenaline was a factor since I woke up wide awake at 4 am ready to go.
Pig in a Poke
As I piddled with loading my gear, the two Harley riders who'd arrived in the peak of the storm the night before appeared from their room. I asked how they enjoyed the rain and they laughed, telling me they'd gotten caught out on the interstate in it and were being hammered by the hail. They'd ridden in from New Orleans and were on their way to Montana as well. When they saw my bike they stopped talking and knelt down to look at it. They'd never seen a horizontal twin engine, much less a BMW motorcycle and were highly intrigued. Silently I thought "You guys need to get out more" but of course said nothing. Just about that time the sun broke through and I could see the skies clearing to a bright blue. It was my sign to say goodbye to Amarillo.
Montana Bound Bikers
Honey, does this outfit make me look fat?
Heading out of Amarillo towards Dumas, the flat landscape turned to rolling plains and became more interesting as I approached the Canadian River. The morning sun was nice, the air was cool and the bike was running great. I watched a train crossing a large trestle bridge near the river and the excitement of the trip really hit me.
By the time I got to Dumas, the temperature had dropped and I was beginning to get a little chill in my mesh jacket but it felt great knowing the Texas heat was slipping away behind me.
Riding on, the huge plains to either side were fascinating in their own way and it was interesting seeing how the hay was stacked high and in long lines in the field. I wondered if they were also used as wind breaks for the cattle... who knows.
Entering Dalhart, I had my first close call on the bike. On the main street, a small white minivan pulled out ahead of me and was cruising along at my speed for a bit. For some reason the driver suddenly stopped dead in the middle of the road - of course at the exact instant I had glanced to one side. I got the bike stopped just in time but man was I PO'd. Oh well. I've now bonded with the Beemer's ABS brakes.
I stopped for gas and zipped in the jacket liner to cut the cool wind. Boy Scout troops, van trains and cars with gear on top were strewn through the little town as they trekked to the mountains. I started feeling the rush of excitement and flew on to Texline, then hit the New Mexico border.
That first glimpse of volcanic mountains protruding up from the plains is always a rush.
*Note To Self - actually change your watch after reading the sign...
The little ranch town of Clayton, New Mexico came up soon and I circled through to get a feel. It has charm and looks like a good place to hang out for a day, though I suspect few do since the mountains to the west are calling. I pulled up to the light next to an old rancher in a beat up pickup truck with his window down. As we waited I smiled and he nodded and tipped his cowboy hat and then said slowly "Where you goin?" When I answered "Montana", he grinned and said "Good Luck".
Downtown Clayton...
Maybe he was wishing me luck because he knew I would soon pass the giant cattle feeding station just outside town. When I spotted it and the thousands of cattle ahead, I decided to stop and try to get some pictures. As I dropped into the valley and the invisible lake of stink from the place, it was all I could do to try and gun the bike as fast as possible and make it out of the valley before I passed out from holding my breath.
Having survived Sewage Valley Farms, I motored on towards Raton. The air was cool and the scenery was beautiful - huge plains of green grass with the volcanic mountains and plateaus jutting up from the massive open lands. The vistas are inspiring and I was engulfed in a sense of time and history. My mind wandered as to where the little ranch roads went and how long the families had lived there. Pronghorn antelope were spotted here and there, with the occasional distant windmill giving scale to how massive the area is.
There was much road construction on the road to Raton, much of the roadway posted at 45 mph. In addition, there was the "Safety Zone" for many miles with warnings of double traffic fines, so the ride was slow. That was good, because it forced me to enjoy the beautiful landscape, the smells of green grass, the blue of the sky and all those things we motorcyclists enjoy. I passed the massive extinct volcano at Capulin and debated detouring to the landmark and riding the tiny road that can be seen encircling the mountain. As usual, I was too excited to make the side trip and decided to do the volcano at some point in the future.
Speaking of excitement, I was feeling it in spades. Reaching this area is always a rush, because you know you've cleared the endless flats of hot Texas and ahead lies stunning scenery and cool temperatures, but doing it now on a motorcycle was a dream come true. Scenes seen through car windows in the past were now alive, and I felt more alive than ever. I was now on my second day of a new adventure and from the seat of a motorcycle, it was better than imagined.
I swung off the road at a sign for "Rocky Mountains" and snapped a quick picture of the motorcycle against the bullet riddled sign. It was the first signpost for what lay ahead!
I rolled into the sleepy town of Raton around noon and rode from one end to another. I'd "been" to Raton many times, but always just as a gas stop in a hurry to reach Colorado and now I'd determined to savor as much of what I'd always had to miss now that I was alone and had no true deadline.
I felt the need for coffee and decided to swing into the "Crystal Cafe" for a cup or three before continuing north. It didn't take much for the waitress to sucker me in to getting the olive oil and garlic pasta lunch special.
It turned out to be a great choice.
The waitress spotted the motorcycle out the window and said "Well that's just a gigantic dirt bike!" I chuckled and responded that it sure wasn't a dirt bike, but it sure was great for trips like this. Loaded up with all the gear and my big arse, I wouldn't be surprised if truckers weren't drafting behind me.
My garlic-laden lunch now resting in its proper place, it was time to continue on for Colorado and specifically Denver, where I'd hang with a friend for a couple of days.
This day the weather was absolutely perfect - sunshine, blue sky and puffy white clouds. Raton Pass was a beautiful and easy introduction into southern Colorado, flying along the interstate and absorbing the refreshing change from Texas. As all who ride can testify, everything is enhanced and you experience your environment with all senses alive. You smell the scents, feel the wind and sun and are encompassed in a bubble of vibrant life.
The drive up I-25 through the pass is nice and after crossing into Colorado you eventually leave the mountains and foothills and enter large plains on the edge of eastern Colorado, the Colorado no one mentions or knows about. The Interstate parallels the mountains to the west and allows for fast and easy travel north to Colorado Springs and Denver.
Somehow I was expecting the Rockies to be more impressive...
Getting toDenver was all I had to do for the day and I wasn't sure how long it would take. I pulled off at Colorado Springs and grabbed a Starbucks to relax and kill some time. I didn't need to be in Denver until after 6 and didn't want to hit the big city at 5 and get stuck in rush hour traffic. It was then I realized I was in mountain time and had an extra hour to kill on top of it. I spent quite a bit of time at the Starbucks, which gave me plenty of time to set my watch back an hour…
As is normal for the mountains, afternoon thunderstorms form and blow in and today was no exception. From the outdoor patio, I could see an especially big, black and powerful thunderhead coming fast for the city and I could tell it wouldn't be a "gentle rain" version. I decided it was a good time to beat it and race north, jumping on the bike and blasting onto the highway, only to realize I needed gas and had to loop back to find a station. The storm hit full force while I was filling up and a lightning strike hit a pole a few hundred yards away just to enforce the idea.
I waited under the overhead of the pump area until the initial force subsided, then a break in the rain came and I took advantage of it, racing north on the interstate. At least it was just the usual afternoon rains and though I rode through some short sheets of rain, it was not consistent.
Out of the rain, I rode in stiff sidewinds north until reaching Denver and my friend's home. The new suspension system was due in from California the next day and I was excited to get the shocks installed. Online wisdom about the motorcycle said that new suspension would transform the bike. My rear tire needed replacement, but it had been good enough to make Denver and the dealer for a fresh one for Montana.
The next day, my new set of Ohlins suspension arrived and I'd stayed up far too late catching up with my friend and woke up late, Fed Ex dropping a couple of boxes on the front porch about the time I finished my coffee.
The boxes contained a set of blonde-haired, blue-eyed Swedish beauties and my heart went thump, thump, thump. As with any blonde-haired, blue-eyed beauty, there was a ridiculous price to pay and my wallet went kick, kick, kick on my svelte tushie simultaneously.
I needed a new back tire before heading further north and called BMW of Denver to see if they could fix me up in a rush. They said, "Come On Down!" (and Bring Your Wallet). Since they had to pull the rear wheel for the tire install I asked if they could also slap the rear Ohlins rear shock on at the same time, which would save me a bit of time in my friend's driveway. The service manager squeezed it into the schedule and they turned it around quickly. The dealership and staff were friendly and professional, ensconced in what appeared to be a squeaky new and stylish building.
When I walked into the parts area, I did a serious double-take. Behind the counter was my friend Jessica, the parts manager at my favorite Austin BMW dealer. My brain went weird for a second, like "Wait... wha?" I'd seen her just a couple of weeks earlier in Austin when I was picking up some parts for the trip. She must have seen my facial expression and laughed. Turns out she'd moved to Denver a couple of weeks before and of course the BMW dealer wanted her expertise. It was a funny moment indeed.
With the new rear tire and rear shock, the ride back to my friend's house was significantly improved despite the flabby and floppy original front shock still in place. By the way, BMW's large GS's use a front suspension that looks traditional, however it utilizes a large single shock, so there are 2 large shocks on the motorcycles.
Back at the house, I removed the gas tank and the old front shock, installing the new Swedish beauty. After reinstalling the gas tank, I swung a leg over the bike and did a test ride. The difference in handling was nothing short of amazing. The bike came to life, handling quickly and precisely, feeling lighter and aggressive as well as a couple of inches taller.
The suspension felt stiff in comparison to the marshmallows I'd been riding on, but Dan had set them up for my weight and gear. The attitude of the bike was more aggressive and it carved a tight line. Slow turning was much better and I couldn't wait to see how it handled both on and off road. I'd never seen such a substantial change in something that seemed so innocuous.
The only downside to the new suspension was the increased height of the bike. I'd developed a ballerina-like pirouette to swing my leg over the seat, which now sat 2 inches higher and each time I tried to get on, my boot would hit the seat, disrupting my smooth moves and making me wobble and recover. One thing most riders dread is the idea of falling over in front a watching crowd, and now my work was cut out for me...
