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Enough with the freaking snow already! - Motocamping from TX to CA

Joined
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Location
San Jose, CA
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Are you wondering why I have that annoyed, almost pissed-off look in my eyes? That’s because, for the third time in two weeks, it’s snowing on me. It’s not like I’m way up in the mountains of Colorado this time, either; I’m in southern Nevada, barely an hour from Las Vegas, and June is only three days away. It should be sweltering here. But, no, instead I’ve managed to stumble into yet another late-May winter snap, and now I’m getting snowed on. Again.

ENOUGH WITH THE FREAKING SNOW ALREADY!

The idea for a cross-country trip started coming together a few months ago, when Victoria got a nice promotion at work that required us to move from DFW to her company HQ near San Jose, CA. She grew up in the area and still has family there, and we’ve been wanting to move back for some time now, so things worked out nicely. I was unable to find a new job in CA before our mid-April move, so I just quit and am now unemployed, which isn’t all bad. We trailered the Ninja 250 out to California with us when we moved, and I’ve had lots of free time to ride it out and explore the numerous twisty roads surrounding the Bay.

Anyways, the FZ1 got loaded up with camping gear and parked in a friend’s garage prior to our leaving Texas. She waited there for a few weeks until Vic and I flew back to DFW for another friend’s wedding, after which Vic would fly back to CA and I would hit the road. I had sketched out a rough route and noted the locations of various campgrounds, but nothing was really set in stone. I had certain roads on my to-do list, like 550 and 141 in Colorado, and US-50 across Nevada, and I wanted to visit a bunch of the national parks through CO and UT. I had no job to rush back to and had all the time in the world (well, as much as Vic would let me be away for), and so my goal was to take my time, enjoy myself, not miss anything along the way.

And with that, we’re off...

Day 1: Sunday 5/15/11
272 mi - Map
Euless, TX to Wichita Mountains Wildlife Refuge, OK

After a few glasses of water and some aspirin helped chase away the hint of a hangover from the wedding party then night before, Vic and I set off for my friend Blizz’s house, where the FZ1 was stored. After getting everything squared away and secured on the bike, we all headed off for a group lunch with my good friends from FWMR at Hard Eight BBQ in Coppell.

The FZ1 (with topbox) crammed into the back of the garage. George and Blizz have *a lot* of toys.
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Loaded up and ready to roll. Odometer reading at departure: 24040.
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Hard Eight: Mmm, BBQ.
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A group shot with the contingent of FWMR who were able to make it out to lunch.
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We stuffed ourselves silly and wasted a few hours BS’ing over lunch, and then it was time to leave. Vic and I had our goodbyes, and she headed off for the airport for her flight back to CA, while I jumped on the freeway and headed north for Oklahoma. Dave (giving the Versys a last-minute shakedown in preparation for a cross-country trip of his own) and Nick (on that *other* naked bike) rode with me for a bit up to the Red River crossing.

Dave and Nick at a gas stop in Decatur.
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The first bridge spanning the Red River west of I-35 is the Taovoyas Indian Bridge. The roads heading north to it from DFW are fairly entertaining, and the bridge itself is way out in the middle of nowhere on a 2-mile straightaway dropping down into the river valley. Needless to say, everybody who goes there obeys the posted speed limits at all times.

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At the bridge, I said goodbye to Dave and Nick as they turned back south. My destination for the night, the Wichita Mountains Wildlife Refuge, was still another 100 uneventful miles into Oklahoma. Once there, I detoured off the main highway for a few miles to ride to the top of Mount Scott, a small peak that rises some 1,000 feet above the surrounding plain.

A section of the paved road that climbs to the summit of Mount Scott.
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View of Elmer Thomas Lake from the summit.
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Oklahoma Hwy 49 winding through the prairie. I had to dodge some longhorns in the road shortly after taking this picture... hey, it is a Wildlife Refuge!
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I made it to Doris Campground, at the edge of Lake Quanah Parker, at about 6PM. After unloading and setting up camp, I sat down to record the deeds of the day, and as I was typing the date into my phone, it struck me: May 15. Mom’s birthday. Check phone - no service. Crap! I could run back to Lawton, 20 miles away, and call her from there. However, just south of the campground is a small peak called Little Baldy Mountain, and the campground map shows a hiking trail leading to it. Crossing my fingers, I set off. Arriving at the summit a short time later, I check my phone again, and thankfully I have a few bars of reception! I’m able to call Mom to wish her a happy birthday and avoid the dreaded “bad son” label.

Looking up at Little Baldy Mountain. There’s cell phone service up there!
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After calling mom (and Victoria!), I sit down to admire the views of Lake Quanah Parker at sunset and eat the Subway footlong that I procured at my last gas stop.
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I was able to scramble back down the mountain and back to my campsite before it got too dark. Full and tired (we had partied until closing time after the wedding, and I didn’t get many hours of sleep last night), and happy that Day 1 of my trip went pretty much as planned, I climbed into my tent and passed out.
 
Day 2: Monday, 5/16/11
412 mi - Map
Wichita Mountains Wildlife Refuge, OK to Cimmaron National Grassland, KS

A great, restful night’s sleep was followed up with a fresh cup of coffee from the Moka Pot to start my first full day on the road.
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The lakeshore was only a short walk down from my campsite.
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Waiting to be packed up.
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I got on the road at around 8:30AM and continued west through the rest of the WMWR. A short ways up the road I came across a large prairie dog town.
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Lots of little critters running around.
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A few miles farther along, some bison were grazing within sight of the road. There are also elk on the reserve, but I didn’t get to see any of them.
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My route through southwest Oklahoma wasn’t the most exciting ride, but it was a very relaxing one through the calm, cool morning air.
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Random piles of boulders just don’t seem like they belong in the middle of the great plains.
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Passing through the Black Kettle National Grassland, I stopped at the site of the Battle of the Washita, an 1868 engagement between Custer’s 7th Cavalry and a camp of Cheyenne Indians under Chief Black Kettle.
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A short time later, I crossed back into Texas.
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Hey look, a county courthouse! Hemphill County Courthouse, Canadian, TX.
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This one, on the way out of Canadian, is for Nick. I think you can actually see Stan in that diagram on the right.
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I cut through the northeast corner of the Texas panhandle and back into Oklahoma, where I stopped at the Beaver Dunes State Park. I did a short 1-mile hike through the park, which wasn’t that great, but it was a change from the hours of straight-and-flat riding. There was also an off-road vehicle area adjacent to the park for sand dune fun.
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Heading west through No Man’s Land, the 170-mile-long strip of plains that nobody seemed to want back in the day. It wasn’t until 1890 that this area was tacked onto Oklahoma Territory to form the panhandle. You still see a lot of references on signs and business names to “No Man’s Land.”
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Nowdays it’s just miles and miles of agriculture.
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I passed through the town of Hooker (Beaver? Hooker? Oklahoma, whats with your town names?), and turned north for Elkhart, Kansas, checking yet another state off my list.
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Just north of Elkhart is the Cimmaron National Grassland. This area was a major stop along the historic Santa Fe Trail from Missouri to New Mexico. The “Point of Rocks” overlooking the Cimmaron River was a very recognizable landmark, visible from miles away.

You know you’re in the flatlands when this qualifies as a major geographic landmark:
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The Point of Rocks overlook is accessible from the highway, about three miles down a dirt road, and offers a nice view of the river valley below. I was planning on camping around here, but it’s very exposed, and the desert scrub offers no protection from the constant cold wind. I think I’ll try find somewhere else.
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On my way back down the dirt road, I see a sign for the Middle Spring picnic area. Middle Spring was the one reliable, year-round water source for miles around. A hundred years ago, this area would have been trampled to a muddy bog by hordes of travellers, horses, and livestock, but today it’s been restored to a pleasant woody oasis along the small stream fed by the spring. It looks like a good place to stop for the night.
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I set up my tent down near the stream, where the trees and rushes deflect most of the wind.
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A fair-sized porcupine ambled by as I was setting up.
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I warmed up some canned soup over my camp stove and watched the sunset and moonrise before heading off to bed.
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I'm enjoying this ride! Where are we going next? :-D
 
Day 3: Tuesday, 5/17/11
470 miles - Map
Cimmaron National Grassland, KS to Lake Isabel, San Isabel National Forest, CO

I was up early with the sun and planned out a route for the day before loading up and heading off.
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Shadows in the morning light.
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I remembered hearing about a rally up in this area that consisted of a ride route passing through five states. I thought it would be fun to copy the idea, and try and hit KS, OK, TX, NM, and CO all in one day. I started the day in KS, and less then an hour later I was back in OK, basically following the Santa Fe Trail southwest.
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I stopped for breakfast in Boise City, OK, where I came across this roundabout at the Cimmaron County Courthouse. There are *seven* different US and State routes that intersect here, nevermind the local road names on the street signs. Jeez.
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Continuing southwest, I crossed into New Mexico, and a short while later just clipped the very northwest corner of Texas.
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Still on the Santa Fe Trail. This historical marker was erected more than 80 years ago, to commemorate wagons crossing here more then a hundred years before that. Still, I get the feeling things didn’t look much different around here, even back then.
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Little House on the High Desert.
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Capulin Volcano National Monument, a well-preserved cinder cone that speaks to the volcanic history of this area. You can see a road winding up it’s flank to the summit.
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View from along the road up Capulin. Sierra Grande peak is visible in the background.
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I did another short hike around the rim of the crater. It had some nice views (including my first glimpses of snow-capped peaks on the horizon), but was very cold and windy. I was surprised to see this guy out and about on the trail. Thomas, identify!
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Leaving Capulin Volcano, I passed through the town of Folsom, which is known for being the site of the earliest evidence of human activity in North America. There is a small museum here (closed when I came by) dedicated to the nearby discovery of manmade arrowheads embedded in bison bones that date to 9,000 BC.
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I continued west along NM-72, a somewhat poorly-maintained backroad across the high mesa to the city of Raton.
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After lunch in Raton, I headed north through the Raton pass and into Colorado, state number five for the day (and for the trip). Instead of sticking to I-25, I split off on to Colorado Scenic Route 12, the Highway of Legends, which took me west into the Spanish Peaks. Finally, after hundreds of miles of plains and prairie: real mountains.
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Hwy 12 climbed through several small towns, but once those were past the traffic dropped off and speeds picked up. It was a terrifically fun ride up to the crest at Cucharas Pass.
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After winding my way back down the somewhat sandy north side of the pass, I kept on north to Pueblo, where I stopped to refuel and snack. The day was growing somewhat late, and I needed to find a place to stay. I didn’t feel like succumbing to a motel quite yet, and there was a decent-looking state park just west of town. However, a check of my list of forest service campsites showed one at Lake Isabel, some 40 miles away up in the mountains. Hey, I’ve still got an hour before sunset. Let’s go.

Google Maps said to get back on I-25 and head south, the way I just came. To me, the more fun route looks like CO-78 down into the Beulah Valley, then up the windy-looking bit into the National Forest to the campground. Who needs navi, anyways? The ride into the valley is very scenic and very fast, and then transitions into some nice twisties as I hit the base of the mountains. And then - wait, what? Why is the road turning to dirt? I pass a sign: “Gravel Road - Next 9 Miles.” I’m kicking myself for not trusting the all-knowing Google, and I know I should probably turn around and head back to that state park. I don’t want to get stuck on a deserted dirt road up in the forest, on a streetbike, in the dark. This is not wise. I continue on anyways.

The road isn’t muddy, really, but it is damp and slippery, especially on the Michelin street tires I have mounted (PP2CT front, PR2 rear). I remind myself several times to slow down and take it easy, because if I go down here and break something, I could very well be stuck here till morning; I haven’t passed another car in miles. Still, it’s hard to go slow when the sun has already disappeared behind the mountains and the light is fading.

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Finally - pavement!
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I make my way back down along CO-165 to the campground at Lake Isabel and get set up before the light fades completely. It’s cold up here, and I’m very tired after a long day of riding, but I did my 5-states-in-a-day and have made it to the mountains. I remind myself that I’m supposed to be taking my time and enjoying myself, that I don’t have to do banzai runs into the mountains at night to make that next campground, that it is OK for me to stop for the day at 5 PM instead of 8:30. I resolve to take it easier for the rest of the trip, and hit the sack looking forward to a great day of mountain riding tomorrow.
 
"Slow down. You move too fast." Feel groovy. Thanks for the ride along. Please continue. Hwy 12 is an often overlooked route because it is the long way to get anywhere. I know it's a great road. Please continue!
 
Day 4: Wednesday, 5/18/11
247 mi - Map
Lake Isabel, San Isabel NF, CO, to Buffalo Pass Campground, Rio Grande NF, CO

It got pretty chilly overnight, to the point that I wiggled into my Olympia Phantom suit liner for a bit of additional insulation. My sleeping bag is rated down pretty low, but the REI Half-Dome 2 is a three-season tent and isn’t that great at keeping warm air in. Wearing the liner also made climbing out of my bag in the morning much easier.
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The small stream that feeds Lake Isabel ran just behind my campsite, and I wandered down there with my coffee to wake up. It was cold enough that I had pulled on my riding suit just to walk around.
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Ready to ride.
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Only a few miles up the road from Lake Isabel I came across Bishop Castle. A friend had been here before and suggested that I stop by to check it out. It wasn’t on my must-do list, but since I was so close, might as well, right?
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Well, I’m glad I stopped. This place is nuts. It was built entirely by it’s owner, Jim Bishop, over the past 40+ years, and is still a work in progress.
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You hear “some guy built a castle up the mountains,” and you think, OK, he built a house that looks like a castle. No. This is a *castle*. It’s huge. That main tower is over 160 feet tall. The main hall is cavernous, with intricate wrought iron supporting the ceiling and stained glass windows letting in light.
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As I climb slowly up the endless spiral staircase, I can’t help but think: This place was built by some crazy mountain man with rocks, concrete and wrought iron. There was no architect double-checking his plans, no analysis done on how sturdy this thing is. You’d have to be nuts to go all the way up there--right?
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Right. Boy, was I out of breath by the time I reached the top.
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Notice the deathgrip on the iron bar.
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That’s my bike next to the top of the tree.
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It is just amazing that one guy could build this by himself, even with forty years to do it. Really a cool stop, one of the highlights of the trip.
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Continuing on my ride, I found some pretty nice twisties dropping down out of the mountians.
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Turning west on CO-96 towards Westcliffe, I find myself heading straight for an awesome sight: The Sangre de Cristo Mountains, a 80-mile long string of 14,000-foot peaks stretching north to south as far as I can see. It’s hard to keep my eyes on the road with such scenery in front of me.
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Reaching US-50 at Texas Creek, I stop at Barry’s Den for some breakfast and more coffee to warm up. I rode through some light rain and hail a bit earlier, and talk in the restaurant is of worse weather moving in from the west. Uh-oh.
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I head up to Salida, a nice mountain-resorty-type town where decent cell service allows me to follow up on the weather forecast and decide what I should do. It looks like there’s a large front just west of Monarch Pass on US-50, slowly moving my way. Not going over there, and I don’t want to go back east, the way I just came. To my north is the Collegiate Peaks Scenic Drive, which follows along another grouping of 14k-ft peaks and eventually ends up in the historic town of Leadville, CO. To my south is the San Luis Valley, a flat, boring-looking agricultural center. North it is.
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The scenic drive isn’t nearly as scenic as it could be, with the mountain peaks wrapped in heavy clouds. Some miles along, I come across the town of Mt Princeton, with its hot spring-fed baths. Ooh, a relaxing hot soak sounds great. I could just stop here for the night... it would be a very short day of riding, but that’s OK. There’s a small campground a bit past the town, farther into the foothills, so I ride up there first to check it out. As I get farther up, a light, steady rain starts, then transitions to light snow. Hmm, maybe this isn’t the best idea. I’ll hold off on setting up camp, have my soak, then come back and see what things look like in a few hours.
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At the hot springs resort, I call Victoria to chat for a bit and let her know of my plans. She pulls up a weather map and says, “Uhm... I think you should head south. Like New Mexico south.” Looks that bad, huh? ****.... Stopping for the day is sounding really good, though.
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After we hang up, as I’m pulling out my change of clothes for the hot springs, three buses pull up and disgorge a horde of chattering teenagers, who funnel down the stairs to the springs. One of the chaperones pauses and comments: “Nice bike!” “Thanks... so what is this, some kind of school trip?” “Yup, senior class trip, just before graduation.” Great, I’m thinking as he disappears down the stairs... if I stay, I’d get to ogle a bunch of barely-legal teens, but then I’d have to listen to them the entire time, too.

I decide that spending tonight at Mt Princeton is just not meant to be, and trade the chattering hordes for the more relaxing sounds of wind roaring by my helmet. I could keep heading north, but I don’t think that Leadville (el. 10,152) is a very good place to spend the night with a storm heading in. Per the usual, I figure that Vic is right, and turn back south, and speed off in the direction of New Mexico to try and get around the bottom of the storm.

Crossing Poncha Pass on US-285. Still getting light showers of rain and snow here and there.
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Dropping into the San Luis Valley, I found myself riding along the western edge of the Sangre de Cristo range--the same mountains that I was on the eastern side of this morning.
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The wind was gusting hard, stirring up large dust storms in the valley. The lack of wind protection on the FZ1 was really putting a strain on my neck. At one point, I passed a guy on a dual-sport who looked to be having even a harder time with the wind then I was. His left pannier had been blown open by the wind, and I signalled to let him know before continuing on... hope he didn’t lose anything important.
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About a mile from the intersection of US-285 and CO-17 is another hot springs resort called Joyful Journey Spa. $12 for a relaxing soak and shower? Yes please. $40 for a crappy tent site with no protection from the wind? I’ll pass. I spend about two hours here and then head for the town of Saguache.
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At Saguache, I stop in at the Public Lands office to figure out a place to spend the night. I was thinking I’d keep heading south towards Del Norte, and stay somewhere along Hwys 160 or 149, but one of the rangers advised against it. He said that there was a large storm to the south and that everything down there was getting soaked with rain. Instead, he recommended a campground called Buffalo Pass, which was west along CO-114. “You’ll probably get a bit of snow, but the worst of it looks to be passing north or south,” he says. This sounds like my best option; let’s go check it out.

I head up 114... and up... and up. How far is this campground, anyways? I’m gaining a lot of elevation here; where the heck did this ranger think he was sending me, with my rinky-dink 3-season tent? I’m looking at my map, thinking I can’t be more then a few miles from the Continental Divide, when I reach the campground.
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The place is deserted. Twenty-some sites, all with freshly-poured gravel on the driveways and tent pads, and it’s pristine. I walk around the entire campground, and I’m leaving footprints on the loose gravel everywhere I go... I think I’m the first person to stay here this year. The silence is almost eerie. I’d better pick a lucky site to get me through the night.
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It’s calm up here, a welcome change from the constant wind of the valley. A light snow starts falling as I’m setting up camp. Brr.
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However, once I’ve got my fire going and sit down for dinner, the clouds and snow blow off into the distance and blue sky appears overhead. It turns into as perfect and pleasant an evening as you could ask for, save for the cold. (Checking a map later, I learn that I was at 9,200 ft, less then four miles from the Continental Divide. Yeah, way up there.)
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I kick back with some hot chocolate while waiting for the fire to burn down, before heading off to bed. I didn’t make it that far today, or have nearly as much fun riding as I’d hoped for, but with luck the storm will blow by overnight and I’ll have clear skies tomorrow.
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Great thread. Can't wait to read the rest. :clap:

I've got major trip lust right now, but I have to wait till the end of June before heading to Colorado. The Bishop Castle was already on the list.
 
Wow. Just ... wow. More!!! Please! And thank you!
 
Day 5: Thursday, 5/19/11
289 mi - Map
Buffalo Pass CG, Rio Grande NF, CO, to Fruita, CO

Holy crap, was it ever cold the next morning--mid 20’s, maybe. It didn’t snow overnight, but the low-hanging clouds started up with light snow flurries again as I was breaking camp. I decided to head up to Gunnison for breakfast, and then maybe down 149 to the Slumgullion Pass, then back west to Durango and US-550. I was really looking forward to today’s ride.

A few miles up 114, I crossed the Continental Divide at North Cochetopa Pass, el. 10,135.
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The ride to Gunnison was cold, but pretty dry. Things were looking up!
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This is how Colorado does breakfast. Hells yes.
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Pulling up the weather radar on my phone, I saw that the storm that was blocking my path yesterday had moved on to clobber Denver and would no longer be an issue. However, yet another storm had come along and was now hovering over the entire southwest corner of the state. I checked the road conditions from the CO DOT page. Highways 550, 149, 145: Slushy with icy spots. US-50 was claimed to be clear, but the storm was covering Montrose completely, so I didn’t want to go there. There was more snow to the north, along the road to Crested Butte. I’m surrounded.

From Facebook: “Breakfast in Gunnison, CO. Weather shows snow all around. Where to go?” My friend Steve: “Back to bed?”

A wonderful idea, Steve, save for the fact that bed was forty miles ago and is now rolled up on the back of my bike. Part of me wants to just find a cheap motel and hole up till all of this blows by and the roads clear off. Dammit, 550 was supposed to be THE highlight of the trip, and I can’t ride it. The people in the cafe telling me, “you should have been here last week, the weather was perfect!” aren’t helping things, either.

Looking at the radar again, it appears there’s a narrow clear path to the northwest, towards Grand Junction. I can run west on 50, then turn north on CO-92, and split the pair of snowstorms to the north and west. It might work, and worst come to worst I can turn around and get a room in Gunnison. I finish breakfast and head outside to hit the road. There’s a wet snow falling as I gear up.

Remember: Adventures are never fun while you’re having them.
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The snow intensifies as I head west along US-50. Visibility sucks, and I’m having to clean off my visor with my left hand every five seconds or so. The roads are still clear, and while part of me hopes it will stay that way, part of me wishes it would turn to slush so that I’d *have* to head back to Gunnison.

Eventually the weather slackens off a bit, and I stop for a stretch and to take some pictures.
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By the time I reach the turnoff for Hwy 92, the precipitation has stopped and the roads are dry. I’ve finally hit that clear spot I saw on the weather map. Sweet!

Looking down from the Blue Mesa Reservoir Dam at the start of the Black Canyon of the Gunnison.
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CO-92 heading up from the dam. Things are looking up.
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Unfortunately, it’s not long before I’m back in the clouds with snow falling steadily. CO-92, while not nearly as busy as US-50, is a much more technical and demanding ride, especially in these crappy conditions. The snow goes on for miles, and I’m wondering whatever happened to that clear spot I was supposed to be in.

I eventually reach a “scenic vista” point (all I could see were clouds) at a crest, and stop to talk to a truck driver who had come up from the other direction. He told me that the rest of the way I’d be dropping down in elevation and that the roads were pretty clear. He also mentioned that for the past two miles or so I’d been riding along the edge of a 2,000 precipice, and that the views were awesome on a clear day. I’m almost glad that I had no idea it was there.
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Past the crest, the snow lets up a little, and I’m able to relax a bit more and take in some of the scenery. It is simply beautiful up here. The way the snow clings to the trees makes me feel like I’m riding through a winter scene postcard. Today’s ride has been a bit ridiculous, but I feel like it’s all worth it for these few miles through this winter wonderland.

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I eventually make it down out of the snow and into warmer air. It’s fun to watch the sheet of ice on my windscreen slowly slide upwards until there’s an inch of ice sticking above the upper edge, when the triple-digit windblast snaps it off and sends it flying into my faceshield. A few cycles of this and the screen is ice-free. I passed a sign for the north rim of Black Canyon NP, but a state park employee who I had stopped to talk to said that it turned to dirt a few miles in, and it would be a muddy mess with the recent weather. Instead, I stick to the main road to the towns of Crawford and Hotchkiss (or, as the trucker up on 92 called them, “Crawtchkiss”).
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I eventually make it to Delta, CO, where the sun is shining brightly and it’s downright warm. I stop for fuel and a snack while I figure out where to go next. It looks like I’m around the north edge of the storm, and I could head straight for Grand Junction. However, the squiggly-looking CO-65, the Grand Mesa Scenic Byway, is looking like the more attractive option. Both the weather radar and road conditions show as being clear, and though my faith in both of those is not as strong as it was this morning, I set off in that direction.
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Approaching the Grand Mesa, the largest flat-topped mountain in the world. I can actually see the snow up there, which has to be better then only seeing clouds, right?
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There is a lot of snow up on the mesa, but the roads and weather are pretty clear. There are some wet sections on the road, but most of it is pretty dry and railable. It’s a very fun, scenic ride.
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I passed a sign for the Grand Mesa visitor center and decide to stop in for a break. Or maybe not.
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There are signs for trailheads, scenic side roads, picnic areas, and as I ride by I see the top half of a stop sign poking out of a snowbank. Spring has definitely not arrived at the 11,000-ft elevation of the mesa top yet.

Dropping down the north side of the Grand Mesa.
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CO-65 eventually turns west towards it’s intersection with I-70, and winds along a steep sided red-rock canyon.
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I hop on I-70 and pass through Grand Junction, exiting at Fruita and turning south for the Colorado National Monument. It’s getting later in the afternoon, and I think I’ll stop there and make camp for the night. The road winding up the red cliffs into the monument is a great ride, and offers great views of the surrounding valleys.
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I reach the campground and dismount to take a look around. I’m surprised to see that there are no tent pads, just open areas of red dirt with obvious evidence of recent rain runoff crossing through them. I look at every open site, and all the clear tent areas are low-lying, just mud puddles waiting to happen. I pull out my phone to check if rain is forecast for tonight, and it starts sprinkling, and then lightly hailing. You know what? I deserve a bit of luxury tonight. I’m not going to deal with the muddy mess that this campground is going to turn into. I hop back on the bike and head back down into Fruita.

That’s what I’m talking about.
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They even had a washer and dryer. I toss in my dirty clothes and relax in the hot tub waiting for them to finish, while mentally planning out the next day. Tomorrow I’ll do some hiking around the national monument, ride the 30-mile scenic route through the park, and then, depending on the weather, head back south along CO-141, or west on the freeway towards Canyonlands and Arches. Once my laundry is finished and repacked, I crawl into the soft, expansive bed and drop off to dreams of sunny weather and dry, smooth roads.
 
Day 6: Friday, 5/20/11
294 mi - Map
Fruita, CO - Horsethief CG, Canyonlands NP, UT

It’s still gray and rainy outside. Checking the radar, all of Grand Junction is under a giant blob (at least it’s rain this time, instead of snow) that extends west along I-70 all the way into Utah. Maybe I won’t go hiking or riding in Colorado National Monument, after all. The mountain where I was thinking of camping last night is wrapped in clouds, and I congratulate myself on my good decision to get a room for the night.
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I had breakfast at the hotel with a friendly older gent who had a wealth of stories from his days of riding his BMWs back and forth from California to Nebraska. He’d been up and over just about every mountain road worth riding in Colorado, and his list of “you’ve got to ride this road!” recommendations would have kept me here for another month at least. He can’t ride anymore due to arthritis, and I could see in how much he missed it as I was telling him about my trip. It made me realize how lucky I am that I’m able to take a trip like this right now, at this point in my life; you never know when some unforeseen situation or ailment might come along and steal away that ability.

I loaded up and began picking my way through rainy Grand Junction, where I promptly got lost and ended up five miles in the wrong direction. After getting my bearings, I finally found my way to CO-141, the Unaweep Tabegauche Scenic Byway. The rain started to let up the farther south I rode, and I even began to see snatches of blue sky here and there.
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The road follows the bottom of the Unaweep Canyon, which is bounded by the steep edges of plateaus on either side. The low-hanging, misty clouds are still letting loose with the occasional spot of rain, and limit visibility to few miles. Still, it’s a beautiful ride.
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At least it’s not snowing.
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At one point I need to stop and wait for a herd of cattle to clear the road. They eventually amble off to the shoulder and plop down to watch me pass by.
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Past the town of Gateway, the road climbs up a cliff edge high above the Dolores River.
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Back in the late 1800s, a gold mine in this area needed a supply of water from the nearby rivers, and so a 10-mile long wooden flume was constructed. One section of it was actually built on the cliff face above the river--the “hanging flume.” The flume was a great engineering success, but the mine folded within a few years. Today, the ruins of the hanging flume are visible from an overlook adjacent to the road.
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I stop in Naturia to refuel and have lunch at Blondies, the local burger joint. Between the snow yesterday and rain this morning, the FZ1 is in desperate need of a bath.
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After lunch, I turn west on CO-90 and tear through the Paradox Valley, so named because the Dolores River flows across the valley, instead of along it. There are dark rainclouds on either side of me, but I’m staying dry for now.
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Reaching the western end of the valley, I’m treated to a fantastically fun climb up and out, and soon reach the sign I’ve been waiting for: “Welcome to Utah.” Colorado, you’ve had some pleasant bits, but you’ve rained and snowed and hailed on me at every turn, and there have been a lot of turns where I was just trying to avoid that next storm. Screw you and your “springtime” weather!
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CO-90 turns into UT-46, another pretty fun road along the base of the La Sal mountains.
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At the intersection of US-191, I turn north for Moab. Again, there are rain showers all around, but I miss the majority of them. There are groups of bikes everywhere in Moab, mostly dualsports an enduros out enjoying a day in the dirt and slickrock.
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After refueling and stocking up on supplies, I continue on up to the northern portion of Canyonlands National Park, known as the “Island in the Sky.”
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A pair of buttes named “Monitor” and “Merrimac” after the iron-clad ships of the civil war.
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Still looking like it’s going to start pouring at any moment.
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This little stretch of road, with the land dropping off steeply on both sides, is known as “The Neck.” That 40-foot wide bit of land is the only connection between the outside world and the large mesa making up the northern section of Canyonlands. Besides the Neck, the mesa is surrounded only by sky and 1,200-foot cliffs on all sides, hence, the “Island in the Sky.”
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The ride down into the park is just fan-freakin-tastic. Perfect pavement, and set after set of esses snaking back and forth. RVs and passenger vehicles are quickly dispatched to the rear, and I just have a blast speeding down to the campground.
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Which, unfortunately, is full. There’s BLM campground a few miles back, just outside the park boundary, so not all hope is lost. Before I head back, I stop at the Green River Overlook adjacent to the campground. Now THAT is a view.
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A bit further north, on my way back to the BLM site, is the Shafer Trail overlook. This is one of the few trails connecting the mesa top to the lower rim of the canyons, known as the “white rim” (see the above pic for an example of why it’s so named). The Shafer Trail drops down a very steep series of switchbacks to the lower plateau; it looks like it would be an absolute hoot if it were paved. As it is, you need a high-clearance 4x4 to attempt it.
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More clouds at the Shafer Trail overlook.
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I ride back north out of the park to Horsethief Campground, where I’m able to snag a decent site, and sign up for two nights--it will be nice to spend a few nights in the same place for once! The clouds look to be breaking up, with blue sky showing through in places. It’s turning into a pretty nice afternoon.
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...until I turn around. Oh, shoot. That’s headed straight for me.
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I scramble to get my tent set up and my gear inside, and finish up just as the rain begins to fall. Perfect timing. The tent performs admirably, keeping me and my stuff nice and dry while the rain pours down outside.
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30 minutes later, the rain has moved on, and I crawl out to be greeted with blue skies again. And hey, my bike even looks kind of clean.
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I head out for a late-afternoon walk on the mile-long trail adjacent to the campground.
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The trail is marked by small cairns of rocks to show the way. This one must be the community effort.
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Back at the campsite, I fix some dinner as the sun sets, and head to bed looking forward to a full day of hiking in the canyonlands tomorrow.
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Nice country. Thanks for sharing. Just never know what Ma Nature is going to throw at you in the spring out there. Hope to be roaming about in the area soon.
 
I really need a vacation. But this is working well for now! :thumb:
 
Day 7: Saturday, 5/21/11
81 miles around Canyonlands

I was up at at dawn and rode south back into the park for a day of hiking. The rain appeared to have moved on west, and day promised to be a beautiful one.
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The ride back across the neck and through the park’s twisties is just as good as I remembered from yesterday.
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The first hike of the day is to the Mesa Arch, a large span that perfectly frames the sunrise over the canyons of the Colorado River.
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Then back to the bike to continue south to the next hike, at Grand View Point.
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Changing out of my riding gear at the trailhead, I encounter a problem. My 100k-old Sidi boots are slowly falling apart a little at a time.
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With the generosity of a fellow tourist, the problem is solved temporarily... still, I think it might be time for a new pair once I get home!
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Grand View Point is at the very southern end of the Island in the Sky. The Green River flows in from the northwest, the Colorado from the northeast, and they reach their confluence to the south and continue out of the park and into Glen Canyon. At the end of the hike, out at the very point, you’re surrounded by a 270-degree vista of canyons on all sides. (click here for high-res)
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Monument Canyon, to the east, is filled with 300-foot spires of stone.
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Next up was a hike across the mesa top to Murphy Point, another overlook of the Green River.
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I plan for my final hike for the day to be the Syncline Loop, an 8-mi trail around the perimeter of a formation called the Upheaval Dome. Signs warn that this is a strenuous trail, difficult to follow, and to start by 11am to avoid having to hike in the dark. It’s already past 1pm, but I’ve still got a good 7 or 8 hours of light left... plenty of time.
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I’m not even thirty minutes in when I lose the trail. I cast around for a bit, but I have no idea where it is; for all I know I could be crisscrossing it blindly. It’s not like I’m completely lost, though... the road is *right there*, and if I get desperate I can just hike over to it and follow it back to the trailhead.
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I decide to hike uphill, to the rim of the Upheaval Dome. There was a short hike to an overlook back at the trailhead, and I figure I might be able to follow the rim back around to the overlook. A short while later I reach the rim and am greeted with a completely bizzare sight.
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Geologists still aren’t sure what created this formation; you could tell me that it’s the result of an alien landing and I just might believe you. I sat there for a while and just looked at it... the blue-green colors, and the jumbled, upthrust walls, just seemed completely out of place here in this land of evenly-layered red rocks.
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More then anything else on this trip, pictures of the Upheaval Dome just cannot convey the extreme sense of weird you get from seeing it in person.
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I was able to make my way back along the rim to the overlook, and then back to the trailhead. I found this little guy along the way.
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I stopped at the Green River overlook one more time, where I just sat for a while and tried to take in the huge vista before me.
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This formation reminded me of a much more famous one in Yosemite.
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Back at the bike, I discovered that I’d picked up a passenger.
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More views from the Shafer Trail overlook.
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A large SUV climbing up the trail. You *really* don’t want to go off the edge here.
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Then, just to say I did it, I headed down the Shafer Trail myself. Not very far, just a mile or three. The FZ1 handled it fine.
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I was back at my campsite by early evening, in time to kick back with my book and enjoy a few hours of relaxation before the sun set. Tomorrow I’d head back to Moab to get more supplies, and then on to spend a day or two in Arches NP.
 
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