Oklahoma to Colorado

I find Oklahoma fascinating. The name, is Indian, of course (I think Choctaw) and it literally means Red People’s Nation. Back in the late 18th and early 19th centuries, the nascent U. S. Government signed dozens of treaties with dozens of American Indian tribes giving them it in exchange for their lands in the east. Back then, it probably seemed unlikely that anyone (besides homeless Indians) would ever want this flat sun baked land. Of course, people did want it – some sooner than others (it’s where Sooner comes from); especially when oil was found on it. So, now a relatively small portion of the state is under Indian “control”.

I left Springdale before dawn and sped west toward Siloam Springs Oklahoma on route 412. It was cool in contrast to the incredible heat of yesterday, but it was still in the eighties (before sunrise). I followed 412 for 180 miles until it intersected with 35 about 70 miles west of Tulsa. There I turned north and road to Wichita where I turned west again on route 400 across Kansas. By the time I got to Tulsa it was no longer cool. It was hot and getting hotter.

In Oklahoma 412 is listed as a "scenic route", and the parts of it that ran through the Cherokee Nation were, but after that, it became rather monotonous. The land west of Tulsa is mostly cattle range which is to say it’s endless tracks of gently ungulating fields full of short grass and cattle separated by barbed wire. As I approached Kansas the uncultivated grass fields gave way to fields full of red grain sorghum and corn. Sorghum is a three foot tall plant with broad green leaves (looks almost like corn) and a crown of reddish brown buds. I didn’t know what it was when I first saw it. I had to look it up. They feed it to cows. In fact, 80% of what they grow in Kansas they feed to cows, something I didn’t know having grown up believing they only grow wheat there. They do, I just didn’t see any of it.

As I rode along I began to understand (at least I think I understand) the basic organization of the Kansas cattle feeding business which seems much more involved than the fields of grass and hay I passed in Oklahoma. All along route 400, and I’m talking about hundreds of miles, there are vast fields full of this red grain sorghum and corn. When it’s harvested, the grain and corn is stored in huge grain elevators that are spaced out every twenty miles. These massive structures are made of concrete, appear to have been there forever, and they are often surrounded by a small town. Near many gain elevators are feed yards where hundreds, if not thousands, of bovines are brought in to eat the grain. I could smell these feed yards for a good mile before I reached them. After I learned what to look for, I could sometimes see them from a mile away. The cattle stir up the ground they are tramping around in. The stirred up dirt is dry and turns to dust. The wind picks it up and carries it into the air where it appears as a dark haze. Sometimes I’d see the haze before I smelled the yard.

There really wasn’t much else to see in that part of Kansas. The last time I rode across the state I was up north on route 70 which cuts through the natural rolling grass prairie. Up there, it was like riding through a great green sea of grass. It even seemed to have waves. Down here there is no green grass (it's mostly brownish green) and no waves. It's table top flat.

I stopped every 120 miles for gas; sometimes more when my ass hurt or I needed something to drink. A little more than half way across I reached the town of Greensberg. It’s the town that was destroyed by the F5 tornado in May of 2008. I remember watching it on Storm Chasers (one of my favorite shows). The twister was almost a mile wide and it stayed on the ground for nearly an hour (not typical). It flattened every building in this town, including the only tourist attraction they had. Before Greensberg was known as the town that was flattened by the tornado, it was known as the home of the “Big Well”. The largest hand dug well on the planet, so the bill boards that sill line route 400 claim. The well is still there, but the structure that was around it is gone. It may have been impressive once, but it’s not much to look at now.

If you watch the Discover channel, you know Greensberg is trying to become a center for alternative, green (get it) energy. All the new buildings, which are basically all the buildings in the town, are built to be “green”. Several of the buildings have their own large windmills that all seemed to be turning at full speed while I was there. It’s hard to tell from a 30 minute sight-seeing tour if the whole energy thing is working for them. I will say there are plenty of brand new buildings, but many of them appear to be empty and the new court yards and walk ways are being overrun by weeds.

I got back on the bike and continued west. I’d been riding all day in a tee shirt and I noticed my arms had burned to a crisp. I failed to pack a light weight long sleeve “riding” shirt. I need to get on before I get anywhere near the approach to Vegas. As hot and sunblasted it was in Kansas, it would be nothing compared to the desert.

I’ve been hearing about Dodge City and Boot Hill since I was a kid. Almost everyone my age or older has. I’m thinking it’s a Gunsmoke and John Wayne thing. My ride took me right through Dodge City. I don’t know what I expected, but I didn’t expect the aging tourist trap I found. Boot hill (the cemetery) was a joke, but the museum wasn't too bad. I pulled into Dodge around 4:00pm. I was through the museum and gift shop by 5:00, and I got the hell out of Dodge shortly after.

Colorado was still 150 miles away. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and the sun was brutal. One of the problems with riding a motorcycle due west in open sky country like Kansas is the damn sun is in your eyes for hours. Sunglasses alone are not enough. I had the dark visor on my helmet down and I was wearing dark sunglasses and it was still hard to see. I had grown bored with the prairie, annoyed by the heat and the retna burning sunlight and obsessed with a thunking sound that I detected coming from my bike when I slowed down enough to hear over the engine. Then the sun went down, and the ride became enjoyable again. Free of the harsh sun and crazy heat, I saw the prairie in a whole new light pun intended). The sunset, which seemed prolonged, probably because I was constantly racing toward it, was awesome.

It was dark when I rolled into Lamar Colorado. I made one pass through town before settling on a cheap motel called the Lamar Inn (what else). I swapped some stories with a another biker in the motel parking lot before going to sleep still worried about the thunking sound on the bike and realizing I hadn’t checked the oil in while.

Pikes Peak

The bike started very rough this morning. It took me several minutes to get it running. Expensive visions of transporting it to the nearest Triumph dealer (Colorado Springs) ran through my head. I checked the oil, and it was a tad low, but not really. I loitered around Lamar until the auto parts store opened to buy motorcycle oil and octane booster. Super out here is just 91 octane and often its 10% ethanol. I had begun to suspect fuel might be part of my problem.

People who have not been here or who have just been here to ski tend to think Colorado is all mountains. It’s not. The Rockies cut a swath across the middle of the state. They are border on east by prairie and high plains and on the west by mesa and desert. You must travel more than 100 miles west from the Colorado border with Kansas before you see your first hill.

I had taken route 70 the last time I rode across the state. It’s farther north, and it enters Colorado in the high plains. Route 50, the route I’m on this trip, enters Colorado in the low prairie and gradually climbs 2500 feet to high plains.

I leave Lamar and head west to Pueblo. The road climbs steadily but gradually. Colorado makes it easy to know this because there’s a marker at the border of every town that tells the elevation. I pass through two larger small towns, Las Animas and La Junta. I tried to figure what Las Animas meant in English for the whole ride to Pueblo. I thought it might mean “The End” – ‘Shows you how bad my Spanish is. It turns out, Las Animas means “The Souls”. A river called purgatory runs through Las Animas, and, the town’s original name was La Ciudad de Las Animas Perdidos en Purgatorio which means “The City of Lost Souls in Purgatory”. Either the original name was too much of a mouthful or too depressing.

At Pueblo I begin to see the foot hills of the Rockies. From here, I ride North on route 25 to Colorado Springs. The city is actually higher than Denver (by about a 1000 feet). The bike is running really rough. It can’t get out of it’s own way below 3000 RPM and it’s still making that thunking noise. The Triumph dealer in town is closed on Mondays. It’s not even noon, but I begin looking for a cheap motel close to where the dealer is located. I stumble on the route to Pike’s Peak, and before I know it I’m climbing the famous mountain on a bike that already has altitude sickness.

The road up Pikes Peak is a serpentine 19 mile stretch that twists and turns its way up from 6,200 feet to 14,110. The middle 5 or 6 miles are not paved. They only just paved the last 8 miles to the summit which now puts them in contention for the highest paved road in the states. That title is currently owned by Mount Evans outside of Denver. I rode up that mountain the last time I was here. Then, I was on a very heavy cruiser (Rocket III Touring), and I was scared to death on that route.

They are striping the new pavement at the summit today. They had rushed to complete paving the road in time for the Pikes Peak Marathon (last week), but they couldn’t get the striping done in time - so they’re doing it now. Yes, they actually have run a foot race up the mountain which boggles my once runner mind. They also run a famous car race up the mountain which is equally amazing, especially when you consider they’ve only lost 2 drivers in the past 60 years, and they fly up the mountain.

I ride up to the middle visitor center which is at 11,600 feet, passing over the unpaved stretch. The switchbacks are a little unnerving in the dirt, but these are nothing compared to the ones I’ll encounter on the way to the top. I am not acclimated to the thin air (having just driven here from the prairie), and I already feel a little altitude drunk.

The road from the visitor center to the summit is temporarily closed while the newly painted lines dry. I and about 30 other cars and motorcycles wait for it to. While we do, I notice many heavy Harleys, and I wonder how they handled the dirt stretch. I know their riders must be thankful the summit road is paved. I am.

After about thirty minutes, a stream of cars led by a ranger vehicle make their way down from the summit (they are only using one lane until the lines dry). After they all pass, another ranger leads us up. They don’t normally do this, but they don’t want those newly painted lines crossed. I had been chatting it up with a ranger who let me know in advance when he was about to let us go, so I was the first in line to go up (behind the ranger pilot car).

The ride up was exciting, if not a little nerve racking. It would have been far scarier had the road not been paved. At 13,300 feet, we reach another line of cars waiting to be led down. The ranger leading us stops on a steep incline. She’s been slowing down to let marmuts scurry across the road for the whole climb and each time she did I worried the bike would not have enough power to resume the climb. Now I’m freaked. When she motions for me to go around her, I have to ride the clutch with the throttle wide open to get the bike moving again.

The summit is amazing, but the bike and me both definitely have altitude issues. I’m giddy and completely risk adverse. I park the bike a foot away from a precipice (no guard rails up here), and explore the mountain top. I know I’ve completely succumbed to oxygen deprivation when I buy a ¼ pound of fudge from the summit visitor’s center and devour it (I just don’t do that).
I spend about 45 minutes wandering around and taking pictures. When I go to leave, I discover the bike won’t start. Crap! I imagine the towing bill to get a vehicle down must be substantial, but it really doesn’t bother me – it’s like I’ve drank a six pack. What does bother me is the dark storm clouds that have been drifting toward the summit since I arrived. It looks like I’m about to be inside a thunder storm, and I do mean inside. The bike turns over (I don’t have a battery issue). It just won’t catch.

I push the bike to where the road begins to go down and jump on. I let out the clutch and after about 20 feet the bike is running again. I make it down past the middle visitor center before the storm hits. When it does, it pours and lightning bolts flash too close for my liking. I’m really glad I got off the summit when I did. The dirt stretch down is even more interesting in the heavy rain. I stop at the Crystal Lake visitor center and wait for the storm to pass, hoping the bike will start when it does.

Georgia to Oklahoma

I left the Relax Inn at a little after 5:00 in the morning and pulled on to 75 northbound. It was cool, but not uncomfortably so. There was a light mist in the air. If the temperature is right, a little mist feels nice on the bike. It was perfect this morning.

My goal for today was Oklahoma. That was a little more than 700 miles without detours, but there are always detours. That’s the whole point of these trips.
I opened the bike up and thirty minutes later I was passing Chattanooga. I had the bike serviced a few weeks ago, and it’s never really felt the same since. It has almost no power in the upper gears and I think it has an exhaust leak. The guys at the shop couldn’t find anything wrong with it besides it’s a 955 Tiger which they claim is a dog. Whatever the case, I cruise across Tennessee at 90.

After my 3rd fuel stop, I’m starting worry about mileage. I had hoped for 45 miles per gallon, but it’s looking like 33; not much better than most cars, and they have AC. I know what it is, though, running at 90, the bike is sucking fuel. When I back it down to 70 it does much better, but I’m set on making it to Oklahoma today so I live with 32 miles per gallon.

I stick to the Interstates and fly across Tennessee. I spent several days crisscrossing this state years ago. I don’t need to see it again. Gliding through Memphis, I cross the Mississippi. I’m officially in the west now.
The delta portion of Arkansas is all about agriculture. Everywhere I look fields are full of corn and cotton. The corn is already dry and brown. It was about the same time of year when I made this trek the last time and I remember the corn differently. This either went in the ground earlier or it’s victim of the merciless heat that’s gripped the area all summer. The temperature has to be nearing 100 as I near Little Rock.

Focused like an aspergers savant, I stay on 40 until I see signs for the “Scenic 7 Ozark Byway”. I’m a sucker for scenic byways, and up until today, I’d never really been through the Ozarks. I mean, I’ve crisscrossed Missouri, and I’ve been through Arkansas before, but I never took the time to see the rolling hills that Rawls wrote about in Where the Red Fern Grows (my favorite childhood book).

I pick-up the “Scenic 7” about 80 miles west of Little Rock and head to a town called Harrison near the Missouri border. It’s a nice enough ride, but I’m underwhelmed. It seems every few miles there are big yellow signs warning about steep and crooked roads, but nothing really lives up to their advertising. The detour costs me three hours. I continue on to Springdale Arkansas. I check out a couple budget places, but they don’t live up to my ever declining standards, and I decide to break the budget and check into a real chain “The Sleep Inn”. It’s after 9:00pm (really 10:00pm because I’ve crossed time zones), I’ve been riding for 17 hours. It’s the happiest I’ve been checking into a hotel alone in my life.

Getting on the road

I left the office on Friday at a little after 4:00 and rushed home. When I arrived at work that morning, I still wasn’t sure I was going to make the trip. It’s a long ride on an older bike by an older guy. As the day progressed, I started thinking about seeing the Rockies and the Grand Canyon again and I made up my mind – I was going.

I rushed home and packed. I was determined not to make the same mistakes I’d made on previous trips, mostly over packing. On those other trips I strapped several bags to the bikes, and it took forever to load and unload. I wasn’t doing that again. I wanted a configuration that I could setup and tear down in 10 minutes - tops. I needed to pack light cloths for the lowlands and heavy cloths (winter) for the mountains (above 10,000 feet - it’s real cold). I didn’t need gym cloths or running shoes – yeah I brought a little crazy on the last trips. Also, I needed to make sure everything was in water proof bags. The hardbags on the tiger leak (I found that out the hard way during my trip to the Smokys). And, since I was taking my laptop, I needed to make sure it was properly stowed and padded. I lost a hard drive during my trip home from the Grand Canyon and I’m convinced that was because of vibration. Finally, I needed quick access to rain gear, and I had to get to it without exposing other things to the rain (duh).

So I rounded up all my water proof inner bags (heavy plastic / vinyl sacks that go inside cycle luggage). Years of buying different bags for different bikes have left me with several.

I filled one with light clothes: 1 pair of shorts, some underware, socks, and 3 t-shirts. That’s it. I filled the other with heavy gear: 1 pair of jeans, 1 heavy sweater,1 light sweater, 2 long sleeve shirts, 1 pair of heavy socks, and a hoody. I rounded up my 1 man tent, sleeping bag, camp pillow, and my bag with camp gear (mallet for tent stakes, miners light, lighter, …). I put the light cloths and my bathroom kit (tooth brush, tooth paste, contact solution, pair of glasses…. you get the idea) in a small duffle bag. I dedicated the small locking hard bag to the electronics (computer, camera, support items). I put the heavy cloths in the other hard bag, and I strapped the duffle bag across the back seat. Rain gear and crocs (water shoes for getting around camp ground showers) go in the tail bag along with a dark visor for my helmet. It took me about 10 minute to load it all on the bike.

I was on the road by 7:30pm. There was a light rain. I pointed the bike west and headed for route 75. I was excited to be on the road, but my first mishap was right up the road. About 40 minutes later. There was a huge traffic jam on 20 west of Canton. I was stuck for about an hour. During which, it started to pour – hard.

My goal was to spend the night in Tennessee, but after fighting with the rain and semis for about 75 miles, I gave up on that goal and pulled into a motel called the Relax Inn. It was cheap, reasonably clean, dry, and had Internet. Good enough for me. As I unpacked the bike, I discovered I’d lost my sleeping bag. It was a nice one too. I generally buy back packing equipment for the bike trips because it’s compact and designed to be stowed easily. Of course, that comes with a price. The bag cost $80. It was a casualty of my rapid preparation. On my previous trips I packed the bikes and rode them around for a day to shake things out. Even after doing that, though, I still lost items during the first 100 miles on my other trips, but they were small things…

With little planning - I'm off

On Thursday (8/19) I confirmed with the storage place in Vegas that they had a unit they would hold for me. I told them I’d be there the following Thursday (8/26). Then I checked out how many frequent flier miles it would take for a one way ticket from Vegas to Atlanta. Believe it or not; it takes more miles to fly one way than round trip. I found a flight that gets me back to Atlanta on Saturday evening (Sunday to rest) with a return to Vegas on July 1st, 2011 (seems like a good time to head into the Sierras and Tetons – most of the snow should be gone). I booked the trip. Delta gave me the option to hold the reservations until Saturday (8/21). I decided to do that. I gave me a couple days to “chicken out” without losing the miles.
I just had the 12,000 mile service done on the tiger and a new back tire put on. It was ready for the trip. The only thing I needed was new water proof hiking boots. I stopped at Dicks on the way home and picked up a pair of Timberlands.
I ‘m a little concerned about how little planning and prep I’m doing for this trip. I spent hours getting ready for the cross countries I did in 2007 and 2008. I had my route all planned out for those trips, listing each stop and the mileage on spread sheets. I made reservations at camp sites and hotels in advance. Those trips didn’t always go according to plan, but I had a good idea from the start where I’d be and when; not this time. This time I had a goal, a date to reach it by, and not much else. In effect I was making the longest ride to an airport I ever made.

Getting the bug to ride

For weeks I’ve been thinking about making another long cross country motorcycle trip. My last long trip was in 2008 when I rode my Rocket III Touring to Vegas and back. Last year, my son, Alex, and I had planned to ride to Yellowstone but we never did. I rode to the Smoky Mountains instead; not quite the same. I definitely had the bug to do another long ride, and I really wanted to do Yosemite and Yellowstone. You really can’t ride a bike from Atlanta and hit those parks inside a 2 week vacation, though. I priced renting bikes, but at 200+ per day (when you get all the waivers), it’s just not practical; not only because of the cost, but it takes me a while to get used to a motorcycle. I can’t just hop on a bike I have no experience with and ride through windy mountain roads. The solution I came up with was to break the trip in two phases. Phase 1: ride and store the bike at a good jumping off place for reaching Yosemite and Yellowstone. Phase 2: is obvious except the part of getting the bike back home. I figure my options there are 1) sell the bike on consignment or 2) store it again. I thought about this all through June and July, but I didn’t get serious until last week.
I decided to store my black tiger in Vegas. Why Vegas? For starters, I like Vegas. But, almost as important was the cost of storage and access to an airport. The hotels at Vegas are cheap; especially on week days. All the hotels have shuttles to and from the airport (also cheap). The lock with Vegas is there’s a Triumph dealer there. If I ride my bike out there, it will need service (and probably repair) before it can go on another long ride.
With the front wheel turned, the black tiger will just fit in a 7 foot space. Thanks to Pythagoras, I know that means a 5x5 storage place will probably work (square root of 50 is just a tad of 7), but I’d rather have 5x10. Most 5x10s go for 75 a month – too expensive. It turns out there’s a self storage place in Vegas (in sight of the strip) that rents 5x10 units for 35 a month – done. Now I just got to get there.