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.