The Longest Friday

The Longest Friday Tour –Temporary case of the Mondays

Journal entry 5: 19DEC08

Location: Denver

I remember some one saying: “There’s no point in worrying over anything because its not what your worrying about that’s going to cause you trouble.It’s that anomaly that comes out of nowhere totally unexpected. Its that thing that blind sides you on a perfectly good sunny Sunday afternoon”….or in my case a Wednesday afternoon.

Wednesday opened up with the perfect weather window to flee the high altitude storms of Denver and make a run for the warm lowlands of New Mexico. The Colorado sun worked its radioactive magic in melting the snow off the roads the despite subfreezing temperatures. I was more than eager to put some miles in.

I never leave early and that still surprises me. Packing the bike, route planning, and making last minute checks on email and weather updates, put me well into early afternoon before I was ready to ride. The closest acceptable hot spring was only four hundred miles away, so the route was short with a steamy dip waiting at the end.

The road south from Denver is I-25. It’s a perfectly good stretch of mostly straight freeway with a biker friendly 75 mph speed limit. Just south of Colorado Springs I noticed a slight and temporary wobble coming from the bike. Taking note, I tried to determine if it was caused by turbulence wafting off the always present 18 wheelers. As the bike regained its normal smooth composure I experimented with speeding up and slowing down to determine the cause of the irregular behavior. The bike continued to fly down the highway without any further issues. I didn’t bother to pull off the road and inspect the bike, but made a mental note to carefully monitor the bike for any further irregularities.

The wobbling returned about three miles down the road and within seconds wobble was so severe it was all I could do to hang on. Not familiar with any sort of evasive maneuver for this sort of scenario, I let off the throttle hoping to coast out my speed and get off the freeway. The decrease in speed only increased the instability of the bike. I barely got the bike down to 75mph when we hit the pavement. The bike and I separated and slid down the freeway for what felt like an eternity. There was nothing I could do but ride slide and roll it out.

I slid to a stop along the side the road and instinctively rolled off into the median to escape any following traffic. I was super charged with adrenaline as I came to my feet. I took a few more paces away from the road and made an initial assessment of myself. Happy to know I hadn’t left any part of myself on the road, I worked my way over to the bike.

My bike had slid a good 10 meters further than I had. Careening down the road on its side, it had some how eventually experienced enough drag on the left side to make a 180 degree turn and come to rest in a ditch in the median.

I had just experienced my first high speed vehicular crash in my life and I didn’t know why or how. I initially thought that I had completely blown my tire, or that the rear wheel had worked loose. It was clearly a mechanical issue of some type coming from the rear of the bike. I’ve never heard or read of anything like this happening.

By now a number of good folks had stopped to render assistance. A construction type guy named Ed dared the traffic to cross into the median on foot and check me out. He had watched the whole thing from his jeep, and was astonished to see me get up after the slide. Ed spent the next hour making phone calls, doing police reports and offering everything he could to help me out. Ed was true Samaritan and I’m in his debt for all his assistance.

The rear tire looked fine, although its hard to tell with such a stiff tire until you gauge it or ride it, and I wasn’t riding anywhere. The rear wheel also looked fine, with all bolts secured. I sputtered in frustration every time the police asked me what happened. I had no idea. I just crashed on a perfectly good stretch of straghit road. I don’t think he believed me when I said I thought it might have been a flat. Officer Prock stated he wasn’t going to issue me a ticket because there was no sense standing around outside in cold doing paper work. I’m not sure what I would get a ticket for, but that was the least of my concerns.

Over an hour later I shook Ed’s hand and took off in the tow truck with my bike. Back at the BMW dealership, the whole staff took interest in my ordeal and offered what ever they could even though they were closing up. The BMW guys immediately assessed that I had crashed because there was 0 psi in my rear tire. They also found a leaking loose valve core. My heart sank deeper as I realized that core could have been damaged, worked loose, but was most likely never fully tightened when I installed it a week ago.

It’s possible there was a problem with the valve stem core, or that it had worked itself loose, but there was no excuse for not checking my air pressure before I left that day. Of all the things to go wrong I never imagined that this would be the sort of thing would put me on the pavement. Lessons are often painful; this was both physically, emotionally and of course financially so.

I got off lightly with a sore bruised body, spot of road rash and no real injuries. I was wearing one of the best possible armored riding suits on the market. I had a race track grade helmet, motorcross hybrid boots, and I was wearing gloves and a kidney belt. The 75 mph skid put 14 holes in my suit, broke the part of the armor, tore open my gloves, and broke off my helmet visor. There’s no question that splurging on high end riding gear saved my hide.

The bike would have been a salvage title if it was fully insured, but it wasn’t. So I’m piecing it back together. The crash bars cracked and bent, but ultimately saved the majority of the bike. The engine actually ran fine immediately after the accident. The entire instrument cluster was also working even as it was hanging down by its wires against the side of the bike. The plastics composing the front end of the bike are all busted up. The handle bar is broken and the tank is a bit smashed up. Another week in the shop and my entire parts budget of $4,000 will see her back to life. (will eventually have to do a couple months work to reup my budget) The Longest Friday Tour continues….now that I’ve got the big crash out of the way! And if you see a biker religiously checking his air pressure and everything else on his battered bike, you will know it’s me.

The crisp cold air and daily snow showers made puting the tour on temporary hold an easy decision. Temporarily swapping the bike for my snowboard and snowshoes, I joined Quin and Payce for a backcountry trip up on Rollins Pass. Limited visibility and two feet of fresh powder slowed the climb, but allowed for silky smooth steep descents and pillow soft drops off ledges.

We dug out a camp on a forested ridge, which was luxurious compared to our last camp up on Rainier’s Ingram Glacier. Quin’s log base kept the fire from melting down through the snow as we grilled skewered strips of raw beef. You simply can’t match the flavor of meat slow cooked and smoked over pine wood camp fire. Dinner was topped off with mud thick raspberry cocoa graced with some ancient marshmallows I had recently retrieved from the depths of my storage locker.

High Camp

me chillin

Confused by the photo? Watch out for those sewer manholes in Colorado,… and the weird creatures who dwell there! Okay, it’s not a sewer at all. Quin managed to squeeze some intel out of some urban exploration guys online. Armed with the coordinates Payce, Quin and I drove around the Colorado Eastern Plains for the day looking for the fabled Titan 1 missile silos. Shortly before sundown Quin and Payce found a whole in the ground.

It was nothing short of mind boggling. The initial underground bay was big enough to comfortably fit a two story house. Tunnels ran in multiple levels indifferent directions for hundreds of meters to missile silos, living quarters, communication rooms, maintenance bays ect. It was weird and exceptionally creepy. All of us immediately identified this place as the quintessential setting for horror movie. (“Ghost Ship” definitely came to mind) There was evidence of visitors using the place for shelter. Judging by the detailed devil related murals, I wouldn’t want to be alone when bumping into the silo dweller types. We didn’t even know if we were the only ones down there. It is alarming to find that the foot thick steel blast doors were operational and could possibly seal you in. Several passages required skirting drop offs into deep pools of brackish water, some deeper than 30 feet. After three hours of exploration we opted to return the surface for fresh air, leaving a number of mysterious tunnels and bays unexplored. I recommend this place for a good Friday night adventure into our “missile heritage”, but check your tetanus shots, be sure as hell to let some one know when and where you’re going and take a big group.

the higly qualified urban explorers (ie those willing to go)

me checking out water filled missile silo

yeah,...um.. maybe drinking is best saved for after the trip, not during

Entry 2: 08DEC08

Location: Denver

I’m realizing that although new places make fascinating destinations, the people are often what makes those places a rewarding experience. My fully loaded motorcycle, mud spattered apparel and grin on my face, bring a lot of folks out their shell. Almost everywhere I go I meet locals and travelers from all walks of life that just want to chat and swap stories. Spontaneous conversations with strangers are highly entertaining.

Cruising down the Natchez Trace in the Eastern Mississippi woodlands, I pulled into a historical marker for a breather from the road. While pulling off my helmet a man in a nearby pickup truck cracked his door and called out a hello and asked inquired on my destination. After a little small talk, he invited me to join him over a beer right there on the side of road. Instead of putting a few more hundred miles in that day and making it into Louisiana, I ended up swapping fishing stories with Donnie over a 6 pack in his cab. Turns out that Donnie is a power plant worker aspiring to be a tree farmer. He does his boozing at heritage markers on the way home from work for fear of his wife catching him with a drink. It was intriguing to soak up some local Mississippi culture and far more rewarding then long miles on pavement.

backwoods Alabama

The sun was setting and I didn’t feel inclined to drive much further, so I made camp nearby. While cooking up a mean combination of the last of the food I carried, I heard a load rustle behind my tent. Alarmed at the volume and close proximity, I clicked on my headlamp and put a reassuring hand on the compact XD. Expecting a couple coyotes probing my campsite again, my light beam located a lonely possum that looked up at me with his eyes glowing yellow from the headlamp. I stood up and walked within 10 feet of him. He continued to stare me down while making as much noise as possible digging aimlessly in dry leaves. Happy to have company for the evening, I forced down a promising but ultimately terrible combination of curried lentils and dehydrated potatoes.

I was determined to put some miles in and cross through Louisiana and into Texas the next day. That morning the ice coated my windshield and my electric vest pumped just enough heat to keep me going. As the morning turned to afternoon, the sun rose higher in the sky and melted away the ice on my windshield. I begin looking for a dinner to rest, eat and shed some layers.

It was in Alexandria, L.A. that I experienced my first ever bike drop on a road. It was both an alarming and embarrassing ordeal. I always check both ways twice when crossing a road. As I glanced off to my left one last time I pulled in the clutch and began to inch forward. Seemingly out of thin air an 18 wheeler appeared, bearing down on me at 50mph. I instinctively lurched back, attempting to pull my 850lb rig up hill and out of the lane. I lost the bikes center of gravity and jumped off and out of the way as the fully laden bike came crashing down on the tarmac. It just so happened that there were a number of chain gangs working the road nearby (it’s a Southern thing), with police officers over watching. A police cruiser was quickly on the scene blocking a major intersection with all lights flashing. Expecting a verbal lashing and hefty fine that I deserved, the officer was an incredible samaritan and assisted me in every way he could without ever saying a single derogatory word.

I quickly made my way to the nearest restaurant, to catch my breath, tame my emotions and reevaluate my riding technique. It is hard to realize that after nine years riding experience I could drop my bike in an intersection. Now I check three times before I cross the road, and I’ve realized that confidence and experience are nothing with out realization of your own vulnerability and the importance of just plain old paying attention. The blow to my pride was a small price to pay for an invaluable lesson.

Texas

It’s not just about meeting new people on the road, its linking up with old friends and family. I regret that I was not able to pass through southern Texas and visit my new relatives in San Antonio. However, my route did place me in very hospitable hands of my old army buddies. After a rather trying ride out from S. Carolina, I was treated to a warm bed, hot meals and the company of excellent friends. I also made as many trips to Rosas Tortilla Factory as humanly possible(one of my very favorite eats).

Rolling North from Killeen, I pulled into Abilene to catch up with another army friend. I had the good fortune to be the first ever guest at Rob and Jen’s new house.  Planning to stay only a night, I found I couldn’t refuse their excellent hospitality and stayed for the better part of two days, only leaving to beat the next storm out of town.

Rob is now a wind farm engineer. I didn’t know what this was all about until we were standing 240 feet off above the Texas plain on top of a 2 million dollar wind mill.

There are two places in Texas that I love. One is Big Bend National Park, one of the least visited National Parks in the US. Most Texans don’t even know about it. The other cool place is Lake Meredeth Recreational Area. It is a large tract of public land that sits just north of Amarillo on the Canadian River. Its free, you can camp just about anywhere, you can drive just about anywhere, and you’re not forced to camp next to some RV with a roaring generator. It’s open space,….no facilities, no regulations.

I bedded down about midnight and the temperature was cold but manageable. I made the naive decision to leave the tent on the bike and sleep out under the stars. At about 2am the cold was sneaking its fingers into my bag. A coating of ice crystals formed over my bag. I have a 15-degree down bag, so I know its really cold outside when I’m cold from inside. The Canadian river, flowing a few feet from my bag, froze over. As soon as it was light I was up, boiling hot chocolate and eagerly anticipating the sun rays creeping down towards me.

I savored hot soup, almonds, and mom’s dried apples for breakfast as I watched the ice break up and float down the river. I decided to postpone my ride to Denver by a couple of hours so I could explore the river valley. It was a great chance to hone my sand riding and test out the snorkel I fitted on my air intake by fording the Canadian River. It was 3 hours of bliss, ridding single track, splashing through the river, and blasting along the sandy river banks…..and getting good and stuck more than once.

With my usual late start I loaded up and hit the freeway for a long cold ride to Denver. Racing against the sun, hoping to beat the subfreezing temperatures.  I pushed hard up into SE Colorado. Stopping for chow in Lamar Colorado was an adventure in itself. There’s a pretty good diner on the outskirts of town, but I opted for the first fast food restaurant I could find to save on time. It was the first time and hopefully the last time I stop at Taco Johns. Have you ever seen anything like this before? They call it the apple crisp. I call it the surgical biproduct on a plate. It was mini cubed apples, syrup, and cheese on a tostada, with a liberal dash of pink sugar sprinkles. I scraped off the carnage and settled for the tostada.

I completely lucked out with weather en route to Denver. Ironically, it actually became warmer as I drove north into the night. The warm winds held for another day allowing me to switch out my tires in Quinn’s backyard while soaking up the sun.

Within 24hrs of my arrival in Colorado the whole Denver area took on a beautiful winter setting with a solid blanket of fresh snow. All I need is one more weather window to get me over the mountains to Utah on Saturday. Until then I’ll be doing bike maintenance, sorting out my kit, enjoying the good company of friends and breathing in that crisp Colorado air.

…..12DEC08 couldn’t resist the freshies! Will be stalling in Colorado over the weekend to do an overnighter backcountry trip up on the continental divide to pay homage to the Crater Lakes fathomless powder! Also, had an incredibly unique and subterranean adventure out in Colorado plains last night, will log it for next update.