- 156600 km on the bike
Alamosa is the gateway to the Rocky Mountains. The road quickly climbs above 7000 feet. At South Fork I leave highway 160 and turn north-west up the valley of the Rio Grande. The river begins its long journey towards the Gulf of Mexico here and soon I have reached the top end of the valley - and have a splendid view of its headwaters:
If you have biked the Alps, then you'll be surprised to know how
high I am above AMSL;
9560 feet - about 3136 metres. This is considerably higher than
the highest tarmac pass in the Alps.
A few miles on I reach the Continental
Divide at over 11500 feet. This is great, especially due to
the current heatwave; in the lowlands of Arizona
there will be 115° F today. But up here it is nice and cool
- at least while I stay above 9000 feet. Here is an impression on
how it feels to bike out here:
Then I reach the Blue
Mesa Reservoir, which adds some more cooling to the altitude.
I am once more in bikers heaven.
But it is getting late, so I stop at Crawford
and book myself into the sole motel they have there. At 60 dollars
the place proves to be a pricey way to spend the night; the TV (which
I don't need anyway) is bust, so is the air conditioner, and no
Internet - eeeek!
- 156950 km on the bike
The weather forecast is for even hotter weather today. This sets
a clear pre-condition for my journey planning today; stay above
9000 feet wherever possible. Luckily Colorado
is just the place to do something like this.
My route leads me north towards Carbondale.
The area is full of coal mines, and villages sporting signs advertising
their affiliation to the miner union, probably a reminder that the
labour
wars out here did not happen that long ago.
I am headed for Aspen,
a village high up in the mountains which is supposedly the equivalent
of Davos
in Switzerland; posh and expensive. Biking through that town on
the lookout for a place to have something to eat, I find that they
have imported more from Davos then just the attitude; there is absolutely
no parking space available in town, a glitch that normally does
not exist in U.S. towns.
Never mind Aspen, the Continental Divide is ahead once more, this
time on Independence
Pass - at over 12000 feet it is even higher than yesterdays
peaks.
But as the road up the pass is just as narrow as a European pass,
traffic slows down to a crawl. US drivers, not the most competent
car drivers at the best of times, get into deep trouble when having
to navigate their gas-guzzling dinosaurs from Detroit
along any road less than 50 feet wide. The amount of really horrible
driving I see today is incredible. Overtaking these morons is often
difficult, as they are driving all over the narrow road. But I get
through these weekend-warriors all right and soon reach Leadville,
where I have a very late lunch at the local Chinese restaurant and
get some petrol.
I end the day at Granby.
They have multiple motels here, so in order to pick a good one I
stop at a convenience store and ask the employees there. They all
agree upon the "Trail Riders" motel to be the best - and
writing these lines there I can confirm that it is quite comfy.
Let's just hope that no local crackpot
gets his hands on another killdozer
tonight...
My neighbours in the motel are two Harley
bikers - Albert and Hans from Nijmegen
in Holland.
They have hired their bikes in Denver
- at 500 dollars per week that is no bad deal. But what they didn't
realize was the fact that motels usually do not have computers
for customers use - instead they offer free wireless.
So they are quite happy to take me up on my offer of using my laptop.
We discover that for tomorrow we have planned identical routes.
- 157350 km on the bike
Granby is over 7000 feet AMSL, but this morning it is not really
cold outside. This will be another scorcher in the valleys, that's
for certain.
My Dutch neighbours are already gone, when I set out at 10 am. My
first target for today is the Rocky
Mountain National Park. Route 34, here called the Trail
Ridge Road winds along Lake Granby up to the top of the pass
at over 12000 feet. There is a toll to pay for
using this pass, 10 dollars per head and at the toll booth I meet
the two Dutch bikers again. The toll would be fine,
were it not for the popularity of this road. Loads of Yanks creep
up the hill at 15 mph, too afraid to go any faster on this winding
stretch. That spoils the fun considerably. Luckily there are some
roadworks going on which include a contraflow.
I just ride past the waiting cars and trucks up to the traffic light.
The cycle is 15 minutes, so I have a free road ahead of me - at
least for a while. Have a look at the scenery on top of the pass:
I even see a marmot
playing on the rocks. On the long descent it gets slowly hotter
and hotter. At Estes
Park I have lunch at an Italian deli and then turn south onto
State
Highway 7. That road costs nothing and is much
better to bike than the previous stretch. And turning south appears
to be a good idea: a black wall of clouds is rolling in from the
north. I saw it coming, but my lunchbreak gave it time to catch
up with me. I race the clouds, which is rather more difficult than
it sounds; the road snakes in all directions of the compass, and
my headway is slow.
My new destination is Mount
Evans, but at Idaho
Springs I realize that I can't continue: the road is a cul-de-sac,
and biking up a mountain over 14000 feet (4300 metres) high is not
a good idea with heavy thunderstorms on their way there. So my biking
is over before 3 pm. The H
& H motel [Postsript: that motel was for sale in December 2008 and is currently out of business] is recommended by the sales people in a local
superstore - and again the advice is great; 50 bucks buy a nice,
clean room. The thermometer shows 77 degrees here at 7000 feet altitude.
Down on the plains the roaring heatwave must be murder - but a look
at my altitude profile for today's ride will explain why I always
felt very comfy:
At the motel they apparently put all the bikers into one annex of the building. Lots of Harleys are around me and my next door neighbour is called Chip, with a Harley and a big trailer, from Indiana. We have a few drinks and smokes on the veranda of the motel in the evening, so in spite of the thunderstorms the afternoon ends quite nice.
- 157600 km on the bike
The weather is fine today, but more thunderstorms are expected
later in the afternoon. So there is no time to loose and by 9.30
I am on the road. Chip has even left earlier.
That road up Mount Evans is glorious, in the upper regions above
12000 feet they even have what one could - with some imagination
- call hairpin bends.
The views are spectacular and the air is crisp and cool. Chip and
his Harley are already here, so we admire the views together and
talk with the Park Rangers.
It is unbelievable that one can bike here on a tarmac road to well
over 14000 feet (4300 metres). This is nearly as high as the Matterhorn.
After about one hour I say goodbye to Chip and head back to Idaho Springs and then north-west on highway 40. It is just after noon, but the thunderstorms are rising up everywhere. I can avoid one that looms over Grand Lake, but once I reach Walden the game is over; a black mass brews over the highway ahead, so I call it a day at 3 pm and get me a room. 30 minutes later the downpour comes, but all in all this was an excellent day. You can download the last three days routes and my tracklogs here.
- 157900 km on the bike
Like in most motels this one has coffee making facilities. This
allows me to make a proper coffee this morning. The trick is simply
to use only a third of the amount of water recommended on the coffee
package - that gets you a decent strength coffee.
From Walden I have only a few miles to bike to reach the border
to Wyoming.
This state is much drier than Colorado, and the countryside looks
like this:
The arid climate means that not much is growing out on the fields.
Instead I bypass huge ranches
where cattle farming is undertaken on a large scale. Many farmers
appear to rear Texas
Longhorns, whether from sympathy for the breed or because they
are so well suited for harsh climates I wouldn't know.
State route 230 is a very fast road, so I am eating up the miles
fast. At noon the thunderstorms are blooming again - but today only
in my rear mirrors over Colorado. Wyoming is too dry to have them
this early.
At Riverside
the highway turns north. On my left I can clearly see the Medicine
Bow mountains. It is getting a bit hot here in the "valley"
at 7000 feet - I wish I were up there on top of the Never
Summer mountains. For a few miles I have to turn onto Interstate
80. I get some fuel at a petrol station, and a trucker asks
where I am from. His name is Jack and he is the biggest Indian
I have ever seen - I'd say standing about 7 feet tall. I was always
intrigued by these giant Peterbilt
trucks and after some chatting, Jack shows me the interior. While
the driver seat and the controls look ergonomic and functional,
the rear "cabin" is a place of unabashed luxury; about
15 feet long, high enough to stand upright with upstretched arms,
it contains everything you would find in a caravan. Jack has a toilet
and a shower, a sink with hot and cold water (from an onboard 200-litre
tank), stereo, widescreen TV, DVD player, a complete kitchen, a
living room and a queen-size bed in his bedroom. European truckers
can only dream of this. He also has an external generator which
he can fire up from the inside. That generator also powers the interior
air conditioner.
He tells me that he paid over 70000 dollars for this outfit - and
being divorced (she got the house) he is now living in his luxury
truck permanently. I join him while he drives to the diesel station.
This is also a new experience for me; there is a main diesel pump
on the right and a "slave-pump" on the left. Jack puts
a nozzle in both his giant diesel tanks, one on the left and one
on the right. The amount pumped for both pumps accumulates on the
counter of the master pump on the right - ingenious. Jack guzzles
a staggering 600 litres. "How long is that going to last?"
I want to know. "Tomorrow evening" is Jack's reply. I
can run Kitty 12000 km with that quantity.
Next I turn north again on highway 287. Endless fields with Alfalfa bales rush past, followed by more cattle ranches.
The bike runs perfect, in spite of the heat. I myself, however,
find it too hot in spite of the high altitude. At Lander
I take a break and have lunch at another Pizza
Hut.
Then I reach the Wind
River and with it the sizeable Wind
River Indian Reservation. I end the day after 500 km at a the
very nice and brand new Longhorn
RV and motel. As usual, you can download today's route and tracklog
here.
- 158400 km on the bike
Next morning I do my navigation - which unfortunately runs only
on that
other thing. When I plug in the USB connector for the memory
card reader, the reader is not recognized. Then the screen freezes.
Then up comes the blue
screen of death. On reboot the blue screen comes up right away.
It is obvious that I won't get this sorted out plus a new route
programmed and uploaded by the time I am supposed to check out of
the motel. So I book myself in for an extra day, courtesy of William
Henry Gates III.
Normally you'd now need a boot CD with analytical software to find
and - if possible - fix the problem. I don't need that, because
I have long ago given the control over the boot
sector of my laptop to the GRUB
loader - a far better tool than that other thing. So I boot into
Linux,
check (and fix) the partition
which is wasted by that other thing. An hour later all is well and
I have my route uploaded.
Next I call a number of Triumph dealerships on my way ahead, to
arrange for the next service of the bike. The result is devastating;
most dealers are booked up to the end of August, all have shortages
of skilled Triumph mechanics and one even freely admits that his
last remaining mechanic just quit his job with four days notice
to "work in Milwaukee",
i. e. for a Harley dealership. He now has a Triumph concession and
zero Triumph mechanics.
It dawns on me that in this country finding a decent motorcycle
mechanic is probably very difficult. The low standards of training
and the general "hire and fire" culture over here might
have a similar result as the "disrepair" carried out by
those idiots
in Oviedo last year.
I call the dealer in Missoula, to ensure that they have the most important bits in stock. They have, so my next destination is clear.
Next morning I set out from Dubois,
again on highway
287. The weather is still unbelievably hot, and even for areas
above 6000 feet the temperature will exceed 100° Fahrenheit
(37 Celsius) today. At Moran
Junction I turn north along Jackson
Lake. To my left the Teton
Range appears in the haze caused by the infernal heat.
There is also a toll booth, where one has to pay the park entrance
fee. The 5 ton Winnebago
with a family of five has to pay 25 dollars - I myself alone on my
bike have to pay 20. Whoever is responsible for the pricing policy
here must have learned his arithmetic in an Italian restaurant.
The price includes both parks, the Teton Range and the Yellowstone
Park. Both of them are the most horrible stretches so far in
all of North America; because of their popularity, visitors from
everywhere crowd the roads. And given the driving aptitude of an average
US American driver, you can imagine that I mostly crawl along at 30
miles per hour.
And whenever there are some buffalos
to be seen, the whole caboodle comes to a complete standstill. Everyone wants
to take pictures. At every bubbling mudhole this avalanche of SUV's
comes to a halt and everyone searches for a place to park. These
people think they park, but where I come from we call that abandoned
vehicles.
The whole, unpleasant ride through the two parks takes over two
hours. I am sure that Lewis
and Clark were faster than I was.
By 3 pm I am in West
Yellowstone, already inside Montana,
and have a late lunch at a pizzeria and a tank refill. Then I ride
on, still on highway 287, which now slowly descends to under 5000
feet - and the temperature is murder. Even worse, the strong wind
comes right from behind, from the south. I do 110 km/h but there
is hardly any wind because this mini-storm is blowing from behind.
It is not only myself that gets hot - Kitty's radiator has also
a hard time keeping the engine cool. So I stop at 4.30 pm at Ennis.
The town is popular with hunters and fishermen, and the prime motel
is already full, so I have to do with the second best tonight -
the "Silvertip Lodge" in the middle of the village. They
don't have Internet, but I pick up the free access point of the
neighbouring subway junk food parlour.
- 158800 km on the bike
The heatwave continues unbroken. I set out at 9.30 am north-westward
along the border with Idaho.
At Wisdom
I have a surprisingly good lunch at the restaurant opposite the
sole petrol station for many miles around.
This part of the land is bone-dry, and without irrigation
nothing grows. Have a look at this sample of burning hot Montana:
Like yesterday the bike is eating up the miles fast; the speed
limit is usually 70 miles per hour and the roads are empty. After
a brief stretch of road in Idaho, I hit highway 83, which follows
the Bitterroot
River northwards through the valley
of the same name. With the slowly decreasing altitude the heat gets
more and more uncomfortable.
From Hamilton
the road also gets fairly busy. Finally I reach Missoula
and the GPS guides me without any difficulty to the local Triumph dealership
on South Avenue. They have my spares ready. I just buy brake pads,
spark plugs and an oil filter. The rest of the bits I need I will
get from a motor factor later.
Just to the north of Interstate
90 I find a Motel
6 for the night.
- 159200 km on the bike
Like on the previous days I drink about three litres of water before
I set out at 10 am, and have two more litres of water on board.
Drinking a lot is the only way to cope with this apparently eternal
heatwave.
I head straight for highway
93 north, entering the Flathead
Indian Reservation. At Polson I leave the highway, because I
want to bike around Lake
Flathead on its eastern shore. This leads me into the Glacier
National Park. The entry fee of 12 dollars is very expensive
once more. And like in the other parks there is a speed limit of
45 miles per hour. That speed limit however is entirely useless,
as once again an avalanche of cars creeps up the mountains at 30
mph. But this time I have enough. Ignoring the double yellow line
I just overtake everything that's in the way. By the time I reach
the other side of the park I guess that I have overtaken more than
150 vehicles - that way these obnoxious parks can actually be fun.
Again the way downhill is odoured by the distinctive smell of burning
hot brakes.
Then I cross the border into the Canadian province of Alberta.
This time there is no delay on the border and the U.S.
customs does not even stop any vehicle leaving the country.
To my left is the beautiful Waterton
Lakes National Park (see picture above). Two bikers are already
at that place where I take that picture. One has a Harley. The exhaust
consists of two chrome pipes without any silencer at all. One can
basically look into the opening and see the exhaust
valve of the cylinder
head at the other end. The guy tells me that this is not legal
in Canada, but that the cops usually can't be bothered to do anything
against it.
The other biker lights a hand-rolled cigarette, and the smell indicates
that he is burning more than just tobacco there - apparently another
thing that is illegal in Canada, but widely tolerated. I would however
be rather concerned riding my bike while being completely stoned,
so I decline the friendly offer to have a puff.
Then the two bike off. The infernal sound of the Harley is audible
for miles. I also set off through the unpopulated land, until I
reach Pincher
Creek, where I call it a day after 400 km. The motel room costs
100 dollars - I suppose I'll need a while to get once again used
to Canadian prices.
- 159600 km on the bike
Today my target is Calgary.
The reason for my unusual behaviour of visiting a major city is
simple; my bike is rapidly approaching 160000 km on the clock - I
need new tyres and a service. Having spoken to various bikers over
here, they all confirmed that service technicians are generally
just fitters, trained on the fly. I will not risk another adventure
like I had in Spain
last year - I do the servicing myself.
I set out at 10 am. Just after ten kilometres I turn north on highway
22 - and a sign says "No gas or services next 135 km".
My tank is two thirds empty, but that is no problem. A Triumph Tiger
955i can normally do 515 km on a tank of fuel - I know that, because
I have tried it out. Even fully loaded and with both panniers
fitted she will still do at least 450 km. So I ride on through the
empty, vast highland. The only buildings here are the few ranches
that can exist out here. Two hours later I re-reach civilization
at Black
Diamond and refill my tank. Horsehead
pumps are appearing on the hills around me - a sure sign that
I am approaching the Canadian oil
sand deposits. It is little known, that Canada alone has as
much oil reserves in these sands than the conventional reserves
of all other oil producing countries taken together. Until recently
that sand, difficult to extract, was too expensive to dig up. But
with soaring crude oil prices the Canadians are now working fast
to explore that treasure - an oil bonanza is currently happening
in Northern Alberta.
I finally reach Calgary and my GPS gets me to Blackfoot
Motosports. I have never seen a motorbike dealership of these
dimensions - the place is gigantic and has two stories.
They trade in at least ten different makes. They have my tyres
in stock, but have no time to fit them. I have a chat with the female
service manageress and I charm immediate action out of that lady.
Please, don't ask me why women can never say no to me - it is a
mystery for me, too.
[Postscript: size doesn't necessarily mean quality - the absence of formal training for mechanics in North America results in
appalling standards of work. My recommendation: carry out all work yourself if possible.]
So I take off the wheels and two hours later my puss has new boots.
While they are working on the tyres I change the rear brake
pads, as they are nearly completely worn down. The fitters give
me an odd look when I ask for copper paste to prevent brake
squealing. Apparently they never apply any - such is the crap
service that the average Canadian biker has to put up with. They
finally find some paste, so that I can do a proper job.
I have to work outside in the burning heat. Having finally put back
on the wheels and paid 500 dollars
for the lot (about 60 % more than I pay in Europe, due to the fact
that regular tyre stores won't sell motorbike tyres here - such
is the rip-off that U.S. and Canadian bikers have to put up with),
I am totally knackered.
But staying overnight in this sprawling suburbia is out of the question,
so I leave the town eastwards until I reach the town of Strathmore
- a much more suitable place for me than Calgary 40 kilometres to
the west from here. You can download my route and tracklogs here.
- 159900 km on the bike
The receptionist at the motel has pointed me to a small car repair
shop in the towns industrial area. Unfortunately the owner will
not allow me the use of his workshop - he has done that in the past
and some dumb fellow broke his leg out of stupidity - and is now
suing the workshop. These are the ludicrous litigation
laws that they have in this part of the world. But he points out
a car wash, where I can clear the bike of the dirt accumulated over
thousands of miles since the last wash back in Pennsylvania.
And that jet
wash is the real thing; boiling hot and enough pressure to blow
the paint off if one wants to.
At a nearby parts factor I get four litres of engine oil for the
bike. This is all I am intending to do as a 160000 km service.
The quick lube shop owner has no problems with me using his tools
and changing the oil on the bike. Afterwards I get some mineral
water and some food from a nearby supermarket and before 3 pm all
my chores for today are done. That gives me time for a brief ride
around town, ensuring that everything is fine and ready for more
biking.
- 160000 km on the bike
Below is the usual map with my GPS tracklog and some trip markers.