Old Skool Nostalgia Trip

My problem was that I treated a 1700 mile trip on a 40 year old motorcycle (Boris, my 1973 R75/5 that I've owned since new) like a Sunday ride down to Santa Cruz. The plan was to ride up US 1 (Pacific Coast Highway) to Crescent City on Thursday, then continue the next day up the Oregon coast into Washington, then east on WA 7 to Chehalis, where I’d spend the night before attending The Meet at The Lemay America’s Car Museum in Tacoma. Earlier in the week I changed the oil, torqued the heads, adjusted the valves, put in new plugs, and balanced the carburetors. The bike was running sweetly, but I was a little worried about the rear tire, which was worn and squared off. I finally decided that the tread was still some distance from the wear bars, and since I wouldn’t be tearing it up in the corners the tire would be fine. Then on Wednesday I took a closer look at the front tire, which was worn almost to the wear bars. After a few calls to local dealers and independent classic BMW shops, I had an appointment with California BMW in Mountain View the next day for a new tire. So, on Thursday morning instead of heading north I went 40 miles south to Mountain View. They got the bike on the lift fairly quickly, but after an hour or so I began to wonder if there was a problem. The tech took it out for a test ride, and asked me back into the shop. He had never adjusted a /5 front drum brake before, and couldn’t figure it out. After I showed him unique arrangement with the 4mm adjuster and 13mm hex lock nut, we got it close enough and I was heading north at 1:30 PM. Of course there was traffic on the peninsula, but eventually I crossed the Golden Gate Bridge into Marin. Because of the delay and late start I abandoned the PCH ride and went straight up 101 to Crescent City, arriving at the Front Street Motel at 8:30 PM, cold and tired. Part of this “Old Skool” weekend was to dress appropriately, to which end I wore my ancient Vanson leather jacket - no padding, thermal liner, or armor - just a heavy leather jacket with patches and scuffs. Also absent were an electric vest, heated grips, and fairing (or even a windscreen), although I did have a light pullover. I also carried an old rain suit, which wasn't needed.

On Friday morning I left early and rode past the huge All Star Liquor Store near the border (the self proclaimed 8^th Wonder – Case and Senior Discounts!) to Gold Beach, Oregon, where I stopped to warm up and have breakfast at Double D's Cafe. Other than being cold it was a pleasant ride up the coast and I made good time to just outside of Coos Bay, where I noticed that my clutch wasn’t releasing completely. I pulled into a McDonald’s parking lot and looked at the clutch cable, but didn’t see anything amiss. Fortunately, when I packed on Wednesday at the last minute I threw in a small bag with spare cables, and I took it out to see if I had a clutch cable, which I did. The adjuster was frozen to the old cable, and I had to cut it to get it off, and that revealed that the cable had started breaking where it goes into the adjuster and several broken strands were binding, which had caused the incomplete release. It’s been a long time since I replaced the clutch cable, so it took awhile to remember the secrets and sequence of disassembly. If you’ve ever replaced the clutch cable on a Japanese bike, know that a BMW cable is nothing like one of those. Eventually, everything was back together and I had a working clutch, except that the effort at the lever was about twice what it had been before. I checked everything, but couldn’t find anything amiss, and so set off north on 101. Just outside of town I pulled into a Polaris motorcycle/ATV dealer and purchased a can of cable lube and a cable lubricating attachment. I partially disassembled the clutch cable and lubed it, but there was minimal improvement. The clutch cable had been wound in a tight circle for at least 10 years, and may have been an old cable to begin with, so I hoped that the heavy resistance was due to binding and not something wrong with the clutch itself. (Note: Back home I replaced the clutch cable with one of the new ones I purchased in Tacoma, and the clutch works smoothly, and the pull effort is much lighter.) All in all I was delayed a couple of hours, and I didn’t think that I’d be able to get to my motel in Centralia, Washington before dark via the coast. I turned inland at Reedsport and had a very pleasant ride through elk country, along a river, through woods, and up and down hills to Drain and I-5. I debated calling the whole thing off and heading home, but I had motel reservations for Friday in Centralia and for Saturday in Roseburg, and I hated to waste the money. The clutch was very heavy, but working fine, so I continued North on I-5 (bypassing Portland on I-205) to Centralia, Washington where I spent the night at a Motel 6. Let’s just say that the Motel 6 chain is not known for the exclusivity of its clientele, and this one was less exclusive than most. 

On Saturday morning I was on the road early and stopped at Norma’s Restaurant near Tillicum for a delicious breakfast of French toast and eggs. There was a fair amount of traffic on I-5 through Olympia, and then more traffic in Tacoma, but I found the Lemay museum OK, parked in the side lot (motorcycles free!), paid my $20 and at 9:45 walked onto the large lawn next to the museum where the show was being held. The show wasn’t supposed to start until 10, but this is a fairly low-key event and many people were already there, with more constantly arriving. Right away I spotted a booth for South Sound BMW, a local dealer. I asked about a clutch cable for a /5, and Jon called the shop to find that they had one. I asked them to hold it for me and said that I’d pick it up in a couple of hours. 

There was a small swap meet in the parking lot, and the show itself was quite nice – many more bikes than at Hanford, about the same number as at The Quail, but not as many rare or exotic bikes. After seeing everything twice and taking quite a few pictures, I decided to cool off and stroll through the Lemay museum – admission included as part of the bike show. There have been a few changes since the first time I was there two years ago, and I didn’t feel that I had to take a picture of every car, so I only spent an hour there. 

An airhead BMW and an old BSA in the parking lot

A very complete and restorable Jawa at the swap meet

 

A nice airhead cafe racer was one of the first bikes I saw at the show

The Harley factory cafe racer was a flop when it was introduced, now it's sought after by collectors.

The old Indian Chief looks good in yellow

The new Indian keeps the old look.

A 1970 Triumph Bonneville - I took my first motorcycle test on a borrowed bike like this one

The only Vincent in the show

Nice Moto-Guzzi cafe racer

I lusted after a Ducati 250cc Mark III like this one back in the day

Showing off the cam drive on this Ducati

The Harley Whizzer was built on a bicycle frame

Richard Backus, editor-in-chief of Motorcycle Classics magazine, owns this R75/5

Sidecars aren't my thing, but this Steib outfit is handsome

A very red Honda Dream (circa 1964)

Every good motorcycle show has a Flying Merkel

An early Brough Superior - the Rolls Royce of motorcycles

This unrestored Harley looks like it has some miles on it

Overview of the show

A Cord sedan in an unusual color

A Velocette LE (for little engine)

A collection of small vehicles from the 1950's

A Messerschmidt "bubble car"

Quite a contrast to this 1955 or '56 Cadillac

One last look at the bikes out in the field, and I was back on Boris and headed to South Sound BMW to pick up the clutch cable. It’s a big shop, and I actually bought two cables, a quart of oil, and also the barrel end at the lever and the felt lubricator that goes inside the adjuster. Back on I-5 I fought the heavy clutch and heavy traffic through Tacoma, then past McCord Air Force base, Fort Lewis, through Olympia, and finally the traffic cleared up. Lulled by the smooth ride after Olympia, I decided to take a chance on I-5 through Portland. It was stop and go for a few miles, but probably took less time than the long bypass on I-205. After that it was drone down I-5 to Roseburg, where I spent the night at the very quaint Rose City Motel, and had an excellent dinner at a Mexican restaurant nearby. 

Boris outside of my room at the Rose City Motel

On Sunday morning I checked the oil and tires, and when I returned the room key to the motel owner, she told me about the earthquake in Napa, so I called Carol to learn that all was well at home and no roads on my route were closed. I was on the road early, planning on a quick breakfast in Grants Pass. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find the good restaurant Vanya and I and John stopped at several years ago (it may have been at the second exit) so I went to a Black Bear diner. The wait was long and the food was mediocre – the Denny’s across the street would have been a better choice. Once through Grants Pass US 199 turns into a pleasant ride through low mountains, past the Oregon caves, and along the Smith River into California. Dick and I rode our motorcycles (I on a Honda 750, Dick on a Suzuki 500) out to California in 1972, and we crossed into California on 199. He took a picture of me in front of the “Welcome to California” sign at the border.   

Into the promised land in 1972

It was a hot day, so I’m shirtless, and I certainly wasn’t wearing sunscreen. although I did have a helmet. On this day I was smart enough to know that even though it was warm enough at the border, forty miles later I’d be in chilly Crescent City, so I kept my jacket zipped up and my gloves on. 

Boris poses along the coast south of Crescent City, California

After a quick stop in Crescent City for gas I retraced my ride on Thursday down 101. The coast between Crescent City and Eureka is very scenic, then a few twisty and hilly sections with ample places to pass and a lot of four lane. The weather warmed in the redwoods south of Eureka, and I stopped in Garberville at the Calico Café for an excellent salad and coffee. The town is the center of the hemp growing region, and there was a prominent Hemp Connection store, and enough old hippies wandering around that I thought of Bolinas. I made my last gas stop there, and continued south through Willits, where the kids went to farm camp, and Ukiah, and then it was all freeway to San Francisco. There was very slow traffic south of Petaluma at the two-lane bottleneck that has existed since I’ve lived here, more stop and go in San Rafael, and another bit of traffic on Park Presidio Drive, but I was home by 7:15 where Walter greeted me enthusiastically, and Carol and Nikki  seemed glad to have me back as well. 

All through the trip I periodically had sad feelings of nostalgia. This might be the last long ride I take on Boris, and I thought about all the other long trips we’d been on together. Riding the R75 was a lot more tiring than I remember, but then on the last long (over 500 miles) trip we took together (more than 30 years ago) I was a lot younger. I also thought back to 10 years ago when Andrew and I rode down the Oregon coast and then 101 home after visiting Hyder, Alaska with Dan. That was the last motorcycle adventure Andrew and I had and we were on my then-new R1150R. 

Looking back, I should have prepared better for the ride and not treated it as a quick weekend trip. The I-5 in Oregon isn’t as bad as most Interstates, but it is still a drone, and a forty year old motorcycle without even a windscreen isn’t the best choice for Interstate travel. I don’t know if I’ll go to The Meet again, but if I do I’ll allow three days to ride up and at least two and a half or maybe three to ride home, and I’ll avoid 101 in California and I-5 everywhere. 

Back home - old bike, old rider, old outfit (except for the helmet)

addendum

At the BMW MOA rally in St. Paul I purchased a pair of deerskin summer gloves from Lee Parks Design and wore them the rest of the trip. Great gloves. When I got home I tossed a lot of stuff in the living room, and yesterday morning I saw the gloves on the floor and thought to myself that I should take them downstairs to the garage. That evening, having forgotten about the gloves, I looked over and saw Walter happily chewing away at something - yes, my expensive new gloves.

I believe that some dog treats are made from deerskin.

Wrapping it up

It was a chilly 48 degrees as I headed west out of Austin, Nevada at 7 AM this morning, but aside from a bit of fog it looked like it would be a clear day. There was water in the ditches alongside the road from the rain the previous day, but the road was dry and there was almost no traffic - a few cars and trucks from the opposite direction, but I didn't pass anyone and no one passed me. US 50 goes over a few 6500 foot passes before it slowly descends into Fallon, where I stopped for a quick cup of coffee.

There's a new shoe tree 50 miles east of Fallon in the same location as the one that was chopped down by vandals.

Sand dunes off US 50 east of Fallon, Nevada

In Minden I met Dave, an old work friend, for a late breakfast at the Carson Valley Inn (also known as the CVI). We caught up on what we've been doing, discussed politics and the state of the world, and enjoyed the excellent food. He told me that there had been heavy rains and flooding in the area a couple of days before. I said goodbye to Dave and went north on US 395 through Reno and connected with I-80 west into California. Once over Donner Summit (7200 feet) it is mostly downhill to Sacramento. I stopped in Colfax to visit John, another old work friend, who had laid out the original route for the trip, but had to bow out for medical reasons. He and Carol showed me around their garden and asked about the trip, but I was anxious to get through Sacramento before the worst of the evening traffic. As it was, both going into and leaving Sacramento the heavy traffic was going in the opposite direction, and I moved along with the flow at 70-75 mph. The temperature was 95 degrees in Sacramento, but it dropped to 60 once I was over the Golden Gate Bridge and into San Francisco. I arrived home at 6:10 PM, but nobody was there except Walter the dog, and Joey the cat, both of whom were happy to see me.

Aside from a couple of problems, the bike ran strong throughout the trip.

This was a trip that was not without its problems, beginning with the fact that I traveled alone instead of with two friends. Two mechanical problems with the bike made for a bit of worry and delay. On the other hand neither mechanical problem caused a breakdown on the road, and each one was discovered either at a BMW dealer, or close to one. The delay waiting for a part meant that I was able to visit my daughter in Boulder and we found a car for her. The delay also meant that I passed through Utah at the same time that my sister and brother-in-law were at their ski/vacation condo there, and I was able to spend two days with them. Although I hit a little bit of rain while riding, the worst weather happened either when I was in a car, or a day or two before I went through an area. I saw great country, met interesting people, enjoyed every day, and was never bored. Time to plan for the next trip.

The trip by the numbers:
Highest elevation - Pikes Peak at 14,110 feet.
Total miles - 6,670
One rear tire, one pivot bearing, one driveshaft assembly, one oil change

Chillin' in Deer Valley, Utah and Nevada

It was a relaxing two days in Deer Valley and Park City, and my sister even made Givech, a savory Bulgarian lamb stew. On Monday we wandered and lunched in Park City, visiting galleries and shops. On Tuesday we drove north of Salt Lake City to Antelope Island State Park, which is reached by a long causeway. Linda had never been there, and since it was a cool day we thought it would be a good time to visit. The causeway access to the island was actually closed for ten years in the 1980's when several years of heavy rain caused the level of the lake to rise. There are herds of antelope on the island, and bison, an old ranch and little else. We saw quite a few bison, but no antelope. The ranch is now a preserved-as-is exhibit with everything looking pretty much as it did back in the 1950's when the ranch was abandoned. We encountered a heavy rainstorm on our way back, but Linda was able to wade into the Great Salt Lake for a photo op.

There are several bison statues on the island

Where does a bison cross the road? Wherever he wants!

Linda stands in the Great Salt Lake

Heavy weather ahead as we leave Antelope Island

This morning I left the good hospitality of Linda and Peter and was back on the road. I headed south on US 40, but cut through Midway before reaching Heber City. Midway is a small town with farms and ranches that look like they are from a village in Switzerland. There are several art galleries and restaurants, so I suspect the place is a popular destination. I was soon on US 189 South that goes through Provo Canyon to Provo. Over the years the road has been improved, so that it is almost all four-lane with a median guardrail, and a lot of the curves have been straightened out since the first time I rode through there many years ago. The road has lost some of its character, but it is surely a lot safer than it used to be, and to tell the truth it is nice to be able to enjoy the scenery without having to worry so much about going off the road. Provo keeps spreading out and growing, but the downtown area by BYU (Brigham Young University) is still impressive.

At I-15 I rode south for 35 miles (speed limit of 80 mph!) and exited at Nephi, which looks like a prosperous and growing community. SR 132 goes southwest to Lynndyl, where it ends at US 6, and in Delta 6 merges with US 50. After that it was a long ride on a familiar road into the mountains and several six to seven thousand foot passes. Although it was a warm and sunny day with some high, puffy clouds, there was a lot of standing water in the roadside ditches, indicating recent heavy rain.

A shoe tree west of Delta, Utah

Yes, US 50 is a lonely road

Threatening weather ahead as I head towards Eureka, Nevada

 Soon I crossed into Nevada, and after refueling and getting a sandwich in Ely, I continued on US 50 to Austin, Nevada where I am staying at the Pony Canyon Motel. It was 85 degrees and sunny in Ely, but half an hour later the temperature dropped 25  degrees to 60, the sky turned an ominous dark gray, and it began to sprinkle. I didn't put on rain gloves and trousers until after Eureka, thinking that I would run out of the showers, but finally I gave in, Good thing, too, because the showers became heavier, and there was a lot of standing water on the road.

Austin seems to be trying to turn itself into something, anything but what it is - a gas and food stop between the much larger towns of Fallon and Ely. There's a new visitor's center, which is quite nice, but I doubt that it is used much - it was certainly empty late this afternoon when I arrived. There's an indoor "mall" with several shops, a couple of gem and rock stores, and a decent restaurant and a cafe, as well as three or four bars, none of which seemed to have any business. Maybe it is different on a sunny weekend day. Austin expanded as a silver mining town in the late 19th century when it once had a population of over 10,000 people. Maybe the city wants to become like Philipsburg, Montana, a mining town that has become a bit of a tourist stop with a preserved downtown and galleries and shops. If that is the plan, Austin has a way to go.

The new visitors' center in downtown Austin, Nevada

The Austin Mall is inside the low building to the left of the brick one

No pictures today. The management of the motel strongly admonish guests to refrain from uploading or downloading pictures due to a bandwidth crisis. I'll add photos to this narrative tomorrow.(done - 8/7)

Mountain passes, Aspen, Park City

The bike's thermometer showed 55 degrees when I began loading it this morning, but by the time I left it was up to 60. I wore layers and warm gloves because I'd be spending the day at high elevations. US 24 climbs up into the mountains on an easy slope with gentle curves. There was a fair amount of traffic early on a Sunday morning, but it thinned out beyond Woodland Park. I rode over Trout Creek Pass (9300 feet) and then down towards Buena Vista, where I stopped in Johnson at the Coyote Cantina. I ordered my eggs with a single  pancake, which turned out to be the size of a dinner plate and thick as well.

The Coyote Cantina in Johnson, Colorado

Twenty miles north brought me to the turn-off  for Colorado 82, which goes over Independence Pass and into Aspen.There are a few very tight hairpin curves, but for the most part it is easy going, with ample places to pass. At the top there is a large parking lot and a view area accessible via a short walk. I met a couple on a BMW R1200RT (who took the picture of  me) who had been at the rally in St. Paul.

Yes, I was there

View from the top of Independence Pass

The ride down from the pass and west was much like the ride up, and soon I was in Aspen. Many years ago I read a story in Cycle magazine about the sleepy ski-town of Aspen, and how many in the small community of full-time residents were into motorcycling that year. At the time Aspen was a destination for hippies and other counterculture types, but they were soon displaced as Aspen grew. Like most of the beautiful ski towns in the mountains (think Steamboat Springs, Park City, Sundance) Aspen long ago acquired a large number of wealthy residents for whom the town was their second or third home. Boutiques, cute restaurants, faux Western outfitters, and other upscale venues compete for the dollars. Still, it's a beautiful setting, and the old (built in 1886) and historic Hotel Jerome retains its charm.

The J-Bar in the Hotel Jerome was Hunter S. Thompson's unofficial office

The Sidewalk Judge

The Aspen airport on the west side of town had a small number of private jets, although not as many as I saw in Ketchum, Idaho last summer. State Route 82 becomes a new, four-lane divided road west of Aspen, and shortly I was in Glenwood Springs at I-70. Along the way I noted stops for a regional transit service, and I figure that most of the people who work in Aspen live in Glenwood Springs and commute. Glenwood  Springs certainly looks like a town that has grown very rapidly, with a lot of sprawl, chain stores, and traffic.

I rode west on I-70 for 25 miles and exited at Rifle on State Route 13 north. Before Meeker I went west on SR 64, an even smaller road, towards Rangely. The promised afternoon thunderstorms never appeared, but it did begin to rain lightly, and for once I put on my rain gear before I got wet. SR 64 ends in Dinosaur, CO at US 40, which I've been on many times both on motorcycle and car. Soon I crossed the border into Utah, where I stopped briefly in Vernal.

The pink dinosaur in Vernal, Utah always amuses me

 US 40 is a major truck route, and even late on a Sunday there were many tandem tank trucks and other big rigs heading in both directions. However, the road is in good shape with many passing lanes, so I made good time to Duschene, where I stopped at a cafe for the worlds slowest dinner. To be fair there was only one waitress handling customers and take-out orders, and the dinner was good. Back on the road I crossed over Daniel's Pass (8000 feet) and began the long descent into Heber City. There had been rain earlier, and the road was still wet, so I wore my rain clothes against the spray from the trucks. I noticed that Heber City has been growing in the last few years, and soon I was in Park City and then at my sister's place in Deer Valley, where I'll spend the next two days. 535 miles today, all on two-lane roads except for a brief ride on I-70. Back on the road on Wednesday.

Three States, Willa Cather, Pikes Peak

As I rode south on US 281 past the Blue Hill Motel this morning I reflected that it looked to be clean and quiet, and that the nearby downtown area probably had a good restaurant. I'd planned to stay there, but turned in at the Rainbow Motel in Hastings when I saw the 'Vacancy' sign lit up. Of course had I stayed in Blue Hill I would have missed the loud 2:30 AM altercation in the Rainbow parking lot between the manager and a few rowdy guests, and I would also have missed dinner at the colorful H&K Sports Bar and Grill, which looks like a local hangout. Everyone there seemed to know everyone else, and there was a lot of mingling at the tables. Every 10 minutes or so a man would shout the names of Keno winners over the PA system, there were a dozen TV sets tuned to sports channels, families were eating dinner with their kids, there was a busy side room filled with gambling machines, and people were drinking at the bar and watching sports or Keno results. There was a small baby being passed around and I never did figure out who owned it - two waitresses and three customers were holding it at one time or another. When I told Vanya about this she said, "Oh, so it was a bar baby." The fish sandwich I had was good, so maybe people come there  for the food.

A sign informing me that I was on 'Willa Cather Highway' reminded me where I'd heard the name of Red Cloud, Nebraska before - the author Willa Cather spent her formative years there. I had wanted to ride more than 40 miles before breakfast, but in Red Cloud I made a quick turn when I spotted the Red Brick Cafe. I parked the bike and walked in to find that the place is a combination used book store and cafe, with a section devoted to Ms. Cather. I was immediately engaged in a conversation with Jean, an 80-year-old (she told me right away) who informed me that the scrambled eggs were very good, the potatoes cooked to perfection, and that the coffee was good. She also encouraged me to visit the nearby Willa Cather Historical Society in the old Opera House, which had a special display of photographs from West of Last Chance by Kent Haruf and Peter Brown on the second floor. She told me a little about Ms. Cather, and about Mari Sandoz, another Plains author. Eventually, Jean's husband, who had been smoking a cigarette outside, came in to collect her and I ate my breakfast, which fully lived up to Jean's enthusiastic description.

Downtown Red Cloud, Nebraska

The old Opera House held an interesting collection of artifacts about its history and Willa Cather's life, but the exhibit on the second floor of photographs and text from West of Last Chance was a special treat. I'll order the book on Amazon right away. It was Street Car Days in Red Cloud this Saturday, celebrating the time (back in the early 1900's) when Red Cloud was known for its horse-drawn streetcars that went down the brick-lined streets. There was a parade about to begin on Main Street, still brick-lined, and I wanted  to move my bike out of the way. However, I spent a few minutes talking with Courtney, a man in front of the cafe who grew up in Menlo Park, and who said that Red Cloud seemed to be doing well, bringing in new businesses and he was very happy there.

US 136 is one of those old two-lane roads that isn't used much anymore. It is rough and patched with tar snakes and has crumbling shoulders (keeps you alert), but there is no traffic and the farms, woods, and hills are scenic enough.

An old truck rests in front of a corn field on US 136

In Alma I turned south in US 183, and soon crossed the border into Kansas, where I went southwest on State Road 383 to US 36 and Norton, continuing southwest until 383 became US 83 in Selden. I went west on US 24 to Colby to get fuel for the bike, and also picked up a large cup of chilled fruit for myself at the Love's Service Plaza. South of Colby I went west on US 40 into Colorado where I stopped in Kit Carson for a chicken sandwich at a small cafe run by an old couple. There I met a local who once lived in San Mateo, and he told me about a long motorcycle trip he'd taken in 1977 on a Kawasaki KZ650. I gassed up at an unattended credit card pump in Kit Carson, the only gas in town, because there didn't look to be any other towns on my route that might have gas. US 40 joins US 287, a major south-north route, in Kit Carson, and there was heavy truck traffic for 20 miles until I turned west on SR 94, which rivals US 50 across Nevada for 'Loneliest Road' claim. This has happened to me before, riding west in eastern Colorado: You are riding along and watching the clouds meet the horizon, and suddenly there is the shadow of the Rocky Mountains ahead. There was a lot of empty land, which eventually gave way to cattle ranches, almost no other vehicles, and ninety or so miles  later SR 94 joined US 24 outside  of Colorado Springs.

How I navigate: A map and notes in the tank bag window, and a GPS on the handlebar.

Colorado State Road 94 - the real 'Loneliest Road'

There was a fair amount of traffic in Colorado Springs, especially heading in the other direction out of the mountains. Soon  enough I was through  town and after paying my $12 was on the road that goes up Pikes Peak. There is only one place to pass legally and there were a few slow cars, so I just eased along with everyone, dropping into first gear and slipping the clutch around hairpin turns that I would have probably taken in second gear if I hadn't been following anyone. The scenery was nice, though, and it gradually became cooler as we neared the 14,110 foot summit. Although the BMW has fuel injection, it didn't want to idle - perhaps the German engineers hadn't considered Pikes Peak when they did their mapping. Fortunately, the fast  idle  lever solved the problem. There's a very large gift store, a large parking area, and the terminus of the Manitou Springs and Pikes Peak Railroad. I took  a few pictures of the valley and clouds below, the surrounding mountains, and put on heavy gloves, closed the vents in my jacket, and put on a sweater - it was 48 degrees. The way down was more of the same - slow drivers creeping around tight turns and stopping in the middle of the road to take a picture of a mountain goat. I have a suggestion for the car, pickup, and SUV drivers - take the train. Two-thirds of the way down there's a brake inspection area where the attendant points an infrared thermometer at the front brakes to make sure they aren't overheated, but he waved me through. Motorcycles (almost all) have manual transmissions and very good brakes.

Overlooking the clouds and into the valley and Colorado Springs

The railway terminus at the peak

Just to prove I was there

 Back on US 24 I stopped for the night at the Cascade Lodge, where the very pleasant owner rented me a clean room with heavy doors that closed perfectly, new plumbing fixtures, and unmarred furnishings - quite unlike the places in which I usually stay. She and I shared a pizza that I ordered, and she gave me a Squirt.

Last night my Cleveland sister called to say that she and her husband are spending 11 days at their place in Deer Valley, Utah, which is near Park City. Tomorrow I'll head in that direction, cutting northwest across the Rockies. There are thundershowers predicted along my route for the next couple of days, so I'll keep my rain gear handy.

Today I covered over 500 miles, including the 38 mile ride up Pikes Peak and back, all on two-lane back roads, and I wasn't even trying.