Day 1:

Amidst the early morning fog (inside my head) of Thursday morning I struggle to get my leathers pulled on. The clumsiness that comes with a harsh and sudden return of consciousness nearly causes me to trip over the cat pan. This, in turn, causes both cats to hiss and run for cover proving we share an equal disregard for early mornings.

A quick glance at the window confirms that the bright yellow thing overhead hasn't been turned on yet. An equally quick glance at the clock shows 5:00. Ugh. I'm beginning to feel I shouldn't have stayed up so late last night tracing that wiring problem on the bike. At 5:15, I do a final check of the cat food, give both cats a pat on the head and make for the garage.

The bike starts without a problem, hopefully indicating the wiring problem is fixed. The garage door swings open, revealing the gleaming lights of Boulder. Somewhere deep in my skull, that little man that's always commentating my life sets the timer for 82 hours and turns the knob on the Big Fun meter to max.

[brake light fades into distance]

It was a bit chilly but that wasn't surprising considering I'd intentionally dressed light to fend off the oppressive heat scheduled for later in the day. The first order of business was to find an automatic teller and collect some traveling cash. The first one I tried was out of order so some time was wasted finding another. I was really conscious of time, since I was scheduled to meet Gooz at 6:30am about 50 miles away. Once I'd filled my wallet, I headed south on CO-93 until I left Boulder behind. With the sun just peeking over the horizon and an empty road ahead, I gave the right grip a little tug and away I went. The trip from Boulder to Golden was thus very short.

In Golden, I turned onto east US-6 for the short hop to the highway. Unfortunately, I missed the I-70 onramp and ended up in west Denver. After some time-wasting false attempts, I soon found CO-470 and made a short blast north to US-285. Upon arriving at The Fort Restaurant, just off US-285, I found Gooz wasn't there. Without a watch, I couldn't tell how much time I'd wasted and was afraid he'd already headed out. Since the exit was listed as "Evergreen" I thought I'd head on down the road and see if I could find a clock. A few miles later, I decided Evergreen wasn't as nearby as I'd thought and turned around. My second return to The Fort was a relief since Gooz had arrived in my absence.

With Gooz leading, we headed south on US-285. Morning traffic heading into Denver was heavy but heading away was sparse. This allowed for a "spirited" pace through the sweepers heading up to Tiny Town. A short crawl through a construction zone allowed me to warm up again but we were soon back making short work of Kenosha Pass. Once we reached the wide sweepers near the top, passing cars became a fluid dance for the Duc ahead. However, my bike began to exhibit some severe problems, namely a reluctance to pull pass 75 mph going uphill. This made for some exciting moments as I'll pull out to pass, then find I couldn't make any headway on the car I was passing! Once through Kenosha, the bike seemed to pull higher speeds on the downhill but still seemed unable to break 8000 rpm.

Once we were clear of Kenosha, US-285 change from a squiggly line to a gently curving one. In preparation, we pulled into a gas station in Jefferson to tank up and heed nature's call. I also opted to unzip my leather's vents, as the temperature had already begun to rise despite it being early morning. We both took the time to clean our visors as all the insects had chosen to get up early and venture along these same roads. While we were in the station, a father and son stared at the bikes. Its always nice to have your bike appreciated by others but I was disturbed that they spent so much time gawking at the Duc and not nearly enough appreciating the racing history of my fine bike.

Fortunately, their inspection of my bike had failed to notice the thick coating of soot inside the exhaust. I took this as an explanation for the lack of power. After all, my bike was jetted for an altitude 10,000 ft lower than what we'd just encountered. In fact, it has run better on the way to Daytona than in Georgia, hinting that it was probably rich even for Atlanta's 2000 ft elevation.

For the next half-hour, we just cruised along and enjoyed the scenery of having huge mountains on either side. At Fairplay a road crew was repaving and installing guard rails on US-285. I was hard pressed to see a need for repaving but installing guard rails here? There wasn't a decent curve for 40 miles in any direction and the roadside ditch was hardly 3ft deep. Oh well, I'm sure some county official is getting their pocket lined for that one.

Once again on the move, now with no traffic in site, I was able to see how the bike was working on level ground at lower elevations. Sadly, wide open in top gear it would barely pull to 100mph, then it would just run out of steam. Sigh.

Buena Vista is aptly named, as the view of Mt. Princeton from US-285 is astounding. Because of the relative distinctions between the peaks in the Collegiate Range their immense size is apparent. What I've always enjoyed about being in the mountains is the feeling of stark insignificance humans have in relation to the planet itself. I think the mountains around Buena Vista carry that message more prominently that those peaks crowded together in the Indian Peaks or the San Juan ranges.

That moment of introspection over, we headed on south to Poncha Springs and our turn to the west. Once we made the turn onto US-50, we started seeing bikes. Lots of bikes, all beemers and all loaded down with touring gear. After a blitz (sputtering and coughing all the way) through Monarch Pass, we pulled over for some water and a short breather. Lots of beemers went past while one fellow on a R100-GS/PD pulled over. He claims he was checking on our bikes but the short conversation seemed to center on the Duc. I guess my bike was parked out of his line of sight or something.

Once back on the bike, I discovered my Camelbak was low on water. I tried an old trick I learned last summer of blowing air into it to pressurize the thing, thus pushing the last of the water out. Apparently, it wasn't as empty as I thought and a column of water popped the mouthpiece out of my mouth and started a mini-geyser inside my helmet. I fumbled around opening the visor to contain the spray and miraculously stayed on the road despite having a cup of water coating the visor, my sunglasses and dripping off my chin. Then I almost wrecked again because I was laughing so hard.

Back on the bikes and on to Gunnison, where we stopped at the Sundae Shop for lunch. A big salad and some fresh apple pie a la mode really hit the spot. On the way out, a couple of locals started asking us about bike racing and our bikes. One ventured outside and asked about the "Y motor" on the Ducati. When told it was a V-twin, he said he didn't know Ducati made a V-twin, only Harley. Considering we'd just discussed the Brainerd and Loudon AMA races, its a real sign of how poor the motorcycle race commentary is that an avid fan doesn't know the different engine configurations in use.

After a gas-up, we were back on the road. From Gunnison we stayed on US-50 along the southern rim of the Black Canyon. The wide sweepers were appealing but the traffic and constabulary weren't. Despite a couple of close calls, we didn't have any trouble with the later but the traffic made for slow headway. This was particularly annoying since the temperature had risen to upper-80s at this point.

When we got to Montrose, the bank sign showed 90 and it was on the way up. Another stop for gas and Gatorade, then south onto US-550. Almost immediately, we hit roadwork which had us stopped for 15 minutes. The recent Gatorade is all that kept me from melting from the heat off the fresh asphalt. Twenty miles of creeping along finally got us past the construction and on to Ouray. As the mountains grew closer, the speed picked up until we were finally cooling off.

Ouray was a carnival of bikes with the streets lined on both sides. What a neat little town, especially the view from the switchbacks above the city. From here, the famed "Million Dollar Highway" heads south to Durango. The first few turns revealed lots of gravel, so a cautious pace was set. The tight turns made passing cars difficult but traffic was relatively light. After a few miles we got caught behind a slow moving truck and opted to pull off for a break to let it get ahead. Red Mountain, to the east, was a bright red color not unlike the Georgia red clay I'd just moved away from. The view down the northwest toward Imogene Pass was equally beautiful with gold and orange sand covering the peak. Wow!

Another short ride brought us to Silverton which is equally scenic from the mountainside road above it. Since we wanted to get to Durango ASAP, we continued on rather than stopping to sightsee. The remaining 50 miles to Durango consisted of alpine-like switchbacks, scenic vistas and bikes everywhere. Gooz almost got runoff the road mid-pass by a do-gooder from the Chicago Beemer group but it was otherwise uneventful.

Finding the Rally site was easy. The flood of bikes must have looked like someone has stepped on an ant colony. The large parking lot was wall-to-wall bikes and every inch of shaded ground had a tent on it. After signing in and checking the bulletin board for pointers to fellow netters, we headed out to look for a campsite. A helpful staffer mentioned that there might be room to camp behind the ballfield so we wound our way through the sea of bikes and tents to find plenty of room albeit without any shade.

Unpacking the bikes and setting up the tents only took twenty minutes. This was more important than it sounds considering it how how it was. The less time spent unpacking, the less time spent sweating in our leathers. Once everything was stuffed into the tents, we decided to clean up and relax for a bit. Sadly, the closest place to clean up were the showers at the nearby high school. Since the "nearby" school was about three miles away, we decided to take the bikes. Furthermore, since we were already out of our leathers, we decided to make it a squid run. In just shorts and t-shirts, we threaded our way back through the throngs of bikes, tents and people. Once back out on the main road, we turned into a subdivision and motored to the high school. After being in leathers all (hot) afternoon, the feel of the air over my bare arms was quite shocking. I was suddenly aware of just how exposed I was. Watching that sizzling asphalt flick by underneath lead to some unpleasant thoughts. Fortunately, we got to the high school before my paranoia got better of me.

A quick shower in the gym locker room was all it took to revitalize. The afternoon heat seemed to drop about ten degrees after I got out of the shower! AAAahhhhhh!

After the quick trip back to the tents (and another experience riding through the maze of people) we pulled out the camp chairs and stretched out for a bit. Gooz pulled out a flask of blended scotch and a cigar. I surprised him by digging out my flask which contained some single-malt. I'm not a scotch drinker but I knew Gooz was and I wanted to thank him for inviting me along. Besides, being generous with your riding partner can never hurt! Between the exhausting ride, the shower, the sound of the nearby Animas River and the few sips of single malt scotch and I practically melted into the chair. It was so relaxing to sit there, just looking out over the sea of bikes to the Animas River. Gooz immediately struck up a conversation with the couple setting up their tent "next door". They traded barbs about bikes, riding partners, wives, etc for awhile. While they were talking, the Durango & Silverton narrow gauge trail went steaming by alongside the river. Lots of leather covered arms waved from the windows of the passenger cars and the assembled mass of bikers all waved back. The sounds of the river, the train, the talking...it was I could do not to fall asleep!

Gooz, probably sensing that he was loosing me, immediately decided that a trip to the beer tent was imminent. I lazily fished my Birkenstocks out of the tent and shuffled off after him. As we were walking back and checking out the bikes we spotted a interesting Beemer motorcrosser. Nope, not a Paris Dakar bike, a motorcrosser. Apparently somebody had transplanted a 800cc BMW engine into a Japanese open class motorcrosser frame. I doubt it worked all that well, considering the weight of the Beemer engine relative to any 500cc stroker motor but it certainly looked cool.

While the other bikes parked between our tent and the food/beer are weren't as strange as the MXer, there were still plenty of cool bikes to oggle. 900cc Daytonas, big GS/PDs with the full Afrika Corps set up, K-1s, /5s and more. In addition the bountiful array of BMW delectibles, there were plenty of other nice bikes about too. The Ducati contingent seems to mingle quite strongly with the Beemer crowd. Some old square cases clustered near the ball field fence. Some old 70s era UJMs were sprinkled about and the chrome from Harleys was visible among the dark toned paint jobs of the BWMs.

The beer tent was packed with people. Gooz immediately started seeing people he knew from previous Beemer rallies. I didn't figure I'd recognize anyone so didn't really look. In not looking, I noticed someone with a shirt signifying some Alabama BWM owner's group. Since a friend-of-a-friend is from Alabama (and is known to frequent Beemer rallies) I interrupted the buy and asked if he knew Terese from Huntsville. Not only did he know her, he had pitched his tent next to hers. He gave me directions to the tennis courts and described her red K-75. I made a mental note to look her up and finally meet her after hearing stories from my friend Michael Palmer.

After buying some beer tickets, Gooz and I settled into a table to do some people watching. The first beer really woke me back up. Almost immediately, I was back into the swing of things. Gooz was pointing out women, pointing out people he knew, pointing out T-Shirts. All the while we kept up a constant stream of conversation about the ride down, various bikes, the women/people/T-shirts, etc. We grabbed some food from the vendors (finding vegetarian food was pretty difficult but there was a vendor selling baked corn-on-the-cob which was excellent!) After a few more beers and lots more talking, we decided to head back to the tents.

As we were walking back past the tennis courts, I stuck my head through the door and saw Terese's K-bike. Immediately next to it was a very tiny, petite woman which I correctly guessed was Terese. After a brief introduction, we agreed to meet up in the beer tent Friday evening and swap stories.

Back at the tents, Gooz and I sat outside and stared at the night sky. Another couple of rounds of scotch helped beat back the slight chill that was beginning to take over after the day's heat. After a bit more talking and some crudely made plans to go riding the next day, we headed for the tents. I don't think I was awake long enough to zip up my sleeping bag.

Day 2:

After a quick planning session, we decided to grab a quick breakfast at the beer tent and then head out for an early morning ride before the temperatures really picked up. We walked over to the tent and grabbed a quick plate of pancakes, then hustled back to the bikes. We were probably near the end of pack of morning's riders to leave the ground but it was probably close enough their dust hadn't settled yet. Out on the main road, we swung back north. The plan was to retrace our steps over Red Mountain Pass, this time without luggage and with less traffic in our way. Then swing west towards Telluride and head down to Mesa Verde before returning to Durango.

The first thing that was immediately apparent was that my jetting problems hadn't magically disappeared when I removed all the Chase Harper gear. On uphill climbs, Gooz's duck could pull away from me without his even trying Just a little twist of the go lever and all I saw was a tiny tail light. This being the case, it didn't take too many miles before Gooz elected himself leader. The fact that I was having to time passes was bad enough but that I was trailing a black could was apparently more than he could handle.

Despite the jetting woes, the pace from Durango to Silverton was pretty spirited. Good thing this was a gathering of Beemer riders. Their reputation doesn't proceed them the way sportbike rider's (or Harley riders for that matter) does. I was surprised there weren't lines of police in the mountains, waiting to take in all the lucrative cash they could get from writing speeding tickets to all the motorcyclist. Then it occurred to me the local constabulary probably didn't have a stereotype of Beemer rides as being the "type" that warranted such judiciary oppression.

We pulled into Silverton and saw surprisingly few bikes. We did, however, see the Durango & Silverton train pull into town. We spent a few minutes looking it over, did a little postcard shopping and then headed back into the mountains. The rest of the trip over Red Mountain was relatively uneventful. On one sharp downhill, I let got of the bars and sat up to enjoy the view down onto Ouray. The bike immediately went into a big oscillation. I got it back under control but it was good for a quick shot of adrenaline.

We took the tourist pace through Ouray (very slow) and stopped at the hot springs on the north side of town to hit the rest rooms. There were quite a few bikes in Ouray. Pity so few people stopped in Silverton, if you look for the history stuff (instead of the tourist stuff) it is a neat little town.

We continued on up US-550 to Ridgway, then turned onto CO-62. Now that we were entirely free of traffic we stepped back into sport mode and gave the throttle a yank. This was a pretty little road, at first wandering along side a little creek then climbing a short ways to crest Dallas Pass. Once down the west side of the pass, it again picks up a creek and follows alongside in side, gentle curves. All the while that you're riding this road Mt. Sneffels and its kin tower above on your left. Its a very scenic drive and made all the better when traffic is so light.

At Placerville, we turned back south and joined the caravan of cars on CO-145 headed into Telluride. As we'd knocked off nearly 150 mile at this point, we followed the masses as far as the next gas station and pulled in there. It would have been nice to see the town of Telluride but the combination of traffic and rising temperatures convinced us to continue with our ride.

With Gooz again in the lead, headed back to CO-145 and continued south. It was up and up some more as we headed over Lizard Head Pass, then shot down south side of the pass through Rico and to the town of Stoner. As the altitudes dropped the mercury climbed. In Stoner, we stopped at a small gas station to grab and ice cream and ended up chatting with a group of beemer riders that had pulled in for gas. They had left Durango much later than us and were doing the reverse of our loop.

From Stoner is was a short hop to Dolores and onto CO-184. Another quick hop and we pulled onto US-160 for the return shot into Durango. After the mountain curves, the cool air at altitude and the empty roads, the long, straight, and hot sight of US-160 wasn't particularly welcome. We had originally planned to head to Mesa Verde for a quick look around but again the temperatures (by now it was past noon) changed our plans. Instead, we bee-lined back for the camp ground, only stopping long enough to fillup the bikes with gas and to grab some beer for the evening's relaxation. Our total for the day was only 240 miles but it was enough to put a smile on our faces and to make the beer taste particularly good!

Once back at the tents we took a short break (to drink one of the beers while it was still cold) and then jumped back on the bikes to ride over to the high school for another shower. After another refreshing dose of sub-boiling temperatures, we headed back to the tents and from there back to the conglomeration of bikes, vendors, food, tents and people that make up the main rally site.

First, we headed to the Concours tent and looked over the beautiful old bikes that were on display. Dave Tharp's R12 wasn't present but then again, neither was he. While Dave's bike is a museum quality beauty, I think its far better than he actually rides the thing. Not only did he ride down to the rally but at that moment the was out riding. In the R12's absences, there were plenty of 60s era Beemers to occupy the viewers.

Next door was the BMW trailer with all the new Beemers on display. Right across the way, someone had set up their own unofficial memorial to the K-75 which had just been discontinued. Crowds seemed to crowd around the new oil heads but were also vocally mourning the loss of the triple.

From there, we waded into the vendors. We both bought tool wraps from the SunDog folks in California. Used parts weren't nearly as common at this MOA rally as I've seen at other UJM oriented swap meets. Since I don't ride a beemer, I guess that isn't really a criticism I should be making since I wasn't likely to buy anything anyway. Overall, I thought vendor turnout was fairly small considering the size of the rally. Just not much to look at. As such, we finished up with our gawking pretty early. While grabbing a soda, Dave Tharp and Shannon appeared. We asked about the trip down and Dave lauded praise on the R12. After exchanging further stories, opinions and other bike related pontifications, we all headed to the beer tent for dinner.

Almost immediately, Ed started seeing various Internet BMW mailing list "Presidents". While being introduced to those assembled, Beemer list admin Joe Senner showed up with the Internet BMW mailing list banner and suddenly people just flooded the tables where we were assembled. In the matter of mere minutes, the crowd at the table jumped from ten to a hundred. Everyone headed to the bleachers and posed for a group photo. After that, I went back to talking to various people from the east coast that I'd met in the past, people I'd seen on the net or people I just met. Jack Tavares, an old friend from RCRs past, was there and was limping from a crash on Pikes Peak a few days before (he hurt his ankles, the Ducati Elephant was nearly unscratched). Also in attendance was east coaster Walt Dabell, PacNorWester Jon Diaz, long distance legend Bob Higdon and numerous others. Overall, a good time was had by all.

Sometime later in the evening, Terese showed up and I finally got a chance to talk to her. We swapped stories for awhile and generally talked bikes. Terese introduced me to the Bama Beemer rides she knew and then the greater assemblage proceeded to swap stories for awhile and generally talk bikes. Finally, Gooz and I decided to stagger back to the tents to sleep off the heat exhaustion, beer and long day.

Day 3:

On the way, we stopped by the tent long enough to grab our remaining beer and scotch. Jack, being a true savior, rode his Elephant to the nearby liquor store and bought more beer. We then walked a hundred yards from the tents and found a pleasant little stream. Where the stream met the Animas River, someone had built a dam from river rocks, forming a pool about 18 inches deep.

Before long, more people started to appear. A couple of Texans, likely the funniest people ever to venture out of that state, showed first. As the beer started flowing, so did the jokes. These damned Texas were causing some serious side splits. Jack and Ed weren't helping much. Every time a bad joke or pun was told, Jack would dump a hat full of water over the offender. Considering the water was real cold, this would usually cause quite a stir.

Our uproar caught others attention. Terese, along with some of her friends, all showed up and joined in the fun. I don't know if we just lucked into such a large group of particularly funny people or if we were just that drunk but it seemed like everyone had something to add that was just a little more humorous than the last comment. All this lasted for about five hours and required multiple beer runs (crawls?).

Eventually, we all staggered up the beer tent for the awards ceremony. I have no idea who won what since I wasn't really paying attention. I think Tharp won a couple of awards for his R12. After I didn't hear my name called for the beemer they were giving away, I headed back to the tent so I could collapse in the vicinity of my bike.

Day 4:

I begrudgingly crawled out of my tent and started packing things. Gooz was packed before he woke me up so he just sat around looking smug and making snide comments. I got everything on the bike and gingerly pulled my leathers on. Did I mention that sunburn? Ouch!

With a last wave to our neighbors, we zigged and zagged through tents and then out to the road. As we were leaving Durango, Gooz realized we should both load up on water in the Camelbaks. We pulled into a local breakfast place so we pulled in there. We each had a glass of OJ and then split a pitcher of ice water for the Camelbaks. That's a sure fire way of fending off the heat for awhile.

We headed due east out of Durango on US-160. The bikes were already beginning to stream out of Durango and for awhile we were following a group of about five or six bikes. After Bayfield, when the road started to get a little curvey, we passed the group and jumped up to our normal touring pace. The quick hop to Pagosa Springs didn't take long and we pulled into a restaurant there for a proper breakfast. There were various Beemers in the parking lot and when we walked in, we were greeted by various riders that were waiting for a table.

We BSed while we waited, grabbed a table and BSed some more. After a tasty breakfast, it was back to the bikes. From Pagosa Springs, the road started climbing up a valley. Near the top, the view down onto the forested floor was beautiful. At the head of this valley, we started up the switchbacks of Wolf Creek Pass. Gooz steadily pulled away, as the GSXR gasped and sneezed its over-rich mixture. Even held back by the bike's poor performance, Wolf Creek Pass is a joy. It reminds me of the passes in the Alps that I saw in Italy and Austria. Big sweeping asphalt in precise turns. You could nearly run the whole pass with one throttle setting since the turns were generally wide and constant radius. Near the top, there was still snow piled on the sides of the road. Totally out of place, considering the scorching temperatures just a few thousand feet below.

Once over Wolf Creek, it was back down the otherside of the San Juan ridge and into South Fork. We pulled into a little store there for gas and a bathroom break. A look at the map showed that the next couple of hours of riding was going to be flat and hot so we also took a little time to reflex on how nice the road going over the pass was. Then it was back into the seat to burn up a little of the freshly pumped go juice.

A few mile down the road and CO-112 cuts north from Del Norte over to US-285. On the map, US-285 is as straight as the map's folds. In an effort to convert linear dimensions into temporal dimensions, we decided to spend a little time over the recommended speeds along here. As such, the trip to Saguache was quick and relatively nondescript.

From Saguache to Poncha Springs things are a marked improvement, since the scenic Collegiate Range is to the left and the Sangre De Cristo Ridge is on the right. More curiously, we started seeing bikes (all heading south) with orange flags attached. We probably saw ten or fifteen bikes before passing through Poncha Springs. We opted not to stop here for gas but push on to Nathrop. Besides, from here on, we would be retracing the route we took on the way in so we might as well pick different places for gas if only for variety.

We hit a roadside gas station in Nathrop. While getting gas, I asked Gooz if he'd noticed all the bikes going past with an orange flag attached. He affirmed but had no more an idea than I did about them. We both guessed they were a poker run of some sort.

Back on the road we noticed a bunch more bikes, mostly touring bikes, with these orange flags. By Fairplay, the number of orange flags had dwindled, so we must have passed the route they were taking. We stopped in Fairplay for a quick leg stretcher but the pull of Red Hill Pass and Kenosha Pass were too much for us to stay still for long. Unlike our trip down, traffic was heavier now and the need to make safe passes meant that we had to tone things down compared to our trip over Wolf Creek Pass earlier in the day.

By the time we started down from Kenosha Pass, it was obvious that the east side of the Divide was in for rain. Since we were still 40 or so mile from home, we opted to stop in Bailey for gas and to pull on rain gear. Since traffic was likely to be a bear, we decided to rest a bit at the gas station and stretch out a little. A little spritz of rain was falling so we weren't really in a hurry anyway.

Shortly into our short break the drizzle of rain stopped so we decided that was our sign get back on the road. Unfortunately, traffic was moving slow since the road was a little wet and US-285 can become a parking lot if this happens for long. The various blink of brakelights and the general crawl-through-turns-blaze-down-straights flow of traffic was enough to get me stressed. In fact, my shoulders started to hurt worse from tension cramps than from the sunburn I'd been feeling all day.

Once through Conifer, the roads dried up and the traffic gradually spaced out. Since the road turned to four lane at that point, we could pick things back up to a more enjoyable pace. The curves between Conifer and CO-470 are a great ride but the high traffic usually means they're taken in a slow moving caravan of cars. Somehow, somewhere we must have gained some good karma because things were as good as they're likely to be for this trip down. For the most part, we had a virtually empty left lane and more importantly, the road bed was dry.

It was one of those moments where you slowly sink into the instance of riding. You kind of merge with the bike and start flowing. Your vision moves ahead to seek out the best place to make *that* curve start and for *this* curve to end. Its as if there are little dotted lines showing to brake here, then ease off and start leaning. Then that little invisible sign that says roll on the throttle here and pick it back up. Now, start braking here... and so on. Things just seem to happen in the right way without all the mental exercise of jumping between speedometer readings and road surface and road signs. Its really the thing that makes riding so fun but seems to illusive when you go out expecting it.

After about ten miles of curves winding down a little gorge, you spill out onto the plains. Ahead is CO-470 and beyond that the suburban sprawl that eventually leads to Denver. Gooz would be heading on into Denver while I'd head up 470 and beeline for Boulder. We wave a few times to signal our departure. Then, with the CO-470 exit approaching I decided to wave Gooz of with proper enthusiasm. I opened the throttle, clamped down the throttle lock, stood on the pegs and passed Gooz with both hands in the air. He gave an enthusiastic wave while I hauled the bike back down to an appropriate speed and peeled off. Man, I just hate it when if finally becomes obvious that a trip is over.

After I was on CO-470 it was a quick trip up to I-70. A couple of roads eventually got me over to CO-93. The twenty miles to Boulder were spent thinking about the trip. Deciding what I needed to get done to the GSXR and thinking about all the riding I hoped to do here in Colorado. As the sun was beginning to sink behind the Rockies, I climbed up the driveway and into my Aunt and Uncle's garage. No need to unpack right away, instead I headed up onto their deck to watch the last bits of daylight fade away.

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