Rockies Gold 2007 - Day 2

The second day of our trip found us anxious to continue west. Partly in anticipation of finally getting into the mountains, and partly to put some distance between us and last night's accommodations.

We were on the road at 5:40. After a brief stop for gas we headed toward Denver on I-76. Unfortunately it would be a while before the scenery would become interesting. Miles and miles of low rolling hills with sparse patches of brush were all we could see. Once in a while we would spot something on the road that resembled a small brown fur coverd tortilla. Close examination revealed tire-flattened, sun-dried, remains of the little rodents that seemed to be forever on the wrong side of the highway. Gotta be a tough life between the traffic and the hawks.

As we approached Denver traffic began to increase until we finally came to stop somewhere on the north side of town. The delay was temporary and soon we were on I-70 climbing quickly into the Rocky Mountains. It was literally an figurativey like a breath of fresh air. We were suddenly surrounded by nature's grandeur and man's executive mansions perched on every available ledge.

I-70 winds through some of the most engaging scenery in the west. With light to medium traffic, it was challenging to keep focused on the road with beautiful landscapes around every corner. The sky was bright blue, the mountains were dark tan with pine trees poking out here and there. Between the earth and sky white fluffy clouds lined the peaks like whipped cream on top of chocolate ice cream. Which reminded me - no breakfast this morning.

We pulled in at Silverthorne for lunch at Wendy's. Even the fast food places have a good view. We made our phone calls and started out again. It wasn't long until we had to stop for another photo opportunity.

Dillon Reservoir provided an opportunity to stretch our legs and take a break before pushing for the finish line at Montrose. We had decided to do an IBA Bun-Burner since we only had another 300 or 400 miles to qualify.

The roads were so much fun on a motorcycle, we didn't stop often. After going through an especially long tunnel I noticed my GPS had locked and would not reset. We stopped just short of Glenwood Canyon for some adjustments. My riding buddy Frank, always the technophile, finally took a time out from fiddling with his own GPS and consulted the paper map.

Glenwood Canyon was spectacular. Again we were torn between trying to capture the scenes on film and enjoying the curvy roads that seemed to be designed for riders. The riding won and we made our way through the narrow canyons and along the upper Colorado River to the high desert of Garfield County. Once out inthe open we fell in behind a BMW sedan and a late model Corvette who led us toward Grand Junction.

We turned south at Route 141 and intercepted US 50 for the rid down to Montrose and the Rockies Gold 2007 gathering. One last stop for gas in Delta and we were there. Over 1623 Honda miles in under 36 hours. We found William Bunt of Divide, CO who agreed to sign us in at the Black Canyon Motel, officially completing the ride.

We had already checked in at the Comfort Inn up the street so after meeting and greeting for a while we retired for some overdue rest until the next day's rides and dinner. More to follow...

Rockies Gold 2007 - Day 1

So Tuesday has finally arrived. It's off to I-94 and Zeeb Road near Ann Arbor to meet Frank Carpenter for a day's ride to Sterling, Colorado.

I arrived at location about 10 minutes early and saw Frank in the McDonald's parking lot. The gas station next door, where we were to officially start our "Ironbutt" ride was closed. After due consideration and an Egg McMuffin, the lights came on at the gas station and we got the necessary time-stamped receipts. Shortly after 6:00 a.m. we were on our way west.

There is not a lot I can say about our first day. I have come to the conclusion there is little chance of the Unites States running out of corn or dead skunks in the near future. The Midwest is the price a traveler pays to see the rest of the country.

The first highlight of the trip was lunch and gas at the Iowa 80 Truckstop in Walcott, Iowa. Billed as the world's largest truck stop, a must see for shut-ins and people who want to add to their collection of truck themed Zippos.

Since we were on a mission, we hurried through the lunch line at Wendy's and then started to , gas up. Within moments, Frank broke his glasses. After a brief, unproductive search around the gas pump for a missing screw about the size of an atom, we opted for plan B. I found a small piece of tiny wire that fit through the screw holes in the glasses frame. We fitted the lens back in place and twisted the wire until the hinge barely moved, clipped off the excess with a leatherman and back on the road.

We were getting about 200 miles per tank and this was our 3rd fill up, a little after 11:00 CST.

Continuing accross the vast source of all Corn Flakes, we finally got into Omaha, Nebraska. As we threaded the maze of off ramps, road construction, farm trucks, tourists, and shredded truck tires, I kept an eye out for the famous Omaha Steak. Never saw one. Once past the hectic city, I glanced down at my newly installed GPS and one of the saddest things in recent memory. The little gizmo read: Turn left in 308 miles.

The rest of the day was as uneventful as the morning. We ground steadily westward and finally turned left on US-76 toward Sterling, Colorado. We found Officer Rusch at the Sterling Police Department who was willing to witness our arrival at 9:37 Mountain time (11:47 Eastern) thus officially qualifying for an Ironbutt (1000 miles in 24 hours) ride.

Prior to tracking down a witness, we had started the search for a hotel. Apparently Sterling is a destination for travelers as the only place we could find was a smoking room at the Super 8. The clerk had a voice like Sonny Barger and an indifferent attitude. The room smelled like a pair of old Army socks which had been marinaded in road kill. We kept the lights off and crept into our beds. The next day beckoned. We were loooking forward to some 3D terrain. To be continued...

New Shoes

With a little over 40,000 miles on the clock it seemed like a good time to inspect the brake pads. The timing was good because one of the four fronts was down past the wear lines. The rest still had the line but the depth was just enough to catch with a fingernail.

Rockies Gold is coming up which means about 1300 miles each way plus four days of riding the mountain roads aroud Montrose, Colorado.

No use trying to squeeze any more miles out these pads.

To get the ball rolling, I consulted the trusty Clymer manual to see if there was any tips that would make life easier. There wasn't. One suggestion was to push the caliper housing inwards to shove the pucks back out of the way before removing the old pads. I tried this. It would have been easier to push a '57 Buick up Lombard Street.

I opted for plan B. Put away the manual and pull out the pin holding the pads in place. The pads dropped out without assistance as soon as the pin cleared. The micrometer showed only .05" at the thinnest part of the pad and .1" at the thickest remaining part. According to the book, minimum service thickness is .14".

The next challenge was to push in the brake pistons or pucks to make room for the new pads. Three pucks/pistons on each side. On the left side I was able to get the middle one to move with finger pressure. The upper and lower had to be convinced with a flat bladed screwdriver. All three on the right side had to be pushed in with a tool.

By the way, if you plan to do this job here are some of my tips:

• Take off the front brake reservoir cover
• Wrap the right handlebar area in plastic to catch any overflow
• Check the fluid level in the reservoir after pushing in each puck
• Only do one side at a time to avoid pushing too much fluid back into the reservoir
• When pushing in the pucks, do not pry against the disc

Anyway, the only hard part of the job was pushing in the pistons. Once they are out of the way, put the inboard pad in place, then the outboard pad, grease up the retaining pin and put it back together.

I did the left side first and before tackling the other side I squeezed the front brake to reseat the pistons against the new pads. This allows the brake fuid in the reservoir to go back down so you have room to do the right side. It is even more important to keep an eye on the reservoir level as you do the second side. You have raised the pre-existing level by putting in thicker pads on the first side.

The rear brake pads are still pretty thick so I'll probably wait to change them at 80,000 miles.

The only thing left to do was a test ride. I squeezed the front brake until it was hard and hit the street. Everything was great until I decided to stop fast and used both brakes. I forgot all about the linked brake stuff and of course the rear pedal went to the bottom. A couple of quick pumps and it is back. I am pretty light on the rear brake unless I really need it and from the looks of the pads, that is what is expected by the engineers. The left side was only slightly more worn than the right.

If you have a goldwing and have 40K on it, I'd suggest taking a look at those pads. And the link I included is the cheapest OEM set I could find. Good luck.

Rte 116, April 2007

If you like nonstop curves take Hwy 116 out of Lake City Tennessee to Brushy Mountain Prison. There are a few hairpins like the one in the picture at the north end but then it turns into lots of curves through some scenic hills. About a 30 mile run. If you add up all the straight parts it would equal maybe 3/4 mile. Fun ride.

Falls Creek Park, Tennessee

Early spring in Falls Creek Park. From this vantage point, one can survey the whole valley and watch the buzzards float on the updrafts. The location is "Buzzard's Roost" just to the right of Milliken's Overlook on the Park Loop.

Of course, getting there is half the fun. Once you get to the park, there's a chance to meet up with all the people you saw last year and exchange lies about your exploits since you last saw them. That's the other half of the fun. And don't forget the last half, the ride home. (Everyone knows riding a touring bike is greater than the sum of its parts.)

For me the trip to Tennessee meant a 8:00 a.m. start near Ann Arbor and a long haul to Lake City, Tennessee. Along the way the weather held and only light sprinkles cropped up from time to time. On the I-75 leg I fell in behind a Mercedes SLK and made pretty good time.

The Maumee River just south of Toledo was overflowing its banks with tons of sediment from as far away as Fort Wayne. There are some scenic drives if you have time to explore its historic shores.

One break in the monotony of riding the superslab is navigating the section running through Cincinnati. Entering from the north, the traffic becomes more and more congested, often coming to standstill just before the Ohio River bridge. Once on the bridge drivers start jockeying for position for the race up the hill on the Kentucky side. The whole thing resembles a running start at a NASCAR event.

From Cincinnati on I-75 starts to become interesting. The hills and curves give some texture to an otherwise bland trip.

By the time I got to Lake City I was looking forward to a change of pace. I quickly gassed up and headed down Rte. 116. About a mile into the woods and I came upon stopped traffic. After about ten minutes a County Deputy came walking toward us pushing a roller-tape. It was obvious something bad had happened up around the corner. The assumption was confirmed when the first tow truck came by with a smashed cruiser in a trailer. The second tow truck was pulling a red Ford F-150 with major damage to the left front. As we were allowed to proceed I saw short skid marks obviously left by the truck which were all the way over to the right side of the road and ending in a pile of debris and dirt.

It appeared to me the motorcycle had been northbound toward Lake City in a right hand curve. The impact occurred in the oncoming lane indicating the bike had crossed well over the center line before hitting the truck. The bike left no skidmarks nor scrapemarks. Who knows why the wreck happened. Just guessing: the corner was posted with a caution of 25mph and looked like it could be done at 50 or better. From the amount of damage to the truck I'd guess subsantial speed was involved. Anyway, back on the road.

Once clear of the wreck, traffic thinned, then dissappeared. I was alone on a very cool, twisty road for the next 30 or so miles. When you first start to climb into the hills there are several switchbacks that require full attention to avoid winding up like the hapless cruiser rider described earlier.

Route 116 is one of my favorite Tennessee roads due to its good condition, constant turns and hills, and scenic location. It is also one of the least travelled roads in the area. (Bonus)!

This is the one of the few straight sections on the road and one of the few places it is wide enough to pull over.

After winding my way down to Highway62 I headed east and found a Comfort Inn in Oak Ridge. There was a Ruby Tuesday right next door so I settled in for the night.

Saturday I was up early looking forward to the free breakfast bar in the lobby. Apparently so were a few dozen teenage girls. After standing patiently in line for coffee for a while, I gave up and hit the road. It was another beautiful spring day and the temperature was already at 55.

I headed for Dayton to connect with Route 30 over to Pikeville. Between Dayton and Pikeville there is a ridge that provides fantastic motorcyle riding. On the way up I notice something big and dead up ahead. Too big for a deer, no elk around here, maybe a bear? As I passed the carcass I recognized it was a mule. The only mule I've ever seen in Tennessee. A second incongruous sight was a car wash in the middle of nowhere on the top of the pass. I stopped and hosed off a days worth of bugs and continued over and down the other side into Pikesville.

From Pikesville it is a short run to Falls Creek Falls. The Tennessee Lunch Run IV was scheduled for 11:30 so I had some time to look around. The park's namesake falls is one of several in the park that are accessible by foot a short way from the roadways. The long freefall is what sets this site apart from its counterparts.

Motor Cop

Cool picture of a "motorman" from a flyer. Symbol Arts sent out a magazine insert with this photo.

Let me know if you can ID the rider or the bike, or the Sgt.

January Rain

The roads are clear and damp. The highways are coated with salt. The news crews are scurrying around in search of broken tree limbs and claiming we "will not believe" the scenes they will show on the evening program.

The reality is, most winters treat us to the beauty of freezing rain storms. More people than usual crash their cars, most just deal with it.

For all the hype and downed power lines, little is changed in the bigger picture. By Spring, the broken twigs and bent fenders will have been forgotten and a new riding season will be with us.In the mean time, motorcyclists will content themselves with visiting computer bulletin boards and perhaps dealing with some minor maintenance issue until Mother Nature decides to change her approach.

If nothing else, the freezing rain forces us to acknowledge a power greater than our own. So far no one (except maybe Al Gore) has figured out how to control the weather. We are faced with the choices of fight, flight, or adapt.

I recommend the latter.I think this is a good time to slow down and admire the art that decorates every twig and blade of grass. Even street signs and our vehicles are wearing their finest winter clothes.

We could choose to fight, but in the end, the windshield will be just as clear by starting the car earlier as by scraping and chipping and cursing our way to visibility.

We could flee, but how would we ever be able to experience the scenes created by freezing rain?