The alarm went off around 7 AM or so. We were tired and started the process of stirring. It helped that the beds weren't all that comfortable as that gave us motivation to get out of them. And I think we needed some motivation.
When planning things out, I thought this day was going to be a "long miles but short time" kind of day, where you travel far but can sustain speeds that mean the actual amount of time doesn't take as long. As nearly always happens though, today turned into a longer day than expected.
We packed up our gear and cleared out of the room. I didn't get a picture when we checked in, so I took one before we were checking out. I think you can still see the imprint of my body in the bed.
Once packed, it was time to think about breakfast. Motel 6 doesn't have a continental breakfast. It was already 8 AM so I didn't really want to spend too much time eating somewhere.
The previous evening we saw a Winchell's donuts just up the street. Donuts sounded good, so we thought that would be a good quick breakfast. We rode over there in time to see the police arresting someone in the parking lot. Thankfully it wasn't us so we went inside and ordered.
Some people (like my wife) can't eat very many donuts as they're too sweet. Unfortunately for me, I can't eat enough. They're like eating potato chips as I can pound down a slug of them before I even start to think about getting full. I really didn't need to eat a slug of donuts, especially after the previous night's all-you-can-eat Mexican dinner. My mouth wanted a dozen. I ordered two.
Jon ordered a couple donuts and some fancy caramel coffee frappe latte foo foo drink. It actually looked pretty good. I was surprised to see him order coffee as I'd never seen him drink it before. I'm usually the one who needs his coffee in the morning, and oddly enough I didn't order any. I figured I'd grab a cup later on when we stop for gas.
After we ate we got on our bikes and hit the road. We headed west out of Denver on highway 6 into Golden. The plan was to take the scenic route up to Estes Park and over to Loveland, then crank up the speed and get to the Black Hills as fast as possible. The ride between Loveland, CO and Custer, SD is anything but scenic or interesting, so the faster we could cover that ground the better.
Golden itself was just a typical looking suburb to Denver. Of course the Coors brewery is located there, but outside of that it didn't seem much different than the rest of the city. However, once we hit the edge of town and started riding down the Clear Creek Canyon road, it got unbelievably scenic.
I noticed that this was a popular area for joggers. I saw quite a few of them for the first couple miles of the canyon. There was a MUP (multi-use path) along the side of the road that looked like it would be something I'd enjoy using if I lived in the area.
The canyon was very pretty, but like so many other times I couldn't stop and take a photo of every cool thing I saw. We just rode along and took it all in.
At the junction of highway 119 we headed north toward Blackhawk. Along this route we were behind a casino bus. The road was very twisty and I was extremely impressed with how fast this bus was taking the corners and curves. It was obvious that the driver traveled the route often enough that he/she had it memorized. There were times where I was having a hard time keeping up on motorcycle. Amazing.
The town of Blackhawk itself was interesting. Tons of new construction, mostly of casinos or businesses supporting casinos. I'm not a gambler, but this looked like a place where it would have been fun to walk around for a couple hours.
The casino bus turned off the road, and we continued north on 119 heading to Neederland. As we approached the roundabout at the highway 72 junction we got behind a large RV whose driver was much less skilled than the casino bus. I was hoping that he would keep following 119 into Boulder, but unfortunately he also branched off on 72. Thankfully a few miles up the road he realized that he was greatly slowing us down and pulled over so we could pass.
North of Neederland we came across more construction. Sure enough there also was a pilot car. In this particular work site there was a 2nd pilot car at the end of the line too. As luck would have it, right as we pulled up the end pilot car was just entering the construction zone leaving us at the front of the next line. The driver saw us, pulled over and motioned for us to enter the construction zone ahead of her. That was very thoughtful.
Then I had my moment of stupid. I have them more often than I care to admit. We were tooling slowly through the construction zone with the pilot car directly behind us. There was a big cone in the road. About 3 feet high. I saw it. I watched it. Then for some dumb reason I hit it.
My knee took the brunt of the impact, which knocked the cone over. I knew Jon riding directly behind me saw me hit it. I knew the lady in the pilot car saw me hit it. It was a completely stupid bone-headed move on my part that was so absurd that I started to laugh. Hard. Out loud. Uncontrollably. To the point of tears running down my face.
I probably should have pulled over had there been a spot in the construction to pull over. But there wasn't. So I did the next best thing: in my compromised state I hit another cone and knocked that one over too. This was insane, and didn't do anything to help quell my laughter.
For the rest of the construction and the next few miles I would keep cracking up about it. We finally got to a junction where we could stop and Jon pulled up next to me. He thought I had hit the cones intentionally as there was no way I could have just run them down like that on accident. Well, no, there was a way. I can be pretty brain-dead at times.
Much to our relief that would be the last pilot car led construction we would see on the trip, and even more wonderful was that there were no further incidents of construction cones jumping out in front of me.
We were now on highway 7 on our way to Estes Park.
This road wasn't quite as curvy so the traffic speed picked up a bit. There was still plenty of scenery though with Rocky Mountain National Park peeking through in the distance (or should I say, "peaking" through.)
It was along this stretch that we got behind a green Blazer where the driver was obviously impaired in some form or fashion. It was like the stereotypical drunk driver you see on TV where he couldn't keep his car between the lines. He would veer out into the oncoming lane, then swerve back and cross the inner line before he overcorrected again. His speed was varying up and down, but was mostly slow.
We could envision this guy suddenly veering into oncoming traffic and the crash taking us all down, so we wanted to put some distance between us. The mountains aren't very conducive for passing, though, so it took a few miles of watching him struggle until we found a spot clear enough for us to buzz around him. Once we were in front, we picked up the pace and left the green Blazer in our mirrors.
My joy of having the menace behind us was short lived, though. Jon pulled up next to me and told me my pack was falling off the back of my bike. Sure enough, things had shifted and the strap was slipping off the top of the back rest to which it was attached. So we pulled over and I re-fastened my luggage.
Much to our chagrin, while I was doing that the green Blazer caught up to us. I could see him coming down the road, and still weaving back and forth. Our bikes were parked on the shoulder, but I told Jon we needed to get away from the edge of the road. There was no telling what this guy would do and if he hit our bikes I didn't want to be standing in the path of destruction.
So we backed away from the bikes about 30 yards. The green Blazer managed to pass our bikes without altercation so we walked back up to them. I wasn't in any hurry to get back on the road and immediately follow the Blazer again, so we sat for a couple of minutes to let him put some distance between us.
That was the last we saw of the green Blazer. I kept looking for him in the ditch but didn't see any wrecks. I'm not sure if he turned off onto a side road or if he just got far enough ahead of us that we no longer saw him, but either way I was glad to be done with him.
I was in need of a restroom break, so I was happy to reach Estes Park around 11 AM. We found a little gas station on the west edge of town and stopped. No need to fill our tanks yet, so it was just a bathroom and snack break.
I used the bathroom, bought a large coffee and a Cliff bar. The coffee was very good; probably the best I had on the whole trip. We stretched for a few minutes. A group of bikers pulled into the station. One was having obvious issues with trying to get his bike running. They were trying to push start it. Occasionally it would run but it didn't sound good at all.
After a few minutes we were back on the road on highway 34 in the direction of Loveland. This was a very scenic road that winds through a canyon. There were places still under construction after the entire canyon flooded a couple years ago. It was another spot where there just wasn't any good place to pull over and take a photo, so as a result I didn't get any pictures.
We rode through the town of Loveland on our way to the interstate. The map says the town is about six miles from edge to edge, but for some reason it feels like twice that distance. I felt the same way when I rode through it nine years prior.
Once we were on the interstate, we picked up speed. Now it was time to make time. It was about 45 minutes to Cheyenne, WY where we had a planned stop for gas/lunch. After that we would get off the interstate and go by back roads to the Black Hills.
I-25 moved fast. We ran a little above the speed limit but were frequently passed by other cars. The temps were rising as we had come out of the mountains and now were buzzing across the lower plains.
In Cheyenne I randomly picked an exit where there was a gas station and pulled in. The gas station was extremely busy. Apparently everyone else who crosses the Wyoming border randomly picks this exit too.
There was a Wendy's attached to the truck stop where we filled up. Jon suggested we just grab something to eat there, but I suggested an Arby's across the street. It looked like the Arby's was a bit less packed. He conceded to my choice and we went across the street and ordered some food.
Jon's paranoia about the noise he was hearing from his bike was growing. He was really getting concerned that he would have mechanical problems and not be able to get home. I was concerned too, but not so much about his mechanical problems as I was with my rear tire. The tread was getting thinner and thinner.
Now, to explain a bit more of my worry. A blown tire or a locked transmission can cause a cyclist to lose control and crash. Of course crashing a motorcycle is always a dangerous situation, especially if you're traveling at a high rate of speed. However my worry wasn't so much about the loss of life as it was the impact to my schedule. Today was the 10th. On the evening of the 11th I had tickets to the Dave Mason/Doobie Brothers/Journey concert back in Sioux Falls. If we were to have mechanical problems I was worried that we wouldn't be home in time.
I mean, how irrational is that? I'm not so worried that I was going to crash and die as I was that something would happen to delay us so I couldn't attend a concert. Now looking back on the situation it just seems ludicrous. But that's the way I was feeling at the time. We humans can be pretty irrational on occasion.
Anyway, I tried to keep my own irrational worries to myself and focus on Jon's situation. He clearly was concerned about his bike. We discussed our options. We were in Cheyenne, where there was a Harley dealership. There was also one in Rapid City. He was debating whether or not to have his bike looked at now, or wait until Rapid City to have it looked at.
I reasoned that with the Sturgis rally going on in the Black Hills, there wouldn't be any chance that the dealership there could fit him in to look at his bike. So I thought his best bet would be to either try and have the Cheyenne dealership look at it, or just hope that his bike would make it all the way home.
He decided to call the dealership in Cheyenne and see if they could fit him into their schedule. I looked up the number on my phone and gave it to him. After talking to them they said that we could come over immediately and they would try and look at his bike.
Well, this obviously wasn't in my planning when working out our schedule, but you can't always account for things like this. We rode across town to the Harley dealership.
Jon checked in with the service department. A girl came out and took down all the information about his bike and the symptoms of his problem.
Then we waited. And waited. And waited. It probably seemed longer than it really was, but I was really feeling antsy about getting back on the road. All sorts of scenarios were playing through my head. What if Jon's bike has a serious issue and we can't get home? Do we wait here to have it fixed? Or do we rent a truck and trailer and haul the bikes home? Where would I rent a truck and trailer? My mind was spinning.
Eventually they came and took Jon's bike back into the shop. More waiting. We were sitting on stools out in the showroom. They really need couches. I played on my phone. A nice guy offered me coffee which I politely declined, as I was feeling anxious enough as it was. More time passed. I felt like I was going nuts just sitting there with all this uncertainty hanging over my head.
Finally they called Jon back to the service area to hear the diagnosis: nothing was wrong. They didn't hear anything wrong with the bike. The transmission checked out and didn't have any of the common symptoms they normally see when people complain of a noise. The mechanic had taken the bike out and didn't hear anything unusual. "Oh, and you're in need of a back tire."
It was a strange combination of frustration and relief. Frustration because we had just spent a few hours sitting at the dealership for no reason. Relief because we had just spent a few hours sitting at the dealership for no reason. Jon opted to wait until he was back home to buy a new tire.
They only charged Jon for half of the labor because they didn't find anything, so it was $50. However we decided that $50 was money well spent if it would keep him from worrying about his bike the rest of the way home.
Now we were way behind schedule. Not that we had anywhere in particular we needed to be that evening, but I knew the next six hours of riding were going to be brutal and the day was already feeling long. I was starting to dread the next leg of the ride.
We left Cheyenne and headed up highway 85 towards Lusk, WY. It was 141 miles, and about 2.5 hours to get there. But it seemed like longer and farther. By this time I was a huge ball of stress. I was stressed about our schedule. I was stressed about wondering if my rear tire was going to explode at any second. I was stressed about getting home in time the next night.
But mostly I realized I was stressed about my son's golf team tryout. Today was the 3rd day. He had a successful first day, but "blew up" the 2nd day. That meant today's round was make-or-break for him. Not everyone who tries out makes the team. He made the team last year. I knew if he didn't make the team again this year he would be completely heartbroken.
As I rode I realized that this particular item was the worry that was most consuming me. As a father you hate to see your child suffer. If he didn't make the team I knew he would suffer. Here I was 500 miles away from him sitting helpless on a bike unable to do anything about it. Not that I could do anything about it if I was there with him.
It didn't help that this section of Wyoming is completely barren. There's nothing of visual interest that can keep you occupied. So for miles and miles you just sit there and let your mind stew about your son's golf tournament.
The wind was fairly strong and it looked like a storm was coming in from the west. As we pulled out of Cheyenne there were some sprinkles, but they passed after a few minutes. As we approached Lusk, it looked like the storm was getting closer. I hoped we could stay ahead of it because the last thing I needed was a repeat of yesterday's stress on top of the stress I was already feeling.
About 20 miles south of Lusk a rider passed the opposite direction patting his helmet. That's a biker sign that there's a speed trap ahead. Sure enough about seven miles later a highway patrol cruiser was checking for speeders. Not that we were speeding by enough to get pulled over, but it was good to know.
After what felt like a decade of riding we made it to Lusk. We had planned on a gas stop. So did everyone else who was traveling from the Sturgis rally. The gas station in Lusk was packed to the brim. Then about 200 yards from the station, my forehead suddenly felt like someone had set it on fire.
In my pain I cried out. I saw a wasp fly away. I never did see it fly towards me, but apparently it did and was angry that I had invaded its space and chose to retaliate.
We pulled into the gas station and I wasted no time getting off my bike and taking off my helmet. I was dancing around in pain while Jon was wondering what was going on. I told him about the wasp sting. There wasn't much either of us could do but wait for the pain to subside.
We waited for a few minutes until some pumps opened up, then filled up our bikes. While I was waiting I texted my wife asking for an update on my son's golf. She responded that she had just left to pick him up from the course and didn't know yet whether or not he had made the team. Rats. I really was hoping I would know one way or the other before we hit the road again.
After filling my tank I intended to move my bike over to the side so someone else could use the pump while I used the restroom. My bike didn't want to start. It does that sometimes when it's real hot. I finally got it going, and rode 50 yards and shut it down. Then I went inside and used the restroom and bought a root beer. I held the cold plastic bottle of soda against the swelling of the wasp sting on my forehead.
After I came out from the station Jon had struck up a conversation with a few other bikers. They were from New Mexico heading home from Sturgis. They wanted to make Denver by dark. At this point in the day (5:30 PM or so) it was going to be pushing it to make it that far without running out of light.
After wishing them well, we got on our bikes. My bike wouldn't start again. Only this time it was being extra stubborn. I think when I got it going before I hadn't let it run long enough which made the problem even worse than normal. I was starting to worry that maybe I was stuck in Lusk for a while when suddenly it reluctantly fired up. After I revved it up a few times it smoothed out and started running better.
Jon and I were rolling out of the gas station when I felt my phone vibrate. I motioned to him to hold up, and I checked. My wife's text simply said, "He made it!" A wave of relief came over me and I threw my arms in the air and shouted "Woohoo!" I really think there are times when Jon thinks I'm mental.
This made me feel a ton better. I still had the lingering effects from the wasp sting. I was still concerned with how late we were running. I was still worried that my tires would explode. There was still a storm moving ever closer from the west. We still had 140 miles to go. But a big part of my burden had been lifted. I knew how excited my son would be when I called him later that night.
We continued north on highway 85 out of Lusk for another 45 or so miles, then turned on east highway 18. Eventually we hit the South Dakota border and finally the town of Edgemont. The storm kept flirting with us. We would feel sprinkles now and then but by this time looked like we were definitely going to outrun it.
Around Edgemont I was getting weary. Well, I'd been weary for quite a while. Now I was getting extremely weary. I snapped a few photos to keep myself amused.
Northeast of Edgemont we took 89 north which then hooked up with highway 385. The faster way would have been to go left on 385, but I had mapped out a route through Custer State Park so we took a right. About seven miles down the road we turned north on highway 87.
Custer state park has some beautiful riding. Lots of curvy roads, scenery and wildlife.
It was starting to slowly get dark and the temp was dropping. I had been chilly for a while, but I finally decided to pull over and throw on a jacket. We didn't have a whole lot further to go but I was tired of shivering.
When planning the route I had originally planned on going through the Lower Playhouse Road. When we reached the junction at 16A there was a big sign that said park passes were required to follow this route. I didn't want to go buy a pass just to ride this road. There wasn't anyone manning the booth and we probably could have gotten away with not buying a pass, but that didn't feel right either. So I fell back on my knowledge of the area and re-routed us. We cut through the park on 16A and followed that all the way up to the Upper Playhouse Road which didn't require a pass. It was a little slower, but at least I could sleep well knowing I didn't break the law. Although I was probably going to sleep well regardless that night.
Around 8:30 we finally rolled into Keystone. Now we had to find our hotel. Keystone isn't that big so I thought it would jump out at us. Nope. We rode the length of the town and didn't find it. Now it was dark so it was tough to read addresses on buildings. Eventually we went back through town and found our hotel hidden up on a hill right where we came in. Due to the hill and our direction of travel we couldn't see it the first time.
The entrance to the hotel parking lot was actually up a very steep incline. We pulled in, parked, and went inside to check in. The front desk had a line and there were lots of people in the lobby. Ahhh Sturgis week.
After checking in and signing my life away with the forms stating I knew there was absolutely no possibility of a refund we got our room keys. We rode around to the other side of the building and found a spot to park.
I made it up to the room first. When I opened the door I think I discovered why they were so adamant about "no refunds." The room had kind of a warm damp smell to it. The air conditioner didn't work very well. The beds were like laying on pieces of plywood. But hey, at least it was the most expensive room on the trip!
By this time it was approaching 9 PM and we were pretty hungry. When we left Denver that morning I thought maybe we'd get to Keystone around 5 PM and have plenty of time to walk around. I thought maybe we could even ride over to Hill City and eat supper at the famous Alpine Inn. But things don't always go as planned, especially on motorcycle trips.
When we were checking in down in the lobby, Jon grabbed a flyer for "Big Time Pizza." Our room information also came with a coupon. So Jon suggested we just have a pizza delivered to the room. I would have been interested in walking down main street of Keystone (which was still hopping busy with people) and grabbing a bite, but at the same time I was pretty tired so it didn't take much persuasion for me to agree.
Jon called and ordered the pizza then took a shower while we were waiting. The guy at the pizza place said he was the only one working that night so he was both making the pizzas and delivering them, so it might take a while. I called my family. After officially making the golf team for his 2nd season my son was interested in speaking to others again.
The pizza took a long, long time to arrive as promised. Finally there was a knock on the door and our supper was here. I had heard good things about Big Time Pizza. Unfortunately I think having only one guy running the whole shebang that night took its toll on our pie. It wasn't terrible, but it wasn't good either. But by now it was food and that made my tummy happy.
We ate until we were full, then I stuck the remains in the mini-fridge. After that I took my turn in the shower and washed off the layer of grime I'd accumulated through the day.
When I got out of the bathroom Jon had found the latest Mad Max movie on TV, so we watched that for a while until exhaustion got the best of us and we turned out the light.
We slept, but not well which is surprising considering how tired we were. I think it was a combination of the rock hard bed, the warm room and all my pent up anxiety. I tossed and turned and when I did sleep I had bad dreams about dying.
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This page last updated on 06/28/2018