Unfortunately, I’d forgotten that the local powers-that-be had decided that life would be better for all Coloradans if they paved the Guanella Pass road. Subsequently, I had to put up with multiple one-lane roads stoppages including one that had me stewing for more than 30 minutes. I had to keep reminding myself that this was a ”leisurely” ride.



Luckily, all was quickly forgotten as the last bottleneck was passed and the way to the summit was just filled with the usual slow moving tourists. Oh well. After spending some time passing a large number of cars on the slippery magnesium chloride coated road surface, I couldn’t bring myself to stop at the top for a snapshot. So , here in one from the last time that I rode the Elephant Ride:



The higher peak in the left background is 14,060 foot/ 4,285m Mt. Bierstadt, one of the more accessible of Colorado’s 54 mountain peaks in excess of 14,000’/4,267m high at the summit.

Once down the other side, the pass road ends at U.S. 285. This paved, two-lane road winds its way back up to Kenosha Pass at 10,001 feet/3,048m. The wide expanse of level ground at the summit makes for an anti-climactic pass climb, but will be more than made up for in just about 4 weeks as the Aspen trees will begin their spectacular fall metamorphosis and explode into colors. I don’t bother to stop for a photo and continue down the west side of the pass into South Park, Colorado. Many folks might remember the name South Park from the animated television series of the same name. Although forever linked in popular-culture as the home to Cartman and the forever suffering Kenny, the reality is nothing like the fiction. South Park is really just a really, really big flat bottomed valley that stretches on as far as the eye can see as one heads down the west side of Kenosha Pass. In fact, if you ever see the word “Park” on a Colorado map, you can probably safely substitute the phrase “Large, flat-bottomed, lightly forested valley” in its place and you’ll probably be correct.

At the bottom of South Park is my next turn-off. Como Colorado is these days just a little stop on the tourist trail, but is also the eastern terminus of a narrow gauge railway that runs up and over Boreas Pass (11,481 feet/3,499m) to the west and then down into Breckenridge, Colorado. Breckenridge is of course a familiar name to anyone who’s strapped two long sticks to the bottom of their feet. The town of Como these days is filled with some very interesting old buildings that are still inhabited.





Today came to pass as I expected. Little tourist traffic revealed itself as I wound my way up the miles of dirt road that mostly follows the old narrow gauge rail bed. Things will be very different in about four weeks when the trees begin their annual leaf-shedding. At the summit of the pass, there are a few original buildings remaining from the passes heyday as a whistle stop.













The buildings have been restored and are open to the public at times when the Forest Service folks are around.

I continued down the west side of the pass towards Breckenridge. The western slope is decidedly different than the east side. The east side is much more arid as the moisture in the air pushed up the west side dumps the “white gold” on the west side. The result is a much lusher, green area of meadows, trees, and other vegetation, not to mention a world-class ski area across the valley. Here’s a shot from about 2/3 of the way down looking across the valley:



You can see the ski runs of Breckenridge Ski area on the east facing slopes across the valley. At the bottom is Goose Pasture Tarn, the lake that supplies some of the snow making power in the fall.



Continuing on down, there is a history museum just at the bottom of the pass road as it meets U.S. 9 at the edge of town. Time doesn’t permit a perusal, but sitting out front is a prime example of the type of railway snow blower that was used in the Rocky Mountains for many years:



I made a quick stop in Breckenridge for lunch. I’ll spare you all any photos of the restaurant, and the stop only bears mention in that it saved me from a torrential downpour that only began to disperse as I emerged from the restaurant. Of course, the clouds began to part just as I finished donning the last stitch of my rain gear. I decided to leave it all on however as I’d be spending the next fifteen minutes steadily climbing U.S. 9 as it wends its way south and up toward 11,539 foot/3,517m Hoosier Pass summit.

This road is a wonderful motorcycle road with a good series of switchbacks that are just tight enough so that one can lean over like Valentino Rossi. This particular day, my ride up the pass reminded me of the Twilight Zone television program from the early 1960’s. Anyone else out there as old as me remember the episode about the bookworm who survived the nuclear (Nucular?) annihilation of the world only to have his single pair of eyeglasses smashed just as he began to settle down to spend the end of days reading all his beloved books? Well, this was my hell: A series of motor homes, tractor trailers and such that refused to use any of the turn-outs on the way up! That’s one of the reasons that I never carry a gun. I’m afraid I’ll use it!

In record slow time, I still managed to make it to the top. Here I decided to snap a couple:





Continuing down south, I turned west once more at Alma, Colorado with the expectation of traveling over 13,188 foot/4,019m Mosquito Pass and down the other side to Leadville, Colorado. I innocently headed west. The road leading out of town was much rougher and rocky than I expected, but after the first mile of steep climbing, the road leveled off and I found myself on “just another dirt road” for the next 7 or 8 miles. Finally, I reached the high alpine area where the valley begins to choke off at its head at just over 11,500 feet/3,657m. This is a view to the west:



Of course, it wouldn’t be Colorado if there weren’t a defunct mine operation in the area:



Up ahead, the trail took a sharp turn to the left as it began to switchback up the northern side of the valley wall towards the pass:



Now, at this point, I have to issue a parental warning: The following sequence is not for the faint-of-heart or shiny-bike crowd. Please view at your own discretion.

I continued up the trail and successfully maneuvered around the first of the sharp switchbacks. As I looked forward to the path ahead, I was greeted with what looked to this novice off-piste rider’s eyes to be a boulder-strewn obstacle course. I swallowed hard and kept the throttle open as I successfully maneuvered over, around and between the first few meters. Then, came the moment of truth: I zigged, I zagged, then my front wheel went not where I wanted it and it was all over in the blink of an eye. The world was no longer vertical. I no longer felt the surging vibrations of that great lump of a motor between my legs. Worse yet, I was lying on the ground a few feet from my prostrate steed!

The Cherry had been broken!

I quickly jumped up and hit the kill switch to end the pathetic lurching of the rear wheel as it jerked under no load. I took quick stock and only my ego was bruised (Luckily, my alter-ego is still quite arrogant and confident). The poor F650 looked ok, but was now sans one left-side forward turn signal. Alas, the mighty BMW plastic succumbed to its meeting with the Earth.

Amazingly, the obstacles that had just recently dismounted me seem to have shrunken markedly in the photos of the aftermath. I wish I’d gotten my camera out more quickly before they morphed into those inconsequential pebbles!



I actually didn’t have the presence of mind to take any photos until after the second fall. Yup, you read that right. Luckily, I’d previously seen that famous video of the 90lb/41kg woman picking up the fallen 900lb/408kg Honda Goldwing, so after my heart rate had settled down from the first tumble, I put my back to the beast, grabbed the handlebar and the rear passenger rail and more easily than I expected I lifted bike from its prone and sorrowful position. Once sitting steady, I surveyed the situation. I walked up the trail about 30 meters and it didn’t look like it would be any worse, so I decided that I would unload all the gear from the bike and give it another go.

Hence, the second tip over.

I made it up the trail another few yards, but barely managed to keep the rubber on the rock three or four times in that space of time. So, once again I stopped and pondered my course of action. In the end, sanity prevailed, and I began to rock the bike back and forth in an attempt to walk the front end across the slope and eventually have it point downhill. I got it around OK and started down. Unfortunately, I once again suffered the front wheel having a different direction of travel than intended and came off the bike for the second time. For good measure, this time the bike landed on the opposite time than the first fall so that my Touratech fairing protection bars could receive an equal dose of that certain “patina” that tells no lies. (BTW, those bars did their duty and no damage occurred to the bike’s plastic panels.

It was at this point that I noticed the casualty of the first fall. The sad, left-side, front turn indicator dangled limply from its wires, but was still operable. Interestingly, the indicator was undamaged, but the silver plastic fascia plate that attaches it to the bike snapped at the connection point. Did I mention that the second fall put the tires higher than the handlebars? It was also fun trying to pivot the bike around to get the tires on the downhill side. So, for the second and hopefully last time I used the he-man bike lift procedure to right the bike. At least at this point I’d already removed everything, so she was decidedly lighter.





Oxygen break:



I checked the bike over and I was pleasantly surprised to find that the only damage was the sacrificial turn indicator and some scratches on the Touratech fairing guards. Imagine that, I bought a product that actually did what I had hoped it would do! I was able to re-fasten the turn indicator to the bike with some expertly applied black electrical tape. Once I’d piled my gear back on, she looked pretty dirty, but no worse for wear than earlier in the day.

So, I ingloriously headed back down the pass road whence I came. As it was now getting fairly late in the day, I decided to jump back onto U.S. 9 and follow it south to where it connects with U.S. 285/U.S. 24. A few miles before it arrives in the Buena Vista area (And for some reason, the locals insist on pronouncing it BYU-NA instead of BWAY-NA) there is a KOA campground that will provide me refuge from the cruel world for one night

Safe haven:





Although safe, the KOA campground was hardly relaxing. As in the stereotype, I was sandwiched between a group of young rednecks, who on my left side, spent the evening playing a version of the “Quarters” drinking game as the slowly dimming headlights of their 4x4’s shined across their picnic table and onto my tent. On the other side, I had the proverbial young family with the overwhelmed mother of three small children, any one of which might seemingly solve this nation’s energy problems by serving as a dynamo.

Luckily for me, the liquor store in the nearby town provided me with a couple of 20 ounce/.6 liter bottles of some local micro-brew so I could easily withdraw into a cocoon of my own. That and a few recorded hours of the “Sons of anarchy” and I was pretty much out like a light by 10pm. I awoke around 1am to hear the patter of raindrops on the roof of my tent. I hate packing up in the rain, but quickly fell back into slumber. When the first light of day arrived at about 6am, I had no intention of getting out of the sack, even though I could no longer hear any rain hitting the ground. Alas, my 48 year old prostate conspired with my bladder to force me up, so I gave in. After my morning constitutional, I made breakfast and started packing up while the rest of the campground’s inhabitants began to slowly rouse .

The weather seemed to be unsettled as I packed up.



Sure enough, I’d wasted enough time while deciding to get out of the sack that the clouds found me and it began to rain. There’s nothing like starting out the day all hot and sweaty while hurriedly packing up while wearing all your riding gear to keep it dry under your so-called “Breathable” rain gear. No sooner had I completed the task did the roving band of renegade clouds move on to some other poor sucker somewhere across the wide, flat valley. Of course, a quick glance to the west revealed that my first destination for today, Cottonwood Pass, which is about 20 miles west of Buena Vista was completely shrouded in. I pondered just heading south along the nicely paved U.S. 285, but that, I decided< would defeat the purpose of owning this ostensibly “dual-sport” motorbike, so I steeled myself to some more bad weather and headed out.

The road heading west out of Buena Vista is paved all the way to the summit of Cottonwood Pass (12,126 feet/3,696m) and then is a graded dirt road down the western side. It was a pleasant ride toward the pass as the weather seemed to be breaking around me.



The closer I came to the pass, the curvier became the road. Normally not a problem, but a little concerning as the roadway became increasingly wet as I rode. The infamous “Tar Snakes” were everywhere, and it was pretty cold to boot. Still, I soldiered on. When I was within the last mile to the summit, a wonderful break opened in the clouds and the sun streamed in for a few short moments. It wasn’t enough to reveal the fog shrouded summit, but gave me a few moments to snap a few pics:





This “sucker hole” (As we used to call them up in the great northwest) only lasted a few moments, and then vanished as quietly as it came.



A few minutes later found me dismounted at the summit. Visibility was only about 100m at the top, but I had the summit to myself.