So it turns out that Denver is only around 720 miles away if I ride it right. Google has offered a few different options but I dislike them and opt to take a more scenic route. I set off heading towards the 4 corners and am just so impressed with the desert. I love that it's all different, unless at a quick glance, there are so many shades of red, so many terrain features, and tons of "american indians".
It's about 1130 and the sun is freakin HOT. There are a few things to keep in mind when desert riding. Temp, engine temp, tire temp, skin temp, water. You need to drink 1L of water every hour, unless you are sweating it all out, and no matter how many times you stop, it's almost as if you can't keep your bike from wanting a break. On a long trip like this I've come to look at my bike as almost human. There are so many things I have to care about and dread the smallest thing happening. I pull over for gas, I get regular even though the manual says premium.....Won't burn quite as hot, maybe. Carefully fueling up is tricky when the gas station has no towels to keep excess gas from dripping on the tank. I replace the nozzle and out of nowhere I sneeze my head off. A nice mist sprays on the tire. And cue the steam. HOLY SHIT!! The tires are so hot that it's burning off water. I feel them with the back of my hand, HOT. I throw a cautionary spittle on the front, I figure my body temp is around 98 so the saliva is like warm enough that it won't cause damage. Well, no sizzle, but steam comes off it...So I pour a bunch of water over them and wait 15 min for the tires to cool off. I don't know if this is smart, dumb or neither. Either way, i go over in my head how to handle a blowout on a bike at 80mph. The only thing I can think of is, Jump away from the road.
As I go though the desert I catch the tail end of a motorcycle club riding about 75 mi south of the 4 corners on route 160. I follow and catch up to the van and pass it and ask the rear guard if I can join for a minute. I tell them i'm going to denver and they let me in! But i have to be in the middle and when I get there, the dude is less than pleased. They ride staggered like everyone, but on occasion form pairs for whatever reason. I just do as everyone else does. I notice the 4 corners is coming up (Utah, Colorado, Arizona, New Mexico) and want to stop....but I'm too chicken shit to break off from ZZ Top riding next to me, fearing the revolver not so hidden in his shoulder holster. So I pass up a great land mark and Breaking Bad nostalgia. About 20-30 miles later they are off to their bar, but I am behind schedule and tear off, waving and honking. I wanted pictures, I wanted hugs, I wanted beer, but I ain't got no time for that!! I stop for chow and notice I'm in Navajo Nation, I'm rushing. I pull the earbud out of my ear as I pull up to the pump and lose the rubber tip. SHIT. I run around looking for decent earbuds and settle for 15 bucks. I get going. The sun is rapidly leaving me behind and I'm terrible at night driving. As I pull past the sign welcoming me to Colorado, I regret not taking a picture, but I have a destination in mind. I'm hauling ass as I hit the mountains. The temp drops rapidly and soon I'm forced to pull over and add a hoodie. I keep going. I stop for gas in a big town, maybe I should stay the night? No. Push. The sun is going down leaving me in darkness as I navigate the winding steep roads of the mountains. Not the experience I thought, but what a rush!! At this pace I'll hit denver in 3-4 hours. Pitch. Black. Oncoming lights are blinding me, and the fear of colliding with a deer increase everytime I dodge roadkill. I'm going 65 and Semi's behind me are lining up, so I push to 75, adrenaline pumping hard, every fiber in my being is screaming at me to pull the fuck over and find a hotel. I see vision of my mom staring at me with that knowing face, telling me to get off the road. I'm a stubborn mule. Further on I push in the pitch black cold that are the roads of colorado. I've now got on a short sleeve shirt, the only long sleeve shirt, an underarmor hoodie, and my winter jacket, my neck warmer, gloves over gloves and I'm shaking with the coldness. I briefly glance down at the temp on my cell and it's hovering above 36. A deer pops up in my headlights and i lock up the rear tire and skid at 75 mph, almost instantly I realize the grave error as my focus shifts from the balsy deer to keeping the bike up. I rip my foot away from the pedal, let off the gas all the way, pull in the clutch and counter lean with all I have. The bike is at about 45-50 degrees getting closer to 90 and total destruction, before I can think, I suppress the urge to jerk the bike and keep riding it out into the normal orientation. The deer is gone and I slide through the spot where it once stood. Total time elapsed? MAYBE 5 seconds. That's a hard maybe, more than likely I'm at 3, although the slide felt like it lasted 3 seconds, which at 75 mph is freaking scary. I smile with pleasure at the adrenaline that I can feel in my veins, causing momentary warmth and a slight shake through my body. THAT'S how you live. Exactly what this whole trip is about, you can't have that kind of experience in a bed, or moping around, or in a job forcing you to work 14 hours for less than minimum wage! Ok. But for real, back to 75 and giddy.
I approach Pagosa Springs and another deer hops out. I'm able to suppress the instinct to slam the brakes and the deer bounds away before anything bad happens. I can't really handle the cold any longer. So i find a place to grab a burger and wolf down 2 and 2 orders of fries and 2L of water. I pass out. Disappointed I didn't make it to Denver, but my body is drained and a long hot shower helps rejuvenate.
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