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There are some days that a person shouldn’t leave their home no matter what their horoscope says. I’ve pretty much had a day like that every day this past week. Add in the fact that I was on my motorcycle and a bad day can get even worse in a hurry.
I dragged the BMW out of winter storage two weeks ago. Besides a little dust and a worn down rear tire it looked no worse for wear and fired right up. I figured the tire had at least one ride left on it as long as it wasn’t too far.
I had been invited down to Lake Powell to hang out with some of my redneck heathen friends and thought this was an excellent first ride of the year. I chose the long way round over McClure, up to Gateway, down to Dove Creek and across Lake Powell at Hall’s Crossing.
If you have never visited Gateway, Colo., you might be pleasantly surprised to find this remote corner of the state being developed into a luxury resort. Discovery Channel founder John S. Hendricks “discovered” Gateway and decided that what this place needed was a resort…and a classic car museum. At least you don’t have to battle crowds as you tour the museum. He has on display an Oldsmobile concept car that he bought for $3.2 million, which proves Hendricks has more money than sense.
The ride from Gateway south is as spectacular as any road in America. The Dolores River leads the road through a vast canyon reminiscent of Moab, which is just to the west. The road finally empties out near Dove Creek, Colo., and I turned west toward Lake Powell.
West of Blanding, Utah, is a fork in the road. The sign says that Hall’s Ferry is almost 50 miles away and it runs at even hours from Hall’s Crossing and odd hours from Bullfrog Marina. I opened the throttle and entered the reddest landscape on the planet. Not much was open at Hall’s Crossing but I scored a soda and began waiting for the 4 p.m. ferry, thankful that my day of riding was finished. Within a few minutes a guy shows up and asks me if I’m waiting on the ferry. “There won’t be a 4 p.m. ferry for 15 more days,” he said.
“I need to get to Stanton Creek to meet the redneck heathens,” I said.
“That’s Stanton Creek right there,” he said, gesturing to an arm of the lake not even a mile away. “But it’s 150 miles to go around.” Damn, I should’ve stayed in bed. I suppose the state of Utah can’t afford an informational sign.
Two-and-a-half hours later I catch up with the heathens in camp. I’d tell you what boys at Lake Powell do for fun but then our wives would know and some things should be mysterious. We spent the next couple of days fishing and farting and being redneck heathens right down to corn bombing the desert. Don’t ask.
But all good things must come to an end and Saturday we all loaded our respective modes of transportation and headed for Snowmass. No long way around for me as I had to work Sunday. We stopped in Green River for lunch at the world famous rafter bar, Ray’s Tavern – highly recommended I might add. Then came the rain. It poured and poured and then it moved off to the east right where I wanted to go. I opted to stay in Green River. I know I’m a wuss, but the thought of hundreds of miles of rain didn’t sound like a lot of fun.
I struck out the next day and raced across the desert at top speed. But it was a tad chilly and I pulled over just inside the Colorado line to warm up for a second. While I was walking around the bike I noticed that the worn tire was now showing cords. I probably don’t have to tell you what running down the road on a motorcycle that has steel belts showing through could do to you.
I got back out on the highway doing a top speed of 45 mph for the next 30 miles all the while trying not to get run over by the cars bearing down on me at 80 mph. I managed to make it to the Grand Junction BMW dealer, but it was Sunday. Another motel, another night on the road.
Monday morning I went to the BMW dealer to get a tire mounted. It didn’t have it. This column comes to you from the Grand Junction Super 8 Motel. I may never get back to Snowmass.
I should’ve stayed home.
E-mail: snomasokist(AT)msn.com
I dragged the BMW out of winter storage two weeks ago. Besides a little dust and a worn down rear tire it looked no worse for wear and fired right up. I figured the tire had at least one ride left on it as long as it wasn’t too far.
I had been invited down to Lake Powell to hang out with some of my redneck heathen friends and thought this was an excellent first ride of the year. I chose the long way round over McClure, up to Gateway, down to Dove Creek and across Lake Powell at Hall’s Crossing.
If you have never visited Gateway, Colo., you might be pleasantly surprised to find this remote corner of the state being developed into a luxury resort. Discovery Channel founder John S. Hendricks “discovered” Gateway and decided that what this place needed was a resort…and a classic car museum. At least you don’t have to battle crowds as you tour the museum. He has on display an Oldsmobile concept car that he bought for $3.2 million, which proves Hendricks has more money than sense.
The ride from Gateway south is as spectacular as any road in America. The Dolores River leads the road through a vast canyon reminiscent of Moab, which is just to the west. The road finally empties out near Dove Creek, Colo., and I turned west toward Lake Powell.
West of Blanding, Utah, is a fork in the road. The sign says that Hall’s Ferry is almost 50 miles away and it runs at even hours from Hall’s Crossing and odd hours from Bullfrog Marina. I opened the throttle and entered the reddest landscape on the planet. Not much was open at Hall’s Crossing but I scored a soda and began waiting for the 4 p.m. ferry, thankful that my day of riding was finished. Within a few minutes a guy shows up and asks me if I’m waiting on the ferry. “There won’t be a 4 p.m. ferry for 15 more days,” he said.
“I need to get to Stanton Creek to meet the redneck heathens,” I said.
“That’s Stanton Creek right there,” he said, gesturing to an arm of the lake not even a mile away. “But it’s 150 miles to go around.” Damn, I should’ve stayed in bed. I suppose the state of Utah can’t afford an informational sign.
Two-and-a-half hours later I catch up with the heathens in camp. I’d tell you what boys at Lake Powell do for fun but then our wives would know and some things should be mysterious. We spent the next couple of days fishing and farting and being redneck heathens right down to corn bombing the desert. Don’t ask.
But all good things must come to an end and Saturday we all loaded our respective modes of transportation and headed for Snowmass. No long way around for me as I had to work Sunday. We stopped in Green River for lunch at the world famous rafter bar, Ray’s Tavern – highly recommended I might add. Then came the rain. It poured and poured and then it moved off to the east right where I wanted to go. I opted to stay in Green River. I know I’m a wuss, but the thought of hundreds of miles of rain didn’t sound like a lot of fun.
I struck out the next day and raced across the desert at top speed. But it was a tad chilly and I pulled over just inside the Colorado line to warm up for a second. While I was walking around the bike I noticed that the worn tire was now showing cords. I probably don’t have to tell you what running down the road on a motorcycle that has steel belts showing through could do to you.
I got back out on the highway doing a top speed of 45 mph for the next 30 miles all the while trying not to get run over by the cars bearing down on me at 80 mph. I managed to make it to the Grand Junction BMW dealer, but it was Sunday. Another motel, another night on the road.
Monday morning I went to the BMW dealer to get a tire mounted. It didn’t have it. This column comes to you from the Grand Junction Super 8 Motel. I may never get back to Snowmass.
I should’ve stayed home.
E-mail: snomasokist(AT)msn.com
