What with all this free time I find myself with, it's time for a ride to see old friends.

The outline is to "slab" (Verb: American slang for
mainly boring interstate highway travel) my way to New Mexico, hang out in and around Albuquerque, where I once lived, then gradually make my way back to the Pacific Northwest before the end of June. I've been to the Grand Canyon multiple times, so that's out, but there are many more interesting places in the desert and mountains. Let's see what we can find.

I'm slacking on fixing up the '96 K1100RS, I sold the S1000XR (busy, buzzy, chain drive), the R100 is quaint, how did I (we) ever ride those things cross country(?), the K1200R is good for an overnight or long weekender, so the K1300GT is the last, obvious choice. It's rangy, long legged, has cruise control (que monotonous interstate highway memories), and a large fuel tank, plus it goes round bends nicely. I just 're-bearinged' the final drive, and removed, flushed and pressure bled the cooling system, as well as replacing the cooling fan. The result is the engine running consistently at the one third mark of the temperature gauge rather than smack in the middle with the fan cycling on and off every five minutes. At 84,000+ miles both were due.

First day out, I left at 6AM to avoid traffic and promptly spent 45 minutes clutch in, clutch out, trolling through traffic to get past Tacoma. Once clear of the prang I throttled up highway 18 over Tiger Mountain (down to one lane either direction) then onto I-90 east for the run up and over Snoqualmie Pass.

Here is the view back towards Umatilla, Oregon from Emigrant Pass. Not far from here, ladies once wore bonnets and couldn't wait to see the green Willamette Valley after riding on the comfort of a wooden bench seat in that era's Conestoga, all the way from Missouri. You can still see their ruts in the landscape in places.

When I left it was cloudy and 15°. By mid arvo it'd climbed to 30° (about 86f). I stopped to doff some layers. Then came the afternoon mountain rain. The sky was black, the winds came in sideways, bringing rain that found its way in through seams. Standing water covered the highway surface. Cars drove without headlights (a clear lack of imagination). Trucks sprayed lashes of water over me as I passed (a clear lack of proper mudguards).
I loved it. Riding in dangerous situations may make one clamp the seat with clenched bum cheeks, but it sure keeps you alert and aware for miles.
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Over the Snake River separating Oregon from Idaho, is a lovely green rest stop. Petrol is considerably less expensive, too! I sat on green grass listening to the sweet chirping of songbirds drown out the steady hum of passing traffic. I could have about taken a nap. I know a cheap little motel in Mountain Home with a Mexican restaurant a short walk away. I know where I'm stopping tonight. Thunderstorms and 30mph gusts are forecast for tonight but you wouldn't know it from this now sunny and hot (87°f) afternoon.

Tomorrow, somewhere in Utah.

write a blog , bit like" typewriter and prairie " good book about a interesting ride , Prairie Dust, Motorcycles and a Typewriter (britcycle.com)

Glad to see you are enjoying your retirement! I may be able to retire one day also! I am actually looking at a couple of touring bikes right now. You may inspire me to take the leap myself. Be safe out there.

Bill

It rained, as forecast, last night. The room was quiet, the town of Mountain Home 'rolls up its sidewalks' after dark. Dinner at Los Piños was tasty, and filling. I needed two Negra Modelo to wash away the heat of the red and the green salsa which came with my chips.

Loading the bike in the damp, cool darkness, I got away at 5:25AM, half an hour before the golden orb scrambled its way up from behind layered grey clouds. I-84 in Idaho enjoys an 80mph speed limit, which means cars are going 85 to 90. I followed. My range suffered, dipping to 38mpg at worst, 44mpg at best, on a 4 quart US gallon/3.785 litres.

I took a coupla quick side trips off the highway. There are very few trees to relieve one's self behind. Coming down from Idaho into Utah's lovely green valleys, fresh with rain, was Snowville. I stopped for my first fill up. Time for a hot cuppa and brekky. Mollie's Café fit the bill. A vegie omelette, toast, potatoes, and never-ending coffee was the only choice a non-bacon eater could order, and what a choice. It was as though the busy short order cook didn't get to make one o' them very often, such did it overflow the already oversize plate, and it was loaded with green matter. Satisfying.
I reckon the large plates are made for the inevitable sausage, bacon & ham to go with the eggs or biscuits and gravy. I didn't bother ordering my usual black cuppa tea, mainly for the sideways and bemused looks I might have got from the dusty cowboys belly up at the bar on high stools.

Somewhere, it's gunna rain today, and I see lingering snow in the mountains. I'm leaving some layers on. The desert, even in early approaching summer, can be fickle.

After 350 easy miles this morning I am through Salt Lake City's hellroads. Fuel and tea for fortification. Time to roll up highway 6 into Price then Moab from Spanish Fork. The roads are mainly two-laners from here to sunny Albuquerque. Like Bugs did long ago, I hope to take a few wrong turns there. 

The weather played all manner of tricks on travellers today. In the end, I managed 583 miles, enduring lashing rain over the hwy 6 pass to Price UT, bursts of lightning, an hellacious dust storm just north of I-70 near Greenwater, Utah's watermelon capitol. For a little minute I could not see the markings on the road, nor identify oncoming traffic, all at 70 mph. I slowed but had to be cautious about some hotshoe trucker barreling down on me from behind. Moab saw bright sun then wind from the west that had me countersteering for 50 miles. There was one section of roadworks, that of gravel spread over fresh tar, a common 'fix' in these here parts, which had us stopped for 35 minutes. I'm stopped in Monticello, Utah for the night, and Gustavo's Mexican joint is right next door.

Pleased that I saw 46 mpg today. I love this region, there's always something different round the bend.

Tomorrow is an easy, downhill run of 298 miles to the greater Albuquerque area, the village of Corrales, across the Rio Grande. The weather gods are s'posed to be more benign and forgiving tomorrow, too. Let's see how fickle they will be.
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TWB,
Wish I could get my crew to see the value of getting the kick stands up early. We were on the other side of the state leaving the north rim and headed up to Bryce Canyon. Had the same crazy weather at one point I thought it may turn to snow being up at 10,000 ft. No camp for us tonight, to cold and wet. Got a room at the inn but couldn’t eat at the saloon no one under 21 aloud in. Nice little dinner just a block away and I have a small jug with me all is good. We also ran into the road crews (one lane ahead), three today, one 3 miles long had no crew working just cones and pilots.

Good to see you still got it.

Agreed that getting an early start, if covering ground is your intention, is a good way to go. I like to plan a "100 mile breakfast", that distance beneath my wheels before I stop first time. Gone are my 900+ mile days. I am good for between 500 & 600 these days. I make more time to have a good look around. 

I'm laying low in central New Mexico with friends, eating red & green chiles in any form they're prepared, catching up on goss, looking at maps for the return ride through the mountains to the north and west. 

There've been hot winds blowing over the Rio Grande valley the past few days. It's been 30/86, with 36 forecast by week's end. It's a dry heat, and the cottonwoods provide ample shade under which to sit and sip a cold beverage.
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After 13 full days, not all of which I rode, and a total of 3,494.3 miles, the K1300 brought me safely back to the - much cooler - Pacific Northwest. The trusty steed and I covered portions of the states of Washington, Oregon, Idaho, Utah, Colorado, New Mexico, Wyoming, and Montana, with no flat tyres, and received no velocity awards, tho' I certainly tried. I didn't have to add any engine oil, the bike hummed along nicely, and I rode over as many mountain passes as I could find on the map. I did ride on I-70 in Utah for 26.5 miles, from Green River UT to the Moab exit, and again briefly for 25 miles between exits on I-80 in Wyoming, against my general state highway only plan. Otherwise, backroads and local highways were travelled all the way. The following are a few photos I took, in a general sequence of direction and date.

Rio Rancho/Corrales, NM

A view of the 3,255 metre/10,678' Sandias, behind Albuquerque, from Corrales.

The Sandias near sunset.

The tall cottonwoods provide much-needed shade in the dry heat of the 1619m/4,900' altitude of the deserty region along the Rio Grande valley near Albuquerque. This was my comfortable lodgings for several days, mid-ride. My long-time mate Tommo restores and maintains cars and classic motorbikes for a living, here. Amongst his most interesting collection are two Vincents, a coupla of Ducatis, three Beemers (Airhead, Oilhead & Hexhead), a classic Vespa, a '66 XKE Jag, several Isetta bubble cars, a Messserscmitt KR200, a handful of BM Sprinter vans, as well as several Mercedes cars, & many other etc. It is a vehicle lover's heaven. He used to be a tool engineer at Intel but decided to go in for himself doing what he prefers. We met 41 years ago when I worked at a BMW/VW dealership back east. He would wander in to order a clip or doodad from under the dash of a VW Type 4, or something else, at age 17. He's still fixing things to this day. Some people are naturals. It warmed up to hit 37c/98f one day, and was growing hotter by the day I departed, early, so as to beat the heat.

Approaching Jemez Springs, NM (pronounced like hem-ezz).

Los Ojos (the eyes) was a favourite watering hole when I lived near here in the late '90s.

Valles Caldera sits at 3,429m/11,253' and is the 22 mile-wide bowl of a collapsed volcano. Just round the bend is the government community of White Rock/Los Alamos, up on a remote, high altitude plateau, where, during WWII, the atom bomb was developed in relative secrecy. They blew the first one off down south in White Sands missile range. The site opens every year on the 1st of April and again on the 1st of October. I have visited the eerie site a coupla three times over the years. I don't yet set off Geiger counters or alarms at airports.
The "high road" to Taos, NM via Chimayo and Truchas, near the Sangre de Cristo (Blood of Christ) mountains.



I've always liked the adobe/fauxdobe style of the desert SW. Here's the home of another long-time friend, in fact the longest known mate of mine in 'Merica whom I met in 1976 while finishing up high school. The view above Taos is extraordinary. I could actually see the night sky!


I camped at 3,201m/10,501' feet along the Tres Piedras to Chama (NM) road.
Coyotes yipped in a wild and growing wilder chorus just before dawn, their brethren joining in as the tune grew longer and more rythmic. I came fast round one descending radius curve to discover what I thought at first glance was a moose, but it was only an elk the size of a horse! On the brake, hard, as he hesitated then dashed off into the scrub growth at the roadside. Deer aplenty, too. One must never ride at night (a lesson I long know from avoiding the 'roos in OZ). Dawn and dusk are particularly optimal times to stay eyes wide open whilst riding.


After Pagosa Springs, CO, I entered Durango, fuelled up and fed, to ride north again over the Million Dollar Highway. Little Molas Lake sits at 3,323m/10,900' and is only one of the high points between Durango, Silverton and Ouray, on magical Highway 550. There was suprisingly little traffic to impede my rapid forward progress. The bike got mellower in its ability to accelerate at those altitudes, such is the lack of oxygen. And for me, a quick scramble up a rocky outcropping at 10,000 feet to gain a better view or to get a better angle for a photo, showed my lack of altitude fitness, such was my shortness of breath. I used to be so much better at it .

Heavy winter snows often close the only paved road in and out of Silverton, Colorado. Here it sits, nestled in a picturesque valley, still high up at 3,218m/9,318' of altitude.

Saying goodbye to the central Colorado Rockies from Ouray.

Rangely, Colorado to (infernal) Vernal, Utah, just after dawn.


Heading up into the Flaming Gorge region of UT & WY.

The green of the desert can be quite striking.

Great bends in the road are not hard to find...

...especially when they lead to views like this, of Flaming Gorge.


From Kemmerer, Wyoming, north to Blackfoot, Idaho, and on into the Craters of the Moon national monument, the weather changed rapidly. I found myself in temps that dropped from 20c to 6c (68f to 42f) in about 20 miles. Black clouds lowered themselves onto the surrounding low hills, excitingly close lightning strikes seemed to last seconds, not milliseconds, lashing rain driven by wind bursts threw the bike around beneath me. I was countersteering for many miles along straight, flat highways. Entering Arco, Idaho, the first town in 'Merica powered by nuclear energy (albeit, only briefly), this welcome little motel beckoned, and was within my budget after camping in them thar hills a ways back. I'm glad I sought shelter as the wind-driven rains stayed round all night, and I was only heading up in altitude if I'd decided to seek a campsite again. A freshly made local pizza and several healthy sucks of the sauce bottle (Old No. 7) lulled me to sleep as the rain dashed against my motel room windows.


Getting away early is always a good plan, that way I can have covered 100 miles before brekky. Just be mindful of surveying the road ahead for furry, jumpy things that seemed to not have evolved to avoid traffic, even after a century or more. I had a coupla near misses.


Near Challis, Idaho, heading towards Salmon, Idaho, then onto Hamilton, Montana, one of the best roads I've ridden in North America. I had it mainly to myself for hours on end. Despite the relative warmth of 6c/42f at dawn in Arco, by the time I'd gone midway to Salmon, my left heated grip stopped functioning, and the thermometre dropped ominously to 0c/32f as displayed by the flashing LCD snowflake warning on my dashboard. Press on regardless.



If you're a fly fisherman, this is where you wanna be.

Dawn in Eastern Washington from near Spoklahoma (Spokane). I'm barely an easy day's ride from where I live now, and the photos are becoming fewer and fewer.

A view of Dry Falls, just off highway 2 in central Washington state.
It was formed when a glacial lake dam burst and water cascaded across an area the equivalent of four northwestern US states. Boulders from Montana, often the size of busses, are lying exposed in the fertile Willamette Valley of Oregon. Says the sign, roughly:
"Dry Falls is the skeleton of the greatest waterfalls in geologic history. It's 3.5 miles wide, with a drop of more than 400 feet. By comparison, Niagara Falls, 1 mile wide, with a drop of only 165 feet, would be dwarfed by Dry Falls."

I'm back, unpacked, rested, fed, but deceased insects still cover the bike, to be washed away at the first opportunity. I attended my grandson's 4th birthday party with extended family on the Sunday last, the penultimate day of the ride, 100 miles from my home. I rocked up to the bouncy castle venue where eight screaming youngsters outcompeted one another for their parents distracted attention. To the young cousins, I was likely the cooolest, despite the heat, and the only adult to turn up bug gut encrusted and smiling. A good end to a great ride.

TWB,
I know it takes time to include us in your adventures. Thank you so much for giving us that time.

caveman wrote:TWB,
I know it takes time to include us in your adventures. Thank you so much for giving us that time.

Well, I'm glad others appreciate a little bit of my adventure, even tho' it's someone else's. I'm an armchair traveller as much as an actual traveller, and I enjoy reading other's stories, too.

I wondered what happened with your recent K bike trip with fambly. I didn't see any post beyond a coupla weeks back. Still on the road?

My next moto getaway is to Eastern Washington to where Pamela's father once ran a campground in the pines along Lake Roosevelt. The "lake" is actually a part of the Columbia River, held back by the Grand Coulee Dam. An Aussie riding mate of ours from Victoria is landing Sunday evening. We'll head out for a coupla days camping up in the national forest - to get away from the excessive noise of fireworks on the Fourth. The local tribes sells fireworks round the 4th, and again for New Year, even tho' in most local municipalities they're illegal. Rockets red glare, and all that, I s'pose. 

We'll head east for a few days more. She'll ride my '95 R100 Mystic. I reckon I'll ride the K1200R with Pamela tucked up on the back. Fishing and relaxing and splashing in the water under the pines in the high desert heat. I reckon a coupla three bottles of red plonk will have their corks torn out, too.

TWB,
Our trip took a very strange turn. Part of it involved social media and gave me pause. When I have a grip on it I will finish writing it up.

We are off the road so to speak but this trip is going to last for some time.

Ah, social media, the bane of our times. I gave up on Facecrack eleven or a dozen years ago, when I realised I didn't have 300 'friends' I felt the need to stay in touch with, but more like 30. There was a reason I didn't want to stay in touch with the popular jock or the bully in the playground at school. Still arseholes. Then I quit Instagreedy five or six years back when the ads became too much, and so did the too-frequent piccies of someone's perfect lunch. I call it social media distancing. Worked great during the pandemic, and still does. I highly recommend it.

I never do face or insta thingy and have only just got back into the mobile phone thingy. This was due to having had two company phones that had to be answered 24 hours a day. I'm finally about to give up the land line. I love your write up. How's retirement?
Regards Martin.

MartinW wrote:I never do face or insta thingy and have only just got back into the mobile phone thingy. This was due to having had two company phones that had to be answered 24 hours a day. I'm finally about to give up the land line. I love your write up. How's retirement?
Regards Martin.

I highly recommend retirement to every working stiff. But, you sorta answered your question by reading about my ride. That sums it up. Time will tell if I can maintain my joy longterm by staying occupied.

I quit going to Fakethingy about 10 years ago as well.  A few months ago I tried to log on to visit the sites of some jazz musicians I have worked with in the past.  Immediately Fakethingy was bothering me with a demand for a good face photo for my profile or something.  After about a month of ignoring their demands, I got an email that i was being banned because of "violating community standards".

Screw them.  They can work to get my info.

Dry Falls wouldn't be the outlet for Lake Bonneville, would it? I suppose I should look it up, but it's more fun asking  

That was a read well worth reading - thank you TWB. It doesn't take long to get readjusted to altitude; on the first day above 10,000 feet in India I had serious breathing problems when doing anything much more than drinking massala chai. Five days later and four thousand feet higher, I could sprint.

I must be one of a rapidly decreasing group that have never done any form of 'social' media, bar a handful of forums such as this one. 

a) I can't be arsed to spend valuable time doing (what I perceive to be) something that has no purpose and
b) given the industry I worked in and the things I saw behind the scenes, I cannot trust any of them further than I can spit the names out.

I have a mobile phone but it's bare of anything except Audible, Google Maps and the apps for the airlines I fly with. That's it.

Caveman: looking forward to the uptake again.

Ancient Lake Bonneville sat lower in what's now Utah/Idaho and emptied into the Snake River and then the Columbia River basin. It was the second largest water flow ever 'recorded' in history and occurred between 15,000 & 18,000 years ago. I wonder what the scientist who had his toes in the water used to measure it with? One toe, two toes, three toes, four.

I reckon Dry Falls happened more recently, about 13,000 years ago. I have ridden to the "passes" where both initially flowed through. Spectacular.

When I lived in New Mexico it was not uncommon to ride at 10,000' of altitude in Northern NM and Colorado. In those days I took spare Bing jets along and would stop at the roadside, pop the float bowls off the R100's carbies, open up the 35mm film canister stuffed with cotton-wool to a selection of mains and jet needles, and re-jet them to suit. I got pretty good at it, then along came fuel injection, took away some of the fun and adventure. I still have that film canister crammed full of jets.