Eat your heart out, Jason Grennell ; ^ )
Not wanting to put undue stress on the bronze clamps by having overly long risers, I'd opted to keep things short....which unfortunately blocked the speedo and tach. The speedo was no problem....I rarely look at the silly thing, anyway. I could just use the GPS's speed reading if I really cared. The tach was something of a pain, however, but there wasn't much we could do about that.
I ran an electrical pigtail from the battery to a female cigarette lighter plug and used a 4-into-1 lighter adapter to connect the V1 and GPS. BTW, when the HELL are we gonna get away from using cigarette lighter plugs to power our consumer electronic devices??? Cars don't even HAVE lighters, anymore, and using a connector that's three inches long and one wide to power a low-voltage, low-amperage device is just stupid! But I digress...
I put the electrical stuff into the magnetic tank bag. Smiling, I realized we'd exceeded my wildest hopes with regard to my "talking Dewayne into letting me add an electrical harness..." We now had mounts better than anything we could buy in a store. Dewayne told me he had a line on a clamp-on style windshield as well, but looking at all the crap mounted to the bars already, I was highly dubious we'd ever get that thing in there.
During our afro-engineering garage session Dewayne's lovely wife Khylene arrived home from her job as a fifth grade teacher. After introducing herself, she took one look at the mechanical abortion we were perpetrating in her garage and headed straight into the house.
The evening's dinner consisted of a GREAT Mexican place with killer margueritas. I love being in an area with decent Mexican for a change. I know everyone says Albuquerque's the place for that, and I'm sure that's right, but Colorado Springs does all right by me. Dewayne and Khylene foiled my plan to show my gratitude for putting me up by buying them a nice meal, by sharing a dish and keeping the bill way too low to assuage my obligation. I was to learn that this is their normal modus operandi. When they go to restaurants Dewayne looks at the menu then says to Khylene, "What do we want to eat, dear?" Newlyweds are so cute.
On the way home we swung by a local friend of Dewayne's (amidst much eye-rolling on the part of Khylene) to show me "something special". His friend (Tom) had amassed quite a stable of machinery in his garage, including a totally restored 80's Nighthawk, a couple of V65 Sabres, and his pride and joy, a totally reconstructed VF1000R. I say "reconstructed" rather than "restored" because, well....there wasn't a helluva lot of VF1000R left to it. IIRC, it had a CBR front end, VFR single-sided swingarm, custom-modified and painted (red/white/blue paint scheme) fairing/headlight/instrument assembly, custom-made seat and pan, and enough expensive suspension goodies to have any motorcycle afficianado drooling. The entire bike looked showroom clean, and any sign of all the hacking and welding that had obviously gone into creating such a piece of work were totally absent. It was quite a sight. I wondered what it would be like to ride, but it was obviously Tom's pride and joy, so I wasn't about to ask for a test ride.
Tom was also the owner of the windshield Dewayne wanted to appropriate for my loaner Sabre, so we picked that up and headed for home. I was still pretty skeptical, having had bad experiences in the past with aftermarket clamp-on windshields, but Dewayne was feeling spunky. And of course, after a bit of metal origami, the thing fit like a glove. We were done...some welding, some grinding, some borrowing, and we'd turned a V45 Sabre into something resembling a touring mount after all. An UGLY touring mount, but a touring mount, nonetheless.
It was time to relax, a process made exceedingly easy by the fact that Dewayne has three refrigerators full of beer and various other alcoholic beverages in his garage, one of which has a tap built into the side. And a hot tub. (Dewayne, you said you wanted to meet more maggots....well, get ready, cuz they'll be coming now...)
Day 2: Screw Milk...got Oxygen??
From any point in Colorado Springs, Pikes Peak dominates the western horizon. So it only natural that I'd be drawn there for my first ride. I headed out in the morning with plans to find breakfast along the way, but immediately ran into a snag. I'd brought my Widder jacket and gloves, expecting it to be pretty cold up around 14,000 ft, but as soon as I got them out of the suitcase I realized my mistake. Or mistakes, as it turned out.
For convenience's sake, my jacket and gloves are wired into a single 3-conductor cable inside the jacket, so only a single connection has to be made to my ST. I use a military-style Cannon plug for the connector. Now, I made a small adapter cable which is the female for that plug adapted to a pair of ring terminals, for connection to a battery. That allows me to use my electrics with other people's bikes...it's not pretty but it works. Or worked, I should say. Last winter I rewired my Widder gloves from serial to parallel, because I just wasn't getting enough heat out of them for my tastes. Going from series to parallel generated four times the heat...more than enough to toast my mitts to a blackened cinder...so I had to install a Heat-troller on the fairing to modulate that heat. It sounds complicated but isn't, and it works spectacularly.....on my ST. However, it removed any ability to use those gloves on anyone else's motorcycle now. Besides, I'd forgotten the adapter pigtail anyway. So, I was just gonna have to suck it up.
Riding around the city, aiming generally westward, I kept an eye out for a likely breakfast location, but all I could find were chains. I HATE chain restaurants. You don't travel thousands of miles and eat in CHAIN restaurants (unless I'm on the highway, then Subway rules). You find something local that the residents all know about. But I wasn't having any luck today. I'd finally resolved to just grab a Denny's I'd seen and, turning a couple rights into a U-turn around a block, I came across a small restaurant with several motorcycles parked out front. There were several beat-up Harleys, a WAY cool custom-painted ZZR-14, a couple Gixxers, and a totally thrashed completely hand-fabricated chopper. Jackpot!
As I entered (wearing my Aerostich) I garnered more strange looks than usual. I readily identified the owners of the rides amidst the civilians...most had leather jackets hanging on the backs of their chairs, black t-shirts, helmets on the tables. I grabbed a table near some Harley-ish looking guys and ordered up a conventional ham'n'eggs'n'pancakes breakfast. While waiting for my food I struck up a conversation with my neighbors, specifically enquiring whether there was a road to the top of Pike's Peak. I was told there was, but it was closed due to snow. Damn. I also asked about another local attraction, an area known as "Garden of the Gods", which was nearby. I planned to hit that today as well.
My food came and I got busy. Ironically, the name of my entre' was "The Harley"...when the waitress brought it she said, "You have the Harley?" "No," I replied. "I prefer to actually RIDE my motorcycle." She didn't get it. I didn't expect her to.
Happily chowing down, I was interrupted when my neighbors' food arrived. Not only did their food arrive, most of the waitresses and the owner came over as well....apparently the one guy had ordered huevos rancheros with their spiciest green chili, and everyone wanted to witness the flames shooting out of his ass. I mentioned that I, too, loved spicy food. A few minutes later a waitress brought me a small dish with a sample of the same chili. It was pretty zippy, all right. But I cook with Dave's Insanity sauce, so it takes a lot to light my fire. My neighbor was apparently somewhat less immune, judging from his reaction. Heh.
As I paid my bill, the owner (running the register) asked me all about where I was going, what I was riding, etc. He said they loved bikers there and always took care of them. He referred to motorcycles as "scooters". His enthusiasm was refreshing, and he obviously took equal pains to run a decent business. The food was great, service excellent (cute, talkative waitresses, too!), prices maggot-friendly. If you're in the Springs, definitely check this place out.
I found Garden of the Gods easily and took a spin through it. I snapped a few pics:
There's also a video of the place here.
Pretty cool. It reminded me a lot of Arches National Park, only much smaller, obviously. Still, it's quite a thing to have within your own city limits.
Finishing up there I resumed my westward ride towards the Peak. Chili Boy had given me directions to the summit road and I figured I'd go as high as I could get. The road to the base was a blast...4-lane divided, sweeping uphill curves marked for 35. The only downside was something I'd have to deal with all week in my travels....Colorado doesn't throw salt, they throw SAND. And sand doesn't melt away. It stays. And there was plenty of it. So, while I could get some decent speed up, it was never the satisfying hooligan speed necessary to really carve up a curve. It was still fun, though. ; ^ )
At some point I arrived at a gate with a booth. The guy wanted $10. I was tempted to tell him to stuff it...I'm not fond of handing people money to see something that's just SITTING there where nature left it for the past couple million years, but I figured scenery was half the reason I'd come on this trip and if I started balking now, I might see nothing at all. Trying to appease me he said, "You'd pay close to that to see a movie and this'll be MUCH better than that, trust me. Besides, the train costs $37." I asked him what kind of fewkin moron would pay to ride a train to the top of a mountain that has a ROAD going there. "People who don't want to die," he replied. Hmmm. On the bright side, he informed me the road was open and clear to the top. Cool!
You start your actual ascent right around 7000-ft. The road circles around the mountain a couple of times and sometimes stays on a single side using tight 10mph switchbacks. Again, the omnipresent sand prevented any true carving...but in this particular case there was one further deterent to hooliganism: no guardrails. Hmmm...sandy curves, no guardrails, and a whole lotta nuthin. Yep...I'll just be keeping a tight rein on my throttle hand, oh, you betcha.
Periodically I would come across a slow-moving SUV filled with people taking pictures. It was necessary to pass them. The looks on their faces were priceless. Apparently they were feeling like quite the adventurers, scaling the tallest mountain in the area in their Highlander. Until a guy on a 20 year old ratbike zipped by, I guess.
I started to notice a definite trend toward chilly as I continued the ascent. Around 10000-ft the trees ended and the landscape got pretty stark. There was plenty of snow on the sides of the road, but surprisingly, none whatsoever on the road. Then I saw a sign that said, "Pavement Ends".
Um...
What?
Yes, we're now riding a motorcycle around hairpin curves with no guardrails and the better part of a mile of empty air between us and the ground below...on gravel-strewn dirt.
I am Jack's violently clenched sphincter.
Well, fuckit...I'm not turning around. If I did I'd have to face all those SUV's I passed. No way. It's summit or bust, now.
I pulled over once, to change from my 3-season gloves to the Widders, which, while not powered, are still very nice winter gloves. Of course I made sure I had enough of a lead that none of the SUV's would catch me during this interlude. Unfortunately, as soon as I pulled over the engine died. WTF? I started it. It died. My first thought was, "Gee, it's a good thing I've got 7000-ft of hill behind me, so I can COAST a very long way!" And then I remembered...no oxygen. No combustion. No idling for the foreseeable future then, apparently. Keeping the revs up, I pulled out and continued up.
The landscape became bleaker and bleaker. Eventually I crossed into the cloud zone and things got REALLY cold at that point. The dampness accentuated it massively. The last thousand feet seemed to take longer than the rest of the ascent. I kept worrying that the engine would just quit and refuse to start again. I was now surrounded by terrain resembling a foggy moonscape. And still the switchbacks continued.
Eventually I hit the final switchback and saw the visitors center and parking lot. As I pulled in the clutch to stop, the engine died without even a sputter. I peeled myself off the bike in much the same way the guys from "Dumb and Dumber" looked upon their arrival in Aspen. It was COLD. High teens would be my estimate. My Aerostich was stiff, and that's about when that happens. And, as always seems to be the case when it's frigid, I had to take a leak. Praying that the visitors center was open, or at least a restroom was open, I headed across the parking lot. The lack of oxygen was immediately noticeable....the 60-ft walk to the door felt like I was swimming through molasses with cement shoes. Concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other with little/no excitement, I found the (thankfully open) men's room. While the idea of peeing off a 14000-ft cliff had its attraction, I was pretty sure the loss of even that much liquid ballast at that moment would've been enough to topple me over. And wouldn't THAT have been a front page submission to the Darwin Awards...
I browsed around the gift shop for a bit, looking for a souvenier and gift for the GF. There was a hoodie that said, "Screw milk. Got oxygen?" for fifty bucks. No thanks. I saw a bumper sticker that said, "Real men don't NEED guardrails." I finally settled on a Christmas ornament that was an aspen leaf that had been dipped in acid to remove the flesh and then dipped in brass. I like to buy ornaments when I travel...then when I put my tree up each year I can remember all the great places I've gone!
The leaf was VERY fragile...several of the other ones on display were already broken. I asked if I could get a box and of course the answer was no. She wrapped it in tissue paper, but that would do shit for me, using a tankbag. As I walked toward the door I noticed an area where a workman was obviously doing some repair work, and I swiped a box of nails that was almost empty and used that.
Walking back to the bike I realized I'd have to have a picture of the summit sign. There was a large family of Mexicans there when I arrived and I shivered until they aggragated their fecal matter enough to take a few pics. Then of course they wanted me to take one of them, too, which I did. They all thought it was funny that I said, "Okay, say......TOSTADO!" They then returned the favor:
The trip down was, surprisingly, a lot faster than the ascent. I generally hate downhill twisties and I thought downhill twisties on gravel would REALLY be a nightmare, but for some reason it seemed to go swimmingly. In retrospect I think it was the continuously increasing O2 level that created a feeling of euphoria. As I crossed back below the treeline there were a couple of ranger dudes standing in the center of the road. One turned out to be the guy who'd charged me $10 on the way in, and he was using an infrared thermometer to measure the brake rotors of the cars as they came abreast of him. Interesting concept. I pulled up to him and he did mine....51F. He looked at me strangely, but waved me on. I weren't using no front brakes on downhill unguardrailed gravel twisties, Buford.
I took a roundabout route back to Dewayne's place, trying to get a feel for the layout of the city, as I'm hoping to end up there someday. The traffic was pretty light, compared to Pgh, although there were some pretty nasty intersections, many of which were under construction. Dewayne had told me they were improving them due to the increasing traffic. Which was a pretty alien concept to me....in Pgh things are fucked and that's just the way they are. Nobody ever talks about fixing them.
It was decided that we'd head downtown for dinner (again...downtown...on Friday night...no traffic....we found a parking space immediately....sheesh) and hit a yummy Italian place right in the middle of the entertainment district. Afterwards Khylene insisted we grab some of her favorite ice cream, at a place called Josh and John's. Admittedly, it was damn good ice cream. (Dewayne noticed later that the clerk had mischarged him...instead of $11.30 for all of us, it was $1.30....making it REALLY good ice cream!) We waddled back to the house enjoying the feeling that only being stuffed with good food brings.
Day 3: For Wherever Two or More Maggots shall Gather, Wrenching shall Occur
My original plan to head down to Albuquerque over the weekend did not come to fruition, and as Saturday dawned cold and rainy, I decided I could discharge some of my obligation to Dewayne by lending a hand on some wrenching. Khylene had been ramping up for a weekend of interior house painting which, fortunately for us, she didn't require or desire our help with. Well, that's not true...she kept asking our opinions about color choices. I kept making the mistake of giving her an honest answer. Dewayne kept saying, "Yes, dear." One of us is smarter than the other. So, after coming back from another monster breakfast, we locked ourselves in the garage. The goal? Dewayne has three V45 Sabres (don't ask, I don't know why either). One runs...it was the one I'd appropriated. One had a shit chassis. One had a shit engine. The plan was to combine the latter two into a working Sabre.
Dewayne provided a spare set of coveralls, leftover from his Navy days. His were the only ones with rank insignia however. I guess he thought I'd have to listen to him, then. ; ^ )
It'd been a long time since I tore apart a Sabmag and admittedly I was a bit rusty, but it all came back soon enough. I've never been fond of multi-person wrenching...it's always somewhat difficult to remember who took what off and where did they put it? And where does it go? But surprisingly, we worked well together. Other than my continuous attempt to put the clutch slave cylinder banjo bolt into one of the frame holes, everything went swimmingly. We got the non-working engine out with no fuss. Getting the working engine back in was somewhat more of a challenge...we struggled for a while to get the shaft back on the drive gear, finally mounting the rear wheel again so we could spin the differential and line things up. Dewayne did try to cut a couple of my fingers off using a rear cylinder exhaust port, but other than that, no problems. The carbs even went on fairly easily, probably the easiest carb reinstall I've ever done. Not sure why, since this Sabre was certainly no stranger to neglect.
Everything back together, more or less, Dewayne hit the starter and the bike churned to life. I think he was actually surprised. My thoughts were of a different theme...I was thinking how disappointing it was to put six hours into putting something together and all we ended up with was a V45 Sabre. ; ^ p
We cleaned up for dinner (did I mention that this man has a SINK in his garage?). The evening was spent shooting pool at a nearby hall. I won more than I lost, but I think Dewayne may have been distracted by the trailer trash chickies at the next table, who were showing cleavage every place a woman possibly could.
Day 4: There's No Replacement for Displacement (unless you're at altitude)
The rain having cleared out, today was to be spent actually riding. Khylene was still deep in the throes of paintmania, which left Dewayne and I free to entertain ourselves again. It was decided that Tom should be talked out of one of his V65 Sabres for the day, so that Dewayne could sample the Dark Side. We swung by his place and nabbed the bike, then headed around Pike's Peak for a place called Woodland Grove, where there was supposed to be a yummy breakfast place. This being the first time I'd ever ridden with Dewayne, I wanted to take it easy, but the aforementioned road that circles around the base of the Peak was just too much fun. I kept a close watch in my mirrors and Dewayne seemed to have no problems keeping up, so we settled in for our destination, a place called the Hungry Bear.
Besides the décor, which was distinctly bear-themed, the real reason for the name apparently derives from the size of the portions. I enjoyed a breakfast burrito only slightly smaller than a Sabre gas tank. Our spunky waitress educated me in the ways of Dr. Pepper wannabees...apparently it's Mr. Pibs east of the Mississippi, but out in bear country it's Mr. Wells. Or something.
Breakfast finished, we geared up and headed upcountry. We'd plotted out a couple hundred mile loop which circled around southwest of the Springs. With me in the lead we soon found ourselves behind some cars, which I patiently sat behind. For a time. Finally I drifted back toward Dewayne and asked if it would bother him if I did some passing. No? Good.
Well, Dewayne might've been okay with it, but the Sabre was having none of that shit. Coming up behind a car doing, say 70, I'd downshift, pull out and nail it. And go nowhere. I'd downshift again. Nail it. Nowhere. This was getting ridiculous.
Now, as you all know I'd already determined that this Sabre was running poorly. We'd taken the other running one out that afternoon and thrashed it a bit up and down the street, and it behaved pretty much normally....run the RPM's up to 7-8K and feel the bike get up and go. That's the way a V45 is supposed to work. And this one doesn't do that. Run it up to 8K, nail it, and this Sabre turns around and says, "Um.....what?" We'd thrown some Techroline in that morning, but nothing had happened as of yet, obviously.
We continued in this way for a while...doubleyellow passing is NO fun at all when you can't go more than 5mph faster than the cars you're passing, lemme tell you. Finally, at one point I'd had enough. We'd passed a whole line of cars, picking them off one at at time, which had taken probably 3 miles (Keerist), and I noticed a car had been following us leisurely for something like fifteen minutes. That's just wrong. Cars don't follow motorcycles. We pass them, they're gone. Dots in the mirrors. THAT'S what's supposed to happen. I pulled over and asked for some V65 time.
Now, I'd been expecting Dewayne to be jumping up and down, hopping from foot to foot, hooting delightfully....you know...the USUAL response to your first ride on a V65. Nope. He looks at me like he's been tooling around on his father's CB360 from the seventies. "Gimme that thing, " I mutter under my breath as I mount up.
He's right. It's not doing shit. Oh, I mean, it's doing more shit than the little Sabre. But there's nothing like the usual arm-ripping-out-of-the-sockets-pull of a normal V65. And then I realize...it's the damn ALTITUDE again. We're above 10000-ft at this stage, and the horsepower's just....gone.
Sometime later we stop at a rest stop, and pull up next to a guy who was obviously having mechanical issues with his cruiser. At first I thought it was a Harley, but when we questioned him we noticed he was scraping his spark plugs clean. He'd fouled them, with the altitude. It was a Jap cruiser...no FI. The shame. It was a tough day for Jap motorcycles. I grabbed some time on the toilet....I figured with everything else working against us, losing that giant burrito was probably the only way I was gonna gain any horsepower back at that stage.
Moving on...at one point we crest a summit and start down into a valley. Dying for some feeling of acceleration, I roll the V65 on full tilt, passing Dewayne doing maybe 90 to his 75. Pathetic. I hold the throttle pinned and watch the speedo....eventually it creeps up to about 125, assisted by the downhill grade. Knowing what he's riding, I roll way off and let him catch back up. *Sigh*
Eventually we stop for gas. "Jesus, you're right," Dewayne says. "You try to pass a car and there's just....nothing." He's grinning. I'm not. I don't ride motorcycles so I can go the same speed as cars, fer ged's sake. I ask him which bike he'd like to ride now...he says he doesn't care. Dewayne's too nice. I'm not...but this one time I pretend to be, and give him back the V65.
We eventually came down to a more reasonable altitude, but with me back on the little-Sabre-who-couldn't, there wasn't much excitement in the passing cars department. Fortunately, the road started offering some decent sweepers about then and I got to be the one smiling; Dewayne's big Sabre was sporting some godawful Disqualifiers, making it downright unsettling in curves. The baby Sabre's Avons were much more planted while leaned over.
The ride progressed until we ended up stopping for drinks at a small town gas station. Being in a more populated area, the bikes were pretty thick, mostly Harleys. Just after I commented on the lack of sportbikes, five R6's pulled up and parked fairly close to us. Driven by a bunch of young kids, they looked us up and down while we stood next to our Sabres, obviously trying to classify a couple guys wearing full Cordura suits (thus probably serious riders) standing next to a couple of antique battered UGLY motorcycles (thus....unemployed?). They opted to simply ignore us after the initial scrutiny, until just ready to leave, when one came over and asked us for some directions, which merged into a discussion of the road conditions and cop presence back the way we'd come. We must've earned some grudging respect as one of the guys came up and offered us his card. He ran a speed shop back in the Springs. Dude.
The rest of the ride home was uneventful and uninspiring, as we'd run out of both scenery and good curves by then. The evening was spent eating dinner at a sports bar that offered decent food. We met up with a few of Dewayne's friends. I narrowly escaped being dragged into a fabric store with Khylene, who wanted company (read: opinions) while she looked for something to match her new paint schemes. Dewayne and the boys had gone a long way toward putting a sizeable dent in the restaurant's beer supplies by then, so it was apparently up to me. After the paint color debacle, wild horses couldn't have dragged me in there. It was touch and go...I didn't think she was going to let me out of it until I informed her, in no uncertain terms, that I'd rather slide down a razor blade into a vat of boiling vinegar than accompany her to a fabric store. Apparently she saw through my subtlety because she let me slide.
Day 5: Scenery, Sunshine and Twisties, Oh My!
It being Monday, Dewayne had to work. Khylene, on Easter break from teaching, was still waving a loaded paintbrush around, so that left me free to do some more tourist shit. Both of them had mentioned an area south of the city...a national park called San Isabel. Apparently it was a "must see" kinda place, so I got up and headed out at the crack of ten. I opted for the freeway to get there...it was about an hour ride and it being my birthday, I knew Khylene wanted to do something special for dinner, so I wanted to get back on time. The baby Sabre was fairly comfortable on the freeway, at speeds up to 80. There was a strange oscillation at times...no idea WTF was causing it, but hitting bumps (there's a lot of bumps on Colorado's roads) seemed to induce it. After about an hour, I arrived at the proper exit and headed west. Upon leaving the Colorado Springs area, I'd left the mountain range containing Pike's Peak behind, and the terrain had been fairly desolate on the way down....but for about the last 20 minutes I could see another range in the western distance, and unsurprisingly, that's where the exit aimed me.
The 2-lane road immediately started winding through some beautiful country, gaining in elevation as it approached this new mountain range. The temperature began to drop, but not unbearably so, and soon I was actually in the mountains. The scenery was......spectacular. D & K were certainly right. That area contained some of the most beautiful scenery I've ever seen. Pine forests, gorgeous lakes, craggy snowcapped mountains. Amazing. Oh...and deer. Lots of deer. At one point I came around a curve and six of them were in my lane, staring at me. They didn't move, either, until I put the bike in neutral and grabbed my camera. Apparently they were unfazed by the possibility of being spit on the front of a motorcycle, and I snapped a pic of them after they wandered off the road and jumped a fence, three in one direction, three in the other. As you can see, they seemed pretty sanguine about their near death experience.
A bit later I pulled over at a frozen lake and doffed my riding gear for hiking gear. I spent about an hour hiking through the woods (huffing and puffing a fair amount on the climbing parts...the GPS said I was at 10000 feet again). Here's a few pics of that particular area:
Figuring I'd seen the best the area had to offer, I finished my hike and got back on the bike. My route was a loop which continued through the rest of the area and ended up headed back toward the freeway, via Pueblo. My supposition that the best was over was dead wrong...the road became sweepy, then TWISTY! And to top it off, the scenery became even MORE gorgeous! I was in quite a quandry....I wanted to carve...but I wanted to take pics. I did both, which was kinda weird. I'd come around a corner and see an amazing vista in front of me....with another great corner. I'd have to turn around and go back a bit, snap the pic, then run the corner. Repeat as necessary. Again, tons of sand everywhere, but I kept the corner speeds down to 10-15 over the signs and was fine. Here's the pics:
Cuteness, poorly photographed
Not so cute, but eminently functional
City life made easier by amazing views
Blue sky? Sunshine? Whee!
Pedro crossing?
Above the clouds. Without an airplane
Peeing ill-advised here
Looking a lot warmer than I really am
Not impressed
Begin stupidly gorgeous scenery
Monotonous, isn't it?
What could be better than this?
How about THIS?
Views like this make it hard to concentrate