I'm awakened by a very startling noise, before the sun comes up. It's some kind of very loud hissing, and eventually becomes a rhythmic oscillating hissing. I lay in my sleeping bag, with my tent windows closed, and I can tell you, this is a very claustrophobic feeling. There's something OUT THERE, something that makes a noise so weird I can't categorize it, and I can't see it. I won't find out what it is until I go out there, either. Not good. Well, while the noise continues, I don my Stich pants...if I'm about to get into something with someone or someTHING, I'm not doing it wearing tights, that's for sure.

I bail out of my tent in the semi-darkness and look around. Right now I'm thinking of those hundreds of anthills and remembering the movie "Them". Nothing. The noise is coming from the direction of that neighborhood. It's kinda....mechanical, really. Finally I figure it out: it's a sprinkler system. Well, sheep shit. My heart rate comes back down below the redline of an R6, and I grin foolishly to myself. Well, I guess I'm gonna see one of my father's silly sunrises today, since I ain't going back to sleep NOW.

It takes me about an hour to strike camp and load the bike, after which I head east for my long-anticipated assault of the Rockies. I'm scheduled to spend the night with a friend, so I'm looking forward to a night spent on a comfy bed, a shower, and hopefully food that doesn't come wrapped in Styrofoam.

The trip between Grand Junction and the highest passes of the Rockies is simply unbelievable. The scenery is mind-boggling, ranging from desert panoramas to alpine villages. The road curves and sweeps, following the Colorado River all the way up the ranges, and allows maximum opportunities for fun. As I pass by Vail and Aspen, I notice the surrounding traffic tends more towards Mercedes SUVs and Range Rovers. I continue and stop in a small town called Eagle, where I gas up and attempt to use my laptop in a small diner. Not happening, but I did get a shot of the gas pump, which shows the highest price for gas seen so far.

Since this is the last stopping point before the passes and I wasn't able to download any weather conditions, I dress for the worst, with thermals, electrics, and fleece. Thus girded (and plenty hot at that altitude, lemme tell you), I head up the mountains. The temp steadily drops and the topography changes. At one point I pass a truck with a set of ramps. Two guys are pushing a Harley up the ramp. Engine problems? No, wait...they're UNloading the Harley! Jesus Christ, I thought I'd seen it all, but this takes the cake! They're UNLOADING the Harley on the western slope of the Rockies just so this poser can ride over the Rockies on his hawg and then load it back up again on the other side!  Unbelievable. It's all I can do not to stop and deliver a serious smack.

I start seeing snow in the distance and then eventually on the sides of the road. But it's older dirty snow, crusted over. My adrenaline level grows as I hit the 10,000-ft mark, and the world opens up around me, but the weather stays mild as a kitten. Even at the very highest point (~11,000-ft) the temp never gets below 40F, I'd estimate. There's snow all around, but not on the road, and I easily achieve the summit and begin the long ride down to Denver. The scenery is unbelievable, and I stop for some camera shots, but the overall feeling is one of anticlimax, after all the worrying about the weather I've done.

Now, let me tell you, it's a long way down from the passes to Denver. You're going downhill for at least an hour, and it just keeps going down. Down down down. And when it levels off a bit and you think you're done, you crest a ridge and go down s'more. It honestly feels like you're riding down the inside of a funnel. If you had a skateboard... Anyway, at some point I pull over and shuck some layers, and while I'm there I boot the laptop and write down some directions to my overnight stop in Denver: Bryan William's place. At that moment I was struck by the incongruity of standing on the side of a mountain road next to a motorcycle with a laptop on my tankbag. I'm such a biker. At one point a trooper's Camaro goes by in the opposite direction, and I wait for him to come back around and give me a ticket, since there's signs everywhere here saying, "NO STOPPING EXCEPT FOR EMERGENCIES". Fuck 'im...."It WAS an emergency. I needed to get email, Occifer!"

At this point I find out how disgusting it is when you put your helmet back on after it's been off for a while and realize how ripe you are. Boy, do I need a shower.

Finally cresting the last ridge, the entire city of Denver is laid out in front of my eyes. It's literally right at the eastern edge of the Rockies, as in, about the moment you finally achieve level flight, you enter the city. On my way in, I pass a Testarossa with license plate: "Igt2bme". Cute. But I've got a silver ST, punk, so eat your heart out.

I take I-70 into the heart of things and run into massive traffic jams. Apparently Denver joins the unenviable cadre of cities which have traffic jams in non-rush hour moments. I'm stopped dead on the freeway, and wearing WAY too much clothing, so I toss my Stich jacket onto the seat behind me and take my gloves off. Don't need abrasion protection if you're not moving.

Inch by inch I manage to make it to the highway which will take me south, toward Bryan's place, only to run into another traffic jam on that highway. Eventually this opens up and allows me to achieve 2nd gear, and I follow this to another congested area, where I finally get off the highway onto a secondary road. Following my MapnGo directions, I turn onto a road which should take me to Bryan's neighborhood, and stop dead. There's a line of brake lights as far as the eye can see. I go with this snail crawl for a few minutes, then get a severe case of the ass and lane split to where I can see the problem. A car on my road t-boned a car coming from a cross street, and the cops are there. They won't allow people to go through the intersection (although there's plenty of room for it), they're making people turn right at the cross street, go down a bit and do a U-turn, then turn right when they get back to the original street. Nice. Dumbasses. The line for the U-turn extends back about a 1/4 mile, and the people are still allowing the light to stop them when they reach the intersection (even though the cops have stopped all traffic from entering the intersection). This could take half an hour. Or not. I'm too hot to put up with this silliness.

I lane split right up to the cop who's diverting traffic and ask for "directions" to where I'm going. He points in the direction I'm already going, but says I have to go around like everyone else. I thank him and drive through the intersection. Hey, I'm from out of town. You can chase me or direct traffic, your choice, doughnut boy. I didn't come within 30-ft of the accident vehicles, and all you're doing is causing more problems by diverting everyone.

After several false leads, I eventually find Bryan's neighborhood and house. I gratefully slide out of the seat and explode out of my Stich. The sweat is dripping and I sure am glad to be off that bike. I knock on the door, no answer. Check a window, I see a cat, but no people. Well, nobody promised me they'd be home during the day, so no problem. I walk around back, and sure enough, the man-door to the garage is unlocked. I peek into the garage and see two Magnas, so I figure this be the place. Once in the garage I hit the door opener. Yep, empty Riderwearhouse boxes, good riding gear, this is definitely the place.

I strip all the crap off the back of the bike. I figure we'll probably go out to dinner or something, and I'm not hauling that stuff around if I don't have to. I'm just happy to be out of the sun, really. I look around for a lawn chair in which to spend the afternoon until someone comes home. Then I start thinking...Bryan had told me he was out of town this day, but his wife would be happy to extend hospitality. Now, here's this strange guy wearing strange clothing, who hasn't showered in a couple days, sitting in her garage when she comes home. This could be bad. I don't want to startle her. I know, I've got Bryan's cellphone number, so I'll just call him and he can give me his wife's work number, so I can prep her. I look around for a phone in the garage....bikes, tools, gear, no phone.

After first examining things for alarm wires, I try the door to the house. It's open. No motion detectors, either, with a cat. I'll just use the phone to call Bryan and then go back to the garage. Ooooh, his air-conditioning's on! He's also got a cat who was standing right next to the door, and who has now blossomed into twice his normal size in alarm upon seeing me. Yeah, just as I thought....I'd sure better call the wife, or risk the same thing with her!

I reach Bryan as he's sitting in an airport in Salt Lake City. The conversation goes like this:

"Hi, Bryan, it's Dave Ryder!"

"Hi! Where are you?"

"Um...in your kitchen, actually."

"Cool! Um...did you get my email?"

"Email?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry, but my wife just wasn't comfortable with you spending the night while I wasn't there."

%$#@! (muttered silently)  "Really."

"Yeah, but don't worry, I hooked you up with this friend of mine who lives in Denver, and you can stay there."

A phone number is given and goodbyes said. Right about now I'm thinking this is information that would've been of much higher value BEFORE I fought my way through an hour of Denver traffic to find this place. Like, say....a week ago, when the invitation was first extended.

I call the friend and he says no problem, but he won't be available until evening, when he gets home from work, and would I mind finding something to do until then. I think about it...I'd hoped to hook up with Doug, but I don't have his phone number, Bryan didn't know it either, and information is likely to be unhelpful when asked for "Doug in Denver's" phone number, so that looks to be a miss, too. It's only about 2pm and now that I'm not going to see any Sabmaggots here, there's no point in staying in Denver. Originally Doug had invited me to hang with him, then volunteered Bryan for lodging. Now Bryan's volunteering someone not even on the list, and about now I'm starting to feel like a football in a lateral play, so I thank the friend for his offer and head out in search of a hotel outside of Denver. I need laundry, I need a shower, I need a bed, and I need a telephone line, and that's starting to look like the best bet for all these requirements.

I figure I'll just make some time and pick up a hotel that evening. There's still loads of time I could spend putting distance between myself and the Denver construction scene, but I'm now in the wrong part of the city to hit any of the roads I require. I'm NOT going back through that shit again, so I check MnG and aim south, with plans to circle back northeast and pick up I-76 eventually.

After the obligatory half hour spent repacking the bike and regearing me (there are few things more disgusting than putting on sweaty gloves on a hot day), I headed out. As I was leaving Bryan's driveway I noticed a very alluring woman in cutoffs and a halter top setting up a sprinkler in her front yard. I waited for some time to see if, having achieved that, she was going to play in it, but she didn't. Dammit.

As I was putting down the road that leads to the southern highway egress from Denver, I pulled up next to a guy on a Shadow 600 VLX. His eyes bugged out and the conversation went like this:

"Where y'off to?"

"Pittsburgh."

"Wow! You sure got bigger balls than me! I ain't never rode that far in my life!"

"Well, you've gotta have the right bike. I wouldn't be comfortable riding across the state on a VLX, but that's exactly what this bike is designed for."

"Hey, now...this bike gets up and goes!"

Heh. For those unfamiliar, the Shadow is the most undermuscled Japanese cruiser on the market, and the VLX is the most undermuscled Shadow. Little old ladies with walkers can outrun it for the first 50-ft. When our light changed he twisted its tail for all it was worth, by way of demonstration. I let him have it...it seemed important to him. Once on the southern highway, I took it until there was a likely eastern two-lane by which I could start working my way around.

Then came The Wind.

Once I got out of the Denver metro area (which takes a shitload of time...this place sprawls for miles) and was headed east, I was immediately introduced to what would be my nemesis for the next thousand miles....a 30-40mph wind coming out of the north. Nothing on the entire trip caused me the headaches and heartache that this one factor did. Unable to relax for an instant, I was constantly tense for the next abrupt gust which might blow me either off the road or into the path of an oncoming vehicle. It was exactly what I didn't need at this point of the trip.

I withstood this for a very long time, then finally grabbed a road headed north, which would eventually hook back into SR138 (which parallels I-76). I was granted about an hour's respite from the crosswind, but turning it into a 40mph HEADwind. This was much easier to handle, with my full fairing and windshield. I was deaf from the buffeting, but I could at least relax somewhat. At one point I overtook a poor guy on a Shadow (not the VLX rider) with no windshield or fairing. Boy was this guy suffering. He was doing about 70mph and I could almost see the skin being blasted off his face. Oh, did I mention, no visor, either. I throttled down and stayed with him for a while, just to break the wind for him. Eventually a truck appeared behind us, about to overtake us, and I drew the line at that. Ain't being passed by no pickup. Next time buy something with a fairing, buddy.

I achieved a town named Sterling, CO, by evening, and the lure of a cheap hotel was too much to resist. The entire town stank to high heaven of cow turds, but the woman told me there was a laundromat around the corner and a decent restaurant across from that, and that was most of my requirements in one shot right there, so I stayed. First thing I wanted to do, however, was dial in and get email, to see what else had transpired since my last check a couple days ago.

Unfortunately, Joey's Earthlink account, which I was using for this trip, works very selectively, and it weren't happenin here. I'd ascertained early on that the "800 numbers, for use anywhere" didn't work at all, so I set out to try and use my calling card. The Windows dialer is somewhat.....cryptic, and I was foiled in this attempt as well, but it occurred to me that if I could just put the calling card, the destination number, and the PIN into the "number to dial" field, with the appropriate commas for pauses, it just might work. So I tried that. It worked....somewhat. I was connecting, but somehow the timing wasn't right; I'd have to adjust the commas. But the modem driver for this particular card modem didn't allow you to hear the handshake noises, so I couldn't determine where the problem was. And since it's a card modem, there's obviously no place to plug in a handset and listen. Hmmmm....what to do, what to do....

Desperate situations call for desperate deeds....using my Leatherman, and holding my mini-Maglite in my mouth, I cracked open the RJ-11 jack on the wall, then cut the phone cord for the modem and spliced the red and green onto the appropriate terminals, thereby paralleling the modem and the hotel room's handset on the same circuit. Try to picture this....my bike is still fully loaded, my hotel room door's open from when I walked in, I'm on the floor wearing my Stich pants, with a flashlight in my mouth and a Leatherman in my hand. But it worked. The paralleled handset allowed me to listen to the modem negotiations and determine where the pauses were wrong. A quick adjustment of the commas, try again.........I'm in! Download email, unpack bike, ungear me, breath sigh of relief. Daddy's home.

As I lay on the floor working this miracle, I heard an obnoxious CLANK every so often. WTF? I followed the sound into my bathroom, where I found a ceiling fan which apparently vented straight up. It had a trapdoor to stop rain and varmints (one assumes) from entering, and my friend, the wind, was repeatedly ripping it open and slamming it shut. Oh, man... this ain't happening. No sleep tonight with that thing. The Leatherman again availed itself, as I tore the grille off the fan and then searched around for something to force the silly thing either open or closed. My eyes lit upon a clothes hanger, and I crammed this up between the fan blades until it forced the trap door all the way open. Several experiments followed until I found a position in which it would stay. Another problem solved. The gods smile upon me. I cleaned up (more or less) the pile of 50 year old gack which had fallen from the ceiling fan grille when it came loose and contemplated my next move.

The next issue was laundry. I squirted a quick email to Janine to let her know I was alive, since the time differential would have her going to bed soon, and I had other work to accomplish tonight before relaxing and reading email. Then I grabbed my laundry and hoofed it to the laundromat. After tossing a load in, I walked across the street and caught the restaurant just as they were closing. I talked them into slapping some meat between two slice of bread and charging me for a sandwich, then brought it back to the laundromat, where I enjoyed an article about how to properly choose your treestand's location so as to bag that monster buck. Later, during the drying cycle, I learned which actresses wore tasteful dresses to the Oscars this year and which did not. Laundry finished and intellectual needs satisfied, I absconded back to my hotel room with my newly acquired knowledge. I managed to finish all my piled-up email before falling into a coma.