Day 19, Grand Memories

 The final miles through Oregon were colorful, a reminder that Oregon does not take a back seat when it comes to natural beauty.  The pine forests West of La Grande rival those of Southern Oregon.  The Columbia River Gorge with it’s always spectacular Multnomah Falls match the beauty of Mt. Hood and Crater Lake.  It’s a grand country.

What a wonderful journey, planned with three objectives:

·         To visit my parents grave site in Safford, Arizona.

·         To meet up and travel the Southwest with brother Dick.

·         To visit a friend in prison

Mission Accomplished!

Additional objectives were added during the planning stages:

•          Visit the Grand Canyon
•          Connect with a number of people special in my life,

ü  Classmate Mary in La Jolla, California

ü  Cousin Janet in Tucson, Arizona

ü  Cousin Beth in the Mesa Verde, Colorado area

ü  Cousins Caroline and Jonathan in Boulder, Colorado

Miccions Accomplished!

It was an adventure that experienced many wonderful sights, sounds, smells and places.

Riding in the cold, cold mornings when all I wanted was a cup of coffee.  Riding in the hot, hot afternoons when all I wanted was a cold beer.  Riding most of the time in fantastic, shirtsleeve weather.

Learning more about our Native American culture at Montezuma’s Castle, Mesa Verde and Four Corners.

Being one with some of the beautiful  natural wonders, the Siskiyou’s, Giant Redwoods, the California coast, Arizona thunderstorms, sunset over the Grand Canyon, the giant Saguaro cactus of Arizona, Antelope Canyon, Monument Valley, Natural Bridges, Black Canyon of the Gunnison, the Royal Gorge, the Rocky Mountains,  the vast prairies of Colorado, Wyoming and Utah, and the beauty of Oregon, both going and coming.

And there were impressive man made things to appreciate,  the Cross in San Diego, Golden Gate bridge, NASA, the dam at Roosevelt Lake, Route 66, Glen Canyon Dam and bridge, Chapel of the Holy Cross, the bridge at Royal Gorge, and a Harley-Davidson motorcycle that performed flawlessly.

2000 miles of companionship with a great brother.  The imagination of Little Joe.

Nineteen days, 4800 miles, 92 gallons of gas averaging 50 MPG, fantastic for a big bike.

Many times during the trip this song came to mind, “This land is your land, this land is my land, from California, to the New York island.”  Here’s an original Woody Guthrie recording,

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XaI5IRuS2aE

It was another Grand Adventure!

Day 18, Triumph over Tragedy

One of the objectives of this trip, a very important one, was to visit a young friend in prison, there for a failure of our justice system, for a crime he did not commit.  Faced with a contrived charge by a vindictive and creative spouse, unable to hire a real attorney, he was forced to rely on a public defender.  That person did nothing to understand the case and urged him to plead no contest, expecting a minimal sentence, a first time situation.

Wrong.  In our wisdom, the voters of Oregon passed a measure years ago for Mandatory Minimum Sentence; to keep the evil people of the world off the streets.  The weight of this system hit this young very hard.  No, “first time” opportunity.  ELEVEN YEARS IN THE STATE PENITENTIARY!  He’s now down to eighteen months and counting the days.

Innocent until proven guilty, that’s what we teach the children.  I have experienced  two friends put through the Oregon justice system, the full weight of the government thrust upon them based just on accusations.  One was able to prove his innocence at great personal cost, the other was not.

This albatross will hand around his neck for the rest of his life.  A person serves time for a ‘crime’.  He has paid his debt and it should not be held against him forever.  Employers forget or choose to ignore this.  Every person who has ever had a parking or a speeding ticket should therefore also be outcast from society.  Isn't this discrimination?

That’s the tragedy.  The triumph is this.

He has not let the situation and the system destroy him.  He was studying to become an electrician.  He finished that training, tested and passed the exams to be a licensed electrician in prison, despite many hurdles put in front of him by the State of Oregon.  He works for the state as an electrician, building skills and helping, not sitting in a cell with a grudge against the world.

He was sentenced to a remote location in Oregon, making regular visits very difficult.  This visit was a highlight of my trip.   I am proud of his positive attitude, his desire to resume life.  I remain totally convinced of his innocence.  I would be proud to have him as my own son.

I would pass on a few words of wisdom to anyone who will listen:

 Be careful who you make mad at you.

• Be careful how you vote.  There are always vicious side effects to all well intentioned measures.
• Consider the ex-convict as a person who has paid his dues.  Give him a chance.

Day 17, 450 miles to Boise

Plan was to stop in Twin Falls, 350 miles.  But 2:00 arrived, the bike and Joe and I weren't ready to qut, so on to Boise, 450 miles.  That's a pretty fur piece in one day says Joe.  I was tired, so there we stopped.  Had a little medical surprise as I was unloading, a very swollen right elbow.  A nearby pharmacist said it looked kind of infected and directed me to a family/urgent care clinic a few miles down the street.  Not the kind of way to end a day, wandering around in a strange city with the GPS cutting in and out.  But we found the doc (Joe stayed on the bike, he can be squeamish) and diagnosis, after a ton of paperwork, classic case of bursitis of the elbow.  With the prognosis that I would live, a pie and ice cream dinner at Denny's across from the motel seemed in order.

Cliff faces in Weber Canyon, UT

About the ride - this is a VAST country.  Traversing three states today, Wyoming, Utah and Idaho revealed wide open spaces and big blue skies all around.  Wyoming has the endless prairies.  Entering Utah finds mountains to the East of Ogden and Salt Lake, magnivicant rugged mountains, small by Rockies standards but beautiful.  After all, Utah has world famous ski areas, Park City, Alta, Brighton, Snow Bird, to name a few.  North out of Ogden you run through high desert, sage brush.  Sweeping into Idaho finds green fields, irrigated where no water appears to exist.  Then eastward Idaho becomes very featureless desert.  The Snake River makes its appearance a number of times as Boise approaches.

The ride started with every layer of clothing I brought, six layers.  Long underwear, T-shirt, heavy shirt, fleece sweatshirt, leather jacket and vinyl wind breaker.  With heated gloves it was just right for a 6am high desert ride.  By noon, in Ogden, all the layers came off and it was T-shirt the rest of the day.  What a range of temperature and dress.

Idaho farm land

Dick and I said goodbye this morning.  He's headed South, back to San Antonio, me farther West.  It was a wonderful eleven days together in which we covered just shy of 2000 happy and safe miles.  We saw many of nature’s wonders of the Southwest together, met cousins, and just had a great time.  He’s a good traveling companion.  I hope we can do it again.

Day 16, Wyoming

Julie, Danny Jonathan, Caroline, Bob, Dick

Yesterday’s blog was posted before the best event of the day, dinner with cousins Jonathan and Caroline.  The Walnut Brew Pub was a perfect place to spend a few hours catching up on old and new times.  New stuff, fascinating – Jonathan, wife Julie and son Danny (son James away in college) have participated for years with the Rocky Mountain Revels, a nation wide group dedicated to celebrating the shortest day of the year (Dec 22ish) in some country theme.  Google it if you’re interested.

Caroline is a vet, with hew own business, the Traveling Vet, a mobile service that has served her very well in the area North of Denver for many years, a specialty she recognized as a need early in her practice.  On the spectacular side, she is the lead Vet in the Alaska Iditarod dog sled race.  And has managed to capture positions in equivalent races in Russia and South Africa of all places.  Incredible, and she does it intermixing with her vet business to keep her local customers happy.

In our childhood lives, we talked of things we remember as children together.  Those times were few and fleeting, and faint of memory.  It’s so nice to be reconnected again

In a big, empty land, still it's someone's home

The drive, was much better than yesterday!! Both cousins said there was some snow on Trail Ridge.  We’d already decided it was too cold at altitude to cross the Rockies, so we had decided on a detour North, around the great mountains.  Morning departure was cool, but partly sunny, growing to totally sunny as the day progressed.  Screaming up the freeway out of Boulder, a blue and a silver projectile, shoulder to shoulder with fanatic iron cages rushing to offices and places unknown, was a vigorous way to start the day.

  The rest of the day was a grinding drive across Wyoming.  I’ll call it a bonus as Wyoming was not on the original plan.  Despite it’s solitary lonesomeness, it’s a vast and beautiful land in it’s own right.  Three hundred plus miles today, all sunshine like it should be, ended in Rock Springs, WY.  We both love the feel of he bikes, the smells and the sensations, but it feels so good when the wheels stop turning at the end of a day.

Two coyotes walked into a bar...

It was a day of greatness in this great land, reminiscent of six years ago, cruising through Iowa.  On that trip, touched by the drive through the heartland, Little Joe and I sang “God Bless America” until our voices gave out.  Today, the same patriotic feeling engulfed us, scanning the prairies of this great land.  We sang one of Joe’s favorites, “Bury me not on the lone prairie”.  I love it too, and I think I’ll commit it to a violin lesson when I resume in October.  Joe’s such a card.  He got to telling ‘coyote’ jokes and, well, we don’t have time or space here.

Two

Oh bury me not, on the lone prairie, where the ..

3800 miles to date. Tomorrow, on to Utah.  Dick’s still with me.  He decided at Boulder to continue to Ogden to visit a classmate he hasn’t seen since the ancient 60’s.  Then he’ll turn south and east for San Antonio.  He made me feel good today.  Contemplating a trip of this magnitude, especially a couple of years ago with serious health issues, was inconceivable.  When it finally became achievable early this year, it was not without intrepidation that Dick committed to go.  I remember the same feeling six years, ago, first long haul trip on a motorcycle.  What if…. Etc.  We stood on the prairies of Wyoming today and he commented “I can’t believe we’re here” and “It’s so great to be beyond the fear and concern, to be able to do such things.”  Makes my heart happy.

Day 15, Boulder

Dawn arrived in Canon City, on first look the sky was clear.  How easy to mistake that uniform-ness of an overcast rain sky for a nice day.  Little Joe asked to sleep out under the stars.  He gets what he wants.  It rained all night.  Ever smell a wet monkey?  I toweled him down as I  pondered the current situation.  It's raining.  That kind of Oregon not pouring, not drizzle, but - - - rain.  Shouldn't deter an Oregon boy.  But after a week of desert driving, it was, well, a change.  For two days they were saying, all over Colorado, it's a drought year.  Yeah, thanks, have some rain.

On the list today was a trip to Bishop's Castle.  It was eighty miles out of the way, just fine on a normal day, not so fine in an open air rain catcher chariot.  So we forgo it.  I've been there twice before, a stunning tribute to what one man and a couple of sons, and forty years of determination can do.  The structure towers 160 feet above the terrain, and is a masterpiece work of stone and iron, not quite at the level of Neuschwanstein, which I have had the privilege to visit, but a darn good runner up.  Jim Bishop is a crusty and very direct guy, I've talked with him while he was mixing mortar in a wheelbarrow.  But he had this vision decades ago and has never let go of it.  He's building a castle, despite government agencies attempts over the past decades to put him out of business.  I do admire spirit, imagination and determination.  This castle of stone and iron sports an enormous ballroom, stained glass befitting a castle, parapets, winding stone staircases, you name it.  The dragon, when Jim puts on a show, blows flame from a hot air balloon burner, to light the night sky.  The massive fireplace in the ballroom is vented through the dragon's nostrils, so smoke coming from a dragon ready to make a statement, is quite often evident.

Want to hear about the freeway ride to Boulder?  Well, this is a document to help me remember this trip, so you can skip over it, but....

the trip from Canon City was two and a half hours of white knuckle (my violin teacher's words came to mind every five minutes - relax, relax, relax - you have no arms.  Sixty miles an hour in three lanes of high speed interstate traffic, with rain in your face, glasses wanting to steam up (excitement, not fear) is not for the faint of heart.  There should be a merit badge for old guys with a suicidal impulse.  Add to the rain on glasses visibility restriction, mist swirled up by all the cars, exaggerated very four minutes by a passing semi and you have - tension.  But, as the violin teacher admonishes, relax, you must do that, and I did, every five minutes,  and one basically lives for the next moment.  The sign says 48 miles to Denver.  48 minutes.  Relax, concentrate on the white lines and the specter of a car in front of you.  Another five minutes have passed.  It is possible we might survive this part of the journey.  And every couple of minutes I glance in the mirrors, and Dick is rock solid, three lights, never wavering in position fifty feet behind me.  Way to go, Dick.

Fortunately the rain cleared just as we entered the Denver freeway system.  Having memorized the route, not wanting to trust the GPS, being able to read it, or the occasional poor electrical connection, the exits fell into place like dominoes.  We did arrive as planned at a pre-programmed motel.  Wet, very wet, cold, very cold,  happy, very happy.  High speed freeway driving in busy traffic in the rain has finally been checked off my bucket list.

Tomorrow we'll skip the near freezing forecast over Rocky Mountain National Park at Trail Ridge and take a sunny ride up through Cheyenne and Laramie on the way to Ogden.  There will be more blog posts, although not as exciting and colorful as what has transpired so far.  On the other hand, who knows.

Thanks to you who have followed along to date, and commented.  There's a warm feeling about getting a 'letter from home' and I'll be more diligent now about commenting on other friends travels.  I've reached the Northeast corner of the box of this trip.  From here on every mile is closer to home.  It's been a wonderful trip, not finished yet.

Day 15, Traverse the Rockies Eastward

Departures tend to wait until daylight.  This one found two bikes headed North about a half hour before dawn.  Temperature, not bad.  The motel room was warm, the cool air felt good.  For good measure, a fleece sweatshirt layer went on under the big leather jacket however.  That comfortable, cool feeling disappeared about seven minutes north of town.  Leaving Durango, you ascend quite rapidly into the higher elevations.  Curiousl the train to Silverton is spared at least 500 feet of extra elevation that motors must experience.  Half way up the mountain side, about ½ hour, demanded a roadside stop to don all available layers, in other words, chaps and heated gloves.  Barely enough and the long underwear, well to put that on requires disrobing, right?  Not.

Descending into Silverton was good, lower elevations, although only slightyly.  But it was a gas and hot coffee stop.  Ominous clouds are looming overhead, menacing, threatening bedlam to motorcyclists.  I’ll have to tell you that a stop at a mountain gas station looking for good news and solace from the locals, is not rewarding.  “Oh, today’s actually pretty warm.  When when we got married …”.  And forecasts of mild doom but only when you’re crossing the passes, left me wondering why I had left the desert.  And then Jake tells us, oh, by the way, I meant to tell you, they’re closing the highway North to extract a semi that went over the edge.  S*#t, I don’t need to hear that and imagine heading back the way we came to find an alternate route.  So we gassed up quickly and roared out of town a short distance behind the road drew.  Not to worry (although I like to) but the wreck was two miles out of town and the small crew assembled was pondering the situation and no equipment was on site.  Sometimes things work out.

The threatening clouds only grew darker, more menacing, spitting occasional huge drops of water.  I wanted to believe it was clear to the North where we were headed, but was having serious thoughts about abandoning the Eastward journey over the mountains to Denver and heading straight for Ogden.    Descending through Ouray was a brief respite from worry, remembering that my Grandmother used to live here.  She was a school teacher and had to retire at around 70, mandatory, in Boulder.  So she moved out of town, where no one knew here, Ouray, changed her age, and taught another 15 years or so.  What a lady!  Her daughter, my Aunt Mary, was equally formidable at working and loving it until they died.

We donned rain gear leaving Ouray and did get it wet, although marginally.  And there’s nothing like sun and a seventy degree day in Montrose to make like seem all well and good again.  So Eastward to Canon City, the stopping place for the night.  On the way was a detour to Black Canyon National Park.  I’ve been getting great miles out of my Golden Age passport.  One small advantage to being old enough to have one.  It’s spectacular as a canyon.

 Where the Grand Canyon is horizontal layers of sandstone, etc, Black Canyon (of the Gunnison) is vertical.  Looks like someone stuck cliffs of vertical rock striations in the bround 1000 feet tall.

Onward then with not much to see but speed signs unti almost to Canon City.  Royal Gorge is just off the path and I was told I had to see it.  Unfortunately it wasn’t a highlight for either of us.  It’s a bridge, impressive for sure.  The canyon it spans is very deep, very colorful, and very impressive.  The overhead zip line and tram cables more than hint at experiences you might not want to experience.  The downer was a $26 admission fee to see aned walk on the bridge.  And the village they promote, with all the ‘things to do’ and a ‘place to spend the whole day’ had $25 price tags on most everything.    We went, we had come this far.  You decide when it’s your turn.
Arrival in Canon City found 85 degrees, a bit of a change from the 6am version and two quite weary travelers.  But that’s the way it’s supposed to be.

Tomorrow, Boulder and reunion with the two cousins Caroline and Jonathan (already saw Janet and Beth).

Day 13 Durango-Silverton Railroad

A train ride through the Rockies, what cold be moreappropriate.  Trains helped explore and open this country, the practical means of long distance transportation.  The Durange-Silverton Railroad has been running for a long time.  Looks like around 1881 the Denver and Rio Grande built the route to carry supplies and people to the gold and silver mines.  It wasn’t until around 1981 that it became dedicated to the tourism business, but it’s a line that’s been in use for 131 years.

The ride was fun.  The steamers are glorious.  What else can you say!  You have ample opportunity to smell the coal smoke and find a light dusting of soot on things that sit untouched for a while, like your jeans if you sit still.  And it's not a power fine and dirty soot, but tiny burned embers of coal, gritty, and they brush off.  It's a wonderful part of the experience.  It's life in the 1880's.   The first train left at 8:30 and arrived Silverton at noon.  Along the way you’re treated, or should I say threatened, with spectacular views of deep canyons.  I wondered often how a multi-ton train could rumble across some of those cliffside notches, shored up with rocks and left over rails.  Seems to work.  The river lies first on one side, then the other.  Ample changes of terrain and curves gives everyone the opportunity to photograph the train in action.  How many millions of photos of these trains from behind the firebox must exist.

A two-hour layover was more than enough time to have lunch and explore the town of Silverton.  Once probably a very bustling silver mining town, one would assume by it’s name but history bears it out, it’s a charming place today.  Not overly gaudy with tourist stuff.  Clearly there’s some secret to the “best” places to eat in town.  We picked one, totally enjoyed the food and atmosphere, but realized it was not vey full of people.  Down the street on a little tour, it was standing room only.  Are their hamburgers really that much better?.  Arrival back in Durange at 6:00 found us tired and ready to sit down, despite the fact that we’d been doing that for about eight hours.

The Aspen are turning.  The higher in elevation we climbed, the more apparent that became.  It’s cool.  It doesn’t smell like fall, but the calendar says it is.  I have this feeling that tomorrow will be a cool ride through the Rockies.  We’re headed over the mountains into the Denver valley, if that’s what they call it.  Should be in Boulder in two days.  Can’t believe the time has moved along as it has.  Two more days travel means reaching the Northeastcorner of my travel box.  From there, it’s West to Portland.  But, that’s later.
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