North America: Riding a 21 year old Goldwing: 47 - Fort Collins, Shooter Jennings, Nighttime in the Rockies and the Budweiser "Cabin."

Upon riding into town, I found the downtown area, parked my bike and set off walking. While talking to my Mom on the phone, I looked up and and saw on a marquis, "Shooter Jennings." I checked the date on my watch and then got off the phone, thankful of my good fortune. I'd always wanted to see Waylon Jennings' son perform. Now I just had to figure out how to spend the night in Fort Collins. It was too big of a town to camp behind a bar. Perhaps I could find someone that would let me camp in their backyard.

Then, up walked Gabrielle. She asked me a question, but since I'd only been in town five minutes, had no idea of the answer. Then I asked about a place to camp. She had only been in town a couple of weeks and didn't know. So I asked if she knew someone that lived close that may have room in their backyard. Perhaps she had a boyfriend that would let me crash on his couch. Maybe a big group of people had a big house with extra room? I was surprised when she asked for my phone number and promised to call if she found something. Pretty Cool.

We said goodbye and I walked off to find food. $1 Tacos, read a sign across the street. I walked into the Drunken Monkey and ordered a beer and some tacos. It was happy hour and beer was two-for-one. I didn't want two beers though. I still had to find a place to stay and set up camp and make it back to the Aggie Theatre before 9:30 or so.

So Molly and I started talking. It was slow in the bar that evening, but certainly not empty. There were 20 or so people in the bar. She agreed to keep my second beer for me until I returned. Normally, I don't take pictures of bartenders, not even the cute ones. But Molly was the first girl I'd met along the way that rode motorcycles. Her bike is pictured below. It's a lot cooler than mine for sure. Not my style, but pretty cool. And definitely cool for Molly.

Hey Molly - I thought you were going to sign the guestbook. What happened?

As I sat at the bar eating my tacos, Gabrielle called. She'd talked with her roommate and said that I could camp in their backyard. Or, she offered a couch and a shower. NICE!!!

Molly knew I wanted to go to the show and she introduced me to a couple of other patrons who had an extra ticket. The guy liked hearing about my trip and he offered to walk across the street with me to will-call and to give me a ticket. Yet another fun event for which someone else picked up the tab. Tonight was going to be unbelievable. I could tell. There was a great show at a great venue and I had a free ticket and knew two people going to the show. I had a great place to sleep that was only a couple of miles from the theatre.

I scarfed down my food before re-reading the directions to Gabrielle's. I said goodbye to Molly and hopped on my bike and went off to find Eastman Avenue.

Gabrielle introduced me to Mandi. They had been great friends in college and were now living together again after Gabrielle had spent the last three years working in Southern Poland. Mandi is quite the cook and I enjoyed talking cooking with her for a bit. Not nearly as much as I enjoyed eating a big plate of ratatouille.

At least once a year, while at the farmer's market on a Saturday morning, some farmer will have a bunch of un-sold eggplant. I'll buy a big grocery bag for a couple of bucks and then find a farmer with a bunch of ugly tomatoes. They taste good, but people usually pick around the strange looking ones. Then, I'll make a HUGE batch of ratatouille. I thought it was delicious until I tasted this. WOW!!!

Both girls had to work in the morning and I offered to skip the show and to stay and hang out and go to sleep early. They insisted that I go and told me not to worry about coming back late. As long as I got up at 8:00, I could stay out until closing time. In the morning, I got pictures before saying goodbye.

Mandi had baked some bread and had made some homemade pickles. I left with both. They sent me on my way in style. Also, Mandi told me about her Aunt in Gunnison and gave me her phone number in case I wanted to spend a night in Gunnison, sans tent.

The show was fantastic. I rode back downtown, parked the bike and went across the street so Molly could pour me a free pint. Then I went to see the show. During intermission, I was outside hanging out when this kid rode by on a cool bicycle. I talked him into letting me take it for a spin. At first, he balked. Then the bikers I was talking to told him that I was traveling and that this kid really should let me ride it. I handed him my camera to make him feel better about me taking off on his bike. I got to ride a chopper! (sort of)

Then, I met a big group of kids who offered to take me out in Ft. Collins after the show. Ben & Shane and the gang were a lot of fun. While at another bar, I met Chief. He's the bartender. He's from Charlottesville, Virginia.

"Yeah," I asked. "Me too." "I went to Jack Jouett," he replied. Wow. I was talking to someone days earlier about Fork Union Military Academy. Chief had ended up in Ft. Collins from Charlottesville and I'd ended up in Ft. Collins via Alaska and then we just happened to be in the same place at the same time and figure that out. Pretty Cool.

I thought about the guy that I met in Kalispell, MT who was from Waynesboro, VA. Now, back in the West after two months of riding, I was having a similar experience.

Yeah - It's a comfortable couch.

After getting in around 4:00 am, I was so happy to sleep on a couch. After a fantastic shower in the morning, I felt fantastic. But not nearly as fantastic as I would feel after eating at Waffle House. I'd not seen a Waffle House since I left the South. There was one in town and I was looking forward to it. "Scattered, Smothered, Covered, Chunked, Topped, and Diced. And coffee black." That's all you need to say to have a fabulous Waffle House Breakfast.

I walked to my motorcycle, and saw there was a parking ticket on the seat. Last night, there were a dozen bikes parked here and I didn't see anything that indicated it was illegal. I love Fort Collins. On the ticket, were great directions, including a map, detailing where to go to contest the ticket. I parked right by the City Office Building and walked in smiling. The lady that helped me was so nice. She rides a Softail. She made my ticket go away and I rode back to Mandi and Gabby's to load up my bike.

My dry-bags were piled on the porch. Before going by their place, I ran into the store to buy flowers. I still couldn't believe that they'd let me stay with them and had left the door open for me to come in late and had sent me on my way with great food and a phone number. Thanks to everyone who's let me stay with them and sorry that not everyone gets flowers. Gabby had really gone out of her way to find a place for me.

After leaving Fort Collins, I rode up to Cheyenne. What a day of riding. A half dozen Mountain Passes, the Wyoming desert, and the Rocky Mountain National Forest. The topography and geology seemed to change every hour.

I thought about stopping, but I still had the jar of Huckleberry Jam that Linda gave me in Oregon.

Now that I had Mandi's bread, I was really looking forward to Jam.

Delicious!

I've ridden over the Continental Divide now so many times.

It's cool to think that a raindrop in Colorado may end up in the Atlantic or Pacific, depending on which side of the Divide it falls.

Finally, I left the Rocky Mountain National Forest after an amazing few hours of riding. A few miles down a gravel road and I ended up at a great place to camp. See the view above.

When I left Linda in Oregon, she sent me on my way with two great things. A jar of tuna and one of huckleberry jam. Make that freshly caught and home-canned tuna. Before I met Juniper in Girdwood at the Chair 5, the bartender figured I was hungry and gave me a can of King Salmon. It was delicious. King Salmon from a Mason Jar is not something you can buy in a store.

I'd been advised that Mandi's bread is especially delicious toasted, so I loaded up my skillet with butter and toasted the homemade bread.

While it was toasting, the appetizer hit the spot. A jar of homemade pickles. Thanks Mandi!

In the morning, I woke up very early. It was so cold. I woke up shivering and quickly got up and got moving. After packing the bike, I set off to ride the few miles of gravel before getting back to the hard-stuff. As I rode down a hill, I saw two large trucks coming down the road. I realized that I'd pass them in a turn. I drifted wide to give them room. The rocks were loose near the edge of the road. As they went by, my tires broke free. Both of them.

The front started to plow. That's "tight" for you NASCAR fans or "under-steer" for any open-wheel aficionados. Then, the back started sliding. The bike was sliding toward the edge of the road at about 40 mph. I wasn't wearing gear after my incident in California. With full gear including a full helmet, if I dumped the bike it would be mildly unpleasant. I would have been sore at most, and the bike possibly could have been ridable. However, with jeans, no gloves, and only half a helmet, I did not want to crash.

The bike kept sliding and by this time, I'd cranked the handlebars until they were closed to being locked in an effort to counter-steer my way out of the slide. I'd shifted my weight and was using my body to try and right the bike. Then the front end caught. Whew! The back end was still sliding in an attempt to follow the front of the bike back to riding in a straight line. Sliding the back end was fun... now that I knew that I wasn't going to crash.

So I cracked the throttle and pulled out of the slide in style. Too bad there was no one around to take a picture.

It was a close call, but I wasn't upset by it. Certainly, I wasn't freaked out by riding gravel. The bike started to get away from me, and then right back in line. My palms were sweaty, but other than than, no damage done.

When I start riding early, I get hungry very early. Most days, I can ride from nine until two without getting too hungry. The first meal at two isn't unusual for me. But on days like today, when I started riding at 7:00, by mid-morning, I'm famished.

So when I came to a mountain town and saw a diner, I pulled in. The Ultra Classic I parked next to was the only other motorcycle there. I had no intention of talking with bikers this morning. Or anyone for that matter. I was cold and tired and hungry and not interested in talking. Until I saw a blue piece of paper wrapped around the other guy's handlebars. It was the same paper wrapped around mine. The entrance pass into Mt. Rushmore.

I walked in and saw the bike's owner and sat near him. After we both finished eating, I walked up to say hi.
We didn't talk much, but after I'd paid my bill and left, I saw him looking at my bike.

"What's up with all the Alaska stuff on your bike,: he asked. My two stickers were souvenirs from my month in the Yukon and Alaska. He told me that he raised two boys in Alaska and then we started talking about the Last Frontier.

I mentioned Evel Knievel Days in Butte, Montana and he said he used to race flat-tracks and hill-climb against Robbie Knievel years ago. I'd met Robbie in the beginning of my trip while in SC. Pretty cool.

Then, he turned to me and said. "You want to come up to the house?"

"Ok," I replied. He got on his bike, fired it up and took off. I turned over the Goldwing and followed.

When he turned up a dirt road, I knew I was in for a treat. We headed up the mountain and I felt great about my riding. See, it's not strange or excessive riding a great big motorcycle down a dirt road at fifty miles per hour. I followed him up the mountain. Then, he turned off and we road further before coming to a gate. He activated his transponder and the gate began opening slowly.

In true flat track racer fashion, he angled the bike between the gates with only inches between the handlebars and posts. He then mashed the throttle and broke the back-end loose and kicked it around, allowing him to snake his bike through the narrow opening. After riding over 1,500 miles of gravel on my 1,000 pound Goldwing, I thought that there were few people in this world who could make a big bike do what I could do. The skills that come from riding for hours each day, day after day, are different than skills from riding occasionally. I thought I was good. Damn good.

Even after 25,000 miles and all the gravel, dirt, and other stuff, I'd NEVER attempt what I'd just seen him do on a Harley bagger. Wow! I instantly knew that the stories about racing with Robbie Knievel had probably been understated.

This guy was good. I instantly felt a lot better about what happened to me earlier that morning. What had happened was natural. Loose and scary, but natural. My reaction was instinct and really there was no point that I wasn't in control. I was scared, but in control. For this guy, what had happened to me earlier was standard operating procedure.

As you see from the pictures, I had quite the experience at the top of the mountain. Kim gave me the tour of his place. The place is amazing. It's a huge log cabin that is decorated with really cool stuff. For example, in the music studio in the basement, hang photographs of Buffet, Clapton, Plant, and more. All taken up close and personal by someone with access to the musicians and with a knack for photography.

The staircase is grand.

The bathroom is all red with stained glass. That's when Kim told me the story behind the house. By that point, I knew their must be a story. It's a Budweiser house. The lady who owns it is of the Busch Family and this place is one of many mountain homes she owns. She rarely stays there these days, and he lives there to take care of the place. Kim is an accomplished hotrod painter. He paints race cars, hotrods, and other things. His shop is set up in the garage. What an amazing place. The views are so unique and the place itself is built with such attention to detail.

I thought of Cabin John from Sunshine Alaska. He specializes in using trees with burls and incorporating the deformations into the architectural design. Clearly the builder here had done the same thing.

Kim got on the computer and went through a slides how of pictures and told me stories of things that had happened at the house over the years. The stories were really cool.

He lives there with his girlfriend and they ride together quite often. He told me of a trip to California where they had a low-speed crash and she was hurt pretty badly. He was banged up as well. It was a sobering story. A good reminder that bad things can happen to even the best riders.

After a couple of hours, he turned and said:

"You've seen a lot of things on your trip. It's been a pretty amazing trip for you and I just thought that this place is something you ought to see. Hope you enjoyed it."

I had. We said goodbye and he got on his bike to ride out and open the gate for me. I'd had such an amazing day and it was still well before noon.

What a surreal experience.

Thanks Kim.

Thanks a lot.