A LEISURELY MARCH RIDE

 

I got off work at four this afternoon and had to run into town and pick up a few things at the hardware store.  The fuel pump in the K bike screaming reminded me that I was on fumes, having taken a nice 350 mile ride yesterday.  As I was putting gas in the bike, I remembered that Donna and the kids wouldn’t be home from work and errands till around seven. Hmmm, almost three hours with nothing pressing to do and a full tank of gas.

I’m not sure if it was conscious or not, but I turned north, (the opposite direction from home) out of the station onto Railroad Avenue, which becomes Colorado 13 at the north end of town.  As I passed the KFC and Ford dealer marking the edge of Rifle proper, I reached up and re-set the trip meter on the Street Pilot and rolled on a little more throttle.  It had rained not more than half an hour earlier and the smell of sage was fresh in the air.  The skies were cloudy, but the road was only damp and was very inviting.

Within five miles Rifle was a memory behind me.  The K bike and I were becoming one, the turns becoming smoother and the shifts came effortlessly.  I passed all of the ranchers in their pick-ups and a few cattle trucks.  At one point I notice movement off to the left side of the road.  As I looked closer I saw a heard of Mule deer.  Their numbers were more than I could count without slowing.  Like 99 percent of the deer I encounter on most every ride this time of year, they continued to graze, barely moving as I passed within a few yards.

Just as I was beginning to really feel as though life could not get any better, a sign warning of roadwork came into view.  I was stopped by a flagger just long enough to put on my sunglasses, the skies beginning to clear just a little.

As the flagger turned his sign to show me the SLOW side, I was back on the gas, continuing north as the clouds began to darken.  As I crested Rio Blanco summit the road straightened.  I passed Piceance Creek Road, my expected return path, and continued toward Meeker.  As I approached Highway 64 near Meeker the clouds began to let loose of their accumulated moisture.  It was still warm however, and the air seemed alive with hundreds of smells.

I turned west on 64, following the White River, which was beginning to show signs of the coming spring run-off in its tan color.  As I passed a pasture full of sheep I noticed several newborn lambs.  One looked as if he had come into this world just moments before.  In the time it took me to pass I noticed him rise to stand on all four legs.  Then, legs wabbling, he fell to the ground, only to try and stand again.

As I continued west I notice a heard of horses in a pasture on the left.  There among them was another newborn, this one a colt.  He, too, seemed unsure of his balance, rocking back and forth on spindly legs.  His mother seemed completely un-moved by his recent birth, choosing to graze on the short spring grasses rather than dote over him like any human mother would.

Traffic was light with only the occasional rancher or construction worker to pass.  I came upon the western end of Piceance Creek road all too soon.  As I turned left I decided to stop and put a flannel shirt on under my Aerostitch jacket.  As I was doing so I chuckled to myself, thinking how comfortable my Gerbing jacket and Aerostitch pants must have been in the closet at home.  Their presence there being a testament to the warmth of the morning air as I got ready to leave for work this morning, and also to the impromptu nature of this ride.

Within a few miles the road turned east.  The Street Pilot didn’t know this road, only saying “Driving East”.  The rain started again, getting heavy enough to warrant lowering the windshield to get the rainwater to run off of my face shield.  As I was sightseeing I entered a turn a little faster than might have been prudent.  As I leaned over further I crossed the center stripe.  The rain had made the paint just slippery enough to cause both tires to do a little slip ‘n slide as I crossed.  I decided that I either needed to concentrate on my riding or on the scenery.  I chose to slow the pace a little and enjoy the ride.

Piceance Creek Road is home to several large cattle ranches.  Many calves were enjoying their first week on earth, some lying down, others running and jumping and still others chasing their mothers in thirst.  One group of four was clustered around a telephone pole, one little guy having already learned the value of the pole as a scratching post.

I noticed a rancher, clad in a black cowboy hat and dirty Carhart jacket, driving a John Deer tractor across and open field.  Almost as if by cue, we both raised a gloved right hand in a simultaneous wave.  Although I’m sure he enjoys his life, I was sure I was having more fun.

I began to notice the colors of the landscape.  The eastern sky was turning orange and pink from the clouds and setting sun.  I noticed green grass, something I haven’t seen much of in the last few months.  Even the grays and tans of the rock cliffs seemed more intense than usual.  I have ridden this road at least 12 times since moving to Colorado 7 years ago, but I was noticing things on this ride I had never seen before.  I’m not sure if it was due to my heightened awareness due to the wet roads or the abundance of animals, or just that it was a totally un-planned outing.  Either way, it was a great feeling.

I spotted another group of deer, this one numbering close to fifty as best as I could tell.  Still, thankfully, none had been anywhere near the road.   A few miles further east I saw what I thought was another group of deer.  As I approached I realized they were huge.  Then, as I got within 50 yards or so, I realized they were elk, not deer.  I began to look for the nine-foot high fences that would signal they were farm-raised animals, but no such fence came to view.  These were wild elk, grazing as peacefully as cattle.  There were at least 20 animals in the heard and, although I saw no antlers, I’m sure some were bulls, judging by their size.  It is not normal for bulls to hang with cows after losing their antlers, but that did seem to be the case with this group.

As the arrow on the Street Pilot indicated I was approaching the junction of 64 and 13 the air temperature took a dive.  I watched the Amputron drop from 50 to 45 within a couple of miles.  As I coasted to a stop at the intersection the sign on the Rio Blanco store caught my eye.  I wasn’t interested in the beer or soda, but the word “snacks” sounded intriguing.  If a hot bowl of soup fit into the snack category I might have been inclined to stop.  I figured, however, that it was only going to get colder out and the prudent thing to do was continue on.

As I dropped down off Rio Blanco Summit the weather warmed.  I approached the area where the construction crews had been earlier. Most of the equipment was parked, but, as before, a flagman stopped me.  My wait, again, was short.  As I passed the second flagman I pulled hard on the throttle, taking the flat four up to the top of the power band before shifting.  I wanted the flagger to know I was having fun.  Even though he was probably making $18.00 and hour on over-time, I’m sure I was enjoying myself more than he was. 

Too soon I was in Rifle again.  Then it was through town and into the rural area south of town towards home.  There is a large, open area on the east side of the last mile of paved road leading to my home.  There are always deer in this area this time of year.  Today there was a bumper crop.  I’m sure there were over a hundred head grazing, not paying any attention top my passing.

As I turned onto the dirt road, which would take me the last three miles to my house, I thought what a great afternoon it had been.  I was in a peaceful, calm mood.  Even the steep sections of the road that are becoming wash-boarded didn’t bother me as they usually do. About half way up the hill I caught up to a woman driving a Camry, traveling at exactly the 15-mph speed limit.  I followed her for about a half mile, at which point she went very wide on a left turn.  She may have been trying to avoid the wash board section in the middle of the road, but I took her actions as an invitation to pass.  I waved as I did so, hoping I wasn’t going to have a pissed off neighbor.

I parked the bike and reached up to turn the GPS off.  As I did so I hit the “Page” button to show the trip log.  It showed 1 hour, 47 minutes driving time, 5 minutes, 45 seconds stopped time, with a driving average of 77 and, what’s this, a maximum speed of 106.5!  Where did that come from?

I covered the bike and walked around to the back of the house to feed the horses and let the dog loose.  I noticed, with great delight, that all of the snow is gone from the yard.

I know there are better places to ride than Western Colorado in the spring, but I’m not sure where they are.