The cat is sad to see me go, as are Travis and Eric. They say I've been the best guest they had, which makes me feel really sorry for them. But much as I have enjoyed the past week, I gotta move on, because it's a long way to New York City. And who knows what will happen along the way.
Above & below: Eric sent a series of heartbreaking pics of me riding off, of the tyre tracks, and of Tiger, who just sat there looking in the direction I disappeared.
I've been on the back roads from Guffey to Woodland Park four times now, and knowing I won't ride through anything like this until I reach Vermont, I take the corners as fast as possible. This is fun, but fun ends at Rt 24, and after a while there I get to the base of Pike's Peak. It's really cold, even though the sun is out, at least here where I look up at the cloud covered mountain. The real-time pics on Eric's laptop showed snow at the top, so this will be another missed goal. Still, I can live with that, because I also want to get as far eastwards as possible today.
Entrance to the famous road up Pike's Peak, one of the places on my bucket list. Sadly, it was not to be.
Right before the first ranger station, where one pays dearly to ride up the mountain, a worn 'North Pole' with a Santa Claus theme park appeared. As if the war between Denmark and Finland over Santa's rightful home wasn't enough...
Travis was right, it's flat down here. Cold too, as I trundle along south on the freeway to Pueblo, wearing all my clothes save for my numerous spare t-shirts. Soon enough I reach Rt 50, which Travis called 'The Loneliest Highway in The US'. It goes straight east, and already here I see the vast difference between Colorado's mountains and the flatlands. Also exemplified by the guy at a gas station, who just says "Nice bike". He drives a white Silverado pickup truck, wears a Stetson and has a revolver stuck in his belt.
Passing Pike's Peak Raceway I see hundreds, if not thousands of stored VWs, all recalled because of the 'dieselgate' scandal. And instead of the horses and llamas back in the mountains, here goats, sheep and cattle dominate. A lot of the latter, especially at large 'feeder lots', where hundreds upon hundreds cows stand. A particular unpleasant odor blows from these places, unlike the more familiar smell from cattle ranches. The road is straight, the view monotonous, only here and there interrupted by car junkyards, truck junkyards and places selling used military trucks or new John Deere farm equipment.
Entering Kansas, a different time zone and an alternate political reality.
Soon I ride into Kansas, the view changes but little; a few distant oil pumps and natural gas installations break the monotony of the highway. As does the first large 'Trump - Pence' sign I see. The MZ runs slightly better, either because the much lower altitude, or because the bigger carb jet makes a difference. It certainly makes a difference as far as fuel economy is concerned, it going from being 'somewhat tolerable' to 'abysmal'. The speed limit is still way over what the MZ will pull, so every time one of the large Peterbilt trucks blast past, I try to draft it, until it pulls away at 70 mph or so. Thankfully the MZ remains stable all the way to 65, despite the trailer back there.
The MZ may be a bit slow, but having the patience to sit all day and staring at three horses' asses, is beyond me.
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