Snapshots from Colorado

The highlight of Day 3 was discovering one of the best highways for a motorcycle ride in the U.S., Highway 141 in southwestern Colorado. You carve sweeping curves for about 50 miles between red-rock canyons and towering mesas, such as this one at Gateway.

Soon after entering Colorado from Utah, we stop at Bedrock Cafe. It was barely past eight in the morning, thus, the historical establishment was not open, but it made for a nice photo op.

Greg came across a pair of antlers which he and E.B. mount on the rear of Greg's Road King Classic.

Highway 141 north and south of Gateway is one of the finest roads to ride in the U.S., with sweeping curves that are a joy ro ride as fast or as leisurely as you wish.

Mule deer welcome us to King Creek Ranch, a 7,000-acre ranch owned by six families including the Chesters. E.B. purchased 750 acres in 1980 to start assembling the land located near Vail.

Day 3: Moab to King Creek Ranch in Colorado, 328 miles

There are 328 miles ahead of us today, perhaps about seven hours of riding time. First, we head southeast toward Telluride, Colorado, leaving Utah, our second state behind. Then, north through Grand Junction and Glenwood Springs, ending up at King Creek Ranch halfway between Vail and Steamboat Springs.

Back of the pack

I like it back here, riding sixth and last in our group. When the road is as straight as a Navajo arrow, there’s time and space to think, without worrying about the guy behind you.

I can look ahead and see the rest of the group. There’s E.B., easy to spot in his orange cap, feet up on the highway pegs, hardly looking like a successful merchant banker. There’s Ed, a partner in Arizona Bike Week, on his jade green Harley, silver-headed after his black cap flew off in a gust. There are the two black and silver FXRG-style helmets of father and son, Jay and Brandon, the father an attorney and developer, the son, a race car driver and contractor. There’s the black jet helmet of Dan. a banker from Vail, who often lingers behind me to make sure all is well.

I ride in reverie, taking in the sights and sounds, the never-ending rumble of my V-Twin and those ahead of me. Two cows at the side of the road startle me as we roll through the Navajo Nation, at one point only 40 miles from the entrance of the Grand Canyon.

There are long mesas all around us, framing the desert and our road through it. I marvel at the always-changing sand and rock formations. The round mounds of grey sand look like the pingos I’ve seen near Tuktoyaktuk in the Canadian Arctic. The red canyons recall the summer I spent in the Escalante canyonlands of Utah, not that far from where we ride.

When we stop for breakfast--or is it lunch?--at the Anasazi Inn on the approach to Monument Valley, E.B. remarks, “When you’ve gone more than a hundred miles by 9:30, you know it’s going to be a good day.”

And so it turns out to be.

--Georgs