I'm currently sitting in a folding chair next to the bike up on the side of a mountain above Ouray, Colorado in one of the most awe inspiring camp grounds I have ever seen.

I had tried to write a report last night in the cold and dark here but I lost connectivity and couldn't get it back. Remind me to add an auto-save feature to my blogging software.(Yea, I wrote all the software that runs this site.)

But I digress. I had stayed at a hotel in Buena Vista. Little did I know that there was a proper downtown to Buena Vista around the corner, but all in all the hotel wasn't bad albeit somewhat expensive. There are just some incredible views out in this country.

There was a truckstop and diner up the street where I had breakfast.

I sat there for a while looking at the map trying to figure out a better way to get to Ouray since I had all the time in the world. The map showed some roads from Lake City over to just south of Ouray which would add some distance but not too much. I decided to take that route. Luckily for me, I stopped into the truck stop to get a better map.

As an aside, this was the first time on this trip I had referred to the atlas I brought. I've been doing all navigation by GPS, which is great if you're trying to get to a particular address but it does the downside that you lose all sense of direction and geographical location. By following the directions from the GPS you don't ever get a sense of what's around you, what other features might be around. So for this stretch I wanted to take some more scenic routes and get a sense of what's close by for the return trip.

So I went to the truck stop, got a map, looked at the roads I was considering and for some strange reason got the feeling that maybe I should ask. I noticed a guy at the checkout wearing an Aerostich RoadCrafter. We got to talking. It turns out he was very familiar with the entire area. "Oh yea, that trail isn't doable on a street bike". Good intel. If I had had to turn around on that trail it would have added well over 120 miles to my trip. Fortune was smiling on me.

Zan rode a Kawasaki Concourse 1400. He also rode KTM's and had just returned from a trip through much of South America which had started in Santiago, Chile. He's travelled through Mexico and more other places than I can remember. It turned out that he owns a company that runs, I think he said, 16 child care centers, and had found a good manager to run it for him. Now that's how you do it. Soon he would be heading to ride around the Black Sea. I told him that normally when I tell people about my trip they say "oh man, I envy you for being able to do that.". So I told him, "Man, I envy you for doing that.".

He mentioned that he was tempted just to follow me up to Alaska. "Do it!", no problem, just point the bike north ... I've tried to refine my pitch but so far I've gotten no takers.

We parted company. He seemed like a good guy. I hope I hear from him again.

I went back to the bike and I guess I was channeling Duncan. I could not get going to save my life! I mean this was ridiculous. Put keys in ignition. Put on helmet, put on gloves. Get on bike. Shit! Forgot sunglasses. Take off gloves, helmet, takes keys out, open bag, get glasses, put everything back on, get ready to go. Shit. Glasses are dirty. Repeat process. Shit! Face shield is dirty. Repeat. Shit! GPS screen is dirty. Repeat. I bet people watching were getting amused at the idiot. I mean this went on literally for over half an hour. Then I had to get gas. Another comedy of errors. I was beginning to think I should just give up and shoot for tomorrow. But eventually I did manage to get underway.

I'm beginning to suspect bad gas as the source of my power and fuel consumption issues. Today the bike was running perfectly and I could tell the mileage had increased remarkably. Over 140 miles before the needle hit half a tank.

Eventually I happened up on a Harley on the side of the road. I stopped to see if they needed help. They didn't but I had to snap a picture of the dog carrier setup.

I continued on thinking about the mythology I had started. Whereas Kansas was the geological interpretation of absolute lack of stimulation, the Colorado Rockies are sensory overload. The mind just cannot process everything it sees. It seemed like I needed to stop every 100 yards to take a photo of some new and wonderful thing. The landscapes and vistas here just can't be captured by camera or words.

I imagined the Goddess, after having seen what her husband had done to Kansas, decided to get even and one evening while he was asleep drunk on the couach and before she moved out to go live with her mother, she got into the Universe to create Colorado. Having not had free reign to do as she pleased for some time she got carried away creating beautiful lakes, wonderful vistas, lush green fields separated by snow covered mountain peaks, deep blue streams ... and thus the Rockies were born.

I rode on for some miles and came up a scar on the land. A mining operation that had seemingly removed the side of a mountain.

It was a very ugly scar on the land. The knee jerk reaction is to say they shouldn't do that but then again I imagine that I probably benefit in one way or another from whatever it is they pull out of there. Difficult compromises.

Leaving the mind I continued my ascent winding my way around mountains and through canyons eventually coming upon the Continental Divide.

The route starting going downhill. I kept trying to capture the vistas knowing full well that photos would never do it justice, and I was correct.

The scenery here is so striking, so beautiful that I couldn't but feel that it's ashame I'm alone. Photos don't do it justice. Words don't do it either. And there's no one to share it with. No one to say "Remember when we stopped and looked down from on high?". Originally Rachel was going to join me for a leg of this journey. She had come out for a week on the last trip, back in '92. We rode through the Big Trees in California. It was a magical time. But alas, a scheduling conflict arose and she couldn't make it. Bummer.

A friend of mine has been texting and joking that she might fly out and meet me somewhere for a long weekend. It won't ever happen, but daydreaming I thought that this area would be the place to do that. Get a couple of rooms at some mountain hotel and doday excursions out. With someone else out here I would be more likely to stop and do things off the bike. At the continental divide, there was a lift to the top of the mountain. If she, or anyone else, had been here I would have likely gone up. But by myself, I just got back on the bike. It would be great to share even just a small a part of this adventure with someone else.

Of course, you think about someone flying out and, if you're me, you come up with all kinds of reasons not to. For me, it's always so easy to come up with reasons not to do a thing. I sometimes joke that intelligence is a measure of the number of reasons, per seconds, you came come up with why a given thing you're considering my go wrong. More boundaries, more cages. My mind always goes in that direction. Then I think about visiting Angela, where again I had ccome up with countless reasons why I shouldn't, yet I had one of the best times of this trip. I need to remember that. There is such a thing as being too cautious, too restrained. Sometimes it's good to challenge your basic nature.

I've been trying to convince Mike and Angela that this really isn't far away at all. They could make it out here in a day and a half. Really. It's not that far. If they trailered the bike they could be here in a day easy. We could go riding for a couple of days down here around Ouray. The riding is /INCREDIBLE/. You should do it, you know you want to, once the bike is fixed. I've got to work on my salesmanship. So far I'm striking out.

The road continued from one incredible vista to the next.

Another advantage of having someone else is that you can put faces in photos. Being by myself I tried the telescoping camera pole with mixed results.

More and more incredible vistas.

There were many rocks.

Between mountains lush green fields could be seen often with these striking winding mountain creeks.

There were larger rivers.

And lakes.

As I approach Ouray, I couldn't believe this place. I figured it would be out on the flat before the mountains. I was wrong. This town is nestled in between I think it's four or five 14,000ft+ peaks. There's this incredibly tight steep road that winds up one of the mountain faces on the way to the campground. It looks like something out of Tolkien.

The entrance to the Ampitheatre campground is just past the town. The road up to the campsites is nothing short of stunning. I'll get photos of it later on. I hope to take the bike around here with the helmet cam. I rolled into camp and was greeted by Bruce.

Bruce!!!!!!!

The campsite is essentially carved into a cliff. The photos don't capture it but the drops here are precipitous.

And it took maybe five minutes for me to realize I had been horribly mislead. There are 18 people here, most of them children.One of the little noise makers asked me what my name was. "Yermo", I replied. "What??", she asked. So I made the error of saying, "The last little girl I met just called me 'that guy'". Error. I am now known as "That Guy". I don't actually know what "that girls" name is.

Obviously, this just wasn't going to do. I devised a plan to contain all the noise makers in one place. With the tent opened up I figured I could lure them in, close it and be done with it. And then there would be Peace(tm). The plan nearly worked.

Unfortunately they saw through my plot and I spent the rest of the evening fending them off. At one point the whole lost of them, I think there may be as many as ten, attacked with a degree of sophistication and planning that military commanders could learn a thing or two from. The first wave distracted me. The second wave attacked low. The third wave weighted me down. The next thing I knew I was on the ground with a pile of the beasts on top of me. There was no escape. I was done for.

"Why me!?!?!", I asked. I'm the only single guy here. The only one without kids. Like cats attracted to the one person in the room allergic to them, little kids smell fear a mile away ... and attack!

We sat around the firepit until well after dark entertained by rugrats and stories. Everyone went to bed ridiculously early. Bruce and I stayed up until it was pitch black.

We had to put out the fire as the smoke was bothering some of the sleepers. Bruce retired and I sat out trying to upload photos in the cold and dark. The sky was clear showing a bright moon and stars. Another moment best shared but no one was around ... so I attempted to write as the temperature dropped. Connectivity failed so cold and tired I gave up and crawled into my tent. Note to self, do not pitch a tent at an angle on a hill. A nylon sleeping back on a nylon thermarest past is a recipe for sliding. I slept fitfully as the temperature continued to drop. When I got up to take a leak the thermometer on the bike registered in the 30's. I think it may have gotten colder than that.

I did eventually sleep. I woke up around 8, yes you read that right, 8, and was greeted by Bruce who had a cup of coffee in hand. Ha was already making breakfast.

If you are trying to get rid of me you are doing a horrible job.