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Posted by Staff
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Wednesday, 10 October 2007 |
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Page 3 of 5
Wild turkeys and beef cattle
sent us off from Black Canyon State Park, and we thumped out of there with a
due diligence. There was, of course,
the minor detail of finding gas, but the GPS showed two cities between where we
were and the intersection for the TAT, so we were not concerned. It seems, however, that in the big sky
country, cities have a different meaning than they do on the east coast. The GPS designated cities turned out to be
large ranches, with no stores, fuel stops, or citizens that we could see. The DR had been burning on reserve for the
last 15 miles or so, and I began to be thankful for Tim and his 640 Adventure’s
7+ gallon fuel cell and the siphon hose I packed for just such an occasion.
An executive decision was
made, and we backtracked east the 25 miles back into town to where we knew
there was a gas station. We all made
it, but the drama of adding 4.75 gallons to a 4.9 gallon IMS tank on the DR
taught us a valuable lesson; never go to sleep with an empty motorcycle when there
are miles to cover the next day.
 Refueled by a pint of
Mountain Dew and overpriced 87 octane, we blistered across the remaining
Oklahoma territory, and crossed into New Mexico. The plains and un-catchable horizon of Oklahoma slowly
transformed into distant plateaus and rock formations, littered with spastic
elk that eyed us warily as we passed. The roads remained fast and predictable, with occasional crests and
cattle guards that tempted us to loft our loaded bikes into the air as we
crossed them. These were no motocross
bikes, but they seemed to fly just fine…that is, until Loy’s KLR allowed it’s
rear tire to reintroduced its compressed air into the atmosphere; a scary
proposition at 60 mph, but somehow he kept it rubber side down and made an
uneventful stop right on course.
So, out with the tools, off
with the tire, and under the oppressive heat and clear skies of New Mexico the
flat was repaired…almost. It turns out
that it is possible to puncture a perfectly good tube with an errant tire iron. Truly, roadside repairs are not always an
all-power, no precision effort. It took
a few guys, two tries, 30 minutes, and a bit of “verbal lubrication,” but we
were once again off. The New Mexico
section is wonderfully underrated, but just shy  of 70 miles long as we clipped
the NW corner of the state on our way into Colorado.
Once
again, free-range cattle signs lined the roadsides, and decrepit fences gave
the route a rustic character that gave the impression that we were somehow,
like modern cowboys, blazing a dusty trail to the West. Western Colorado rolled along, and our big
sky began giving way to hills and sharp snowy peaks in the distance. As our progress ate up the day, conversation
shifted to where we’d spend the night. Fortunately, Colorado has some of the most accommodating and scenic
state parks available. We consulted the
map, Tim plotted a route into the GPS and we set off for our second camp of the
week.
We needed a bit of daylight
left when we arrived as Loy’s KLR had developed a severe low RPM bog, and we
suspected a fouling plug, aggravated further by the altitude and richening
running condition. We had more than
doubled our elevation since leaving Georgia, and the bikes seemed to be aware
of it. The crisp evening air, coming
earlier in the day than we were used to, kept us aware of it as well. Open carburetor surgery, adjusting the
needle, and a fresh plug, compliments of Jeff, fixed Loy’s bike, with a bit of
daylight to spare.
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