All Good Things...

... must come to an end, including this long ramble of a ride that started waay back in March with The Road to Wrestlemania. What began in my adopted home of California following the least straight lines I could find to Houston, ultimately, 3140 miles later, landed in the garage of my friend Keith (a.k.a Unleaded) in Oklahoma City, as any good trip should.

This landing was a temporary one, as all landings in Oklahoma City should be. Work, life, and other various side projects interrupted Le Grand Tour du Fromage as such things inevitably do. My girlfriend Fiona (a.k.a. Sleeping Beauty) and I escaped for a week of riding in Australia, my riding buddy Abi (a.k.a Dark Meat Snack) caught up on sleep, baseball and sleep; while, to help us keep things on track, Unleaded graciously flew to Houston to helpfully retrieve Abi's Concours and return it to Oklahoma City for him.

In a personal, soft-n-mushy aside; during this interim period, I became the proud godfather of Keith's beautiful daughter Danica. It was a special and important occasion; so important I even dug out my one good tie and, after a few unsuccessful attempts, remembered how to tie it.





My Goddaughter Danica

Six weeks later, that same old burning itch had returned. Fortunately the pills the doctor prescribed cleared that little condition up quickly! After a week spent broadcasting WWE TV shows concluded somewhere or other, Dark Meat and I scratched that itch by returning to Okey Dokey Hokey Pokey City, turned ourselves around, ready to take our ride full circle, back to California. That's what it's all about!





The Godfather with Godchild, Neighbor Ron, Unleaded and Dark Meat Snack, ready to run for the border.

While I didn't have a Map-kin drawn up for this half of the ride, plenty of planning went into the return journey. Fiona had two separate flights booked to join the ride on two separate occasions. Abi and I had to be in Denver by Friday for the WWE extravaganza the following week. Since the show was in Denver, a bunch of the crew that ride motorcycles were planning to fly in early, rent some bikes, and ride the Rocky Mountains with us.

I never knew what the word 'awry' meant until I started making ambitious plans like these.

Our little motorcycle gang rolled out of OKC heading for the hills of Colorado. Unfortunately, Keith and Ron had to turn around after a few hours and return home, but it was nice to be accompanied out of the city.







On The Road Again!

Oklahoma reminded me of Dark Meat's home state of Florida, except with less curves. Florida boasts 11 curves in 318 miles, which, thanks to the Daytona International Speedway, beats western Oklahoma by exactly four.



At Ron and Keith's turn-around time, Abi and I had a decision to make. Press on, or start looking for a place to stay for the night. I found a place called the Pit Stop that looked like it'd be pretty cheap, but, for some reason, Abi wanted to press on.









Yeah, maybe not.

After fond farewells, we drove in a straight line straight through the very straight Oklahoma Panhandle, turning exactly twice to avoid a farmer's field. Boise City became our home for the night, and, at $59 a room, I'm able to say the motel was an ever-so-slight improvement over the Pit Stop.

The next morning we turned north on a direct heading for Denver, cautiously watching for large animals lumbering across the remainder of Oklahoma's flat expanses.





A few hours later, hours filled with more straight, flat roads and wandering minds, we saw the best thing there is to see in Western Oklahoma.



Sleeping Beauty's flight was scheduled to land in Denver at five. My friend Mike, who lives in Colorado already had picked up his rental and was waiting for us to arrive at his house for 'beer and BBQ.' The rest of the WWE motorcycle 'gang' had staggered arrivals throughout the night, ready to pick up their rentals and ride the Rockies for a few fun days. Since we were in a little bit of a time crunch, naturally we got stuck in construction traffic. Never fails.

Dark Meat Nap did what he does best in these situations, or to be honest, what he does in most situations, shut down to conserve his energy.



While sitting still, stopped in traffic, my phone started ringing. I checked it, and had three texts, two voicemails and five missed calls. Normally, that's the amount of phone traffic I have in a month, so I knew something - something big - was up.... and I also knew that somehow, the best laid plans were about to go awry.

Ok I am hooked. Part deux please.

Indeed, please continue.

Colorado was rescheduled in Cali because of basketball? Do I get a prize.

the next part might have something to do with a Denver Nuggets playoff game

Very funny so far, Frenchy, but please don't tease me like that!

Good stuff! Keep it coming!

That's a Fieldsheer Aqua Tour jacket, right? How do you like it? I've got one in red and so far it's been pretty decent in varying weather.

Ride safe,

BG

Plans changed, and in a hurry.

Monday Night RAW, the WWE's flagship show (and a primary sponsor of these motorcycling adventures), was scheduled to broadcast from the Pepsi Arena in Denver. This convenient venue's close proximity to some very good roads is the reason a lot of the crew planned to fly in early and ride. However, in a move that surprised everyone, even the team owner, the Denver Nuggets remained in the playoffs against the Lakers. And game four of their series was scheduled for... Monday night of course.

Everyone knew about this schedule conflict before leaving Oklahoma City, but the agreed on alternate plan was to tape RAW in Denver on Sunday. No problem, right?

Wrong.

Just to stir the pot a little, the Lakers offered the WWE use of the vacant Staples Center in Los Angeles. The WWE, always happy to stir the pot, accepted. Now, the show, still three days away, was suddenly being held a thousand miles to the west. The bigger problem for us, Fiona was already en route, scheduled to land in Denver in a few hours.

It seemed like a big problem, but really, it wasn't that bad, at least for us. For the WWE travel department, it was a certified nightmare, having to locate then rebook over 100 technicians, countless talent and deal with all the rest of the logistical issues that are involved with a WWE event, all in a matter of days.

Abi and I booked round trip flights from Denver to LA and back. Problem solved. The poor crew guys had to cancel their rentals, but we were already so close to Denver, Sleeping beauty was on her way in, and Mike already had his bike, so what the hell? Let's ride, and worry about the rest when it comes!

Fiona landed, we scooped her up and raced from the airport to Mike's house for beer and BBQ. I have to give Fiona credit, she's gotten very good, excellent in fact, at traveling with one little side case bag and her helmet - no easy accomplishment for most women I know. And, somehow, she still manages to have lots of fashion options for evenings out on the town.

My friend Mike is a very interesting guy. He is also a freelance television production dude, and oftenworks with Abi and I on various shows. As sometimes, but not too often happens, working with people like Mike leads to a friendship outside of work. For example, Mike and I spent a day Cheating Death not too long ago.

Among other things, Mike is a pilot, an avid four wheeling enthusiast, and used to be a motorcycling nut. Mike hadn't ridden in a few years, but when I told him about this plan, he immediately found a guy that would rent him a VStrom for the weekend, including delivery and pickup.



Aside for rekindling his riding passion, Mike's latest ongoing adventure, along with his lovely wife Ingrid, is parenthood. A little over a year ago, Mike and Ingrid welcomed their son Lucas into the world.





Why Do These Kind Of Pictures Make Me Nervous?

Realizing the beer supply was low, we took a walk to the store to restock.



Another problem solved, and we spent the night emptying the carriage and laughing.

The next morning, after a customary breakfast of Tylenol and a group shot, we geared up and headed out once again, the mountain town of Steamboat Springs in our sights.



On the way out, Mike made a quick detour to show us the fun toys in his airplane hanger, nicknamed Mike's Man Cave.



An unassuming looking place, Mike's Man Cave is probably the only place in the world you can find a working experimental airplane, a ready-to-destroy Toyota 4x4, a unicycle with a flat tire and a spray booth all under one roof.





Is This Foreshadowing More Fun For Another Day?

Outside the Man Cave, we mounted up. Before climbing on the back of Rain Cloud Follows, Sleeping Beauty cracked up, saying, "Look at you three on those big bikes! You guys look like... Team Tiptoe!"





Ha. Ha. Ha. Very funny!

Finally, Team Tiptoe was on its way to Steamboat.





We enjoyed swirling through some fine Colorado back roads, a welcome change after the curve-challenged straightness of the past two days. Any worries I might have had about Mike's riding rust were quickly erased, as he led us on a fantastic tour of his home state. The relaxing mindset that can only come from tearing through sweeping corner after sweeping corner soon settled over Team Tiptoe.

And then, another tragedy struck. Who would think that on a motorcycle trip, the most grievous injury of the week would happen at, of all places, lunch?

Awesome ride report... got me hooked.

So whatdja eat?

Frenchy, ya just crack me up. Always enjoy your blog/report/whatever.

What's next?

RoadKill Cafe?

The scene of the crime? An innocent place called Drifter's Cookhouse, a great looking place surrounded by the most amazing umm... Flock? Gaggle? Swarm? Or is it, as Wikipedia claims, a... charm? Whatever it is actually called, it was the most amazing bunch of hummingbirds I've ever seen.



The Cookhouse was rustic, decorated all around with autographed dollar bills stapled to the walls. It's one of those places you walk into and know immediately is going to be good. I was served a mean Cookhouse buffalo burger by the owner and his young son.



We arrived at Drifters on opening day for the season. The owner was proud of his place, and after a long winter, seemed to really enjoy talking to us.

After a lunch, which included fresh chocolate chip cookies and home made raspberry ice cream, my darling Sleeping Beauty decided we should add a dollar to the wall.

Sometimes even the best, most well intentioned of ideas turn out so bad.

After singing the bill, the owner handed Sleeping Beauty a loaded staplegun, saying, "Put it up wherever you want."



Somehow, instead of stapling our special bill to the wall, disaster struck as Fiona managed to shoot a staple deep into her fingers!



Hastily, I finished the job for her.



She played it cool until we got outside, then she lost it!



"Oh my God! That HURT! I tried to be cool about it in there, but I started sweating right away and everything! Great job, guys!" She turned her anger on us, "Real smart! Give Fiona the staplegun! OUCH!"

Fortunately she's a trained medical professional. Using her extensive medical knowledge, she managed to staunch the considerable flow of blood from the tiny staple holes in her fingers.



After this debacle and repair job, we were back on our way. A few miles later, she calmed down and things were back to normal.



Bloodied but unbeaten, Team TT twisted through more great roads, climbing ever higher towards the 10,276 foot summit of Cameron Pass.









We made short work of the rest of the curves between us and Steamboat Springs, checked into the Rabbit Ears motel, and the usual post ride routine unwound. Toasted the Best Day Ever, smoked fine cigars, then sniffed out a fantastic brewpub by a raging river. The rest of the night is devoid of evidence except for this single photo.



I think this picture says it all. I'm not sure though, because the night got a bit err... fuzzy around two AM. But it was the Best Night Ever, of that I am sure.

And better days, and nights were still ahead.

anyone see a differance here?

Great shots of the family and ride, thanks for sharing.

Nice ride report and pics. Thanks for taking us 'on tour'.

--G

08FJR4ME said:

anyone see a differance here?

Click to expand...

It's a V-twin(kie) thing. You wouldn't unnerstand.

Great report and ride!

On a long, multi-day motorcycle tour, one of my favorite times of day is early morning, after my mental haze has lifted and I figure out where I am, but before the toll for the previous night's excess is collected. This is the moment where I draw back the motel room curtain, make sure Rain Cloud Follows hasn't disappeared during the night, and I find out what mood Mother Nature is in.

Her mood this morning?

Angry.

Thick, gray clouds filled the sky. The temperature was slightly less that warm, but at least it was damp out. Not yet raining, but just damp. Rain was sure to come just about the time we pulled out of the lot. I know how Ma Nature operates. Looked like it was going to be a long day, and with Rocky Mountain National Park on the agenda, probably a day filled with good-natured self induced suffering.

So, we played a trick on Mother Nature, and it seemed to work. Instead of hauling ass directly to the park, we made a quick detour to check out Fish Creek Falls.









These stall tactics seemed to throw Mama N off, because the sun actually came out. Believing out little trick worked, we stopped in Steamboat Springs for lunch.

I knew we were in trouble when the radio started playing 'Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head'. A quick glance out the window confirmed it. Mother Nature was on to us, and wasn't pleased. Those dark clouds were now boiling, and a downpour was eminent. We ran to the bikes, and suited up just in time to endure the brunt of her wrath. It's not nice to fool with Mother Nature, after all!



With Mike in the lead, we spent the day dodging rain clouds, often surrounded by deluges on all sides, but somehow, most times, not actually in them.





Trail Ridge Road in Rocky Mountain National Park, the exciting path that leads to a ridiculous altitude of 12,183 feet was open, but reports were of ten foot visibility for the top eight miles. With a vote of three to one, the majority ruled, and we decided to go for it.





The beginning was wet, but fun. Elk, deer and other delicious tasting critters dotted the fields. Abi, the one and only 'Nay' vote for this excursion was unimpressed. Maybe it's just the vegetarian in him, who knows?

The road ascended,the fog descended, and the temperature plummeted.



Pretty soon, it was just as described. Riding in a thick blanket of opaque fog.







At the summit, well over the altitude where it is safe to turn on your computer on an airplane, we stopped at the visitor center, which, naturally, was closed. Unlike 95% of National Park Visitor Centers that close at 5 PM, these chuckleheads close early, at 4:30.



Mike walked over to find out the center was closed, and almost immediately disappeared in the fog. After a few minutes, he reappeared. winded, and said, "You do realize... that we are above... the altitude that... supplemental oxygen... is required... for aircraft, right?"

Great unsuccess getting the highest National Parks Passport Stamp this time, which only means we'll have to go back and try again another day. I'm also pretty sure there was a sign up there with the altitude on it, and I would've loved to stop and get a picture, but two things prevented that. One: Stopping would amount to suicide in the fog, and Two: A picture of fog proves nothing. So, stamp-less and picture-less, we started the harrowing decent.

On the ride down, we saw a gut wrenching sight. Three park rangers, sirens flashing in the fog, next to two parked motorcycles, no riders or rangers in sight. Granted the fog was still thick, but my tingling spider sense told me something bad had happened.

We wouldn't find out the story until a week later. Turned out that, purely by chance, one of the parked motorcycles belonged to the guy that rented Mike the VStrom. The guy noticed Mike's rented VStrom ride by, and mentioned it when he returned the bike. The story was there were three bikes in their little group, and one got separated. Not sure if he panicked or just made a really bad decision, but the guy, on fog shrouded roads with next to zero visibility, made a U-turn to try and find his buddies. With visibility so close to zero, the truck in the opposite lane never even saw the motorcycle and crunched into him. The rider was OK, but the bike and the truck were pretty well smashed up. When the park rangers showed up, it turned out that the driver of the truck had a warrant, and was arrested. The passenger didn't have ID, and was held at gunpoint in the freezing snow and fog for two hours before being released. All things considered, a crashed bike with an alive rider, and a felon apprehended, things could have turned out worse up there.

Anyway, back to happier stories. Below 8000 feet, the fog lifted, and the rest of the ride was mostly uneventful, except for the huge herd of elk we saw on the way out of the park.



Sadly, we parted ways with good friend Mike in Boulder, and the next day we endured the beginning of our three days of worked mandated Tripus Interruptus.

And, judging by the hail and lightning she provided Dark Meat Snack and I on the way to Denver International Airport on Sunday, Mother Nature was definitely less-than-pleased with the previous day's little stunt.

Next up: Tripus Resumus, a little ride of the four wheel kind, then, onward to Yellowstone!

Awesome story.