Ever met anyone who walked up Pike’s Peak? You have now, but I’ll make you wait for the details. I’m back from one of the best Saturdays of my life. Avoiding the freeways found me oun route 83 through some historic areas to Colorado Springs. It's a pretty town in the shadow of the Rockies. I got this craving for a llamaburger. Look just to right of the red barn. This was the scenic route, to be sure. The terrain is a little choppier but the views get better all the way to Colo Spr (as the road signs say).
That is one nice-looking city but I never stopped my goal was Garden of the God. It’s one of those tourist traps that turns out to be worth the money. It’s free. So much so I visited the nature center and paid five bucks to watch the video about the spires, shown here. Having a background in geology (like myself) makes the presentation more understandable. They are basically eroded layers of sandstone with a high iron content.
As the tectonic plates buckled the Rockies, these were upended and that’s what you see. Of course, if you know nothing of continental spread or subduction zones, you could consider the area a holy place and all the rest that goes with that. I recommend the trip for a budget outing, I had a sandwich and coffee for less than six bucks with an incredible view. This is fantastic motorcycle country. Every town, and sometimes just a roadside stop, has a repair shop.The wall map said I was not far from Pike’s Peak, which surprised me enough to alter my course and make the drive. The range is visible from the coffee shop. You find a place called Cascade and make a left. Several miles up the road, you get surprised by a $12 cover charge, the most expensive item on this little jaunt. The other option is a $35 cogwheel tram to the top.
As a child I’d read the trail was a test of the power and endurance of your motorcar, so I opted for the drive. There is your 19 miles of wild scenery. Beware, while it is mostly pleasant, there are major stretches of hairpin turns that eat up 80 miles of gasoline in low gear in the hour to get there. Your passengers may freak out in the parts with no guardrail. I lucked into a cloudless day, though the northern view looked smoggy from forest fires in California and Washington.
There are many good turnouts, but take the park advice and stop there on the way down, it is easier on your car. I was the only sidecar on the trip, actually, the only sidecar I’ve seen period on this entire journey. But now the walking part. On the way up, I stopped and met a rider, Hank M, and his lady. We drove the remaining five miles in tandem, but it was a little more than five miles to the top. That little more means I didn’t drive it. Ah, here’s the part about my walk.A few hundred feet from the end, my Honda began to die. It would idle but not run. Hank, a seasoned rider, got the right diagnosis. The carb needles are set for sea level, not 13,910 (GPS) feet up in the ether. He helped me push and park it on a siding and I proceeded to walk the last 500 feet up. Within minutes, Hank returned on his bike and gave me a welcome lift. This is the highest I’ve been, and yes, the lack of oxygen in the air makes even that short walk like a hiking expedition. So, like Zebulon Pike, I walked up the mountain. Just not from the bottom and not right to the top, but hey. If people will believe Google Chrome is harmless, why wouldn’t they believe I scaled the entire mountain?
Here is a photo of Hank’s ride, I thought he was in the picture. Nope, but if you know the owner of this motorcycle, that’s the guy who helped me get to the viewpoint. He must know the area well; he calculated the tram ride takes in $1.4 billion per year. That’s enough to, well, that’s enough, period. Hank bought his Harley at a total bargain, it’s a 2006 compared to my 1979. Thanks again, Hank!
Again, these places were close enough that I could see Colo Spr and the Garden of the gods from the top. I suggest this trip is more exciting than the Rocky Mtn Pass, but it is just as cold above the treeline. It is a rugged lunar landscape up there. I saw a few hikers but their parked cars say they were taking it easy. The last time I saw such barren land was as a child, on Southampton Island, in northern Hudson’s Bay, Canada. Windswept rock exposed to the elements. The other pass was tundra, this was bleak. And cold.
On the way down, I caught a lift with Roger and friends to the parked sidecar. You can see the terrain I described behind him. The park is just around the distant corner. The air is clearer on the south slope; you can see what a beautiful day it was. Roger stayed near as I free-wheeled the Honda down a thousand feet, where it started again. Thanks, Roger!Even at 13,000 feet, the Honda displayed carb problems, something to do with how the needles are set. It idled at 800 instead of the throaty 1150 with severe power loss. I nursed it down to 6,000 feet where is began to growl again, but the sun was in the west. That means I took a shortcut.
And what good idea that was. Go up to Woodland, but get off 24 and go north to Decker. It is like driving through the Ponderosa. How I’d love to have a cabin up in those woods. The valley is like driving through a storybook. I stopped at Decker for coffee and cookies, do the same if you can. Find the country store and on one wing is an ice cream parlor. They have eight flavors, and if you can’t decide, you can get all eight. Like this lucky kid.
Then northwest to 285, and see the river valley farms that defy description for perfection. Horses, cows, green pastures, but far enough from town they have to leave you alone. Sadly, a major fire went through the area not long ago and there are long sweeps of tree skeletons. And one can see that hundreds of houses and cabins went up as well. You are still over a mile high in a fragile environment and it will take several lifetimes for the trees to return.
By dusk, I arrived at Pine Point?). That was for my now typical high-speed run back to town. That road goes through another pass and time permitting, I’d like to see it. Don’t forget it is September, and it got cold when the sun set for the last 40 minutes down that long 5% grade down to prairie level. A half-hour late start this morning made for a chilly drive by nightfall.
[Author’s note: That delay getting started is revealing. I wanted to mail a letter, and no, I did not bring along envelopes. Beginning y’day around noon, whenever I stopped I asked if they had a spare envelope. Anything would do, as I just had to mail a single letter. Nope, not one place had any, but they had packages of 100 for sale. I even checked if I could buy a birthday card and use that envelope, but they’re on to that, the sly bastards. In the end, I had to buy a five-year supply to send one letter.
This situation, besides reminding me of my family, says so much about a population. I mean, if you don’t have envelopes, you are not writing letters. I’ll bet most of the people in that category also don’t have stamps, pens, paper, or a desk and the other pre-requisite: privacy. Going further, they must also have no friends to write to, erroneously think an email is a good substitute, and likely their grammar and penmanship are in equally bad shape.
Is it any wonder why people laugh at the misfortunes of the untaught? Hey, in America, stupidity is a self-inflicted wound. When, for the value of their entire lives, those stoopy-doops who can’t between them muster up the wherewithal to successfully write and mail a letter deserve any hardships that befall them. Am I exaggerating? I don’t think so. Literate people (such as myself) would, except in unusual circumstances (like a cross-country sidecar expedition), have a spare envelope.]
