PHASE 3,
DENVER, CO TO ACME, WA
7/25/9
I got Kriss to the airport several hours early and headed west. I was hoping to hit a few attractions and maybe another brewpub or two on the way home, but after loosing my wallet I was just ready to be home. Not only that but with only $200.00 to my name I had to be frugal. This was when I decided to break one of my only rules for the trip. I went to a McDonalds and ate fast food for the first time in a month. Sure enough, it was just as bad as I remembered.

It was colder than a witch’s tit in a brass bra most of the morning and when it did finally warm up I took off my rain gear just in time to ride into two storms back to back. I followed I-70 west out of Denver to hwy 40 which I followed into Utah



all the way to Heber City where I paid $20.00 to pitch a tent in Wasatch Mt. State Park. Am I just a cheap ass, or does $20.00 seem like a lot of money to pitch a tent?
Somewhere along hwy 40 the sky was full of hot air balloons.




7/26/9
At about 6:30 in the morning I headed north on 40/189 until I had to ride Interstates 80 and 84 for about 50 miles. In Ogden I located hwy 39 and headed east. I absolutely loved this road, it's a twisted mountain pass with nary a cage in sight.
Eventually I worked my way into Idaho via hwy 16 and 30



It was my intention to ride north on 34, cross into armpit, I'm sorry, I mean Wyoming, back into ID via hwy 26, then west on 31. Despite my intentions, I made my first real navigational error of the trip when I missed my turn in Soda Springs and didn't realize my mistake until I nearly reached Lava Hot Springs 22 miles away. This left me with the choice of turning around and backtracking 20 miles so I can take a longer route, or continue on a route that is shorter to begin with, but I was avoiding due to an interstate. I chose to break another of my rules and ride about 100 miles north on I-15.

As I rode the last 25 or so miles of I-15 before my exit I was staring directly at some very ominous looking clouds over the mountains. Turning west onto hwy 33 looked better, but I was still unsure of what was ahead. I was originally hoping to camp somewhere in the Lemhi Valley on hwy 28 but I was feeling great and it was early so as long as the weather didn't do me in I was going to keep riding and try to make Montana.

As I rode through the Lemhi Valley I had a rather eerie experience. The highway would follow along one side of the valley for a few miles, then switch to the other side for a few miles, then repeat. That in itself wasn't so strange as the fact that every time the road switched from one side of the valley to the other it would be weaving around a thunder storm. I rode past at least five storms, alternating from my left to right, watching lightning from each one hit the valley floor, and barely got wet. I don't know how the engineers figured that one out, but I will always know it as the "valley of the road that avoids storms."

As I entered Salmon ID a very nice dude in a pickup flashed me a couple times, so I took appropriate measures. Sure enough, just around the corner was the town welcome wagon. I just smiled and waved at the nice officer as I turned north on hwy 93 and headed over Lost Trail Pass into Montana.




By this time I had ridden somewhere around 550 miles for the day, it was still kinda early, and I was still feeling great. I last fueled up in Salmon and knew I could make it to Missoula on a tank so I figured I would ride out one more tank and then fuel up again and camp just outside Missoula.
Once I made it to Missoula I refueled, ate another slime burger from whatever forgettable fast food joint it was I stopped at and continued north on hwy 93 looking for a good place to pitch my tent. This part I didn't plan too well. The road construction on hwy 93 and the lack of camping on Indian reservations both conspired against me and next thing I know it's getting late and another thunderstorm is right over head.
Looking at my map, the nearest campsite is a short way out of the way on hwy 135, so I turn south with my fingers crossed as the first couple drops of rain start to fall. About a mile down the road the rain stops, and about 5 later I get to a campsite which is, thankfully, nearly empty.

The whole time I was setting up my tent I could hear the clap of thunder. About five minutes after I put all my gear in the tent I went to get water and I felt the first drop of rain. I knew the storm had followed me so I hurried back to the tent and within 5 minutes of the first drop there was an absolute deluge going on outside. I was immediately concerned about the "junior" tent I was using. I have never been in this kind of rain with it. Next thing I know it starts to drip. It's only been a few minutes of really hard rain and I'm already getting wet!!! I gathered my sleeping bag, electronics, and anything I didn't want wet and put it in the middle of the tent with my rain jacket over it. I then put on my riding gear to try to keep myself dry. Since this was to be my last night on the road I collected any absorbent cloth that I didn't need the next day and used most of it to make a dam on the uphill side of the tent between the wall and my pile of "dry" gear. I then used the rest to wipe as much water off the walls as I could.
After about a half hour of this I realized that the trees were protecting me from the wind so it would probably be more effective to lay my raincoat over the tent. This worked well enough that about an hour later, when the storm calmed a bit more I was able to fall asleep.
While kneeling in the tent trying to stay dry it occurred to me that I had just ridden nearly 750 miles in 13 hours. This is the longest time I've spent on the Fizzy and if it weren't for the storm and the dark I felt I could have ridden all the way home.

7/27/9
I woke early in the morning thankful that it was summer and warm because my sleeping bag was totally soaked. Along with just about everything else except for the few clothes I would need for the day and my electronic devices. Lucky that. I packed up my gear and headed back to hwy 200 west.

In Thompson Falls I saw a little cafe and after a couple of days of fast food I decided to stop for a decent breakfast. When I walked in I saw tables to the left and on the right was a counter where several old men sat telling fishing stories and what not. I of course chose a stool at the counter in the hopes of striking a conversation with one of the locals. When I sat down you could hear a pin drop. The old man sitting next to me immediately turned his back to me and went on with his conversation as if I wasn't there. Well not so much as if I wasn't there, because he was making a point of showing that he wished I wasn't there. I have never felt like more of an outsider than I did in that little cafe. The up side was that this experience helped me realize just how hospitable everyone else I met on this trip was.

Before long I found myself entering back into Idaho.


This far north Idaho is only a little over 60 miles across, so it didn't take long and I was back in my home state. (Unfortunately no picture, the welcome sign is high above the road over a busy intersection.)
As soon as I got into Washington I turned onto hwy 20 and shortly after was climbing up the first of six mountain passes I would have to cross before getting home. I've not seen a name for this pass, but it is between Tiger and Park Rapids. The next passes are Sherman Pass, Wauconda Summit, Loup Loup Summit, Washington Pass, and Rainy Pass.
As I was riding down the west side of Rainy Pass I saw a full bagger Harley on the side of the road and I waved as always. I was pleased to see him wave back but I could see in his face that something wasn't right, so I flipped a, I mean turned around and went back. Turns out the guy had just T-boned a "Bambi." Not only did he manage to keep it up, but I could hardly see the dent in the fender that he was complaining about. He was shaken, but otherwise fine and told me he was just waiting around for the return of a ranger he spoke to so he could help locate the deer. So I wished him luck and continued on my way.

Almost home now and I can't wait to see my lovely wife. With less than 50 miles left to go I enter Rockport St. Park and think to myself, while rolling at 85, that I've seen a lot of cops through here, maybe I should slow down. The second I did a WSP came around the corner. That was a great bit of luck to cap off one of the best trips I've ever taken.



Rhetorical question....How exactly does a bug get smashed on a gauge face?



DISCLAIMER: While I realize it sounds like I was riding around Colorado in a drunken stupor. I would like to say that I don't in any way condone drinking and driving, much less riding. Rarely did we travel more than about 100 miles on a day that included a brewery, and there was always ample time between having a beer and getting on the bike. One of the beautiful things about taking 4 weeks for a trip like this was that we could spend 3 or 4 hours in a restaurant BS'ing with the locals and not feel like we had to be anywhere.

CORRECTIONS AND FORGOTTEN STORIES: The worst part of me losing my wallet was the fact that I also lost a week’s worth of trip notes. Those notes would have allowed me a lot more detail in this story. For the beer connoisseurs out there, I would have had detailed descriptions of the beers I tried including IBU's, ABV, OG, etc. I also had some good notes concerning the food we found in various places. Some of those micro breweries were more notable for their food than their beer.
One thing I got wrong that Kriss was kind enough to point out was Breckenridge Brewery. I had tried their IPA in a bottle somewhere else and it was one of my favorites. What I didn't remember was that when we went to their brewery the beers we had were horrible. They tasted like vanilla, and the food left a bit to be desired as well.
One story I forgot all together took place in Florrisant. It was Friday night after the bar that sponsored the blue grass festival was closed and we were sitting around a camp fire with the Florrisant Fossils and a bunch of locals. One of the guys there was named Lee and he was a biker from way back. As a matter of fact, he was a 1%, the type that intimidated the hell out of me about 20 years ago when I was just starting to ride. This guy had so many riding stories to tell that by the end of the night I realized that it wasn't a series of stories so much as a recounting of a lifetime. I have spent so much of the last 20 years avoiding this type of biker that it was almost a shock to be talking to one who was pushing 80 and was so very kind and polite. It made me feel silly to think that someone like this gentle old man ever intimidated me. But then, I'm sure he has changed a lot over the years.
A lesson learned is to ensure I have some sort of back up funds available for future trips. For years I’ve been using one of those plastic packing slip envelopes that shipping companies stick to packages to hold paperwork. I would place my registration in the envelope and stick it to the bottom of my seat. In the future I will also be putting a credit card in this envelope just in case.