Cycle News - Archive Issues - 1990's

(Left) Riding above timberline: The only thing wheezing harder than the bike Is the rider. (Above) The Durango & Silverton narrowgauge railroad takes visitors on an eye-popping trip along cliff walls through old towns. (Right) The old stagecoach road that leads Into Gunnison. h's more fun on a bike. Silverton. Silverton used to make most of its income from mining, but now caters to vacationers. Still, its dirt side streets and old buildings are much more authentic than ski communities like Aspen. Ken "Moolie" Mallow had trucked our bikes up the hill, and following the scenic train ride to Silverton, we unloaded and suited up, leaving the souvenir shop browsing to the tourists. After Moose tech guru Joe Shedron assisted the less prepared (read: me) with a few lastminute jetting changes and such, we fired up and were on our way. The first day's ride was a comparatively brief one, taking us from Silverton to Ouray, by way of Engineer Pass. This was the first of what would seem like hundreds of trips over the 12,800-foot pass, and we also took the steep side trip up to the 13,218-foot peak. Our rather large riding group split into smaller crews, and I was silly enough to join the one headed by eight-time National Enduro Champion Dick Burleson. Bored by the jeep roads, Burleson took us on some above-timberline single-track that could truly make your hair stand on end. When making a near-vertical, rocky ascent, it's good to know that dabbing would require a lOoo-foot-long right leg. But then who needs to dab, since the ample oxygen available at 13,000 feet makes the bikes run so strong? Not! The pack of deer we saw thought we were ' crazy. When we whined about not being able to breath, Burleson was nice enough to take us backdown - by way of a steep, single track downhill, littered .w it h switchbacks and fallen logs. And to "cool down," we climbed over the infamous Poughkeepsie Gulch - where all old boulders go to die. This road is best handled with a bit of momentum, so two-stroke riders like me pin it and slip the clutch, flailing their legs until they finally stall. Meanwhile, thumper riders simply chug on up. We passed through several beautiful but long-since-dead gold mining towns before finally arriving at our hotel in Ouray - also known as the Switzerland of the Ll.S, After a good meal and an even better night's sleep, we remounted and began day two, which would take us on a loop to Lake City and back. Though significantly more tame than day one (I cleverly managed to avoid Burleson that morning), our ride along the Continental Divide was no less scenic. And with full bellies of Lake City pizza, several of us decided to follow Denison on a jaunt over another rocky, switchback-filled pass. Most of the hairpins actually required getting off the bike and lifting the rear wheel around - thankfully, the bikes were at such a steep angle that the back ends were pretty light. This technique was used by all except enduro ace Steve Hatch, who took the steepest line straight down the boulders without even dabbing. Rain had begun falling, providing a good test for our riding gear - and for the handgrip on Joe Shedron's KLX6S0. The grip popped off while he was negotiating a switchback, sending him and the huge Kawasaki over the edge. He single-handedly pulled his bike back up to the trail, only to find that it was facing backwards, We were waiting below, unaware, and the look on Shedron's face was pretty funny as he came into sight, inching his way down the trail on his backwards-facing KLX. . I wasn't laughing several minutes later, however, when I found myself in the predicament described earlier - out of gas and no one in sight, with darkness approaching. But it's amazing how things just tend to work out on motorcycle rides, at least for the most part. Just when I was checking my fanny pack for a box of matches to build a fire, over a nearby hill approached salvation, in the form of a four-wheel-drive truck. It was a weekday, and I hadn't seen a vehicle outside of our group all day. Still, here in plain sight were a hunter and his wife, and they offered to give me a ride when I told them of my plight. I was less pleased, however, when I found out that they were not going back to town, but would instead be camping in the mountains for another week or so. They took me as far as the turn I had missed before giving a wave and disappearing into the wilderness. I was glad the trail was at least primarily downhill, and just as I began coasting, along came Denison, wondering what I had been up to. He loaned me some gas, and we got back to Ouray as darkness fell. The next day would end in Gunnison, which we accessed by taking an old stagecoach road. The ride was the easiest yet, but my fun meter was pegged the whole time, even after I tipped over and broke my clutch cover while crossing a stream. I was rescued by Morrill Griffith, ISDE veteran and owner of the Sun Sports motorcycle shop in Gunnison. Griffith cleaned off the cracked cover and applied some quick-acting putty, saying, "I hope it works. This is the first time I've tried this stuff." I had my doubts, but the putty held strong. In fact, I still haven't bothered to replace the clutch cover. Thanks, Morrill. The stagecoach trail included everything from waterbar jumps, to snaking, forest-lined dirt roads, to twisty two track covered in deep, lush grass - my personal favorite. It was so much fun that I was literally chuckling 'a s I rode, but a locked gate put us behind schedule, and I was wishing my headlight worked during the final jaunt into town. Many people were heading home the next day, so the dinner that night was a wild one, to saythe least. A few of us didn't party so hard, however . The Moose ride was over, but we had convinced Cornelius and Denison to let us ride day one of the three-day Thor ride, which started one day later. A hair-rais- ing car ride brought us to the ski town of Snowmass, the starting point of the Thor Colorado 300. If Durango is the mountain bike capital of the world, then Snowmass must be the yuppie capital, and I felt more than a little out of place as we rode our bikes by the BMWs and condominiums a day later. I preferred the more rustic towns to the south, but I have to admit, the trails on my final day of riding were the best of the trip. The sheer mountains around Ouray mean that the carved-out jeep roads are the only option, and while they're a lot of fun, I was ready for some trails. We again split off into groups, and I hooked up with former enduro ace Fritz Kadlec. A Colorado native, Kadlec now works in the race car industry, so he doesn't race the Nationals anymore - he should. Our group also included heroes like .H a tch , Jeff Russell, Rodney Smith, Danny Hamel and Jimmy Lewis, but even they balked when we came to a section where several slippery, barkless trees were laid at an off-camber angle across the track. Kadlec, on the other hand, simply roosted his stock 10<250 over the logs in one clean, effortless motion that had us all shaking our heads in disbelief. Lunch was served at a quaint, remote, cabin, which also had an old gas tank in front. Most people refueled there, but our jaunt had put us at the end of the group, and the tank was dry by the time we got to it. Most of us had large tanks, however, and the afternoon section was just as wild as the morning. I was tired, and when we arrived at the day's finish in Crested Butte, I was glad I'd be heading home the next day. Colorado isn't exactly a secret riding area any more, bu t that doesn't make it any less fun . Sure, it ma y be more adventuresome to go rid ing in places like Mexico, Costa Rica or Hawaii, but for sheer fun and awesome scenery , it's hard to beat an old classic. (.~ ~ 0\ 0\ T'"""'l 0\ T'"""'l I-< Q) E u o 23 '

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