2008 Colorado Invitational Charity Dirt Bike Ride
An invitation to this event does not come along the trail of life every day and at first I hesitated on accepting, thinking the already planned MCCCT Anniversaries Ride would be enough to handle. After sleeping on it for a while, the decision was made to go for it or go down trying. What follows is only a small part of the Colorado 500, as I do not believe it is possible to put the entire experience in words. My belief is that you have to be there and go through it yourself.
Sunday, 8-17-08.
This is tech inspection and registration time at Wally Dallenbach’s ranch in Basalt. Your bike and legal papers are checked quite thorough before you get your rider number and medical information fastened to your helmet visor. Registration itself is more than ten stages and you leave with full hands and a picture ID tag around your neck. After lunch there is a mandatory, though no roll call, riders meeting followed by a group picture. You are now basically on your own for the next five days. The definition of days means daylight hours, because a room is reserved for you each night at the different towns and luggage is taken there for you.
Monday, 8-18-08.
As with any rookie, you are given the “business”. You have a red R on your helmet and your ID tag says ROOKIE. Be prepared to handle it or stay home. I have a slight advantage as Bob, my sponsor, is riding his 19th year and I would have been completely lost without him. As such, we leave from Snowmass Village by a back road for Taylor Pass rather than double back to Basalt for the “official” start. With around 325 riders, there is no “key time” or marked route to follow. You ride from here to there by whatever way you decide to go, as long as it doesn’t include closed trails or areas.
It is a nippy 20 miles to the way we will be going up to Taylor Pass. Now the fun starts. The sand grains are much larger than in Michigan and they don’t care to move, a parallel to trees if you will. Two things became evident in a hurry. I had erred in not dropping the suspension compression and you can’t lug the engine and get away with it. My first stall wasn’t bad, but the second one gave me a hard time starting again. It was a matter of getting used to the altitude and different carb settings.
At the top of the pass, 11928-feet, there were perhaps 15 other riders there taking a break, along with one of the chase trucks, which came up a different trail. There were also two ways to go down and it would be the easier one for us, as that was the plan for the whole ride. Things were going OK until you had to follow a stream for maybe 100 feet and it was one at a time and wait until the rider ahead was clear. I was able to see Wade, the second rider ahead get off and walk his bike, while Bob, went down on his left side. There’s no way I can leave my bike, safely, and help. Bob gets under way and goes over on his right. I make it through the first spot OK and then take a bath to the waist on my right. Getting INCA upright meant getting the right glove soaked. With encouragement from Pete on the sidelines and some tire spinning, I made it to dry ground and announced, I’m not coming back this way Friday.
It was a piece of cake into Taylor Park for gas, where it had been prearranged to meet up with 3 other riders. While adjusting the suspension another rider starts asking me about riding the Penton at the ’03 Reunion Ride in Massachusetts. Maybe Wildman 1 can help me escape. Carl, Dan and Chris arrive and off we go winding up through more rocks until we are high above the road out of Taylor Park. A little used track appears on the left and Chris takes off exploring and out of sight. On returning, he tells us there are several other riders at the top and the Stars and Stripes flying there. This turns out to be American Flag Mountain, at the 12713-foot mark. For me, it was the high point of the week. Figure the rest out on your own.
Since this was a follow the leader ride for me, I don’t have any maps to figure exactly where we were. I do have notes to get a rough idea though and following Cement Creek and Rt. 185 got us to Mt. Crested Butte for the night. The procedure now is to check in, find your non-riding luggage bag and get ready for tomorrow. The Kawasaki Team Green is in the parking lot with two trailers, mechanics and many service items ready to help anyone in need. They are also color blind, even though perhaps 75% of the bikes were KTM’s. In lieu of a service charge, you add to the donation jar, which is turned over to the Charity Fund. It is advisable to carry on the bike or yourself everything but gasoline that you might need during the day. Much of the time you are west of nowhere and the pushing will not be easy back to a helpful place. Just because gasoline is readily available, it doesn’t mean other help follows suit. At one place the pump showed the price in cents with a sticker on the glass giving the dollar amount. You went inside with how much you pumped and they then multiplied the cost. Only in the larger towns did they have “modern” pumps set up for credit cards.
Young Ted
An invitation to this event does not come along the trail of life every day and at first I hesitated on accepting, thinking the already planned MCCCT Anniversaries Ride would be enough to handle. After sleeping on it for a while, the decision was made to go for it or go down trying. What follows is only a small part of the Colorado 500, as I do not believe it is possible to put the entire experience in words. My belief is that you have to be there and go through it yourself.
Sunday, 8-17-08.
This is tech inspection and registration time at Wally Dallenbach’s ranch in Basalt. Your bike and legal papers are checked quite thorough before you get your rider number and medical information fastened to your helmet visor. Registration itself is more than ten stages and you leave with full hands and a picture ID tag around your neck. After lunch there is a mandatory, though no roll call, riders meeting followed by a group picture. You are now basically on your own for the next five days. The definition of days means daylight hours, because a room is reserved for you each night at the different towns and luggage is taken there for you.
Monday, 8-18-08.
As with any rookie, you are given the “business”. You have a red R on your helmet and your ID tag says ROOKIE. Be prepared to handle it or stay home. I have a slight advantage as Bob, my sponsor, is riding his 19th year and I would have been completely lost without him. As such, we leave from Snowmass Village by a back road for Taylor Pass rather than double back to Basalt for the “official” start. With around 325 riders, there is no “key time” or marked route to follow. You ride from here to there by whatever way you decide to go, as long as it doesn’t include closed trails or areas.
It is a nippy 20 miles to the way we will be going up to Taylor Pass. Now the fun starts. The sand grains are much larger than in Michigan and they don’t care to move, a parallel to trees if you will. Two things became evident in a hurry. I had erred in not dropping the suspension compression and you can’t lug the engine and get away with it. My first stall wasn’t bad, but the second one gave me a hard time starting again. It was a matter of getting used to the altitude and different carb settings.
At the top of the pass, 11928-feet, there were perhaps 15 other riders there taking a break, along with one of the chase trucks, which came up a different trail. There were also two ways to go down and it would be the easier one for us, as that was the plan for the whole ride. Things were going OK until you had to follow a stream for maybe 100 feet and it was one at a time and wait until the rider ahead was clear. I was able to see Wade, the second rider ahead get off and walk his bike, while Bob, went down on his left side. There’s no way I can leave my bike, safely, and help. Bob gets under way and goes over on his right. I make it through the first spot OK and then take a bath to the waist on my right. Getting INCA upright meant getting the right glove soaked. With encouragement from Pete on the sidelines and some tire spinning, I made it to dry ground and announced, I’m not coming back this way Friday.
It was a piece of cake into Taylor Park for gas, where it had been prearranged to meet up with 3 other riders. While adjusting the suspension another rider starts asking me about riding the Penton at the ’03 Reunion Ride in Massachusetts. Maybe Wildman 1 can help me escape. Carl, Dan and Chris arrive and off we go winding up through more rocks until we are high above the road out of Taylor Park. A little used track appears on the left and Chris takes off exploring and out of sight. On returning, he tells us there are several other riders at the top and the Stars and Stripes flying there. This turns out to be American Flag Mountain, at the 12713-foot mark. For me, it was the high point of the week. Figure the rest out on your own.
Since this was a follow the leader ride for me, I don’t have any maps to figure exactly where we were. I do have notes to get a rough idea though and following Cement Creek and Rt. 185 got us to Mt. Crested Butte for the night. The procedure now is to check in, find your non-riding luggage bag and get ready for tomorrow. The Kawasaki Team Green is in the parking lot with two trailers, mechanics and many service items ready to help anyone in need. They are also color blind, even though perhaps 75% of the bikes were KTM’s. In lieu of a service charge, you add to the donation jar, which is turned over to the Charity Fund. It is advisable to carry on the bike or yourself everything but gasoline that you might need during the day. Much of the time you are west of nowhere and the pushing will not be easy back to a helpful place. Just because gasoline is readily available, it doesn’t mean other help follows suit. At one place the pump showed the price in cents with a sticker on the glass giving the dollar amount. You went inside with how much you pumped and they then multiplied the cost. Only in the larger towns did they have “modern” pumps set up for credit cards.
Young Ted
