Vanderwho
The S-10... love child of a dirt bike and an FJR?
I rode my second SS1K (and my first SS1K on the Yamaha) on Sunday. My (longish) report follows.
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At last… my first long ride on my new bike, a 2014 Super Ténéré I acquired in January. Planned in February, this ride was originally scheduled for May 9, but wet (and occasionally, severe) weather would prevent me from executing my plans until the very end of the month.
On my previous SaddleSore1000 (in July, 2013) I went north and west, making a 1,050-mile loop from Denver through Cheyenne, Provo and Green River, UT; this time I would try a 1,084-mile route south and east. After starting the clock in Littleton, CO, I would take I-25 south, refuel in Trinidad, cross Raton Pass, refuel in Santa Fe, then grab a couple of Tour of Honor sites in Bernalillo and Albuquerque before heading east on I-40. I would refuel in Tucumcari, then jump on US54 and head for Dalhart, north of Amarillo in the Texas panhandle.
I was awakened by my alarm clock at 02:15 and started making my final preparations. I’d had the bike packed and ready to go in preparation for this ride since before May 9, so there wasn’t much to do… get dressed, fill up my cooler with ice and water, eat a quick breakfast and head out. I had Caron sign my witness form before she drifted back to sleep.
First check. Someone (me?) had shut off the icemaker. There were only a few misshapen and dried-out “cubes” to be had. With no better option at the moment, I dumped them into the cooler and filled it halfway with cold water from the tap.
A few minutes after 3:00, I pulled the bike out of the garage and shut the garage door behind me. I started it and immediately rode off, trying to antagonize my neighbors as little as possible. I got to the closest 24-hour station, a Loaf & Jug, at 03:16 and topped up the tank, starting the 24-hour clock. Having completed a SaddleSore 1000 in under 19 hours previously, I expected to have plenty of time. At 03:22, with the purchase logged, I turned eastbound on nearly-empty Belleview Avenue from Kipling Street, eight minutes before my planned start. Streetlights and closed businesses slid past in the cool air.
I took Wadsworth Boulevard south, and jumped on a lightly-travelled C-470 eastbound.
I had observed that the skies were overcast before I left the house. The temperature was a balmy 59 degrees shortly before my departure, but I was prepared for cool temperatures, having both a wind-proof fleece jacket and my electric WarmBib on under my textile riding jacket. Initially, I was pretty comfortable leaving the WarmBib switched off. At I-25, I headed south.
While the air temperature gauge on my bike is notoriously inaccurate, it does reflect changes in air temperature fairly reliably, and it confirmed my suspicion as the miles passed… it was cooling off a bit. South of Castle Rock, starting the ascent of 7,352-foot Monument Hill, I switched the WarmBib on. Based on the bike’s gauge, I would guess the temperature was in the upper 40s. Electric gear good.
I would get to see a moonset, a sunrise and a sunset from the saddle today. (The moon would rise again, too, before I got home.) Shyly, the moon peeked from behind clouds to make a brief appearance as it sank beneath the western horizon.
Somewhere south of Colorado Springs, I stood on the pegs for a minute – something that’s key to my long-distance comfort. When I sat back down, I found my left-hand mirror had become loose, and was pointing aft in the airstream. I fiddled with the locking nut by hand, but didn’t have much success. When I wanted to check what was behind (and to the left of) me, I used my left thumb to briefly flip it into position.
At some point, I became aware that the eastern skies were growing lighter. It’s funny, how that can sneak up on you. It was a long and dramatic sunrise; there were just enough clouds to the east to create a blue and orange extravaganza.
With the sun having just risen, and near Walsenburg, I had what could easily have been a show-stopping encounter with a deer. I-25 consists of two lanes plus a shoulder in each direction, separated by a wide, grassy median. He (she?) was half in the median, half in the left lane. I was in the right lane, and moving at a pretty good clip. I slowed, but not as aggressively as I should have. As I closed, the critter gave every indication of being interested in a return to the safe grasses and trees west of the interstate – across my path. Thankfully, she (he?) waited until I’d passed – barely. Note to self: react more vigorously to deer sightings.
As the still-snowcapped Spanish Peaks slowly glided by to the west, and with sunlight, now, I resurrected my fight against the dreaded floppy mirror, and managed to get it tightened back up, sans tools or running off the road.
About 06:10, I exited for gas in Trinidad. (I had each of my fuel stops planned to ensure I wouldn’t run out, or to document a “corner” of my route. My stop in Albuquerque would be of the latter sort.) The pumps were on, but the store (and restrooms) were locked up. Drat. I needed a bio break. It was cool here, and windy. I regretted taking my helmet off.
There was nothing to do but get back on the road, and see what bathroom options developed. That’s what I did.
Heading south from Trinidad, one begins the ascent of 7,834-foot Raton Pass. Did I mention that electrically-heated riding gear is a Good Thing? It is. As I rode the final mile or so to the crest, I found myself riding into low clouds and fog. It was surprising, and ethereal.
The fog and low clouds would persist for not only the descent into Raton, NM, but probably another 45 minutes. With the clouds overhead, I began to wonder how miserable it would be to be riding in rain at the prevailing temperatures. Would I have to stop somewhere and wait this out? Fortunately, it would not rain – not yet, anyway.
Thankfully, the hoped-for rest area appeared near Maxwell. Salvation!
As I continued south, it occurred to me that I was on a road, here, that I could not recall ever travelling before. The landscape reminded me of the paintings of southwestern artists, with arroyos, and creosote bushes, and occasionally, cattle casting shadows.
I pulled off in Santa Fe for gas. This was the first of a couple of fill-ups where I’d see the dreaded “See cashier for receipt” message, and have to go inside and get in an absurdly long line. I’d noticed that my SPOT device was complaining of low batteries, so I got it a fresh set here. And I ditched the fleece and opened up my jacket vents.
My next stop was a Tour of Honor location in Bernalillo – about 35 miles down the road. Having returned the GPS I’d been using to its rightful owner – Caron – for her use during my adventure, I was using printed directions from Microsoft Streets and Trips. I found the Vietnam War Memorial there without incident, grabbed the required photo, and headed for another ToH site in Albuquerque.
I located the Police Department Xeriscape Garden and its monument dedicated to fallen officers without trouble, took my photos, and headed for an early refueling stop to get a receipt documenting a “corner” of my route.
It’s rather remarkable, is it not, just how similar cities are, state to state? Riding through a large commercial section of Albuquerque, I noticed all the same stores and restaurants we have in Denver – Bed Bath & Beyond, Talbot’s, Jared’s, Chili’s, the Elephant Bar, Macaroni Grill, etc. Is everything now a chain?
After refueling, I jumped on I-40 eastbound. Had I ever been on this road before? I think so… when my family moved from the east coast to the west. I was six. A while ago. Roughly half a century. Good grief! How did I get so old?
My next planned stop was fuel in Tucumcari, where I planned also to grab maybe a Subway sandwich, but my empty stomach lobbied for an earlier stop. As I was wondering what options I might have, a string of signs – you know the kind, spaced every quarter-mile or so, and advertising t-shirts, route-66 souvenirs, New Mexico souvenirs, homemade fudge, and so on, appeared. And guess what! There was a Subway restaurant there. Clines Corners. Since 1934. Sounded like a no-brainer.
Seeing the chaos in the overflowing parking lot, I should have just turned around and kept going. My stomach won that argument, however, and I got in the long line at the Subway counter. Perhaps 15 minutes later, I had my sandwich and two, fresh-out-of-the-oven chocolate-chip cookies. I somehow managed to get gooey semi-sweet chocolate on just about everything I brought into the store, including my credit card, the receipt and a surprising subset of my anatomy.
In the parking lot, as I was getting ready to depart, a fellow walked up and inquired how big an engine the bike had. We chatted for a minute or two – he was an ex-Gold Wing pilot – and I was once again on my way, heading east.
What had before been a gentle, southerly breeze now became an unrelenting crosswind. Was it trying to blow me home, to Denver? Was it trying to tell me something?
As planned, I stopped for gas in Tucumcari. I was about 18 minutes behind schedule, probably due to my leisurely bio-break back south of Raton. Most of the pumps at the Shell station had yellow (or improvised gray) bags over their handles, but one did not. I tried, but could not get my card to work. I went inside, and was informed that they were out of gas. They’d be happy to sell me some diesel, though. I headed down the street to Allsup’s, where I once again had to go inside for a receipt – and get in a line of people who seemed to do their grocery shopping at convenience stores. Ugh. I did get some free ice for my cooler out of their dispenser, though.
Just east of Tucumcari, I swung onto US54, and headed for Dalhart. Ah, two-lane roads. Fewer semis trailing turbulent air and shredding tires. But lower speed limits, and ridiculous speed reductions for even the gentlest little bend in the road. Along about here I found the highest temperatures of the ride …about 90. I was comfortable, but it was bordering on toasty.
About 53 miles from Tucumcari, I crossed into Texas. When was the last time I was in Texas? Had I ever been in Texas? There’s a good chance that I passed through Amarillo as a six-year old. Can’t say that I remember it, though. I think it was here that I was struck by how flat the land is. And I was glad to trade New Mexico’s 65-mph speed limits for Texas’ 75. A shame the roads pretty much went to hell.
I refueled, as planned, in Dalhart, with 724 miles down, and 350 left. I was feeling pretty good. Better, I think, than I felt on my previous SaddleSore 1000 aboard my 2012 DL1000 V-Strom at that point. Things got much tougher on that earlier ride as I approached and passed the 900-mile mark. How would I be doing at the 900-mile mark on this ride? Prophylactically, I popped a couple of ibuprofen before hitting US87 toward Raton and home.
The southerly winds had become gusty, westerly winds, making for nasty, quartering crosswinds. I rode on, passing through Texline, and Clayton, NM, and passing by Capulin Volcano National Monument, which I last visited in my high-school days, and on a motorcycle – probably my beloved CB550. It would have been interesting to stop, but I was on a mission.
As I approached Raton the faintly-disturbing skies to the west and northwest became ugly skies. Stephen King ugly. Black clouds with rippled, six-pack underbellies. Lightning flickered. Hmmm. It started to look as though I would get wet before I got home, after all. I stopped a few miles east of town to close up my jacket vents, put the heated bib back on, clean my visor, check the handy Raindar app and put the rain cover over my tankbag. Raindar confirmed a nasty cell over Raton Pass. I decided to wait in Raton for a bit, and see if the worst of the storm would move off to the east. I grabbed a small chocolate shake at McDonalds, and watched a gaggle of high-schoolers act like high-schoolers.
I kept an eye on Raindar, and when the heaviest precipitation had rumbled off to the east of the pass, I got back on the bike and started off northbound on I-25 in light rain. I had light to moderate rain, mostly, into Trinidad, where I refueled, and beyond.
I rode out of the rain maybe 15 miles north of Trinidad, but continued to see evidence of previous rain-fall. The corrugated rumble strips on the shoulders were all filled with water.
I was treated to some dramatic skies nearing sunset. There were lots of ragged clouds of various shades, and the dark mountains to the west were backlit in shades of yellow, with patches of blue peeking through. If I’d been in flower-sniffing mode, I’d have stopped and taken some photos.
I continued to be surprised by how well I was doing, compared to the discomfort I experienced on my previous SaddleSore. Was it me (stretches, standing, etc.), the bike (slightly different ergonomics, real cruise control) or the route (no serious heat)? I wound up taking less ibuprofen than on that earlier SS1K, and felt much, much better as the final miles slid by.
I was back at the Loaf & Jug in Littleton at 22:18 – 18 hours and 56 minutes after departing – with 1,107 odometer miles (about 1,074 actual miles) logged. I filled up, stopping the clock, then headed the couple of short miles to home, and bed.
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At last… my first long ride on my new bike, a 2014 Super Ténéré I acquired in January. Planned in February, this ride was originally scheduled for May 9, but wet (and occasionally, severe) weather would prevent me from executing my plans until the very end of the month.
On my previous SaddleSore1000 (in July, 2013) I went north and west, making a 1,050-mile loop from Denver through Cheyenne, Provo and Green River, UT; this time I would try a 1,084-mile route south and east. After starting the clock in Littleton, CO, I would take I-25 south, refuel in Trinidad, cross Raton Pass, refuel in Santa Fe, then grab a couple of Tour of Honor sites in Bernalillo and Albuquerque before heading east on I-40. I would refuel in Tucumcari, then jump on US54 and head for Dalhart, north of Amarillo in the Texas panhandle.
I was awakened by my alarm clock at 02:15 and started making my final preparations. I’d had the bike packed and ready to go in preparation for this ride since before May 9, so there wasn’t much to do… get dressed, fill up my cooler with ice and water, eat a quick breakfast and head out. I had Caron sign my witness form before she drifted back to sleep.
First check. Someone (me?) had shut off the icemaker. There were only a few misshapen and dried-out “cubes” to be had. With no better option at the moment, I dumped them into the cooler and filled it halfway with cold water from the tap.
A few minutes after 3:00, I pulled the bike out of the garage and shut the garage door behind me. I started it and immediately rode off, trying to antagonize my neighbors as little as possible. I got to the closest 24-hour station, a Loaf & Jug, at 03:16 and topped up the tank, starting the 24-hour clock. Having completed a SaddleSore 1000 in under 19 hours previously, I expected to have plenty of time. At 03:22, with the purchase logged, I turned eastbound on nearly-empty Belleview Avenue from Kipling Street, eight minutes before my planned start. Streetlights and closed businesses slid past in the cool air.
I took Wadsworth Boulevard south, and jumped on a lightly-travelled C-470 eastbound.
I had observed that the skies were overcast before I left the house. The temperature was a balmy 59 degrees shortly before my departure, but I was prepared for cool temperatures, having both a wind-proof fleece jacket and my electric WarmBib on under my textile riding jacket. Initially, I was pretty comfortable leaving the WarmBib switched off. At I-25, I headed south.
While the air temperature gauge on my bike is notoriously inaccurate, it does reflect changes in air temperature fairly reliably, and it confirmed my suspicion as the miles passed… it was cooling off a bit. South of Castle Rock, starting the ascent of 7,352-foot Monument Hill, I switched the WarmBib on. Based on the bike’s gauge, I would guess the temperature was in the upper 40s. Electric gear good.
I would get to see a moonset, a sunrise and a sunset from the saddle today. (The moon would rise again, too, before I got home.) Shyly, the moon peeked from behind clouds to make a brief appearance as it sank beneath the western horizon.
Somewhere south of Colorado Springs, I stood on the pegs for a minute – something that’s key to my long-distance comfort. When I sat back down, I found my left-hand mirror had become loose, and was pointing aft in the airstream. I fiddled with the locking nut by hand, but didn’t have much success. When I wanted to check what was behind (and to the left of) me, I used my left thumb to briefly flip it into position.
At some point, I became aware that the eastern skies were growing lighter. It’s funny, how that can sneak up on you. It was a long and dramatic sunrise; there were just enough clouds to the east to create a blue and orange extravaganza.
With the sun having just risen, and near Walsenburg, I had what could easily have been a show-stopping encounter with a deer. I-25 consists of two lanes plus a shoulder in each direction, separated by a wide, grassy median. He (she?) was half in the median, half in the left lane. I was in the right lane, and moving at a pretty good clip. I slowed, but not as aggressively as I should have. As I closed, the critter gave every indication of being interested in a return to the safe grasses and trees west of the interstate – across my path. Thankfully, she (he?) waited until I’d passed – barely. Note to self: react more vigorously to deer sightings.
As the still-snowcapped Spanish Peaks slowly glided by to the west, and with sunlight, now, I resurrected my fight against the dreaded floppy mirror, and managed to get it tightened back up, sans tools or running off the road.
About 06:10, I exited for gas in Trinidad. (I had each of my fuel stops planned to ensure I wouldn’t run out, or to document a “corner” of my route. My stop in Albuquerque would be of the latter sort.) The pumps were on, but the store (and restrooms) were locked up. Drat. I needed a bio break. It was cool here, and windy. I regretted taking my helmet off.
There was nothing to do but get back on the road, and see what bathroom options developed. That’s what I did.
Heading south from Trinidad, one begins the ascent of 7,834-foot Raton Pass. Did I mention that electrically-heated riding gear is a Good Thing? It is. As I rode the final mile or so to the crest, I found myself riding into low clouds and fog. It was surprising, and ethereal.
The fog and low clouds would persist for not only the descent into Raton, NM, but probably another 45 minutes. With the clouds overhead, I began to wonder how miserable it would be to be riding in rain at the prevailing temperatures. Would I have to stop somewhere and wait this out? Fortunately, it would not rain – not yet, anyway.
Thankfully, the hoped-for rest area appeared near Maxwell. Salvation!
As I continued south, it occurred to me that I was on a road, here, that I could not recall ever travelling before. The landscape reminded me of the paintings of southwestern artists, with arroyos, and creosote bushes, and occasionally, cattle casting shadows.
I pulled off in Santa Fe for gas. This was the first of a couple of fill-ups where I’d see the dreaded “See cashier for receipt” message, and have to go inside and get in an absurdly long line. I’d noticed that my SPOT device was complaining of low batteries, so I got it a fresh set here. And I ditched the fleece and opened up my jacket vents.
My next stop was a Tour of Honor location in Bernalillo – about 35 miles down the road. Having returned the GPS I’d been using to its rightful owner – Caron – for her use during my adventure, I was using printed directions from Microsoft Streets and Trips. I found the Vietnam War Memorial there without incident, grabbed the required photo, and headed for another ToH site in Albuquerque.
I located the Police Department Xeriscape Garden and its monument dedicated to fallen officers without trouble, took my photos, and headed for an early refueling stop to get a receipt documenting a “corner” of my route.
It’s rather remarkable, is it not, just how similar cities are, state to state? Riding through a large commercial section of Albuquerque, I noticed all the same stores and restaurants we have in Denver – Bed Bath & Beyond, Talbot’s, Jared’s, Chili’s, the Elephant Bar, Macaroni Grill, etc. Is everything now a chain?
After refueling, I jumped on I-40 eastbound. Had I ever been on this road before? I think so… when my family moved from the east coast to the west. I was six. A while ago. Roughly half a century. Good grief! How did I get so old?
My next planned stop was fuel in Tucumcari, where I planned also to grab maybe a Subway sandwich, but my empty stomach lobbied for an earlier stop. As I was wondering what options I might have, a string of signs – you know the kind, spaced every quarter-mile or so, and advertising t-shirts, route-66 souvenirs, New Mexico souvenirs, homemade fudge, and so on, appeared. And guess what! There was a Subway restaurant there. Clines Corners. Since 1934. Sounded like a no-brainer.
Seeing the chaos in the overflowing parking lot, I should have just turned around and kept going. My stomach won that argument, however, and I got in the long line at the Subway counter. Perhaps 15 minutes later, I had my sandwich and two, fresh-out-of-the-oven chocolate-chip cookies. I somehow managed to get gooey semi-sweet chocolate on just about everything I brought into the store, including my credit card, the receipt and a surprising subset of my anatomy.
In the parking lot, as I was getting ready to depart, a fellow walked up and inquired how big an engine the bike had. We chatted for a minute or two – he was an ex-Gold Wing pilot – and I was once again on my way, heading east.
What had before been a gentle, southerly breeze now became an unrelenting crosswind. Was it trying to blow me home, to Denver? Was it trying to tell me something?
As planned, I stopped for gas in Tucumcari. I was about 18 minutes behind schedule, probably due to my leisurely bio-break back south of Raton. Most of the pumps at the Shell station had yellow (or improvised gray) bags over their handles, but one did not. I tried, but could not get my card to work. I went inside, and was informed that they were out of gas. They’d be happy to sell me some diesel, though. I headed down the street to Allsup’s, where I once again had to go inside for a receipt – and get in a line of people who seemed to do their grocery shopping at convenience stores. Ugh. I did get some free ice for my cooler out of their dispenser, though.
Just east of Tucumcari, I swung onto US54, and headed for Dalhart. Ah, two-lane roads. Fewer semis trailing turbulent air and shredding tires. But lower speed limits, and ridiculous speed reductions for even the gentlest little bend in the road. Along about here I found the highest temperatures of the ride …about 90. I was comfortable, but it was bordering on toasty.
About 53 miles from Tucumcari, I crossed into Texas. When was the last time I was in Texas? Had I ever been in Texas? There’s a good chance that I passed through Amarillo as a six-year old. Can’t say that I remember it, though. I think it was here that I was struck by how flat the land is. And I was glad to trade New Mexico’s 65-mph speed limits for Texas’ 75. A shame the roads pretty much went to hell.
I refueled, as planned, in Dalhart, with 724 miles down, and 350 left. I was feeling pretty good. Better, I think, than I felt on my previous SaddleSore 1000 aboard my 2012 DL1000 V-Strom at that point. Things got much tougher on that earlier ride as I approached and passed the 900-mile mark. How would I be doing at the 900-mile mark on this ride? Prophylactically, I popped a couple of ibuprofen before hitting US87 toward Raton and home.
The southerly winds had become gusty, westerly winds, making for nasty, quartering crosswinds. I rode on, passing through Texline, and Clayton, NM, and passing by Capulin Volcano National Monument, which I last visited in my high-school days, and on a motorcycle – probably my beloved CB550. It would have been interesting to stop, but I was on a mission.
As I approached Raton the faintly-disturbing skies to the west and northwest became ugly skies. Stephen King ugly. Black clouds with rippled, six-pack underbellies. Lightning flickered. Hmmm. It started to look as though I would get wet before I got home, after all. I stopped a few miles east of town to close up my jacket vents, put the heated bib back on, clean my visor, check the handy Raindar app and put the rain cover over my tankbag. Raindar confirmed a nasty cell over Raton Pass. I decided to wait in Raton for a bit, and see if the worst of the storm would move off to the east. I grabbed a small chocolate shake at McDonalds, and watched a gaggle of high-schoolers act like high-schoolers.
I kept an eye on Raindar, and when the heaviest precipitation had rumbled off to the east of the pass, I got back on the bike and started off northbound on I-25 in light rain. I had light to moderate rain, mostly, into Trinidad, where I refueled, and beyond.
I rode out of the rain maybe 15 miles north of Trinidad, but continued to see evidence of previous rain-fall. The corrugated rumble strips on the shoulders were all filled with water.
I was treated to some dramatic skies nearing sunset. There were lots of ragged clouds of various shades, and the dark mountains to the west were backlit in shades of yellow, with patches of blue peeking through. If I’d been in flower-sniffing mode, I’d have stopped and taken some photos.
I continued to be surprised by how well I was doing, compared to the discomfort I experienced on my previous SaddleSore. Was it me (stretches, standing, etc.), the bike (slightly different ergonomics, real cruise control) or the route (no serious heat)? I wound up taking less ibuprofen than on that earlier SS1K, and felt much, much better as the final miles slid by.
I was back at the Loaf & Jug in Littleton at 22:18 – 18 hours and 56 minutes after departing – with 1,107 odometer miles (about 1,074 actual miles) logged. I filled up, stopping the clock, then headed the couple of short miles to home, and bed.
