Because the heat had forced us to cut some of our intended route, we arrived at the rally a day early. Early arrivals are expected to volunteer for at least one of a variety of duties. I was glad to help, as without volunteers our annual rally wouldn’t happen.
“Your dog looks vicious,” remarked Chuck, one of the rally co-chairs. And so we found ourselves on the security detail. Our job was to make sure only vendors came into the display buildings until the rally opened, as interested shoppers tend to get in the way of setting up. Later, we would report to the Mail Room, protecting incoming parcels from…whatever. It was tough duty.
But the buildings were air conditioned.
Folks who had left their pets at home took delight in fussing over Barley
We volunteered for shifts on three consecutive days, and security duty represented the majority of our time spent at the rally. We wandered around on our off time, checking out the vendors, the displays, meeting new people, and sharing ice cream. Barley likes all sorts of rally food: bratwurst, corn dogs, pretzels and schnitzel…but he really likes ice cream.
Reaching the ice cream stand required walking across several yards of asphalt so hot it felt squishy under my sandals. I didn’t want Barley to burn his feet, so would lead him to the shade of a big tree, put him on a Sit-Stay, turn my back and walk to the stand. He’d watch me intently, never taking his eyes off me as I waited our turn in line. If someone would hunker down in front of him blocking his view, he’d keep his butt on the ground but lean far to one side to peer around them awaiting my return.
And then we’d share.
Somebody once described the BMW MOA Rally as a gathering of family members you never knew you had. There is a lot of truth to that. We’d wander around looking at each other’s bikes, asking questions about accessories, gear, good roads and hometowns. Shaking hands and sharing suds in the Beer Tent. Every now and then someone would spot Barley and drop to their knees with arms held wide, begging for a dog fix and asking questions about traveling with a canine companion. And each night we’d travel the thirty miles back to our air conditioned hotel.
Motorcycle rallies are wonderful for a dog who loves people
Barley loves fair food, but we have to watch the quantities
The outside temp typically dropped below one hundred about ten o’clock at night.
Friday was a time of goodbyes with friends old and new who would not be seen for another year. One last shared ice cream and we returned to the hotel in mid-afternoon in brutal heat under an unmerciful sun. To escape the worst of it we would be getting up at 3 o’clock in the morning, making it past St Louis before residents rose and clogged the roads, and as far east as possible to escape the heat. According to The Weather Channel there would be more reasonable temperatures in mid-Ohio.
We intended to cross on a ferry, but the river was too shallow and the ferry wasn’t running, so we detoured into Tennessee and crossed on pavement
We set off at first light, bound for a ferry crossing of the Mississippi River, but other riders at a gas station informed us that the ferry we intended to take was not running due to record low water levels in the river. There were other ferry crossings, but fearing that they also might be closed sent us south into Tennessee and the certainty of a bridge crossing.
As we entered Arkansas I noticed the terrain was dry, very dry, and the crops were stunted and often brown. There was not a cloud in the sky nor a hint of a breeze as we traveled rural roads along the northern part of the state through farm country that seemed to be producing little but dust. The thermometer on my instrument cluster flirted with the hundred degree mark and Barley looked none too happy. What water we saw was brown and stagnant, often with a greenish scum of algae on top. I made it a practice to pull into every rest area to give Barley a chance to rehydrate, but travel that day was arduous at best.
From a bridge I noticed a clear blue river below, and took the next turn to give my dog some relief from the heat. I found a small shoreline park in a nameless town and pulled over. Barley made a beeline for the river while I shed some gear and followed. The water was startlingly clear and shockingly cold, so I retreated to the bank while my dog splashed around making happy sounds. A youngish couple laughed at his antics and struck up a conversation with me. They explained that the reason the river was so cold and clear was that less than a mile upstream it emerged from a massive subterranean cavern. They noted our direction of travel and remarked that we would soon be entering foothills and the temperature would probably drop to more reasonable levels.
They were right. We began climbing shortly after getting back underway, and the mercury dropped to the high eighties. There were a few reservoirs along our route, and I noticed that the water level in each was way down. We reached Mountain Home, Arkansas late in the afternoon and I decided to make it a short day. The marathon run from the storm the day before had left us both tired. We shared Mexican food, found a hotel, turned on the air conditioner and fell asleep.
Push Mountain, just to the southwest of us, was a ride not to be missed according to locals who frequented an online adventure rider forum. Local advice had in the past unearthed some real treasures, so we set off in the pre-dawn darkness to check it out. We were not disappointed.
The GPS telling me there be curves ahead!
We timed it right! Flatness in the dark, curves when the sun comes up
The road up and over Push Mountain must have been engineered by a motorcyclist! The flawless pavement led us on a wonderfully serpentine path illuminated by a nearly full moon and a sky full of brilliant stars. On one switchback I faced a thin strip of cloud bathed from beneath by the salmon-colored tones of the rising sun. It was so beautiful I pulled over so Barley and I could enjoy it. We sat on the ground leaning into each other, surrounded by majestic oaks, sharing a granola bar and feeling the sun’s warmth on our faces.
Forays thru the sidestreets often yield gems like this
By ten o’clock we were praying for sunset. The temperature had reached 108°F. Every field we passed was brown and lifeless. The few cattle we saw raised clouds of dust with every step they took. Armadillos joined the ranks of the occasional roadkill. This was very different from Vermont!
There was a small cooler in my topcase in which I kept snacks of nuts and dried fruit. At a general store I moved those snacks and filled the cooler with a five pound bag of ice. For as long as this heat lasted we would stop every thirty minutes to drink cool water. I also dipped a washcloth in the cold water at every stop to wipe down Barley’s belly and paws. He came to enjoy that routine and would immediately go belly up when he saw me reach for the washcloth. At one stop a Harley rider in full leathers noticed the delighted expression on Barley’s face as his crotch was wiped down and remarked wistfully, “I’ve gotta give that a try!”
Everything was brown. Any field with livestock was bare dirt
Bull Shoals ferry between Arkansas and Missouri
We had plans to linger in Arkansas’ Oachita Range and camp in Petit Jean State Park, but the heat was so oppressive we turned north instead, hoping for more moderate conditions at the rally site. We played in Bull Shoals Lake for a bit, noting the low water level, then caught a ferry across to the Missouri side. Once again we followed roads tailor made for motorcyclists until the hills flattened out, then continued north on a four lane highway. I spotted a Sonic Drive-In just off the highway in Warsaw, Missouri, so pulled over for a bite to eat. A Sonic far behind us in Kentucky had been so incredibly dog-friendly that we had patronized them a few times on this trip. This one was no exception; unbidden, Barley’s bowl was filled with ice water and he was given a small dish of soft-serve vanilla ice cream.
While we were sitting in the shade of their canopy I weighed our options. Late in the afternoon the temperature was still well over one hundred degrees. There was no breeze. Worried about my dog in conditions like that I opted out of camping at the rally site at Sedalia just thirty miles up the road. Word was that all Sedalia hotels had been filled by rally goers. But across the boulevard from Sonic was a sparkling new hotel with vacancies.
They did not allow pets.
I have found, however, that if you are polite and your dog is both cute and well-mannered, many hotel managers will waive that rule. In many cases it’s probably more of a screening tool than a hard and fast rule. So it was at this hotel. And of course we did our best to remain unobtrusive and considerate of others, never made noise and always scooped the poop.
A smart rider on a properly setup motorcycle can cover a lot of ground in a day, a sidecar rig only slightly less. The problem was that this storm was huge, and moving in my direction of travel. To avoid a repeat of the Deluge at Thunder Bay we would either have to go home…or to move far to the west very quickly. I paused in West Virginia where 219 intersected 50, that historic ribbon of asphalt stretching all the way to California, to check the weather along our original route. It did not look good. After checking my gear and ensuring my camera and electronics were protected from the weather, I reached down to caress Barley’s furry head and pulled his Doggles into place.
“Let’s fly, Little Brother!”
The portion of US 50 in West Virginia’s Appalachians is a lot like the roads crossing the Green Mountains of Vermont, but without the views. Vermont agriculture has converted many of the valleys to pastureland, while the road we were on that day was hemmed in by dense deciduous forest. It was scenic in a different way, but as technically challenging as the roads I was used to back home. It is roads like this where a motorcycle has a clear advantage over a sidecar rig. Unable to lean into curves, I was forced to slow down and use a significant amount of body English to maintain control. Pushing it on roads like that requires a lot of shoulder strength. Strength, and Motrin.
The flora changed dramatically as we crested the westernmost hill in the Appalachians; gone was the lush forest, replaced by something much drier and more windswept. At the base of that hill the highway straightened out and we were able to increase our speed, the storm closing the gap every time we stopped for fuel, food, or to stretch our legs. Across Ohio we ran, skirting Cincinnati and picking up the Interstate to make better time. Through Louisville, Kentucky, where an enormous UPS cargo jet passed just overhead on its landing approach, then continuing southwest, happy that the average speed of the cars around me was faster than my 85mph. Kentuckians travel quickly!
Schools and universities make great pit stops in the off season
We stopped for the night at a hotel in the town of Murray, Kentucky. There was a family restaurant right next door; I ordered takeout, shared parts of it with Barley, showered, turned on the air conditioner to ward off the unexpected heat, and turned on The Weather Channel. The arc of our run had taken us out of the path of the storm. When we went outside for Barley to do his business I noticed how dry and brittle the grass was.
Vermont is such a lovely, verdant place! We left home, Barley and I, early on a bright and cheery summer morning. The forest was a riot of different shades of green, the streams full of clear, cold water, and the blue sky dotted with puffy clouds rushing off to someplace else. We crossed into New York, then Pennsylvania as the sky grew progressively darker and more menacing. Our goal was a campground in West Virginia, but I began to have second thoughts in southern Pennsylvania when the rain started. By the time we reached Maryland the rainfall was moderate and steady. I abandoned the back roads and picked up Highway 219 to make better time.
I don’t mind riding in the rain during daylight hours, and actually prefer frank rain to annoying sprinkles as the light stuff fogs my visor with a film of oil and other road grime. Camping in the rain is another story. I’ll do it if I have to, but spending the night in a small tent with a wet dog – one who insists on waiting till he’s inside before shaking – is not as much fun as it might seem at first glance. So as the sun began to set I was looking for a motel in which we might manage to stay dry. I found one with vacancies in McHenry, Maryland. It was a Quality Inn, which I remembered fondly from a couple of decades ago.
This was not the Quality Inn of my memories.
The foyer was nice and gave a good first impression, but it went rapidly downhill from there. It started with the broken elevator, which meant we had to schlep our stuff up three flights of stairs. And I mean all our stuff! There is precious little security on a motorcycle; unlike a car you can’t simply lock the doors. Not anticipating having to park so far from our bed, I hadn’t brought any sort of large bag into which I could pitch the many compression bags containing our stuff. So it took a total of nine trips to transfer stuff from rig to room. Then Barley had to poop, so back outside to find a patch of grass. It was only then I noticed how filthy the grounds were! Empty soda and beer bottles and cans littered the grounds, there was so much trash I suspected people living nearby used the hotel’s parking lot as a regional dump, and in the bushes at the lower end of the lot I noticed a discarded condom. Totally gross and there was no way I was going to let my dog off leash!
Barley does not enjoy pooping with an audience, much less on a leash, so there followed a standoff that lasted several miserable minutes. Finally, when neither of us could possibly absorb any more rainfall, he gave in and attended to his needs.
But only when I faced the other direction.
Back in our room I sat in the swivel chair and nearly went over backwards; it was missing one wheel. The heater didn’t work so I got Barley as dry as possible with one of the towels, then used the hotel’s blow dryer to finish the job. I normally use a large microfiber towel that I pack for just that reason, but by this point was so completely disgusted with the hotel that I figured they couldn’t possibly complain about a little fur in the bathroom.
The television worked, but the only channel available with The Weather Channel. Just as well, as it showed a map of the region we were heading into. The map had all sorts of multi-colored blotches on it with banners warning of high winds with downed trees and powerlines. I unfolded a map and sat on the bed to study alternative routes; the mattress took on an immediate list to port.
The bed only had three legs.
Thanks to the hotel’s pillowcases we needed only three trips to get all our stuff back on the bike in the morning. The rain had slacked off considerably overnight, and so I was thinking we would stick to the original route. We refueled, then continued south on 219 into West Virginia.
But then I noticed a convoy of utility trucks from various counties in other states heading south. Plan A rapidly lost its luster.
In 2012 the BMW Motorcycle Owners of America (MOA) held their annual rally at the fairgrounds in Sedalia, Missouri. I generally avoid rallies unless they are held near a place I have always wanted to see, or the route there and back would take me through such places. In this case it was both. I had long wanted to check out the Oachita and Ozark ranges in Arkansas and Missouri, and I had also wanted to see more of the Appalachians. I laid out an ambitious route from Vermont south through West Virginia and a tiny corner of Virginia, then west along the Tennessee-Kentucky border.
Things didn’t go according to plan. Not even close. But we had a great time anyway!
True to form, this year’s carefully crafted plan was not followed. We left on time, by car after considering the forecast and Tulliver’s dislike of heat and humidity. Other than having to divert to St Louis to replace the riding boots I’d left behind on the kitchen floor at home, and my shock at the abysmal fuel economy our little V6 RAV4 got while towing such a light trailer, the drive out was uneventful. We passed through Denver CO early Sunday morning, left the trailer with our online friends, Gary and Jenny near Evergreen, fired up the fully loaded rig and set out to explore the area.
We just had to stop at this diner in western Kansas!
We had a reservation in a Denver hotel that night, but had several hours to kill before check-in time, so I decided to take a lap around the bulk of nearby Mount Evans. The volume of traffic from Evergreen to Conifer surprised me, but shouldn’t have. Denver is a huge city and the draw of those magnificent mountains so enticingly close and refreshingly cool clearly exerts a powerful pull on those needing a break. We followed the Platt River to the tiny town of Grant, then turned right and headed toward Guanella Pass. The view from the top was spectacular! Tulliver and I stretched our legs and drank our fill of cold water. He was clearly excited to be with me in such an interesting place, so we cuddled a while and he posed for photos with the clouds above reflected in his RexSpecs goggles.
Clouds reflected in his RexSpecs, Tulliver shivers with excitement!Having crossed half the continent, we took frequent breaks
Then down the north side of the pass we rode, down to bumper-to-bumper traffic on I-70 heading back to Denver! I’m not a fan of big cities and generally try to avoid them, but there was a special group we wanted to meet the following morning – the good people at the Morris Animal Foundation. The MAF is a non-profit devoted to animal health issues through their funding of well-designed scientific studies. Thanks to their efforts diagnostic tools, treatment protocols and even preventive measures have been developed. But my primary interest in the Foundation was their Golden Retriever Lifetime Study, a rigorous study following three thousand golden retrievers from birth to death, gathering detailed data on pedigree, diet, exercise, immunizations, environmental factors and health history as well as annual blood, urine, nail and fur samples in a long-term effort to determine why sixty percent of these magnificent dogs will eventually die of cancer. Having lost several wonderful dogs of my own to cancers, and thanks to my background in epidemiology being able to recognize a robust experimental design when I see one, I’ve become a donor and an active supporter of their efforts. We toured their offices, met the staff (and several of their pets), and put faces to names we’d been emailing. Aside from trying to steal toys from office pets, Tulliver was a perfect gentleman.
Come on, Dad! Let’s roll! (Photo by Valerie Robson)
With a fond farewell to our friends at MAF, we left the city by 10:00 and headed northwest to the relative coolness of the Front Range. The parched dryness of Denver gave way first to rolling hills, then jagged stone cliffs as we made our way to the busy little tourist town of Nederland where we stopped for a light lunch.
Leaving the flatness and dry heat of Denver behindThe Stone Chapel on the Peak to Peak Highway
From there we rode to Estes Park for fuel and ice, then on to Rocky Mountain National Park’s Moraine Campground, our home for the next couple of nights. I set up our tent to the rumble of distant thunder, though just a few fat raindrops fell while the sun was out.
Home for the next couple of days
We walked around the campground striking up conversations with total strangers, bought wood for a campfire, then started a small warming fire back at our site. As my JetBoil stove heated up a packet of Indian food, Tulliver climbed atop the picnic table and stretched out with his head next to my arm. I absently groomed him while uploading the day’s photos into my laptop. That big red dog of mine would blossom in the next several days of not having to share me with Glenlivet or Kazoo.
Tulliver supervising as I upload the day’s photos into my laptop
The rain started as darkness fell, so we retreated into the tent. Tulliver seemed worried at how loud the drops sounded against the nylon tent; he held his cherished rubber ball and stared into the night as rain pelted the tent and thunder rumbled ominously off the surrounding peaks. I talked to him soothingly, caressing his ears and working bits of pine pitch out of his fur till he started snoring…
Tulliver guarding his ball while listening to the rain hammer our tent
I woke up at 5:30 and started water boiling for coffee. Tulliver rose at the sound of kibble filling his bowl. Because giardia is endemic in the Rockies, and because it’s not an organism my dogs have been exposed to, I had begun supplementing his breakfast with probiotics two weeks before our departure in the hope that gut health would leave him less susceptible to an opportunistic infection. The formula had a beefy aroma that seemed to agree with him; he ate with gusto! By 6:30 we were mounted up and riding to Bear Lake hoping to beat the crowds to that popular destination. We beat the crowds for sure, but we also beat decent sunlight! Still, it was nice hiking around the lake and catching the sights and sounds of the forest waking up.
Up before the crush of touristsBear Lake early in the morning
For some reason I had my heart set on breakfast in Estes Park, so we rode out of the park…and I immediately saw the problem with that decision. On the other side of the road, waiting impatiently to gain access to the park, was a long line of cars. My odometer counted 1.3 miles between the park gate and the last car in line! Well, I figured, if we have to wait in line to get back into the park we might as well enjoy breakfast first! So we went to a little eatery called Claire’s where I had perhaps the best omelet on the planet: chile verde and huge hunks of chorizo folded into three eggs, the entire plate smothered in melted cheddar! Yum!
As we headed back to the park I noticed several signs pointing to the Hwy 36 entrance where all the cars were headed, and just one small nondescript sign pointing to an alternative entrance on Hwy 34. We took the road less traveled and got right in! We continued along that route over a twelve thousand foot elevation pass where elk grazed right up to the edge of the pavement, then turned around to head back to our campsite. Along the way we passed a busload of kids. An excited cry went up as the first noticed Tulliver, goggles in place, leaning out the side window. One after the other, in what looked like a choreographed wave, tiny arms held aloft a string of smart phones to take pictures of the big red dog as we sped past!
Taking a break on Trail Ridge Road
Back at the campsite I packed up the non-essentials to speed our departure the following morning. As I was finishing up, Donovan, our neighbor from the next site over, asked if I had a can opener. I reached into my bag and pulled out my P-38, the tiny but efficient device sometimes called a John Wayne with which can of C-Rations were opened back in the day. Donovan had never seen one, and asked how it worked. I demonstrated as his eyes widened with wonder. “That’s awesome!” he blurted. “Wait till I show my friends back in New York! This will be the next big thing!” Pleased to think such a tiny device that was ubiquitous in my day would soon be rediscovered, Tully and I retired as a light drizzle began falling.
We awoke to a cold drizzle, ate, finished packing, and got underway. The twelve thousand foot pass we had explored the previous day was a lot colder when wet! Spotting blue sky several miles ahead I accelerated to 60mph in a 45mph zone. A few minutes later a Jeep passed me, and within seconds red and blue lights came out of nowhere as a park ranger made a U-turn and gave pursuit. The ranger wagged a finger at me as I pulled over, then accelerated and went after the faster Jeep.
Drizzle at the summit was a lot colder than drizzle in the meadow!
Note to self: keep warm gear within easy reach
The rain finally stopped at Granby CO. We continued on to Kremmling which didn’t seem quite as grand as the map had led me to believe. And there were other towns prominently marked on my map that turned out to be small clusters of a dozen or so homes. North to Steamboat Springs, then west to Craig and finally Dinosaur where we found a lovely curve in the Green River for Tully to take a dip. The heat rising, we checked into a hotel in Naples UT, then had dinner at a family restaurant across the street. It was surprisingly good homestyle cooking…if you were fortunate enough to have a mother who knew how to cook
The rain eased but the road was still wet as we approached KremmlingVernal UT greeting us with, um, class..?
From the bone-chilling cold of high altitude drizzle to the oppressive heat of the desert. We needed a place to cool down. A quick stop at a tourism kiosk gave us directions to a swimming hole.
You’d never know there was a large river just ahead“Can I help…WHOA! That’s a dog!”
We got up early again to beat the heat, and were underway by 7:00. We reached Flaming Gorge in the early morning light. Unfortunately the visitor center wouldn’t be open for an hour, so we pressed on to the town of Manila UT and the rolling grassland beyond. The road was empty, and I steadily increased speed to 85mph. When we reached I-80 for the final westward leg, however, we had to increase our speed yet again just to keep up with the flow of traffic. For the first time in my life I was on a road where every vehicle going my way was running 95-100mph! The big BMW kept up with no difficulty, covering the miles with silky smoothness…
The dam that created Flaming Gorge Reservoir
The desert was quite lovely, but the ride would have been a lot nicer in cooler weather.
Dealing with the Heat
Preparing to deal with another hot day
One of the questions I often get from dog owners in general and sidecarists who want to travel with their dog in particular is how I protect Tulliver from the sometimes brutal heat. So here’s my current method, referencing the photo above:
In warm weather, our first stop is to top off our fuel, water and ice. This shot shows most of the hot weather gear I carry for Tulliver. To his immediate left is an igloo cooler; in that cooler are three one-liter collapsable bags of water packed in ice. The igloo goes into the top case for quick access. Two rigid liter bottles are filled with ice and water, then go into the pockets of the green backpack. In front of the green pack is a solar shower bag which I fill with ice; as it melts it generates chilled drinking water and if Tully gets in trouble from the heat I can strap the bag to his belly for rapid cooling. That black ice bag is stored in the forest green cooler on top of two wet cooling vests. If Tully is uncomfortable with the heat, those chilled vests will give him an hour of relief. I swap them back and forth every hour when the temps are in his yellow zone: 88-92F. He can handle temps below 88F so that’s his green zone. Red is above 92F; that’s when we seek shelter from the heat and/or start using the ice options. In the sidecar are two one gallon Rotopax water jugs; those are used to refill the smaller (easier cooled) containers.
TheRally
Our grand arrival at the rally grounds
It was hot in Salt Lake City! Tulliver and I checked in at the rally registration desk, then parked and hastened into one of the air conditioned vendor buildings. We made a pass or two, familiarizing ourselves with the who and where, then gave up for the day and rode to our hotel. La Quinta by the airport was both welcoming and absolutely immaculate! Best of all they had very powerful air conditioning. Tulliver climbed on the bed nearest the AC and sacked out till morning.
We’d been on the road for a week. With temps at the rally expected to brush 100F by afternoon, we were determined to cram as much into the morning as possible. Arriving at 7:00 we parked the rig, found coffee, and settled in for an educational seminar on sidecars. Randy Owen, a friend who had over a million miles on motorcycles, had recently joined the ranks of sidecarists and was going to share his observations. It was fun seeing him again and listening to how comic and similar his experiences were to my own introduction to sidecars some seven years and eighty thousand miles ago.
We roamed around getting the lay of the fairgrounds till the heat drove us inside
We wandered around a bit, but the heat quickly built to uncomfortable levels. Acutely aware that while I can sweat, Tulliver cannot, we spent most of the daylight hours inside either checking out the vendors or attending educational seminars.
The backpack contains everything we need from poop bags and treats to chilled water (Photo by Karol Patzer)Outside, I frequently check the pavement with the back of my hand. If too hot, the dog booties go on. (Photo by Muriel Farrington)
I cut this rally short; it was simply too hot for Tulliver. We set out before the sun had risen above the nearby Wasatch Mountains, proceeding south on I-15 in the blessed coolness of the shade. A perfect formation of ten Utah State Patrol motorcycle officers shot by in the left lane, no more than six feet separating each bike. We left the interstate and refueled in Nephi UT, continuing south and east on secondary roads to Torrey UT at the entrance of Capitol Reef National Park.
I’d heard very little about Capitol Reef NP, but found it one of the gems of the National Park system!
After a quick and uncomfortably hot recon ride of the area, we checked into the Noor Hotel, a small but extremely accommodating inn near the entrance to the park. It was next door to a Mexican restaurant which offered some of the most phenomenally authentic Mexican food I’d had since leaving San Diego over two decades ago! Though Tulliver remained under the table and on his best behavior, our server was clearly terrified of dogs so the owner himself became our server. I think he got a kick out of my sounds of culinary delight as I consumed all that was placed in front of me! Back at the hotel, we did a load of laundry as the wind shrieked, rain came down in sheets, and lightning lit the surrounding red rock. It was quite a show!
The views were simply stunning!
On the road at the crack of dawn, we followed the park’s Scenic Drive twelve miles to the end, then backtracked and motored down a dirt road into Grand Wash, the vertical cliff walls closing in on us as we progressed. We saw the arch where Butch Cassidy hid from the law for a time, and old hand-dug shafts where uranium was mined by hand…before the effects of radiation exposure were understood. We spent two hours exploring without seeing a single person in this little gem of a national park.
The tiny town of Fruita UT
For three hours we saw no other people!
I was amazed at how few people visited this magnificent park!The ragtop paid for itself on this trip. Protection from the elements is critical
We parked the rig half a mile up the Grand Wash and took a short hike to stretch our legs. Had I known the park would be so nice I would have come equipped with a topo map and spent time exploring the back country.
Heading back to civilization after a hike in Grand Wash
On the way back to the main road we stopped at the historic farmhouse for fresh peach pie. An inquisitive doe approached as Tully and I were sharing our breakfast; Tulliver took one look at her and retreated to the safety of his sidecar, giving me a look that told me I was expected to protect him from that wild creature.
Trained to not interact with other critters, Tulliver retreats to the safety of his sidecar at the sight of a small doe approachingTulliver relaxing after sharing my peach pie and ice cream
We moved on at a fairly high speed, again trying to cross the open desert before the heat built. East to Hanksville, then northeast to I-70, then east again in oppressive heat to the town of Fruita CO. A recon ride through Colorado National Monument, a visit to a local pet shop for a refill of kibble, a dinner of delicious ribs and cold beer, then we checked into La Quinta where we were assigned room 128. I laughed out loud. At the Noor Hotel we had stayed in room 128, and before that room 128 at the hotel in Salt Lake City! I wondered if Colorado had a lottery…
I-70 across Utah into Colorado was miserably hot. Tulliver wore his cooling vest for this one!Refueling: you can see Tulliver wearing one of his two cooling vests. The other is soaking in ice water in the topcase. The vests are switched every hour in hot weather to keep him comfortableA quick recon ride of the Monument, but the temp was 103F so we didn’t linger.
Again, we were on the road at dawn, back to the Monument this time armed with cameras. It was a bit like Capitol Reef but from a different perspective. At the Reef, one rode in the valleys looking up at the cliffs. At the Monument, one rode atop the cliffs looking down. Again, thanks to the early hour, we had the place to ourselves.
We arrived at 7am and saw only two other peopleMorning light gave the monument a completely different lookTulliver stretching his legs
South on US-50 then right on CO-141 toward Gateway and the Delores River Valley, a narrow valley carved by erosion with massive cliffs on either side. It was a fun ride with numerous spots to pull out and take in scenic vistas. The Hanging Flume, built during the gold mining days, was particularly interesting as I could imagine workers installing it while suspended by ropes from the cliff edge above! Tulliver wasn’t particularly interested in the scenery; he simply enjoyed rides with plenty of stops, as at each one he got cuddle time.
We stopped for lunch and a refill of ice in Gateway COThe Hanging Flume carried water down the cliff face to gold mining operations belowThe Dolores River
South, and south some more through the charming town of Placerville CO, then on to Telluride. Stowe VT, the town we once lived in, had matured into what can best be described as tourist chaos while we weren’t looking. It took a charming little New England town and turned it into a place of hellish traffic, high prices, and visitors who spent large sums of money on themselves and felt that entitled them to treat the locals like peasants. Telluride was all that magnified. I rode less than two blocks into town before making an abrupt U-turn and escaping as fast as I could!
Back up in the cool mountain heights
South again, past Lizard Head Pass in a light rain toward where I hoped to find a campsite. But then the thunder started rumbling, the rain picked up, and before long brilliant fingers of lightning began reaching out. I’d been warned that Colorado led the nation in deaths by lightning, so accelerated out of the storm past Rico and Delores all the way to the arid little town of Mancos. I started searching for campgrounds, but it had been a long day and riding all the way to cooler heights along US-550 would have added another couple hours…and put us back in the path of the storm we had just fled. Frustrated, I opted for a hotel north of Durango and lay back on the grass with a heavy sigh.
Tulliver immediately nestled at my side, one paw draped over my chest, his nose pressed against my neck. “False alarm, Big Boy,” I told him. “Daddy’s just tired.” We mounted up and rode to Durango where we checked into the hotel. As I removed my helmet I noticed the helmetcam dangling loosely from the side. The incessant heat had caused the adhesive to fail; it hung down like a long piece of gum. “Crap!” I muttered, and promptly fell asleep.
Old mines dotted the slopes…and our first view of Silverton CO
There was a Starbucks just a short distance from the hotel, so we stopped there on the way out of town the next morning. It was staffed by three beautiful young women – they reminded me of Charlie’s Angels without the big hair – who took one look at Tulliver and rushed outside to fuss over him! Caffeinated, we headed north. The scenery improved near Purgatory while the temp steadied out at around fifty degrees. My ears tickled as air caught behind my earplugs expanded and escaped. Without the helmetcam I had to pull over more often for photo ops, an arrangement that suited Tulliver just fine. We reached Silverton CO by 9:00am, just in time for a mid-morning dose of caffeine. I actually liked Silverton. While clearly a tourist town, it poked fun at its own history and didn’t try to pretend to be something it wasn’t. I found some Gorilla Tape in a local hardware store and remounted the helmetcam, hoping it would hold.
No way, Dad! I’m not coming back till you promise to throw my ball!With the helmetcam out of action we pulled over for more photo ops. Tulliver approved!
North some more. The heat rose as the elevation dropped. And it dropped in a spectacular way! The stretch of US-550 between Silverton and Ouray is called the Million Dollar Highway, clearly with good reason. The scenery, cliff faces and sheer drop-offs, were stunning! Not sure if the helmetcam was properly reoriented, I pulled over several times for photo ops and ball chasing breaks. Tulliver was having a blast! In Ouray I gave Tully a break as I checked and topped off the engine oil. We walked into the bank – an old fashioned affair with a carpeted lobby, ornate decorations, and the tellers inside brass bars to protect them from outlaws – to exchange large bills for smaller. A snack of kibble, a bowl of chilled water for the dog, then we remounted and continued north.
Once the drizzle stopped, the views were sensational!Remnants of the mining era
We refueled in Montrose, but it had gone the way of so many American towns. We motored past all the usual chains – KFC, McDonald’s, Arby’s, Subway – and turned east on US-50 bound for Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park. Though crowded, it really was a spectacular sight. We met and mingled with a large group of Swiss riding Harley Davidsons, some speaking French and others German. At one scenic overlook a Belgian man was kind enough to take a photo of me with Tully. Unfortunately we were unable to visit two of the viewpoints as a doe protecting her fawns had been attacking dogs in those areas.
South Rim: Black Canyon of the Gunnison
With the heat building, I pressed on to get some air flowing over my panting co-pilot, but it didn’t turn out well. Just a few miles down the road we were stopped by road construction, a 35 minute delay in mid-afternoon heat.
The Curse of the Road Gods — at least she had a pleasant smile
When we finally got going again I pulled over to let Tulliver play in the cooling waters of the Blue Mesa Reservoir. A short time later we sought shelter in a motel in Gunnison CO as a storm rolled in and thunder echoed off the hills. We ate at a local rib place, then retired. Tulliver stretched out by the air conditioner as I uploaded photos from multiple cameras.
We rode through town on side streets the next morning, passing a large group of teenaged girls running in formation. “Look at the dog!” one screamed, and the group chased us block to block, catching up at every stop sign for a better look. There is no Sidecar Delay Factor worse than those caused by young girls, however, so I turned left and accelerated toward Crested Butte CO where we found another tourist town that had done it right. We had breakfast in the historic district at a diner called McGill’s, which was phenomenal! Jerry, a friend Barley and I had met in Montana a couple years before, was waiting by the sidecar. “I recognized the rig and knew you had to be around here somewhere!” he shouted. We chatted a bit, but his companions were hungry so we said our goodbyes and promised to find each other again.
Lunch in Crested Butte CO
Kebler Pass was the most direct route to the Paonia rally, so up and over we went. Though dirt, it was very well maintained and lightly traveled. It also passed through the most enormous stand of aspen trees I’d ever seen! I’ll bet the autumn colors there are incredible! Near the summit we took a side road to Erwin Lake which turned out to be the scenic highlight of the route. Someday I’ll have to go back there and camp for a few days.
The road over Kebler Pass started out paved, so my expectations were low
But near the summit was a side road that looked interesting. We followed it.The road led to a loop of dispersed camping, each site with stunning views. Must come back!
We reached the Top of the Rockies Rally early in the afternoon, picked a nice spot, and set up camp. Paonia City Park is an awesome little gem with enormous trees that provide a nearly unbroken canopy of shade. When a man wearing muck boots and a wooden barrel greeted us by reciting sonnets in a cultured British voice I knew this would be a different sort of rally!
We received a warm albeit unusual welcome
Thursday, July 20th: Being an early riser has a few disadvantages. One is that few others are conscious at 6am. Another is that finding a place to eat that early can be hit or miss. Most of the time I don’t bother looking, instead I wolf down a granola bar and piece of fruit followed by plenty of water. Of course Tulliver is fed and exercised first thing. But getting up early also has several advantages. We can reach scenic spots before the crowds and in the best light for photography. It’s also much cooler in the morning.
Ready for another ride
We set out for the north rim of the Black Canyon shortly before the sun peered sleepily over the nearby hills. I followed the pavement at first, but wanted a closer look. So we backtracked to a weatherworn wooden sign bearing a vaguely promising description. The road turned to dirt, the trees to scrub. Ahead I spotted a green Forest Service truck, then signs pointing to the North Rim Campground. Soon after the road split. Most of the tire tracks went right, so we went left and stopped at the first pullout, right behind a trio of small dirt bikes. We dismounted. Tulliver was watered. Then we walked along a trail leading over a small crest…and found ourselves on the edge of a precipice with the Gunnison River far, far below!
We could hear the rapids far below
A nice couple from Wisconsin bid us welcome, and even took a photo of Tully and me by the edge. They explained that there were half a dozen pullouts on the road we had taken, each giving a different view of the chasm, each worth checking out. When they moved along Tulliver and I sat and took in the view, the surprisingly loud roar of the rapids so far below. There are moments, far from home, when I truly cherish the presence of a devoted dog by my side. This was one of those moments. I removed his vest and held up a brush; Tulliver leaned heavily into me as I gently brushed his fur, massaged his ears, and checked his paws for scrapes. Birds fluttered nearby, gathering up bits of reddish fur then darting away with their treasure. We sat there together, a man and his dog, soaking it all in.
Tulliver with me on the north rim of the canyonTulliver truly enjoys having me to himself
Back to the rally, the wonderful shade trees of Paonia’s City Park, the camaraderie of my fellow riders. Mostly solo riders, we relish those rare opportunities that find us in the same place at the same time. We catch up on life’s events and challenges, talk about places we’ve been and places we still yearn to visit, about gear that works and gear that sucks. Tulliver and I spent some much anticipated time with Gene, a fellow sidecarist, and his dog Chaco. I broke out a bottle of Scotch to toast the memory of my Barley and his Ripple, both long-distance sidecar dogs lost far too soon.
Tully and I spending time with Gene and Chaco
We left our friends in Paonia early on a Friday morning, as I wanted to be clear of Denver traffic before the Monday morning commute. North past massive coal mining operations, over McClure Pass (8,763’) and the charred remains of trees lost to a massive fire years before. A right turn at Carbondale, increasing traffic as we approached Aspen, then through the bottleneck and on to Independence Pass. We had passed several bicyclists on the long climb to the summit at 12,126’, and as we took a long rest and playtime break several of them caught up to us. We had plenty of ice water, which we shared with the cyclists in exchange for them taking our photo.
One of many high passes we rode in Colorado
We were a bit higher than the hills of Vermont
Downhill to Twin Lakes, then north again over Tennessee Pass (10,423’), east over Vail Pass (10,662’) and Loveland Pass (11,991’), stopping often for play and cuddle breaks. We reached Georgetown late in the day, checked into a hotel, got organized for an early start, and turned in for the night. The following day we’d ride to the top of Mt Evans.
Climbing Mt Evans (Photos by Amy Chapman)
Tulliver was ready to go the following morning well before I had finished packing our gear on the rig. We headed east on I-70 before sunrise, exited at Idaho Springs, and began the long ascent of Mt Evans. The gate at the base was unmanned as we passed through, and I waved my annual National Park Pass to the empty shelter. Past Echo Lake, then Lincoln Lake, then Chicago Lake. There was a puddle in the road near Summit Lake that I foolishly assumed was shallow. It turned out to be a foot deep and as I hit it at 40mph the splash left Tulliver’s nose and my legs sopping wet! Just past that point the climb began in earnest, and the cold set in. Near the summit a professional photographer took a few shots of us with her massive telephoto lens, but with us both shivering I declined her requests to pose for the camera. Around a bend we could see the morning sun glimmering on the glass of a distant city.
The structure at the top burned down years ago; only the stone walls remain
Amid a jumble of large boulders we reached the top, 14,265’ above sea level. In my younger years I had experienced altitude sickness while backpacking in the Sierras. Attuned to the symptoms, I was delighted to note their absence. But as I looked at Tulliver I could see he was having a difficult time. His respirations were rapid. And as I checked his pulse I was surprised to note how rapid and pounding it was! I’d hoped to spend a couple hours at the summit taking photos in every direction, but his anxiety changed my mind. After a cursory walk around the remains of the structure on top, we fired up the bike and headed back down. By the time we reached 12,000 feet Tully was back to his normal happy self. We stopped for breakfast at the Echo Lake Lodge, then continued on to Evergreen to retrieve the car and trailer.
We made it, Big Guy! Now let’s drop down and find some air to breathe!
By sundown we were in Smith Center, Kansas and I was feeling that familiar gravitational pull of home and family. Longing replaced common sense. By midnight of the following day we were just west of Akron, Ohio and I paid the price of pushing too hard. Perfectly trained, Tulliver was my anchor as I dealt with waves of nausea, then nestled warm against me as I fell into an exhausted sleep atop a park bench at an Interstate rest area.
Forever looking after me
Feeling better, we beat the morning rush hour through Akron, then angled up to US-6 across Pennsylvania at a leisurely pace, taking numerous breaks and naps till we reached the Tioga camp of our friends, Linda and Dennis. Our hosts could only stay briefly, but I wanted them to meet Tulliver…and eventually Glenlivet. While there I was also able to meet Jean and her husband, a couple of online golden retriever friends we’d never met in person. And then a long sleep on a very comfortable couch before the last leg home.
Tulliver relaxing at the Tioga camp with his favorite ball
Swedes call it resfeber, that pre-journey feeling of anticipation mixed with anxiety. I’m feeling it already, with departure still half a year away. Though Tulliver did exceptionally well on our thousand mile trip last year, I don’t have the history with him – nor the absolute confidence – that Barley and I developed over so many miles. Running into canine recalcitrance 2500 miles from home is a whole different set of issues from experiencing it a day’s ride from home. And yet, I know from my years riding with Barley that things will turn out, that when traveling with a cherished dog the goal is never a particular destination, but rather the journey itself. The British call it coddiwompling: traveling in a purposeful manner toward a vague destination. For all my extensive planning of routes over the long winters, when I finally hit the road I tend to coddiwomple…
The Rockies have a powerful way of tugging on my wanderlust!
If Tulliver and I make it all the way to Salt Lake City we’ll have a great time at the BMW Rally meeting new friends and getting reacquainted with old. Last year in Hamburg NY a few online friends who had never met in person were told to look for a big red dog in the beer tent. With his friendly demeanor and cherished orange ball Tulliver was a big hit; that informal gathering was christened The Red Dog Saloon in his honor, and already plans are being made for another round this year. Even so, if storms, heat and humidity, or any other factors prevent us from getting that far, Tully and I will cut the trip short, find a string of nice spots in the Colorado Rockies in which to spend a week enjoying each other’s company before attending the smaller, more intimate Top of the Rockies Rally in Paonia, Colorado.
Tulliver did just fine at his first rally
I recall an enchanted evening three years ago, cuddling with Barley on the cold shoulder of Mount Rainier by the light of the stars and the burble of a nearby glacier-fed stream. Sitting next to the campfire while gently tugging Barley’s ear it dawned on me that what he and I shared – that incredible bond based on mutual love and respect – was older than time itself. Thanks to that dog I know what is possible and more importantly, how to cultivate it. I sense it flowering with Tulliver…and budding with Glenlivet. That relationship is more precious than any timeline or destination.
A bond older than time…
If conditions permit, the week between those two rallies will be spent meandering from Arches National Park in Utah all the way back to Colorado’s Front Range. Before we head for home we’ll pass through Colorado National Monument, the San Juan Mountains (including the legendary Million Dollar Highway), wander through abandoned mining towns, cross numerous high altitude passes both paved and unpaved, camp in the Black Canyon of the Gunnison River, and ride to the summit of Mount Evans at 14,265’.
The only plan that matters is having a good time together!
Stay tuned for updates on our training rides (once the snow melts) as we prepare for this trip. Right now, with Vermont locked up in winter’s icy grip, the bike and sidecar are being carefully dismantled, cleaned, and reassembled.
Friday, June 30th: One week remains till Tulliver and I head out on our Utah and Colorado adventure! Nothing is packed, though I believe all the pieces are present. I’d hoped to practice setting up the tent a few times before our departure, but that hasn’t happened thanks to our incredibly wet weather so far this year. As I type this, much of Vermont is under flood warnings after yesterday’s two inches of rain on top of already saturated soil. Tully’s tonneau cover has been modified with a larger zippered hatch to accommodate his much longer body. He is back to using his old memory foam mattress though, as the new bolstered version allowed him to lean out well past my comfort zone.
There is an art to packing for a trip like this, an art I’ve not yet mastered after repeated iterations. I get it right by the time the trip is over, but invariably forget the method in the year between each rally. And to be fair to myself, how things are packed varies depending on weather conditions, camping vs hoteling, whether we will be in bear country, and a few other factors.
Like heat.
While not experiencing the punishing heat wave that’s centered over parts of Arizona and New Mexico, part of our trip this year will take us through regions with highs in the high nineties or low hundreds. That’s too hot for my dog, and so I reserve the right to skip parts of our planned route and head instead for the coolness of the mountain heights. Even if it means we miss the annual family reunion that the BMW Rally represents.
That said, here is our planned route:
After our transit of the Midwest and Great Plains, we’ll visit the Morris Animal Foundation in Denver. These are the folks running the Golden Retriever Lifetime Study, a well-designed prospective (as opposed to retrospective) study that hopefully will shed light on why so many golden retrievers are being lost to cancers.
The Peak-to-Peak Byway to Rocky Mountain National Park
Across northern Colorado to be at Flaming Gorge for sunrise
On to Salt Lake City via the Uinta Range and Emigrant Canyon
Two days at the BMW Rally at the fairgrounds in SLC
Capitol Reef National Park
Natural Bridges National Monument, Moki Dugway, Monument Valley, Valley of the Gods
Up Hwy 145 to Lizard Head Pass and Telluride, Colorado
Over to Ouray, then down US-550 to Durango, Colorado
US-160 to South Fork, Colorado, then Hwy 149 over Slumgullion Pass to the Black Canyon of the Gunnison
Over Kebler Pass between Crested Butte and Paonia to the Top of the Rockies Rally
Over McClure, Independence, Tennessee, Vail and Loveland Passes
Say goodbye to Colorado from the summit of Mt Evans, then head east
Visit friends in Tioga, Pennsylvania, and possibly attend the US Sidecar Rally in Corning, New York before heading for home
Remember, though, that in all my years of motorcycle travel I have yet to follow one of my carefully plotted routes!
The torrential rains of this trip demonstrated that we needed far better weather protection than we set out with. Even zipped shut, the tonneau cover’s hatch allowed significant amounts of water to enter the sidecar.
Memory foam is extremely comfortable, but it is also a very efficient sponge…and very slow to surrender water it has absorbed. Waterproof covers tend to be coarse and slick. A good compromise was removing the cover, using construction grade garbage bags to wrap the foam, then slipping the protected foam back into the cover.
A two-person tent is too small for a dog and a human. In his dreams, Barley would claw my back hard enough to draw blood. After this trip we upgraded to a Nemo Losi 3 person tent. Nemo offered paw pads, a durable floor liner that keeps claws from damaging the fabric.
There are times when camping that you will be forced to put up with uncomfortably hot conditions that last all night. A human can sweat; a dog cannot. I invested in battery-operated fan to keep air flowing over Barley in his sleep.
Shade is not always available when camping. A tent exposed to direct sunlight – especially with the rain fly in place – absorbs a lot of heat. We added a large Noah’s Tarp and a couple of sturdy poles to our equipment. The poles are tall enough that I can erect the canopy first, then erect the tent underneath it safe from exposure to sun or rain.
It is easier for a solo motorcyclist to strike up conversations with locals than it is for a group of motorcyclists. As for a solo motorcyclist with a dog in the sidecar, well, it’s simply not possible to remain an introvert! Give it up, have fun, and meet new friends!
I met Linda and Dennis on a Golden Retriever forum where we had exchanged advice and
I met Linda and Dennis on a Golden Retriever forum where we had exchanged advice and pleasantries. Barley reminded them of a beloved golden they had lost some time before, and when I asked for information about dog-friendly campgrounds in north-central Pennsylvania, they offered use of their camp a short distance north of scenic Route 6. I was looking for a safe place to pitch our tent, but they wouldn’t hear of it; the camp was mine for the night. I tried to protest, but the thought of a hot shower and a roof over my head in case of rain was just too good an offer to pass. And so it was to that camp we were headed on our home stretch.
We arrived late in the afternoon, having finished an easy crossing of Ohio and Pennsylvania on forested back roads. I unlocked the gate, pulled through, and locked it back in place behind us. Up a curved gravel driveway to a shaded camp with – Barley whined in anticipation – a large pond! No sooner had I let him out than he caught and ate a mouse. I was toying with the idea of sleeping in the carport instead of invading their privacy when a car pulled up to the camp. Inside were the grinning faces of my hosts, a couple I would soon feel I had known for years. Barley bonded to them instantly.
And that is one of the unexpected blessings of the long distance traveler. You meet the most wonderful people on the road, people who share kindness small and large, people you expect to stay in touch with for the rest of your life.
Next stop: online friends in Janesville, Wisconsin, a few miles above the border with Illinois close to Madison. We rolled south-southwest through verdant farmland, crossed the Mississippi River into Iowa, rolled through a few small farming towns before our very presence seemed to bother a shirtless, toothless, skinny man driving a huge Cadillac. He paced us for miles, glaring at us from one lane over in a sort of stupefied fury I would learn was typically driven by meth. We crossed the mighty river again. He turned left so I turned right and accelerated sharply to put him behind us.
The Great River Route is fun for about twenty minutes. The scenery doesn’t quite change often enough, the pavement doesn’t have a lot of curves to it, and the majority of businesses have either Tom Sawyer or Huck Finn in the name. I turned west again to run through rolling hills covered in crops. We pulled up at Susan and Stephen’s home on the outskirts of Janesville late in the afternoon to a chorus of barking from home and kennel.
Dog people: this was going to be good.
For a busy woman, Susan has vast reserves of energy. She raises dogs, kennels dogs, trains with dogs, hunts with dogs, manhandles cattle, manages to care for two very young and curious granddaughters. Inside the house was a young bitch named Shine. Shine liked me so much she peed every time I looked at her, puddled every time I touched her. Susan spent much of her time yelling, “Don’t touch the…ah, let me get a paper towel!”
Shine had way too much energy for Barley. He wanted to hunt. She wanted him to love her. She’d flounce in coquettishly and “accidentally” bump into him. He’d give a low warning growl. Mice were more interesting. But she finally overdid it and found herself Alpha rolled in a flash! Barley had had enough. At least he didn’t draw any blood, I told myself, so Shine must have still had a bit of puppy license left in her.
We packed up in the minivan for a trip to an area treasure, the New Glarus Brewery. I love beer and I love clever marketing; this place had both. We took the tour and drank the samples: Cow Tipper Ale, Flying Squirrel, Two Naked Ladies. I bought a case, plus a few bottles of red ale made from cherries for the wife, shipped some clothing home to make room for it, and stowed it securely in the sidecar for transport back home.
With thank you hugs for Susan and Stephen we were back on the road the next day, the Fourth of July. We hooked around a big city below us, taking backroads all the way to El Paso, Illinois, then turned east on US 24 across Illinois and Indiana. It became US 224 somewhere before Ohio, and it was a hotel in Ohio where we stopped for the night. We had seen a lot of corn that day. Acres of corn. Miles of corn. Lots.
We also saw something beautiful and unexpected…
Barley sat up in the sidecar, facing forward, his nose busily working a scent I was completely unaware of. I scanned my surroundings – fields of corn stretched to the horizon in every direction, US 24 a straight line endlessly in front of me. There was a small rise coming up, just high enough that I couldn’t see over it even when standing on the pegs. I rolled off the throttle, having learned to trust my dog. The BMW quivered slightly beneath me as it bled off speed. We topped the rise.
Horses!
There were four beautiful horses cavorting on the highway, their manes and tails rippling in a breeze of their own making. I slowed to a crawl and hit the flashers, pulled the Nikon out of my tank bag and snapped a quick photo. The horses eventually wandered to the side of the highway and began grazing. We passed slowly, then accelerated back to our plains-crossing pace.
“Good dog! Clever dog!” Barley smiled behind his Doggles, then settled back under the shade of his cockpit cover.
