Never Lost - Just Exploring

Never Lost - Just Exploring
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All the Way to the Water - Day 10

Day 10: Homeward Bound

The going home day when on vacation is a bittersweet one. Part of me was ready to get home and see my family, and sleep in my own house in my own bed and the other part of me was having way too much fun to let it end. With over 1100 miles yet to go, it was still a day and a half home, on the Interstate with little to see or do going across the plains states of Nebraska and Iowa. I have often said that the price one pays to ride in the Rockies is crossing the Great Plains, whether one crosses in the Dakotas, or Nebraska or Kansas it is always the same type of ride where you see the horizon all day long and never get there.  I have been across this part of America several times before in my travels and I have experienced some weather so I was no stranger to the trials that are riding through the plains. I have been in scorching 100+ degree heat, and winds that never cease. I have been cold, wet, and tired as well as seen pleasant sunny skies and cool summer evenings.  The weather that feeds from the mountains onto the plains is unpredictable and often intense fueled by the energy of the descent from altitude over the 14,000-foot peaks.

Bill and I had decided that we would each take our own most direct route home that day and we parted company in Denver. His route would follow Interstate 70 through Kansas and I would be traveling Interstate 80 through Nebraska.  These Interstates paralleled each other separated by about 200 miles with I-70 being the southernmost highway.  This was an important distinction as we spent our day riding eastward side by side although 200 miles apart. Bill was delighted as the weather was clear, warm, and inviting all day; and he made more than 900 miles that day before retiring for the night. Riding I-80 would prove to be a bit more challenging.


After waving good-bye to my riding partner of the past several days, I settled in for a daylong cruise toward home. I knew I wanted to get as close as possible to home before finding a place to stop, and even had a wild idea that I could make it all the way if I kept moving, a distance of more than 1100 miles! Of course, the weather had a different idea. Only 140 miles east of Denver I caught up with the backside of a massive front moving across the plains. At Fort Morgan Co, I found myself riding into fog, mist and drizzle all pouring itself onto the western high plains in an immense wall of grey.  I needed fuel and took advantage of this stop to pull my rain gear from the carry tubes mounted on the passenger footrests. After the usual effort to tug and wiggle into the rain gear I was off again, into the grey wet bleakness that one finds when riding in a fall rainstorm. This time I was going in the same direction as the rain front and realized that it could turn into a long day.  I still had visions of poking out the far side and finishing the run homeward on this one leg of my incredible journey.


For several hours, I traveled almost completely alone on this stretch of highway across eastern Colorado and western Nebraska. Being a Sunday the interstate was strangely devoid of semi-trucks hauling freight through the heart land of America. I supposed most over the road truckers were at home for the weekend and would be out in force tomorrow (Monday) when I was trying to make the last leg of my trip. It was a welcome relief that I did not have to contend with much traffic, especially the big trucks as I remembered the ride in the rain on my first day out across the Dakotas. The trucks huge wheels fling water and dirt into the air much more than the average passenger car and this makes sharing the interstate with them particularly miserable on a wet day. The spray reduces visibility for the rider, both in seeing the way as well as being seen, which is a key element of motorcycle safety.  The light rain and the empty roads did little to slow my progress as I forged ahead at highway speeds comfortable in the bubble of calm air the windscreen afforded me.  I spent the day chasing the far side of the storm, hoping to bust through the imaginary curtain that I believed defined the edge of the weather system. Much to my chagrin, I was to be disappointed.




All morning and deep into the afternoon I motored along; eventually finding comfort in the unchanging nature of the rain and light fog. Over each hill, I would see the sky brighten as I climbed and then down into the low spots I would ride to find grey and cold air waiting for me.  The temperament required for riding in this type weather is to embrace the difficulty, to know that you are enduring a discomfort that most people would avoid at any price. I found solace in the quiet and clammy feeling surrounding me as I occupied myself with the limitless calculations of time and distance as I worked my way through the traffic that was forming on the interstate. My rain gear was performing flawlessly and keeping my feet, legs and upper body warm and dry. My gloves kept my hands in working order and the only wetness and cold I had to concern myself about was that which worked its way into my face. Riding with an open face helmet exposes the face to the elements; and today’s ride would serve notice on my cheeks as the cold fog spent the day rubbing them raw.  With my electric jacket pumping heat onto my torso I hardly noticed until I happened to see myself in a mirror at a rest stop and found it quite amusing that I was dressed from head to toe in orange and had the red cheeks of a circus clown. My hair had been cropped short for the trip, and I wear a blue skullcap to mitigate helmet itch and I am sure I was a remarkable sight at each filling station.




The distance across Nebraska and much of Iowa, from Fort Morgan Colorado to Des Moines Iowa is almost 600 miles. I had ridden 150 miles from the resort to arrive at Fort Morgan before I hit the lousy weather so by the time I had found the western edge of Des Moines I had been in the saddle for 750 miles; with 600 of it being in the rain! Between the first day out across the Dakotas, and this day, I had spent enough time in the wet Great Plains that I was sure to grow webbed feet.  The weather had been steadily declining all afternoon and I knew I was just fighting against it on this trip.  Certainly, it had begun to take a toll on me physically, and I felt the need to find a place to hole up for the night. Des Moines western limits was a welcome sight and I found a nice budget price hotel to hide in while I waited for a better day tomorrow for the final run home.

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