Colorado: Rocky Mountain Empire Longtime Colorado resident and author Hunter S. Thompson once remarked “Freedom is something that dies unless it’s used.” It seemed to us that most Coloradans live that sentiment.
The first state in the nation to legalize marijuana and a population that seems to possess an autonomous view of life, it was logical that if we were going to experience a sense of raw freedom, it would be here.
Sweet relief from the oppressive swelter of the Utah desert swept over us as we headed east and began to climb the Colorado Plateau. The temperature cooled. Green plant life punctuated the landscape. For cold-blooded northerners, it was indeed a touch of freedom.
Up ahead lay the high peaks of Telluride, Monarch Pass and Rocky Mountain National Park. It was all too easy to imagine the iconic cowboys of days gone by driving their steeds through these primal peaks. What did they think of these mountains? How did they shape who they were? How would they shape us?
Encompassing nearly 270,000 acres, Rocky Mountain National Park contains some of the United States’ most majestic mountain passes, lakes, climate and wildlife. It’s easy to access backcountry trail system makes it a popular destination. Located northeast of Boulder, CO, it is split by the Continental Divide giving unique character to both the north and south sides of the park.
Telluride Ever since I had first seen photos of the ski town set in the spectacular canyon and heard of the famed bluegrass festival, Telluride was at the top of my bucket list.
Arriving, we settled in and soaked up the downtown vibe by grabbing a few beers and mixing with the locals a bit before locating a campsite for the night.
It dawned on us that this was The Rocky Mountain High state. On the way out of town, we decided to hit the local dispensary, picking out some brownies for dessert by the campfire. The clerk warned us, ”These are very strong. Whatever you do, do not eat them until you get to where you’re going for the night.”
The moment we stepped outside, of course, Brett had to try one.
A half hour later, Greg and I rode a thin trail of switchbacks up the side of the canyon en route to a suggested camp. We reached the campground and realized Brett was no longer behind us.
Moments later, he called Greg, swept up in a bit of paranoia. “Guys, I can’t do this.”
“Haha, you’re okay buddy,” Greg laughed. “You can do it, you’re fine. Just keep going.”
“No, you don’t understand. This thing is going to slide off this cliff and I’m going to roll all the way back into Telluride!”
Five more panicked phone calls and five more reassurances later, Brett appeared around the corner shaken but relaxed – if that makes any sense. We helped him into his tent and closed the book on our first night in Colorado. –Mike
Telluride (pop. 2,200) sits at an elevation of 8,750 feet in a box canyon in southwest Colorado. Steep forested mountains and cliffs surround it, with Bridal Veil Falls at the head of the canyon. Numerous weathered ruins of old mining operations dot the hillsides.
Ronin After landing in Boulder, I made it a point to head down to Denver to visit the mechanical samurais at Ronin Motorworks, a motorcycle concept brand hatched by the weapons manufacturer Magpul. The Ronin is a short-run production concept motorcycle built around the heart of a Buell 1125 R and I’d been in love with its uncompromising design ever since I saw the first one-off prototype some years back.
The Ronin headquarters is an incredible space that’s obscured by its humdrum industrial facade. It’s a meticulously maintained motorcycle lab. The attention to detail and focus on production level manufacturing processes is a stark contrast to the fly by night garage operation many of us have come to know.
Having just competed in the Pikes Peak race and capturing second place overall, just behind factory Honda, Ronin is proving that it’s a small but formidable opponent capable of punching well above it’s weight and bringing honor to the defunct Buell marque (which has been resurrected once again at time of this writing). –Greg
Earthroamer The Earthroamer gives new meaning to “tiny house movement.”
In 2015 we caught wind of the Earthroamer operation and were instantly fascinated. We then shared a short Facebook post and gallery, as we often do with things that intrigue us, and the post went viral. Anyone with a fondness for getting “off the grid” can appreciate the work that has gone into developing these ‘overland barges.’ But don’t let the built-in wine rack and the external flat screen TV fool you, this Ford F-550 4X4 turbo diesel “glamper” is by no means soft.
When we were planning Westbound we reached out to Earthroamer on a whim and asked them if they’d let us take one for a “test drive.” To our amazement, they responded and said they’d gladly toss us the keys for a night in the Rocky Mountain forest. Our long shot request was granted.
After a full tour of the operation and a crash course on how to operate the various functions, switches, lights, solar panels, toilet, beds, Air ride suspension, and HAM radio, I was ready. Well, maybe not entirely “ready.” Retention of the lesson might not have been as good as I let on, but I was eager to get behind the wheel. I pride myself on a hands-on style of “in the field” learning. Meaning, I have trouble paying attention.
It was good to be behind the wheel of a cage, or rather, a palace, after a month of wrestling the Urals through the west. Our weary asses thanked us as we collected Wes and balanced the enormous Xpedition Vehicle on the blade thin “Trail Ridge Road” through Rocky Mountain National Park. By this point we were exhausted and getting behind the wheel was a welcome diversion.
Eventually we found some fire roads and 4×4 trails that required the Earthroamer put in a little effort and it devoured everything us novice off-roaders dared throw at our borrowed beauty. Once we found our perch, we set up camp and proceeded to revel in the lap of luxury, drink malbec, and eat New York strip for what was to be the final celebration before we turned back east. A high note to end our exploration of the great American west on.
After a silent ride back to Earthroamer HQ, the reality that our journey was over set in. We were tired, hungover, grumpy, and sore. And though we were through with Westbound, Westbound wasn’t through with us as we still had to make the 2,000 mile trek home. We said our goodbyes and geared up for what we hoped would be an uneventful ride home. –Greg
Wes Case Wes Case is the brains behind Threepence, a builder, craftsman, and now a shop owner in the Denver area. We really wanted to surprise Wes by picking him up in the Earthroamer unannounced but, as the road often does, timing foiled our plans. More importantly though, we still got to dine like kings and put our mobile castle through some “road tests” in the backcountry of Rocky Mountain National Park. Being down for shenanigans on short notice is an important trait of a good friend. Cheers to the high life, Colorado!
Follow Wes on Instagram @threepence
Homeward: The End is Near The Rocky Mountains faded away in our rear-view mirrors as we headed east into Kansas. During the trip, much of the Midwest was bombarded with deadly tornadoes. Greg, our resident survivalist, did some brushing up on what to do in case of a run-in with a twister. His research came in handy… very handy.
Late in the afternoon, a small cluster of dark clouds just to our north, caught our attention. No big deal. At worst, we might skim the edge and get a little wet. Our obsession for the perfect snap had us hopping off our bikes.
Suddenly the cloud swelled in size. It raged forward and began to swallow us. “We’ve got to get outta here! Wizard of Oz shit’s coming!”
Greg’s memory kicked into overdrive. “South! We’ve got to head south!” Are you sure? It looked clear to the east. “Yes, South! Let’s go!”
We tore a right hand turn and aimed south as fast as the Urals would take us. For ten minutes we tried to outrun the tempest, then a sign in the middle of the road. ‘Road Closed’. Now what?
We noticed a nearby house and in the driveway stood a family watching the storm. Brett hurriedly approached them. “What do we do?”
“You get in here!” One of them shouted. “They’re talking a tornado with tennis ball sized hail!”
Our saviors opened up the garage and we shoved the bikes in. We were shown into the kitchen where we were introduced to the whole Boeckmen family. As the storm passed we enjoyed pepperoni pizza and friendly conversation. Salvation from the nicest family in Kansas.
Closing — Gregory George Moore When we pulled into our driveways in one piece, 37 days after our adventure began, it was mission accomplished. We’d proven ourselves right, wrong, stupid, and resilient. We’d proven that we’re a foolhardy, naive, and resourceful bunch. We’d proven to ourselves that we were more prepared than we thought and less prepared than we should’ve been.
We had stretched our personal borders and challenged ourselves. We challenged one another. We encouraged each other. We laughed. We fought. We apologized, and we were better for it. We worked through difficult situations and grew together.
We met incredible people, odd people, and colorful people. We saw some of the most beautiful parts of our country, and some of the ugliest.
Then there were our steeds. They dragged our asses 10,000 miles, carried our food, shelter, and clothes. They were our homes. They acted as our desks, kitchens, closets, and our personal escapes when the only solution to our bleary-eyed spats was space.
The Triumph Scrambler is a modern machine that demanded little more than its tires and oil changed. A soldier that only needed a drink, a rider, and some marching orders.
The Urals, on the other hand, are a fickle breed and constantly reminded us of that fact. But as many times as the Urals beached us in some agoraphobic’s nightmare, they saved us by getting us where we needed to go, either with a bit of coaxing or with one in tow. In that respect, the Gear-Up was a champion, having towed the cT on numerous occasions totaling nearly 150 miles and never leaving us completely stranded. To be fair, 6,000 of those miles saw the throttle pinned. The overworked 750cc engine moved an estimated 1,000lbs (including rider) through the flats of the midwest to the heights of the Rockies. That kind of punishment would challenge any machine and though the engine has some modern periphery, it requires much of the know-how and attention of a vintage bike – an attention we would often forego in our wild pursuits.
The Ural is by far one of the most endearing motorcycles we’ve ridden and, in hindsight, the problems we had on the road are by far overshadowed by the experiences they provided. The amazing support of the Ural team and the tractor-like reliability of the bikes, as they coughed and sputtered to life, day after abusive day, are testaments to their hearty ancestry. Anyone who’s traveled knows unexpected things happen on the road. It’s how we rise to the challenge that allows us to push beyond our limitations. As Yvon Chouinard would say, “It’s not an adventure until something goes wrong.”
Would we do it all over again on Urals? Absolutely.
We spent more than six months planning this trip. It’s hard to count or even remember all of the people who lent a hand. Many friends, family, and even complete strangers contributed in different ways. For all of you, we’re thankful.
From the beginning, we took Mark Twain’s wise words to heart: “Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one’s lifetime.” In the end, we are better for it.
This article first appeared in issue 22 of Iron & Air Magazine, and is reproduced here under license | With selections by Brett Houle, Gregory George Moore, Michael Hilton & Jason Paul Michaels
Selected photography may include works by Brett Houle, Gregory George Moore, Michael Hilton, Daniela Maria, Jenny Linquist, Becca Skinner, Kevin Bennett, David Mucci
