Story by Charlie Thompson
Editor’s Note: This story was originally published the Sept. 2016 edition of the MSTA Colorado/Wyoming Chapter newsletter. The story has been edited to match the MSTA website’s style.
At 14,271 feet, Mount Evans is 156 feet higher than its more famous southern neighbor, Pikes Peak. Mount Evans is a popular ride for many Front Range riders due to its proximity to Denver (35 miles west), its twisty paved road and amazing views. Imagine it in the moonlight!
The aforementioned twisty road — Mount Evans Scenic Byway — is about 28 miles long. It’s the highest paved road in North America it tops out at 14,130 feet. It climbs 7,000 feet with its lower terminus in the town of Idaho Springs. That is where we started our ride.
Ten riders on nine bikes took part in the adventure. What would we see? Deer? Mountain goats? Foxes? Marmots? What would we experience? Gail force winds? Snow? (I have been snowed on at the summit in July.)
We started our ride in the evening dusk,– prime time for motorcycle deer hunting (personally, my least favorite sport). We traveled the first 13 miles on Colorado State Highway 103 — also known as Squaw Pass Road. The road climbs steadily through an evergreen forest on its way to Echo Lake and the start of Mount Evans Road. A couple of miles in, coming around one of the road’s many smooth sweepers, there was a deer standing in the road. My horn and the eight bikes behind me startled the creature and off it scampered into the forest.
The Denver-area temperatures that day were in the high 90s, so the 70-degree weather at the base of the mountain was refreshing. In preparation for the unknown summit temperatures, several of us donned an additional layer and put away the mesh gloves before beginning the ascent. The first few miles of the 3,500 foot climb via 13 miles of asphalt were in the shadows of the pine forest. The pine scent and cool air reminded our posse why we ride motorcycles and don’t do this in cages … I mean cars.
Soon we were above the timberline, peering into the increasing darkness. Where was the moonlight? The moon was playing peek-a-boo with the clouds. Traffic was non-existent as we followed this narrow ribbon of asphalt to the top.
The gray rocky sides of the road, lit by our headlights, had an eerie moonscape look. What surprises could be lurking in the shadows? As we approached Summit Lake there were signs warning of frost heaves. Being on an adventure-tourer, I just took them like smooth-rolling whoops. Looking in my mirrors, I could see the bouncing headlights of the several sport-tourers on this ride. I am sure the suspension, as well as nerves, were being tested.
As we got near the summit, the low-speed, tight hairpins began. As the lead rider, it was very cool to look over my shoulder and see eight motorcycle headlights snaking their way up the mountain. Being the first to arrive at a given hairpin meant peering into an abyss at the start of the turn and then lighting up the ever increasing steep road in front of us. At 9,000 feet there were white things fluttering in the headlight beams.
Snowflakes? Could it be ash from the nearby wild fires? Nope. It was moths! Moths in Biblical plague quantities! One rider opined, “It’s snowing Miller moths.” What were they doing way up here? Well, they sure loved our lights. We were going slow enough that they would just bounce off our helmets and windshields, rather than splatter. They sounded like large rain drops when they hit. At times their abundant numbers made it difficult to see.
We all dismounted at the summit. With our head- lights off, the moths mostly left us alone. In the distance we could see the Denver metro lights, softened by a haze of wildfire smoke in the air. There were some particularly bright lights in the distance, which we struggled to identify. On the way home I figured out that it was Bandimere Speedway all lit up. The temperature had fallen to a chilly 52 degrees at the summit.
The wind was just a light breeze. Watching the clouds drift past the moon, we realized that we were in a beautiful, peaceful place that evening. Much of the ride down the mountain, one could coast, at first leaning slowly through tight hairpins and then, faster 40-mph sweepers as we approached Idaho Springs.
It was an unforgettable ride on a beautiful July 16th evening. Thank you to all the motorcyclists who rode with me; Aaron and Angela Riemer, Bill Weiskopf, Curt Cummings, Dean Hight, Dennis Szabo, Doug Logston, John King and Mike Szabo.