Ask a hundred motorcyclists where they'd most like to go riding, and a high percentage of them are likely to choose Colorado. It's got mountain scenery, spectacular pass roads and more curves than the World Series.
But those of us who don't live in the Rockies could use some help in putting together a perfect Colorado ride. What we need is a local expert who knows the best roads, the friendliest restaurants, the neatest places to stay.
Who can you turn to for that touring advice? Well, it ain't me, babe. It's Mike Broadstreet of Freedom Tours. Mike and his wife, Linda, have been running and refining their Freedom Tours in the Colorado Rockies for the past four years.
After taking a nine-day Freedom Tours lap of the Rjockies last summer, I can tell you they know their stuff. Freedom Tours is based in Longmont, north of Denver, and that's where our group - three couples and myself- joined up. After dinner and a night's rest, we were off the next morning to Rocky Mountain National Park and Trail Ridge Road, the highest continuously paved road in the United States. It leads west from Estes Park, climbing well above the tree line into a world of stunted pines and rock. This would be a great road on any bike, but it was perfect for the Honda VFR 750 I was riding. (Going in style).
Tour members are free to ride their own route at their own pace, but we were a small group, and Broadstreet's pace was pleasing, so the seven of us just jumped in behind Mike on his FLH and let him be our guide, while Linda followed behind us with the luggage van.
Mike led us to one of the road's overlooks where we could admire the view of the mountains and watch the marmots sunning themselves on the roaks. Fray jays whirled and cadged food from the tourists. Later, near the road's peak altitude of 12,183 feet, I struck off on a hiking trail with tour member Joe Nowak. We had gone about 200 feet when suddenly it seemed we were walking in sand. I looked up at the surrounding peaks, out of breath, and gasped, "There's no air in this air!"
As we rolled into Steamboat Springs that afternoon, we noticed several hotels had banners proclaiming, "Welcome Hell's Angels." Our reputation, it seemed, exceeded us. But it turned out that the Angels really were in town, about 400 strong, for a few days of partying.
Dinner that evening was at a great Italian place where, as usual, open menu was provided for Freedom Tours guests. Breakfasts were also provided, but we were on our own for lunch. Fair enough.
Our tour was in early August, and except for a few quick storm systems that passed through, the weather was generally perfect. It was hot the next day when we rode into Parachute, and a huge storm was battling its way through the mountains north of us, kicking up a scorching wind. By the time we reached Grand Junction for a luxurious night at the Hilton, it was raining lightly.
Mike had scheduled a group ride to dinner, and he led up through Colorado National Monument on a rim road that rises 6,000 feet above the city. The storm had hit much harder there, but the road was drying out, and we were about to experience one of the hightlights of our tour.
At one of the overlooks, we came across Linda and the luggage van. Mike hiked us through the low trees a short distance to a waist-high railing revealing a spectacular canyon, the setting sun, the city in the distance...and Chinese take-out. We arrayed ourselves on the rocks and dined from plastic plates.
We were enjoying ourselves so much that few of us noticed Mike had disappeared. Soon, Indian flute music wafted on the wind, transporting us back centuries in time. Mike walked out from the trees, still playing, and for 20 minutes we sat enthralled, eating, listening to his soulful solo and watching the canyon changing color. The finest meal served at the Hilton that night could not have matched our spiritual dining experience.
Food and riding; riding and food. Those were our major themes. We had lunch in Glenwood Springs one day at a funky Italian place that had model trains running on tracks overhead. We'd be talking, they'd be click-ety-clacking, then suddenly one of the engines would cut loose with a piercing train whistle and we'd jump out of our seats. Mike and Linda seem to be able to sniff out such places the was a hunting dog flushes quail. As a result, our ride was a series of great little places and great little moments.
The main attraction, though, was Colorado's roads, including Mike's favorite, State Route 141, which descends through a long, red-rock canyon in the southwestern part of the State. Our trip down it included a well-planned stop in which Linda treated us to a juicy watermelon feast. A little lizard eyed us cautiously at first, but was soon sucking the precious moisture from our leavings.
That day ended in Ouray, where our hotel featured three hot tubs arrayed on the hillside. I took a soak that night, watching the lights of the town. And the next morning we packed up to the constant chirring of hummingbirds dive-bombing the feeders.
We headed south toward Durango on US Route 550, know as the Million Dollar Highway - not for the price of building it, but for the estimated value of the gold and silver left in the ore tailing used in the roadbed. This was the most alpine part of our tour, following a road that rose from Ouray through a series of tight turns, then crossed towering Red Mountain Pass at over 11,000 feet, where a quick, cool shower swept over us.
Nearby Silverton was one of my favorite towns, a small cross-hatch of streets, most of them unpaved, surrounded by mountains. It was the closest thing to an Old West town we'd seen, though behind those old storefronts were sequestered the usual gift shops, jewelry stores and purveyors of cappuccino.
We had a delightful lungh in a raucous old-time saloon there. The food was great, and the walls were adorned with stuffed deer and elk, plus a "Colorado Fur Trout" (now extinct) and a "Texas Speed Bump" (a rather tired-looking armadillo). The menu included such unusual specialties as Rocky Mountain oysters (sometimes you feel like a nut) and lots of more-normal fare done up right.
That evening we had dinner at an old-time chuck wagon near Durango. Set back in the trees, the place featured an outdoor eating area that seated several hundred. We were fed a hearty cafeteria-style meal of beans and beef in thos three-section aluminum plates that get really hot 10 seconds after the beans hit. Then we settled in for entertainment by the Bar D Wranglers, an old coot and three younger coots putting on a cornball cowboy musical revue with plenty of enjoyable skits.
We stayed at a delightful old hotel in Durango for two nights, during which time I took a side-trip to Mesa Verde National Park. Its cliff dwellings were built by the Anasazi (a Navajo word meaning "ancient ones") around the year 1200, and abandoned around 1300. It was eerie seeing these meticulously preserved but hauntingly empty building tucked high in the cliffs, and knowing that this ghost community has been unoccupied since a century before Columbus was born.
With a large tour group, I climbed the 30-foot ladder to Balcony House, crawled through a tunnel and puzzled at the ancient ones. Ho, to have Mike and his flute here!
I found my favorite road the next day - State Route 149 between Spring Creek Pass (10,901 feet) and Slumgullion Pass (11,361 feet) south of Lake City. It featured lots of smooth, predictable turns with views to eternity.
This area of Colorado, Mike told us, was the scene of the Alferd Packer Incident near the end of the last century. It seems Mr. Packer went up into the mountains with a group of other men for the winter. Ind the spring, Mr. Packer came down alone, fat and flush with money. Apparently, he'd had his friends over for dinner...
Turning north, we spent a night in Aspen, where colorful hang gliders bloomed like flowers against the backdrop of green slopes. Its graceful brick buildings and tree-lined streets are striking, but the main attraction is the view of snow-capped peaks in nearly every direction. The following morning we headed east out of Aspen over 12,095-foot Independence Pass. It was a most pleasant morning on one more exquisite road, leading up to where the aspen quake against huge rock faces.
At one point I went ahead to photograph the group. I was humming along on the VFR, enjoying the curves, when I looked in my mirror and saw a car keeping pace. On narrow, twisty mountain roads, it's rare to find a four-wheeler matching a motorcycle, so I stepped it up a bit. I could put some distance on the driver, but I couldn't lose him. When I eventually pulled over and he went by, I gave a thumbs-up to the Viper driver and he gave a wave. Another brother of the road, doing it well.
It was the final day of the tour and we were headed back to Longmont. At the top of Independence Pass I took each of the three couples aside to ask their opinions of the ride. The McNamaras and the Shumakers used words like "great" and "terrific". Joe and Annette Nowak said "We couldn't have figured out this route or found these restaurants and hotels on our own". Neither could I. Nor could I have found such fun people to go riding with. Mike and Linda Broadstreet really know the Colorado Rockies. And their Freedom Tours offer an enjoyable and uncomplicated way to see them.
Freedom Tours. Like many of us, Mike and Linda got tired of the grind. He worked on heavy equipment in an oil shale mine, and she was a dental hygienist. Then, in 1992, they heard that Freedom Tours was for sale. So they bought it and started doing what they really wanted.
"Our goal is to provide personal service," Mike says. "We want our tour to be like riding with a friend."
And so they are. The Broadstreets offer plenty of information while providing pleasant surprises. Hotels range from nice to excellent, and the restaurants are uniformly not uniform, but the food is always great.
It's pretty hard to disguise a route through Colorado, but the specific hotels and restaurants, plus the ambiance, are the heart and soul of what you're buying from Freedom Tours. And you'd be hard-pressed to reproduce those things on your own.
