Sixteen riders were originally on the roster but due to medical, home, work
and/or various other reasons 13 of us make a break for the border. After a
nervous start through Ojinaga (road construction and resulting confusion) we
find the toll road to Chihuahua. My freaking bike is not liking the altitude
and does not want to pull in top gear. Great, its only 320 miles to Creel and
my bike doesn’t want to keep up. Billyj hangs with me and we make our way at
60mph instead of the 65-70 the others were running. I was told I needed 130
mile range. My bike regularly gets 160+ on a tank [the author of this story is
on an Yamaha XT 600] but not today......@#$%# as my bike quits going down a
hill at 90 miles. I flip reserve and get another 16. The math didn’t add up and
I was going to be short. I ended up adding two fuel bottles. I did not want to
be the problem bike on this trip but it wasn’t looking good. We beat into a
pretty serious headwind and a couple of others had fuel problems but a few
tipped bikes and everybody made the first fuel stop.
Bikes fueled up and a couple of tollbooths later we reach the outskirts of
Chihuahua. I’m bummed because the bike is running like crap but am making the
best of it. Turns out that the route is running us through the interior of the
city. Before you know it, the ride becomes a hare scramble event as 13 bikes
try to keep up with the leaders who are leaving lights and changing lanes like
its the Gumball Rally. Eventually, we made it to the far side of town and
nobody got ran over by a bus. For lunch, the bikes got fuel and most ate tacos.
Because my bike was running like crap, I told the group that I was going ahead
as I knew that they would soon catch me. As the altitude got higher, the bike
ran worse. On flat ground, I was good for 55mph. Within miles, the lead group
make their way by me.
At La Junta, I got fuel and knew I had bikes in front of me but was wondering
where the bikes behind me were. I waited 10-15 min but nobody showed. On the
way into town, there looked to be an alternate road that bypassed the town. I
thought maybe they had gone that route and was now way behind. I kicked the
bike off and away I went at my slow as fast as I could go pace. As I edged
southwest, the terrain quickly changed from the high desert to a more Rocky
Mountain kind of landscape. Along with that change in landscape came a change
in altitude and temperature. That stinking altitude now found my thumper
chugging to a mere 45mph. I felt like a turtle running with a bunch of hares.
The landscape was dusted with the white stuff they use in Aspen. It was quite
striking. I was finding it hard to pay attention to the now curvy road because
I was so busy rubbernecking. All of that stopped when I came across the ice on
the road. Needless to say, the pavement condition in front of my tire became my
focus.
Finally, I saw a sign that said Creel 65. Crap! 65 more miles to go! Oh wait,
that is 65 kilometers. I did the mileage conversion on the speedometer and
realized that I should soon be there. Margarita’s here I come.....or so I
thought. Boy, Creel was bigger than I thought it would be. I thought how hard
could it be to find 12 bikes in front of a hotel. On my 4th swing through town
Bill waved me down to the hotel. There were only 4 bikes and I made the 5th. We
were missing 8 bikes. I unloaded my stuff and paid Anna at the front desk. I
shook off the chill and was trying to piece what might of happened to the rest
of the group. I kept my ear out for the rumbling of the rest of the group.
10....15....30...60min and still 8 bikes on the road after dark. I was getting
a bad vibe. Five of us sat down to dinner when I heard the bikes pull in. I’m
telling you that was the sweetest sound. I jumped up from the table and ran out
front and got my roommate Billyj unloaded. I counted to make sure there were 8.
They were all tired but accounted for. Turns out that there was a flat and a
fuel bowl full of sand that held up the group. Like good soldiers, they
gathered around the sick bike and got it fixed. Turns out that this was going
to be the theme for the rest of the trip.
As the rest found something hot to eat, I turned my attention to my bike. I
rode a vintage dualsport on this trip. 1984 Yamaha XT 600 with 4100 miles on
the clock. I had prepped the bike as had the others but couldn’t find anything
on jetting my bike for altitude. It’s kind of hard to figure out jetting for
8000ft when you live at 600ft. I did buy some jets though. My bike has a two
barrel carb. One has the traditional needle with clip adjustments and the other
barrel has a constant velocity slide. I leaned the needle on the primary by
adjusting the clip and hoped that was going to work. Finishing that, I went in
and went to bed.
Day Two
