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Page 17 of 20 Riding on Highway 9 made me realize what a unique experience this entire trip had become - seventeen people trusted the advice of a total stranger, just because we were interested in adventure, not the Interstate. We had enough flexibility in our schedule to follow our instincts, and we were rewarded richly for it. Highway 9 opened up new horizons for us. It is a two- lane road that winds behind the mountains, through verdant meadows and tantalizing forests. We never saw another vehicle the entire fifty miles we explored. The world could have come to an end and each one of us would have been happy because, for those few moments, our lives were perfect. We stopped at a wide spot in the road, and silently got off our bikes. After the last cylinder fired, silence settled in like a gentle mantle. No one said a word. Any feeble comment on the peace and beauty that filled that valley would have marred its meaning. Each person understood in their own way what the profound silence meant. Again, the old Harley saying applies - "if we have to explain it, you wouldn't understand." Reluctantly, we disturbed the silence and left Highway 9, vowing to return next year. Pueblo was still our destination, and many more miles of road had to be traveled. Reality entered our world again, and we pushed forward. We came down from the mountains at Canyon City. The valley floor rose up in front of us, beckoning us onward. Dusk was rapidly approaching behind us. Glaring flashes of lightening on the horizon motivated even the most tired to continue - the siren song of the road was drowned out by hunger, thirst, and the over powering need to sit still, without vibration, noise, or the ever present companion of the motorcyclist - the wind.
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