Tri-Ethnic Rally in Ignacio, Colorado
No Electricity, No Running Water, Plenty of Prairie Dogs:
...Not a single luxury...The last weekend of the nearly-never-ending ABM summer sizzler was upon us. Sort of depressing, except that we were really looking forward to spending a few days in Ignacio, a little town surrounded by the Southern Ute reservation, slap on the New Mexico border. Ignacio is only 25 miles south of bustling Durango, with all of it's road construction & a super Wally-World. Durango could stand to take a construction breather. Already, south of town, filthy dirty water can be seen mixing with the pristine flow from the San Juan Mountain range directly to the north. The water flowing through town is so clear, kayakers & trout fishermen co-exist right behind the local Holiday Inn Express. The fragile ecology is okay, for now.
Prairie Dog Heaven:
We pull into Nathan Cloud's campground. The grass has been cut, exposing a hundred Prairie Dog holes. Hit one of these with your front tire & it's time to go turf-diving. The little suckers, about the size of a really large house cat, dart back and forth in a very nervous fashion, sometimes standing on their hind quarters so as to get a good look at the bikers arriving & setting up camp.
Keeping the dogs in check:
Mary, our new friend from Roswell, New Mexico, half Mexican-American, half Native-American, describes them in velvet tones, as close friends. We're thinking that the judicious use of a box of .22 cal long rifles would be friendlier.. Still, we manage to dodge every hole over the next three days. In 24 hours, Mr. Cloud's neices & nephews will arrive with their Briggs & Stratton powered go cart, riding over and over again across the 'dog town until the critters are scared down for the weekend. After the go-kart kids, we don't see another one again, ever.
So what are they called?
Prarie Dogs by us, something else by the locals. Mary calls them "gophers". The dude from Denver refers to them as "ground squirrels". They're quite prolific. Two will get ya 20 in a month or two, and 100 in a year.
Thursday: Ignacio is pretty quiet;
Not even all of the vendors have set up yet. It's pretty quiet. We can tell Ignacio is really a weekend rally. The weather, except for our ill-fated loop around Telluride & Silverton, has been hot & dusty. We drop by "The Patio", a nice little "mom & pop" diner on the north side of town. The food is homemade good. The lady who runs the place, and her two younger daughters are very easy on the eyes. One utility truck driver, when asked what kind of side he'd like w/his breakfast, maybe hash browns replies.. "oh, how about a couple of those nice little potatoes?".. an obvious referral to one of the daughter's "lovely lady bumps". Told ya, they're pretty e-z on the eyes.
Friday morning arrives, & things are still pretty quiet. By the end of the day, many bikers begin to arrive, with the streets filling up. Late Friday, the sky turns black, & later that night, it opens up & pours. Our new Denver friends split. She had told him earlier not to worry about getting it on unless he could provide a hot shower, something Mr. Cloud's campground does not offer. We offer to let her use our "solar shower". She is not impressed. Their spot is taken by another Colorado couple who ride in on a 70's shovel. His lady doesn't seem to care if she gets a shower or not. She's here to p-a-r-t-y. Saturday dawns a little overcast, but mercifully, the sky does not open up until well after the 3 Dog Night show, tent-side at the Ute Casino.
Not the same as before:
Nearly every biker we talk to extoll past Ignacio Rallies, when attendance was 100,000 plus, before the awful split between the original promotor, Ignacio, & the Ute Tribe. The lawyers left a bad taste with the original bikers, a reason many state for either going to the "Sugar Pine" rally, (see earlier blogs) or staying away altogether. Ignacio wasn't packed, but with the heavy rain, here and elsewhere, we weren't suprised. The old timers told us of past Ignacios, real street rallies, with classic old school fun.. Bikers burning "smiley faces" in the campground turf, & such. It's like they keep returning to see if someday, some way, Ignacio will return to it's former glory. There's a valuable lesson to be learned from the cut-throat litigation; nobody wins, especially the bikers.
Saturday Night: Very Cool..
So it's way past 3 Dog Night, & I awaken to what is preceived as the sound of an old cowboys & indians movie. Jabbing the better half in the ribs, she wants to know "what's the matter now..?"--I say, "It sounds like someone's got a TV on full blast"--She says.." There is no electricity here, remember..?"
There it goes again.. whoop, whoop, whoop!
So I ain't the sharpest tool in the shed.. slowly awakening, our ears tell us the "war" yells are comming from just right of us, from under a group of trees. Apparently, a group of a couple dozen Native Americans have camped out. I think they're Apache or Navajo, & they're up all night, partying, making...well, "Indian Noises".. and it sounds exactly like they've surrounded a wagon train, riding 'round & 'round, doing what, well, real American Indians do to make noise..HOW COOL IS THAT? The incessant partying goes on all night, until, it's 7am, and we hear of of the younger brothers go something like.. "Dude, this is the LAST BEER!" They keep making Indian yells, & revving their Harleys, until one dude at the opposite end of the campground jumps on his bike & yells too.. Until his old lady sticks her head out of the tent & screams..."What in the H--- are you doing???" Absolutely hilarious. Man, bikers are the greatest, no one else even comes close.
Hurricanes.. Suck.
Having planned to stay through Labor Day, we had to cut it one day short because of a littany of Hurricanes headed for the Sunshine state. We didn't notice a large dumpster that had been placed at the entrance until we were already out on the road, after having left our plastic water bottles in a neat pile near our campsite. Sorry Mr. Cloud, no disrespect meant. We'll do better next year.
Take the Long Way Home:
After one hell filled trip, we arrive home only to find limbs, leaves, water damage to a new hardwood floor, and a pool filled with what can only be described as green gator-ade. (I won't even get into what ABM's computers have done to us since returning).
Home would be better if only..
Our near-sighted state legislature hadn't voted to force 10% ethanol into all three grades of gasoline. My chopper ran better in Sturgis without a re-jet than it does here. Like any good proactive citizen, I wrote the state legislature requesting they set aside a portion of their retirement income to fund a special program for those of us who will have to have engines rebuilt, & rubber seals & hoses replaced--HAH-FAT CHANCE! :{
Next: Florida's Biketoberfest.
We'll be there, as always. Listen for a week devoted to the "little local Florida Rally" on your friendly ABM affiliate. If you don't yet hear us in your town, we're on any phone by calling
(360) - 282 - 5400
...Not a single luxury...The last weekend of the nearly-never-ending ABM summer sizzler was upon us. Sort of depressing, except that we were really looking forward to spending a few days in Ignacio, a little town surrounded by the Southern Ute reservation, slap on the New Mexico border. Ignacio is only 25 miles south of bustling Durango, with all of it's road construction & a super Wally-World. Durango could stand to take a construction breather. Already, south of town, filthy dirty water can be seen mixing with the pristine flow from the San Juan Mountain range directly to the north. The water flowing through town is so clear, kayakers & trout fishermen co-exist right behind the local Holiday Inn Express. The fragile ecology is okay, for now.
Prairie Dog Heaven:
We pull into Nathan Cloud's campground. The grass has been cut, exposing a hundred Prairie Dog holes. Hit one of these with your front tire & it's time to go turf-diving. The little suckers, about the size of a really large house cat, dart back and forth in a very nervous fashion, sometimes standing on their hind quarters so as to get a good look at the bikers arriving & setting up camp.
Keeping the dogs in check:
Mary, our new friend from Roswell, New Mexico, half Mexican-American, half Native-American, describes them in velvet tones, as close friends. We're thinking that the judicious use of a box of .22 cal long rifles would be friendlier.. Still, we manage to dodge every hole over the next three days. In 24 hours, Mr. Cloud's neices & nephews will arrive with their Briggs & Stratton powered go cart, riding over and over again across the 'dog town until the critters are scared down for the weekend. After the go-kart kids, we don't see another one again, ever.
So what are they called?
Prarie Dogs by us, something else by the locals. Mary calls them "gophers". The dude from Denver refers to them as "ground squirrels". They're quite prolific. Two will get ya 20 in a month or two, and 100 in a year.
Thursday: Ignacio is pretty quiet;
Not even all of the vendors have set up yet. It's pretty quiet. We can tell Ignacio is really a weekend rally. The weather, except for our ill-fated loop around Telluride & Silverton, has been hot & dusty. We drop by "The Patio", a nice little "mom & pop" diner on the north side of town. The food is homemade good. The lady who runs the place, and her two younger daughters are very easy on the eyes. One utility truck driver, when asked what kind of side he'd like w/his breakfast, maybe hash browns replies.. "oh, how about a couple of those nice little potatoes?".. an obvious referral to one of the daughter's "lovely lady bumps". Told ya, they're pretty e-z on the eyes.
Friday morning arrives, & things are still pretty quiet. By the end of the day, many bikers begin to arrive, with the streets filling up. Late Friday, the sky turns black, & later that night, it opens up & pours. Our new Denver friends split. She had told him earlier not to worry about getting it on unless he could provide a hot shower, something Mr. Cloud's campground does not offer. We offer to let her use our "solar shower". She is not impressed. Their spot is taken by another Colorado couple who ride in on a 70's shovel. His lady doesn't seem to care if she gets a shower or not. She's here to p-a-r-t-y. Saturday dawns a little overcast, but mercifully, the sky does not open up until well after the 3 Dog Night show, tent-side at the Ute Casino.
Not the same as before:
Nearly every biker we talk to extoll past Ignacio Rallies, when attendance was 100,000 plus, before the awful split between the original promotor, Ignacio, & the Ute Tribe. The lawyers left a bad taste with the original bikers, a reason many state for either going to the "Sugar Pine" rally, (see earlier blogs) or staying away altogether. Ignacio wasn't packed, but with the heavy rain, here and elsewhere, we weren't suprised. The old timers told us of past Ignacios, real street rallies, with classic old school fun.. Bikers burning "smiley faces" in the campground turf, & such. It's like they keep returning to see if someday, some way, Ignacio will return to it's former glory. There's a valuable lesson to be learned from the cut-throat litigation; nobody wins, especially the bikers.
Saturday Night: Very Cool..
So it's way past 3 Dog Night, & I awaken to what is preceived as the sound of an old cowboys & indians movie. Jabbing the better half in the ribs, she wants to know "what's the matter now..?"--I say, "It sounds like someone's got a TV on full blast"--She says.." There is no electricity here, remember..?"
There it goes again.. whoop, whoop, whoop!
So I ain't the sharpest tool in the shed.. slowly awakening, our ears tell us the "war" yells are comming from just right of us, from under a group of trees. Apparently, a group of a couple dozen Native Americans have camped out. I think they're Apache or Navajo, & they're up all night, partying, making...well, "Indian Noises".. and it sounds exactly like they've surrounded a wagon train, riding 'round & 'round, doing what, well, real American Indians do to make noise..HOW COOL IS THAT? The incessant partying goes on all night, until, it's 7am, and we hear of of the younger brothers go something like.. "Dude, this is the LAST BEER!" They keep making Indian yells, & revving their Harleys, until one dude at the opposite end of the campground jumps on his bike & yells too.. Until his old lady sticks her head out of the tent & screams..."What in the H--- are you doing???" Absolutely hilarious. Man, bikers are the greatest, no one else even comes close.
Hurricanes.. Suck.
Having planned to stay through Labor Day, we had to cut it one day short because of a littany of Hurricanes headed for the Sunshine state. We didn't notice a large dumpster that had been placed at the entrance until we were already out on the road, after having left our plastic water bottles in a neat pile near our campsite. Sorry Mr. Cloud, no disrespect meant. We'll do better next year.
Take the Long Way Home:
After one hell filled trip, we arrive home only to find limbs, leaves, water damage to a new hardwood floor, and a pool filled with what can only be described as green gator-ade. (I won't even get into what ABM's computers have done to us since returning).
Home would be better if only..
Our near-sighted state legislature hadn't voted to force 10% ethanol into all three grades of gasoline. My chopper ran better in Sturgis without a re-jet than it does here. Like any good proactive citizen, I wrote the state legislature requesting they set aside a portion of their retirement income to fund a special program for those of us who will have to have engines rebuilt, & rubber seals & hoses replaced--HAH-FAT CHANCE! :{
Next: Florida's Biketoberfest.
We'll be there, as always. Listen for a week devoted to the "little local Florida Rally" on your friendly ABM affiliate. If you don't yet hear us in your town, we're on any phone by calling
(360) - 282 - 5400
A free call w/nationwide long distance!
posted by americanbikerminute at 10:02 AM
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