We left to partly cloudy skies, but by the time we passed the windmills at the mouth of Spanish Fork Canyon, I was feeling rain in our future. As we approached Thistle it started to rain and the clouds quickly went from white, to gray, to black.
We were expecting nicer weather, so I hadn’t packed the rain gear—which didn’t make Sue too happy as we watched he rest of our group suit up. We’d ridden in rain before, but going over the summit and dropping down into Price was some of the worst rain we’d ever gone through. We were pretty soaked by the time we gassed up on the other side of Price.
Grand Junction was looking pretty far away.
Despite being wet and uncomfortable, Sue didn’t complain—she was a trooper. After topping off the tank, she climbed on and we headed to our lunch spot in Green River. I’m not a big fan of cranking out miles on the Interstate, but I enjoy the stretch of highway from Price to the junction with I-70 even less than the interstate. It’s one of those roads that should be divided highway, but isn’t. Fortunately, our six bikes made it to Green River without incident.
We stopped at a place called Ray’s Tavern. I’d never been there before, but the hamburger was good and you can see in the photograph, the rain had stopped. I took the picture so I wouldn’t forget the place. It’s someplace I’d stop again.
Back on the Interstate, we pushed through to Green River to spend the night. By the time we were in Colorado, I was dry and our weekend in was looking better.
After a nice dinner (I wish I could remember the place but it was a little brew pub on the old Main Street), we all hit the sack. We were headed to Cortez in the morning.