Leaving Denver

Denver sits at 5,280 feet.
You don’t feel it until you leave.

The first miles are easy. Familiar roads. Stoplights. Traffic that doesn’t quite know where it’s going but moves anyway.

The Royal Enfield Himalayan settles in without complaint.
Low, steady, unbothered.

Behind me, Mike on the Moto Guzzi California - longer, heavier, built for a different kind of distance.

Two bikes.
Two approaches.

Same direction.

You head southwest.
The city thins out faster than expected.

Buildings give way to space.
Space gives way to terrain.

The Front Range doesn’t announce itself.
It just shows up—quiet, rising, already there.

There’s a moment where the ride changes.

Not dramatically.
Just enough.

The air cools.
The road starts to bend instead of stretch.
You stop thinking about where you’re going and start paying attention to how you’re getting there.

Up through the 285 corridor, the elevation comes in slowly.
No single climb. Just accumulation.

8,000 feet.
9,000.

The Himalayan doesn’t care.
That’s what it’s built for.

The Guzzi follows in its own way—less eager, more deliberate.
Still there.

15 minutes past Bailey, it opens up to one of the vastest views in the state.

Less trees.
Much more sky.

You can see further than you can imagine, and for the first time, it feels like you’ve actually left something behind.

By the time you roll into Fairplay, just under 10,000 feet—you notice it.
In your pace. In the wind.

Everything slows down a half step.
Thoughts stretch out.
Decisions take less effort.

You didn’t rush to get here.
That wasn’t the point.

The point was to leave.

And now we have.