New Mexico, with Altitude

The Teepees, Petrified Forest

This is my first post about why I'm riding.  Here's where to donate to Water Life Hope.   We're nearly 30% through the ride, and 23% funded.  Somewhat worrying, but I continue to be hopeful.

It's been another little bit since there was the magical combination of real wifi and a little time to write.  In Albuquerque we wonderful set of Warm Showers hosts with lovely, juicy wifi but the time got vaporized with database stuff and taxes.   Now we're in Madrid, with a short riding day ahead and great wifi.  I will not be deterred.

Ric, the National Parks volunteer and
amazing photographer
who never said word one about it.

The steadying rhythm of the ride means some things are going better.  We invest time in stowing stuff, the payoff being that the bus doesn't vaporize things.   We've rearranged the bus so that everything is accessible without risking aging backs.  Rest days are keeping us from getting beat down by endless riding.

March 30: 51 miles, Petrified Forest and the Painted Desert.  2015 feet of climbing.

We'd been sleeping literally within feet of the gate to the national park, so we all piled into the bus and drove the mile and a half to the Rainbow Forest Visitor's Center.  It got all of us into the park for free on Steve's senior citizen pass.  After we wandered through the Rainbow Forest along with a cheery group of Italians.  There were pictures of Albert Einstein and his wife Elsa by some of the huge rock-logs,  along with contemporary photographs of the same location.  Signs reminded visitors that the huge rock logs were still there because generations of people had done the right thing -- came, saw and left everything there.

Yup, we did it.

Steve and I took off on bike while Carol drove the bus.  The scenery quickly became astonishing.  Climbing and headwinds didn't matter.  We rode through the badlands, gawked at the Agate Bridge and took in vistas out of a physical geography textbook. We met Carol to switch riders at Newspaper Rock, site of ancient petroglyphs.

We were talking about whether we might need to lock the bikes before going out of sight to see the petroglyphs, when a big white van pulled up.  At first we thought it was a tour, but it gradually became clear that it was a large family.  Every member of the family was so perfectly turned out that the question of locks quickly became comical.  "Somehow these folks just don't look dangerous" was the conclusion and we went to see the sights.

Later on we met the paterfamilias of the group, Pradeep, and his smiling wife Sue.  They were from LA, and were interested in the ride and our bikes.  Sue was certain they couldn't have done such a ride.  I remain unconvinced.  Anyone capable of organizing a group of that kind can do anything.

So I continued on the ride with Carol and Steve took the bus.  We stopped everywhere.  We gawked at vistas and climbed without complaint because it was so beautiful.  We forever, so long that we almost skipped the Painted Desert Inn.  We rode past and turned around, thank goodness.  It had murals by Fred Kabotie, a Hopi Indian artist, gracing a building that's just magical.  It was staffed by a dedicated volunteer, Ric, who has a whole other life as an amazing photographer.   Ric's duties unfortunately included preventing people from stealing rocks from the park.  The big pieces might stay in place but the more mobile stuff still needs watching.

As I started to ride out of the park a distinctive high pitched squeal emanated from somewhere near my pedals.  We checked into a hotel, hauled out the repair stand and called Matt.  The brakes might be dirty?  We'll see.

March 31: 5 miles, then bus to Gallup

Carol and I headed out from the hotel and my bike started squealing.  Within a few miles it was deafening.   I decided that it was trying to tell me something, like "Please don't ride me."  Steve and Ed the bus came to the rescue.  

We tried everything we could think of in the parking lot of a local Family Dollar: pulling brake pads, cleaning and sanding.  Nothing worked.  I got on board the bus with Steve, while Carol stayed on bike.  We met her 20 miles down the road, outside Lupton.  She reported snow, and got on board.  On we went to Gallup, choosing a hotel for warmth.

There was a single bicycle mechanic in town, so we waited for morning.

April 1: 60 miles, Gallup to El Morro

Geezer homeland.

We arrived at the bicycle mechanic's at the open time listed online.  Nobody home.  We stewed in the parking lot.  Then a big pickup truck arrived, a guy smiled and nodded and disappeared into the shop with me trailing behind.   He wasn't a big talker, but put the bike on the rack right away.  Yes, it was the brakes but he didn't have the parts to fix it right away.  Solution?  Loosen the adjustment screws and let the brakes float.

Off we set, heading towards the Continental Divide -- more climbing, once again gorgeous.  We went through Zuni-land, where the pick-up trucks move over more readily.  El Morro is a little arts cluster in the windy climbs and we enjoyed the veggie burgers and the sign on the door, "We reserve the right to serve everyone."  Once again, we opted for the warmth of sleeping indoors.

April 2: 70 miles, El Morro to Casa Blanca

On the way to Casa Blanca

Steve and I started the day together while Carol drove the bus.  We pedaled, stopped and breathed, pedaled, stopped and breathed.   The legs worked but our lowlander lungs were definitely challenged.

Then we got to the divide.  It was windy and cold, but the wind was right out of the west.  My goodness.  It was a free roller coaster ride after that.  Steve hit 40 MPH at one point.  It was at least 25 free miles.  We met Carol at Grants, New Mexico and she switched out with Steve.  We rode through cowboy scenery and dusty remnants of towns.  Then we turned a corner, rode a mile and were in the flash of a casino.  Quite a change.

We took truck stop showers and were comped an RV spot in recognition of our efforts with bikes.  My brakes were still holding, but so was my breath.

April 3: 60 miles, Casa Blanca to Albuquerque

Carol on the road

The Dancing Eagle Casino at Casa Blanca was only a mile or so north of the bike route, so in a very few minutes we were back to a beautiful, nearly empty landscape.  What do the people in the very few houses do?   They live in splendor in any case.  The free ride after the divide was over, though.  There was plenty of climbing.  My brakes were still not complaining but still not fastened down and adjusted.  They were on my mind.  And Steve's bike had started making a mysterious noise.  We thought it was probably minor, but it would be great to get it checked out.

Albuquerque was our first big town since Flagstaff.    Getting into town looked daunting at first -- construction, trucks, much less patient drivers.  Then, behind Walmart, we entered the Albuquerque's off-road bike trails.  There was an expansive view of the Rio Grande from a bicycle bridge, then we descended to a tail system that wound along the river, with cottonwood trees along the opposite bank.

Our Warm Showers hosts, Dan and Susan, live within sight of the Rio Grande and the cottonwoods.  They welcomed us into their beautiful, sun-drenched adobe house that they have loved a long time.  The place exudes hospitality and we were not the only dinner guests on both nights that we stayed there.  It was like staying with your favorite cousin.

April 4: Rest Day!

Steve and Carol hauled all the bikes over to the local Trek dealership fairly early while I helped with database chores and tended to the taxes.  My bike was easily fixed, Carol's just needed a cleaning but the bearing in the rear hub of Steve's bike had exploded.  It was a rare event, they said.  Trek's policy in cases like this is to supply a new wheel, but it would take a week.  Maybe they could replace the part?  They'd try.  

A phone call or two later it turns out the exploded hub just wasn't removable.  The bike was dead.  We were sight-seeng in Old Town by this point.  There was dejected trudging past cat t-shirts and cactus candy, and I checked out the church.  We decided to just go to the Trek store and see what the possibilities might be.

Rolling down the freeway we got another call.  Steve's bike lives!  They had found a way to mix Steve's wheel with one on the floor.  Joy.  Our rest day was a success.

April 5: Albuquerque to Madrid: 60 miles.

Our host Dan graciously led us to the edge of the city,  past a coffee shop he once owned and through neighborhoods with tan adobe houses like a city planner's dream.  The city only has about 600,000 people so the scale is comfortable.

We started by the river, and we were starting to climb towards the highest state capital in the country.  At the top of Albuquerque we looked back at the city that spread out so far below.  Then we headed higher.   On the way to Tijeras there's a stretch of road where the rumble strips are tuned to play music, as long as the cars go 45 MPH.

Madrid is in a saddle between a pass and the climb into Santa Fe.  Our Warm Showers host, Allan, was in a dirt-road, large-lot subdivision just after the pass.  The location got lost the shuffle and Carol and I ended up in town, waiting for Steve on a rescue bike.

We climbed up the pass again to get to Allan's off-grid house.  It was a Whole Earth wonder, quite capable of recharging Steve and Carol's bike batteries.  We cooked dinner together and the conversation turned sympatico quite quickly.  

April 6: Madrid to Santa Fe: 31 miles

It was a reasonably short ride but there were headwinds and the altitude was punishing.  It had been hard to get a Warm Showers host in Santa Fe -- they were all out of town -- but finally Lindsey gave us the go-ahead.  Carol and I met Steve at a restaurant just outside town, and plotted our run into town.   After more climbing and some traffic drama we rolled into our Warm Showers refuge.  Lindsey and boyfriend Matt brought us to a local vegetarian restaurant and showed us around.  We went to grateful, well-fed sleep in the bus outside their house.