SANTA FE, NM to FORT SUMNER, NM (Friday, July 24)
4:30am - Up and at 'em. Normal routine. Emails, posts, coffee, beer, packing.
7:00am - Just as I was getting ready to mount up, I met Ed, a local retired rider brother. He gave me an American Flag for Honey. Someone had given him the flag the day before, and he had no use for it.
7:45am - It took me 45 minutes to find gas and beer. I couldn't find premium at the first three stations I stopped at, and apparently beer is not a premium commodity in Santa Fe either.
9:15am - Gosh darn it. New Mexico seems to have an issue with their road signs. Lots of the highway intersections don't have numbers posted, and it seems that more than half the ones that are posted, have different numbers on them, than what is shown on the road map.
After turning around at a dead end in a residential area, a very nice Native Nambre Tribe resident drove up and stopped. He told me I was really close to the road I was looking for. Good thing he came along, I was getting ready to backtrack 15 minutes back to the last intersection with any hope of having a posted sign with numbers or arrows on it.
Traveling the back roads has its benefits… with the slower pace, you get to see a much closer and clearer view of the real America, but the downside is occasionally getting lost. A very fair trade in my book… getting lost sometimes is just what I'm looking for on these rides. Some of the most beautiful scenery and interesting circumstances have occurred when I accidentally stumbled into them when I was lost.
10:15am - Taos Pueblo. Established in 1402. Actually that's the last date from recorded history. Legend has it, that the community goes back to the ancient times of The Egyptians and The Mayans. Next time I'm there, I'll schedule at least one full day to explore and learn about this area and the people who originally lived here.
11:15am - Eagles Nest - Angel Fire. Finally, some pretty scenery. I had just come over a pass… elevation 9,820 feet, and thru an area called Red River. It was more than pretty actually. It was gorgeous. Just what I had envisioned when I'd thought about what the Rocky Mountains in northern New Mexico might look like… commanding… statuesque… elegant… and truly magnificent.
Next time I'm in the area I'm gonna make sure I'm feeling less in a rush, and stop and take more pictures.
This picture, taken looking back towards Red River, does not do the area justice.
I'd just come thru a spectacular area, and was getting ready to go thru some even more meaningful terrain…
Noon - I stopped at the side of the little one lane road I was on, at an old wooden bridge. I drank the crystalline, sweet cold water from Coyote Creek, which wound it's way down this pristine little valley I had found. I took a picture of the bridge, and filled my spare water bottle with it's nectar, and vowed to save it for a special occasion, with my niece and her family in Killeen Texas, which is where I thought at the time, was going to be my new home.
I drank the water like it was expensive champagne or fine cognac. I took little sips and savored the flavor, keeping the taste in my mouth and in my memory for a long time. I must've stood beside that bridge for 30 minutes… an eternity for me. I had found the reason the reason I'd chosen this route. I was in heaven. I need to go back to this bridge someday. With a truckload of 5-gallon water bottles and an equally larger amount of time to spend there, rather than the measly 30 minutes I allotted myself on this day.
12:30pm - I had only gone around two or three bends in the road before I came up to another little wooden bridge… this one, with a car parked just past it, and three young 70 year old ladies standing at the middle of it.
I stopped next to them, right in the middle of the bridge, turned off Honey's engine, and took off my sunglasses. They told me they'd stopped because when they'd passed me just minutes before and noticed me writing in my journal, they realized they wanted to stop and enjoy the moment too. They had been traveling for several days from the east coast and were almost to their turning back point in Santa Fe. They asked me what I had written in my journal, and I told them the truth (I am looking at my journal while I type this)… I had written the words, "This is why I am here".
There was not a mention of names between us, but the moment was very intimate. One of them asked me where I was born and when I told her… "Just south of San Francisco", she responded with a loud and proud, "I was conceived in San Francisco". I came back with an equally loud and even more melodramatically proud, "I was conceived in the Grand Canyon" (which is true).
It was priceless, these few moments with these strangers from a different generation and from a different part of the Country. Sometimes I think back and wish that I'd traded names and contact information, and then I remember… these are the moments that are supposed to be anonymous. It's not the names or the numbers that make moments like this special. It's something very difficult to express. It's like they say sometimes… 'I guess you had to be there.'
We stayed right there, talking in the middle of the bridge for at least 10 minutes, without me even getting off Honey. I took a picture of them with their camera, but thinking back on it now, I purposefully chose not to take a picture of them, knowing but not realizing it at the time, that I wanted to keep this part of my adventure as private and as special as possible.
Eventually a car came around the corner. I took in a deep breath… let out a long, slow sigh… put on my sunglasses… fired up Honey… nodded my appreciation and respect to the old chicks on the bridge… and took off with a big smile of complete contentment and love in my heart.
I must go back to this area… an approximate 75-mile stretch from the north side of the Taos Loop… highway 434/ 38… from just north of Red River, south to Las Vegas.
2:22pm - Las Vegas is nothing more than a pit stop. After what I'd just experienced up the road, I was amazed at how much the ambience could change in just a few short miles… from cool, sweet, and refreshing… to hot, arid, and unfriendly. Out of about 15 motorcycles I passed going the other way, only two sport bike riders waved back. Most of the Harley riders didn't even turn their heads. Even the guy I caught up to and rode into town with didn't bother to acknowledge my existence.
3:30pm - Santa Rosa. Gas and beer. Shook hands with Gus. We recognized each other from another pit stop we'd seen each other at in Angel Fire. Although it was only about 100 miles away, it might just as well have been on another planet. I'll be interested to find out if I get the same feeling of the change in the mood of the two areas when I go back. Or… do any of you readers out there know what I'm talking about? Have any of you been to this area before? Have you experienced the same sort of extreme change in the feeling of these two areas?
4:15pm - Fort Sumner. This is the town where 'Billy The Kid' is (allegedly) buried. The first motel I stopped at didn't have outdoor entrances, and the second one didn't want my kind. The proprietor said it was nothing personal, but that he'd just finally had to say 'no' to anyone who said they smoked. He said he'd had too many people tell him they'd smoke outside, and instead had found cigarette burns in the sheet and carpets.
There was only one other motel in town, and fortunately they took me in. Tito Gonzales owned the Coronado Motel, and he was a real gentleman. Not that the guy who turned me away wasn't, it's just that I definitely felt a kindred connection with Tito. He had that typical Mexican sense of humor. It's hard to explain, if you're not one of us. In a nutshell, I can describe it as: simple, silly, and sincere.
5:30pm - After checking in and unpacking Honey, I took a short ride to the middle of town, and met Isha, a darling young blonde with child bearing hips. She served me my Navaho green chili taco dinner with a innocent sweetness that touched me deeply.
When I finished eating and pushed the plate away from me, she came up and asked if there was anything else she could get for me. I couldn't resist and said, "How about your mother." She didn't bat an eye. She said, "My mom isn't working today". Naivety is a blessed thing. Then she continued… "She named me after an Indian princess." I think her mother was a woman of good judgment.
7:00pm - I took the short ride back to my motel, and was asleep before my head hit the pillow.
Day 5 complete: 355 for the day and 1,832 for the trip.
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