DAY SEVEN - Thursday, October 30, 2008
Carrizozo is just about exactly in the middle of the State of New Mexico, and situated in the high desert plains, on the eastern slope of a modest range of mountains called the Capitans. I had crossed the continental divide the day before, and had not gone down in elevation very much, so I was once again, looking at making the coldest part of the day's ride, starting from about the same elevation as I started yesterday (+/- 7,200 feet above sea level). But this time I'd be going up and over a pass, heading east, so the sunrise was gonna be a little later in the day than yesterday. Brrr. I decided to do something I normally don't do, and have a big breakfast to start my day. I didn't know it when I made the choice, but inside the diner across the parking lot, was the reason for my decision.
Ciji, the cute and vivacious waitress working that morning, was excited to hear that she was gonna be in my story, and even yelled out as I left the diner… "Hey every-one, I'm gonna be in a book." I didn't want to disappoint her, with the honest fact that my story was not gonna be published, and that she was not going to be famous. When I lost my journal… Ciji and Bonnie (the drill sergeant back in Vidal) where the two people I thought of first, who I wasn't going to be able to send my short story (not a book) to.
Then I remembered… for some reason I had taken a business card off the counter of the diner on my way out after breakfast. Yeay… I was not going to let her down. I was also grateful that the gentleman she had introduced me to, was gonna get his copy of the story as well. He wasn't as gregarious as Ciji, but Lorenzo was definitely worth the price of breakfast that morning. He shared a lot of information with me… about his life, and his family's life. He was born just outside of Carrizozo, in the same village that his father had been born. His son was born there too, and he was expecting the birth of his grandchild soon, which would mark the 4th generation of the family to be born there.
I'm sorry I can't remember much of anything else about Lorenzo and his family, it was lost on the highway in or just outside of Lamesa Texas, later that day at the 2,037 mile point of my adventure.
After my breakfast I got Honey fired up and was heading up over the pass at 9am… the latest start of any morning to date. I hadn't been able to tell by the State road-map, but the pass over the Capitans did not take me as high as I had thought it would. I don't remember that number but I'm guessing it was around 8,000' or so. By the time I was heading back down the other side, only an hour later, the sun was in full force and I could feel its warmth on my face.
While cruising thru Pie Town on Hwy 380, I remember thinking about how much fun I was having and how grateful I was to be able to experience such a diverse Nation and some of the diverse people in it. I remember taking a big, deep, long breath and saying a little thank you God prayer to myself.
I was ready for my first stretch stop as 380 merged with a larger highway (70), and sure enough… lady luck once again gave me a convenient rest stop to pull over in and get rid of that morning's coffee and remove some of the layers of clothing I had not even needed.
As I was meandering thru the weeds, looking for an appropriate tree or shrub to water, I looked up and saw a cow standing calmly about 10 feet away from me. It was doing what cows do… standing there chewing his cud, when I noticed something that made me say, almost out loud… "What in the heck?!?" As you may have noticed, I said the cow was chewing his cud. But that's exactly what this thing was doing. Either this guy had an udder, or this gal had horns. I'd never heard of, let alone seen, anything like it.
My niece told me later, when I got to Austin, that there is only one variety of the bovine species that has this trait. It was a Longhorn cow, and apparently they are the only cows in the world that have horns. Right on… it was only about 9am, and I had already experienced my first excitement for the day. Yes indeedy doody… I am very… very easily amused. Side note: I've since found out there is another species of bovine that also has this trait… the Highland Cow (from Scotland). Between side noting and backtracking, the adventure story itself should be the side note, huh?
I forgot to mention something about my stay in Carrizozo. I didn't make a note on my LSB Site post, so I can't tell you his name, but there was this guy working at the town MMGS that I wanna tell ya about. He spoke with a heavy kinda twang/ accent that I guessed he got in Missouri. What I wanna tell ya'all 'bout this guy, was that when I asked him if I could take his picture, he said, "Sure," and then took the brim of his felt hillbilly hat and pulled it down to cover his eyes. After I took his picture, I told him that the only other time I'd seen anyone do that, was when I took a pic of someone who had native American blood in them, and before I could tell him the rest, he interrupted me, to say he DID have Indian blood (Cherokee) in him. He confirmed what I was going to tell him… do any of you know what I'm talkin' 'bout? A lot of the Native's from this Country believe that if someone takes a picture of you, it takes a part of your soul away from you. Interesting, huh?
Eastbound on Hwy 70 and this section of road was great! For about a 15 or 20-mile stretch, it was a 4-laner, following a little river thru a little canyon. The road was perfect… smooth pavement… wide, nicely banked turns… clear sightlines… with gentle ups and downs, as in wound its way back up to the high desert plateau. Honey and I really enjoyed our selves. No one else on the road and perfect weather conditions to safely do what motorcyclists love to do… lay our selves over on our sides at high speeds. Back and forth, and back and forth… without any straight-a-ways on this beautiful 15 mile stretch. I can still feel the relaxed adrenalin rush that comes when motorcycle, rider, and road all become one. That connection is the reason most of us fall in love and become hooked on the sport of riding.
As I was coming into Roswell, I remembered my buddy, and that he collects aliens. I probably would've stopped and picked one up for him anyway, but I thought it would also be a nice thank you gift for giving me that project I had waiting for me upon my return.
I took the very first exit to Roswell I came to, and headed for the heart of the alien capital of the world. I had only gone about ½ mile when I came to a stoplight, and sitting right there on the corner of the road was what I was looking for. She was quite a bit larger than what I had in mind, but I fell in love with her the moment I saw her. Yes… I do fall in love easily… I have my parents to thank for that.
I bought her from her owner, and then spent about 30 minutes, securely strapping her to the back of my bike. It wouldn't have taken so long, if it weren't for the fact that I had a hard time seeing what I was doing, because of all the tears I had in my eyes. I was cracking myself up. I was laughing my fool head off, outside that MMGS across the street from the house I bought her at… as I tied… and then retied the straps that were gonna hold her onto my bike for the next 2,500 miles (or so) of my adventure. I was laughing at myself for being such a knucklehead, and would've been happy if no one was gonna see this creature strapped to the back of my bike, but when I thought about all the people who were gonna be witnesses to my madness, I laughed even harder.
I finally got it out of my system enough that I could safely get on Honey and leave Roswell, but not before I had the opportunity to think of a name for her, and introduce her to about four or five people who walked by, as I was getting her mounted on the bike. I came up with 'Alyson'. Get it? Ally the Alien.
She's still with me. I haven't had the courage to give her to my buddy yet. She has become part of the family and it's gonna be difficult for me to say good-bye to her. When I do, I hope he will let me visit her… and take her out on the town once in a while. She's a great dancer and best of all, she's a great passenger, and… she and Honey get along tremendously. I thought Honey might get jealous, but to her credit, she understood right away that Ally was not to be taken as a threat.
Only 38 miles down Hwy 285 (which was my first extended stay on a 4-lane highway since leaving Flagstaff the day before), I stopped for gas in Artesia. Which is a pretty name for an ugly town. The whole town is nothing but natural gas and oil derricks and refineries. I'd passed hundreds of the little pumps, bobbing their heads up and down endlessly, but now there where millions of them for as far as the eye could see. With the steam, or smoke, or ???, spewing out from the stacks of the refineries… I can still smell that terrible oily-smoky-gassy-yucky-penetrating scent now, as I write about it. I felt sorry for the people that had to live with that wretched smell, all day, every day… poor bastards.
I stopped for gas even though I had about 50 miles left on my tank. The road map didn't show a decent sized highway crossing coming up and the next town was Hobbs, on the New Mexico/ Texas Boarder, 75 miles away. I had already gotten my rush from risking running out of gas the day before, and I had the excitement of Ally sitting behind me as well, so I decided to go ahead and stop, and not take a chance.
I think it was around 2-ish when I got to Hobbs, so I decided to find a saloon and buy Ally a soda pop or perhaps a cocktail (?), I hadn't even asker her yet, if she drank or not. It took me awhile to discover that all the adult watering holes in this town kept their doors locked until 4pm.
There was construction going on (the first I'd seen on my trip so far), and the smell of the rotten dinosaurs and their food had lightened up a bit, but between the flat nothingness of the surroundings and the closed saloons during the day, I knew this place was not for me.
The next stop on my adventure was Lamesa. This is where I lost my journal. I'm still sad, even after all these weeks, but part of me is a bit happy, 'cuz now I have my replacement journal to help me remember some of the little stuff that happened along the way, from this point forward.
"Oh boy", I can hear you readers saying, "More little stuff… how exciting". Hey, you don't have to be sarcastic. It won't do you any good anyway… I live on sarcasm.
Besides, if you're not enjoying the story, you do have the choice to put it down. I won't think anything less of you, honest. I already think so little of you that I couldn't think less. See… sarcasm is second nature to me.
I remember feeling tired for one of the first times on my trip, and I think that might have had something to do with my mistake in loosing my journal. It wasn't until I had made my next stop at a wide spot in the road, about 30 miles short of Snyder… lit a bad habit, and reached for my journal and camera, that I realized my error.
I remember my head drooping and then shaking side to side. I thought for about a minute, about going back and looking for it, but it would've put me at least two hours behind schedule and that's only if I was somehow able to find it right away. I was tired and I was trying to justify not going back… I had the LSB posts to use for my story… the odds were slim that I'd find it… and then it hit me…
The determining factor in my choice… I had my name, address, phone number, and email address in the journal. Someone would find it and call me… or maybe I'd get back to Aptos and find it waiting for me in my PO Box.
Plus… I wanted to use this minor mistake as a wake up call, to remember to be more careful as not to lose something more important… like Ally, or my life, or something I'd be needing later, that was much more important than a silly journal. So I took a pic of myself with a forlorn silly me expression on my face, and remounted Honey, with a clear reminder to myself to go slow, not get in a hurry, and try not to lose my camera or my head or something.
When I got to Snyder it was 6:15pm and dusk was approaching. I decided to stop for the night in Sweetwater, which was not far down the road, to lick my wounds and curl up and feel sorry for myself. Now that it's over, I feel silly for taking the loss of my journal so hard, but I remember at the time, it was a huge deal for me. I think being on the road alone for so long was making me a bit goofy. Goofier to be more truthful… I've always been a goof. It's the default mode in my operating system.
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