Photo_2 - New Mexico

Pass on remote highway 104

Photo_1 - New Mexico

Miles and Miles of Miles and Miles
(Click on picture to enlarge)

Day 2 - 401 miles Littlefield, TX to Bernalillo, NM

Littlefield, TX to Bernalillo, NM

Day 2 was much better. Left Littlefield around 7:15 a.m. on Hwy 84 N. and got to replay an hour thirty minutes later when I entered NM and the Mountain Time Zone. Turned north at Clovis onto an obviously little-used NM209. Just outside of Grady I noticed I'm running on fumes and the "need gas" light had been on for, obviously, quite some time. This is not the time or place to fail to pay attention to gas gauges. This is no-damn-where, America. I mean, this is so far out in the sticks it’s legal to yell “FIRE” anytime and anywhere you want. Fate saved me though. A few minutes later I found a, can you believe it, unattended, creditcard-only gas vending site selling only regular and diesel. I bought a gallon of the regular to mix with what little was in my tank to get me to San Jon 26 miles away. (I know, that's not how I would have spelled it either).

Why take this route? Tucumcari, of course. One of the great songs is ‘Willin’ written by Lowell George of the band Little Feat? If you don’t know who Little Feat is, go to the corner, give me fifteen hail Waylons, and three Mother Emmylous. I'm pretty sure Emmylou cut this song. I know it was covered by Linda Ronstadt on “Heart Like A Wheel,” one of the greatest albums ever cut. If you don't know that, buy a copy. You won't regret it.

Anyway, the chorus goes:
“And I've been from Tucson to Tucumcari
Tehachapi to Tonopah
Driven every kind of rig that's ever been made
Driven the backroads so I wouldn't get weighed
And if you give me weed, whites and wine
And you show me a sign
And I'll be willin' to be movin”

Now how can a guy on this ride, willin' to be movin', not go through Tucumcari? Tehachapi? I don’t know where that is, and Tonapah and Tucson are just too far south. So...tomorrow we’ll cover the Eagles. (“Standing on a corner in Winslow, AZ”)

After Tucumcari, turned north on 104, again, avoiding Interstates. And boy, did I? On this route you practically avoid everything but small animals and cows. Road was a little bumpy at 75+ but the bike handled it well. It’s just miles and miles of miles and miles. Saw a coyote and a roadrunner. They were about 50 miles apart so I’m assuming Wiley’s screwing up again.

Stopped for some water in a ice-house/boat repair facility in Conchas Dam, NM. There were three local ladies in the store, late forties to early sixties. Couldn’t tell if they all worked in the store, or only one did, but they were sitting around sharing a pot of macaroni and jalapenos. (Ain't that great?) When I asked how in the world they ending up in such a remote place they replied, “Oh, the same way. Brought by husbands who are no longer around.” One had been there thirty years, the shortest, in time span, for ten. The short-timer had her house up for sale but, unless her ex-husband remarries and wants to move another one out there I don’t hold out much hope for her. It takes two to make a market.

Successfully negotiated NM104 to Las Vegas (NM) and took I-25 to Santa Fe. This is one of my favorite cities in the country. Rode down to the square and had a late lunch then took I-25 to Bernalillo. Just decided to stop here and got a motel. The fact that down the street is a casino with a great poker room is purely coincidental.

Tomorrow, probably poorer, westward ho.

Day 1 - June 27, 2006 Houston, TX to Littlefield, TX

559 miles – Houston, TX to Littlefield, TX

Day started terribly, ended horribly, and had a great middle.

The start? A four hour delay. I purchased a lightweight hiking sleeping bag (and tent, pad, etc.) for this trip. The sleeping bag is supposed to pack down into this small round bag. As I packed last night: the supposedly new bag ripped down the middle; so, instead of hitting the road (disturbing phraseology…more later) at 6:30am, and enjoying a wonderful three to four hour cool morning ride, I had to wait until the REI store opened at 10:00am. I did. Got on the road at 10:05 am.

I love central Texas. The rolling hills, large pecan groves, and scrub oak patches all encompassed in green, fertile grasslands is one of my favorite places on the planet. To experience this one needs to avoid interstates. I picked up Texas highway 36 in Brenham and took it all the way to Abeline. I recommend this ride for anyone wanting to see wonderful country and make good time. Except for slowing down for the sparingly placed towns the road is wide open.

I rode an almost solid 10 hours, not because I had to…because I was loving the ride. I stop every two to three hours (usually to gas up) and that, for some reason refreshes me and I just want to keep going. But I paid a price for it. To quote Marlon Brando in Apocalypse Now: “ The Horror…The Horror.” What you ask? I dumped the bike. Right at the end of the damned ride. I shot through Lubbock intending to stay at a motel on the Clovis (NM) side. What the hell? There wasn’t one. The town just sort of ran out on me forcing me onward toward Clovis. (Turn back?…What, are you crazy?).

In any event, I entered Littlefield and spotted this motel just off the highway. To call it a motel is to insult the definition of motel. This place would give a dump a good name. So, I’m looking at it…and looking at it...and looking at it...and decide to take the turn. It’s a right turn onto a street. Don’t think “exit ramp” or anything that sophisticated. I slow practically to a stop while looking over my shoulder, in disbelief, at the motel, wondering "do I really want to stay here." Big mistake. Big mistake! I took my concentration off the task at hand, and hit pea-gravel as my bike made the turn. Still looking back I made the totally instinctive but wrong move of touching the front brake as I felt the bike slip, and before gravel registered in my brain. Result: I dumped the bike. I’ve never dumped it. Never! Oh well, can’t say that anymore.

Fortunately, I was going so slow the bike caught on the engine guard, scoring it a little, catching on a highway peg and listing about 45 degrees. Me? I felt it going down and did what I learned to do when riding enduros twenty-five years ago: I left. I exited, stage right, hitting the ground right hand, right elbow, right side, then rolling quickly over and coming up to a standing position. End result: a small bruise where my left forearm hit the radio mount as I left the bike, a small, I mean teeny scrape on my right elbow, and a very small scrape on my right hip. No torn clothing, but a very damaged ego and a GREAT lesson learned.

A couple of guys came over and helped me right the bike and, thankfully, pointed out a better dump…I mean motel…just down the street. Went there, slept fine, while cursing pea-gravel. It's like riding on ball bearings.

All-in-all, though, a great day. I was riding. Tomorrow, New Mexico and points west.

PS – Just to show my luck is continuing, I just heard on the news there were serious fires on the north rim of the Grand Canyon. My destination? Oh yeah.

Mileage chart

Change is good

Retracing a route is anathema to riders. We are addicted to new roads (and exhaust fumes). Having decided I want to catch the ferry at Haines, AK, and visit Denali NP and Mt. McKinley, I have changed my routing plans to Tok-Fairbanks-Denali NP-Anchorage-Tok. This makes the 291 mile leg from Tok to Haines Junction repeat road. The good news is I'll be looking at the other side of the mountains and hills. From there it's south to Haines and the Alaskan Ferry system.

Safety first?

The weather in northwestern Canada and Alaska this time of year fluctuates considerably. But one thing you can definitely count on is rain. Everyone knows how bikers love rain, right? I've given rain-riding a lot of thought, and consider it's sorta like playing poker: it doesn't matter what you have...it's what your opponents think about your hand that matters. And I want them thinking about my hand (and arm, and leg, and head).

My rain suit, commonly called Frog Togs, are gray (or grey...the bloody dictionary really ought to make up its mind on this). Since it's usually overcast and gray/grey with restricted visibility during periods of rain, I'm not very comfortable with this. So, I've acquired some high reflective tape to affix to the top and pants leggins of the rain suit. I've also bought one of those bright yellow (Nor'easter deckhand) raincoats. I'm putting reflective tape on that as well. This ought to resolve the visibility issue.

Doesn't do much for my concern about visibility to the bears though. Like Fagan, in Oliver Twist, "I'm reviewing the situation."

Trip Planning

Planning for this trip began in early May. I have read all the information I can find about riding the Alaskan Highway by motorcycle. It's a little confusing, and surprisingly sparce; most relatively older than I thought it would be, and most the bikes reported are crotch-rockets, not Cruisers, as I ride. I saw one good blog from a Harley Sportster rider, but that's about it. Unfortunately, the Sportster rider also related a story about a German guy who was knocked off his bike by a bear. This, as one might surmise, sparked some research.

A unabashed coward of the first order, "bare" is okay with me. Bare facts, bare truth, bare naked ladies...you get the point. These are good things. Bear? As in, "I can't bear anymore," "Load bearing wall," "Bear market," and "Bear knocked him off his bike," for Christ's sake! These are negatives. I don't care what you say, you can't put a good face on 'em.

The good news is the statistics are great. It seems, given the millions of tourists treking through Canada and Alaska each year, bear attacks are rare; deaths, fortunately, even more so. As a regular poker player I'm into probability theory. It appears they, the bears, only eat one or two people every four or five years. Since our Canadian friends aren't as enamored with guns as we wild west Americans, you can't carry a gun. I'm trying to figure out how big a stick I can afford to lug along. The first thing one discovers when comtemplating such a trip is that weight matters.

I saw a posting that it was important to know with what type of bear one might be dealing. The three main types are Polar, Kodiak (or Brown), and Grizzly. The Polar Bear is much further north than I comtemplate going. Kodiak or Grizzlies don't like people anymore than people like them, so hikers and fishermen are told to wear little "tinkling" bells, the theory being the bears will hear them and stay out of the way.

Knowing the kind of bear you may be dealing with is important so you are told to pay attention to the piles of bear "poop" in order to determine what kind of bear may be in your vicinity. If it's filled with berrys and leaves, it's a Brown bear. If it's full of little bells and hand-tied fishing flies, it's probably Grizzly. Think about leaving the area.