A Fool's Progress: Viva Las Vegas.....New Mexico

As I sit here stuffed with a chorizo burrito and enjoying a Modello beer in Santa Fe...I think back over the last couple days. The vast contrasts between New Mexico and Texas. The thoughts on the downward leg of the journey.

I left Austin and made Lubbock in the space of a day. Yeah it is dawdling. But it is my style. I no longer care to impress anyone. There really isnt much to tell about the run through the remainder of Texas post-Austin. Big open spaces, long flat roads. Dirt and cotton. "Hill Country" is a lie. "Less Flat Country" would be a more accurate title. But for all I bag on Texas, it does have its attractions. The skies are always worth watching; marching legions of cotton puffball clouds. Wide wide spaces ,make riding any meanigful distance her a deep meditation. Its as if the open spaces allow room for your thoughts to expand as you listen to the mantra of the bike moving down the road.

I realized how happy I have been since leaving Coonass's place. It weas the bifurcation of the ride. It was when I gave in to the ride and let it take me as it will. Apparently a ride will have its own characteristic and no amount of planning, stress or effort will change that. What I had planned to be a vagabond trip on an old bike wrought with my own hands became a gentleman's tour populated by motel rooms and thouoghtful exploration of the country as driven by weather and circumstance. Once I gave in and flowed with the ride as it unfolds, I enjoyed myself far more. And shipping gear home put the period on that sentence. Like shedding the last bit of eggshell and spring ing forth into the sunlight.

I also decided that this is the sort of thing a man needs to do. Particularly a man who has grown comfortable in his life and its obligations. I not only grew an appreciation for my fortune and achievements; but I also have learned what it is to really pine for my family. I can feel the ache for home. A couple nights as I sat exhausted in my motel room, I just wanted to transport myself home. To instantly hug my son and hold my wife. To pet my dog. To walk my yard. I feel as if I am close to becoming a road ghost, haunting a town for a moment and then moving on, making no meaningful contacts. I do not regret a moment of it. And I can see the desire to do the same for a period in the eyes of people I meet. To spend a time with some money in pocket, a sturdy bike and an endless road ahead. Truly I think it is a far better way to spend a midlife crisis than buying a corvette. So, gentlemen, talk to your family...this is something we all need to do once in our lives. A rolling meditation
and fasting from family and friends to allow us to return to them refreshed, renewed and deeply appreciative of what home holds.

So really...Texas aint all that bad.

Entering New Mexico was like stepping through a door to a new home. I stopped to get a picture of the bike beneath the "Welcome To New Mexico" sign and the Sheriff pulled up. Uh oh. What did I do now?? Nothin' Leo (I hope I remember the name right) just wanted to chat about the ride and the bike. Very nice feller. Gave me the lowdown on the weather in the directions I was heading..he sensed that was inportant to a rider.

From the border town I headed north on back country farm roads to Tucumcari. Tucumcari is mentioned in a faviorite song and one of the remaining interesting stretches of old Route 66. From Tucumcari I went northwest on route 104. A long lonely road filled with stunning scenery. The road is largely striaight, but it doesnt go through anything like modern roads...so unlike a modern highway it undulates up and down like a gut sick snake. The road is marked with a 55 speed limit..but there is nothing and no one out there. nevertheless I held it down to 60-65 because the vertical undulations make for some very limited sight distance hilltops. I saw maybe 20 cars on the whole 120 miles of that highway I was on and most near the town at the other end. There were sometimes 10 miles or more between ranch gates. This is why, even thouugh Mike Haven at MPH thought me foolish, I retained my sleeping bag and some cooking gear and food. It could be a long wait for another vehicle and a longer walk
to help. I had visions of me with my sleeping back strapped to my shoulder, hat on my head, hiking the road like I was in a new version of Kung Fu.

But I made the other end without incident. The other end was Las Vegas....New Mexico. A windy little town at the foot of the mountains sitting at 6000 feet. And I could feel the altitude...clear and cool. Very wlcome. And to think 72 hours before I was at 13 feet at lake Ponchartrain. The bike felt it too, running hard and strong. With the hard starting...it makes me think the fuel injection settings have slipped and caused a rich condition. Or maybe the air filter is clogged.

And so tonight I sit in Santa Fe thinking.."Hot Damn what a great ride!"