Titanic Post

Monday morning was beautiful and sunny–a perfect day for a motorcycle/camping trip. I had planned on two nights camping in the Gila Wilderness of Southwestern New Mexico. I say planned because “The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men, Gang aft agley…” as Bobby Burns said so well.

I have traveled the 65 miles of Highway 70, from Alamogordo to Las Cruces and back, at least a thousand times in the past eighteen years and I never tire of it. The first 45 miles are straight, flat, and without a great variety in vegetation. Some people would think it boring, but to me, it is peaceful and a wonderful stretch to calm the erratic mind. Because there are few distractions on this highway, every movement of a rabbit or flight of a hawk seems to be staged for my sole benefit and amusement.

Into the dark San Andreas mountains looming from the west, the highway seems to be attracted by the most obvious place to cross the pass into the Mesilla Vally. It is always a breathtaking moment, reaching the crest and looking west toward a new world. Years ago, when I was commuting to Las Cruces, I used to play a tape of Wagner’s “Tristan und Isolde—Prelude und Liebestod”, trying to time the crescendo ( about sixteen minutes into the piece) with my reaching the crest and have the landscape and the music explode together before me. Often I would end up crying from the beauty of it all. Desert dwellers understand this and will go far to integrate themselves into that which other folks don’t usually get.

From Las Cruces I rode up another favorite road of mine, Hwy 185 through Hatch and on to Caballo Lake. It follows the Rio Grande through mostly agricultural lands struggling with a periodically dwindling supply of water from the river. Out of Las Cruces there are miles and miles of pecan orchards. Followed by cotton, onion, and chili fields. There is something satisfying to me about being in the midst of agriculture. Although it was just after planting season and the smells of chili and onions were absent, the smell of freshly plowed earth was everywhere. I like to see farm equipment, and on this stretch there is both new and old. Field hands were out weeding and straightening irrigation ditches. I respect deeply the people who stoop to harvest the food I eat.

As often happens in rural areas, places of business come and go. Such was the case in Hatch, when I saw that my favorite restaurant, Las Palomas, had gone out of business. The great thing about Hatch, however, is that, being the Chili Capital of the World, you can’t find bad Mexican food. At La Mexicana, I enjoyed their especiale of pollo frito con arroz y pa pas fritos y enselada. Muy delicioso! Try it!

Highway 152 winds its way up the Black Range into the Gila Wilderness through some of the most beautiful country in New Mexico. Hillsboro, an old mining town and site of several famous trials of outlaws and now known for its annual apple festival is the first town in the foothills on the way to Silver City. At one time they had a real bakery that baked bread with real crust and was oh so satisfying to the soul. I was sad to see that it was no longer there. Further up the road, just as the vegetation changed from juniper to pine, the almost deserted mining town of Kingston floated by on my way to Emory Pass.

Emory Pass, with an elevation of 8500 feet, offers a spectacular view to the east. You can see the bass jumping in Caballo Lake some 30 miles away. (I exaggerate some.) Behind Caballo, the San Andrea Mountains barred my view of the Sacramento Mountains and home. Here I talked to a man from Wyoming, who was traveling around New Mexico with his wife and was liking what he saw. It always pleases me when someone likes my country. It also reminded me that I miss having a woman to share my journey with. Someday I’ll figure out what I really want.

It was about three o’clock that afternoon, as I rode on Hwy 35 toward Lake Roberts, about an hour away, to find a place to pitch camp. I stopped at the lake, thinking I might stay there, but there were several Rvs around and I wanted to find even more solitude. Most people would have found the place deserted, but not me and I wanted solitude, I was getting tired so I pressed on. That was my first mistake.

My second mistake was not looking back around the switchbacks on Hwy 15 to where I wanted to be going. The particular switchback in this story was a lefty of about 160 degrees and the incline turned out to be steeper than the previous ones. The third mistake was that I was in too high a gear for the incline and I stalled the engine in the apex and fell into the inside of the curve, flying off the motorcycle and into rocks. This is where I noticed my fourth and last mistake of the evening in that I was wearing all of my protective clothing except for the protective pants. I remember flying off the bike in slow motion and doing an elegant tuck and roll which on a flat surface would have drawn the applause of any onlooker. However, in reality, the rocks were pointy and sharp and I tore my knee up pretty good.

I could still walk and at the time couldn’t see the damage to my knee. I was more happy that no one saw me crash. I had to unload the bike to get a handle in picking it up. I finally got the bike pushed to a level enough spot where the kickstand would hold it upright. Damage to the bike and myself was cosmetic and minor. My pride still hurts more than my knee. Pride and pain are brothers who teach good lessons.

I made it to a camping spot without crashing again, set up the tent, and cleaned and dressed my knee as best I could. Before turning in, I cooked up a fresh pot of Ramen Soup. It tasted delicious and went far to sooth my ruffled feathers that night. The sound and the smell of the pines and the fresh air mixed with the tiredness and excitement of the day made me a good kind of tired. I slept well, in spite of waking every time I turned onto my knee. The next morning I broke camp and made a cup of coffee, tasting strangely like Ramen Soup, as several snowflakes fell through the pine trees into my lap.

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Silver City is nestled in the hills on the edge of the Colorado Plateau. Also a mining town at one time, now home to a small four year university was at one time fingered to become the new Santa Fe with all the hot crap art galleries and high real estate prices that go along with it. The natives sported bumper stickers “Stop the Californication of Silver City.”  I guess it worked. The town has retained its Victorian architecture and relatively slow pace. I fueled up and asked about the snowflakes and was told that the storm front advertised for Wednesday was arriving a day early. That sealed the deal for me. Already whittled down a notch from my unconventional “get off,” I decided I would get some bandages, wound cleaner, and a new pair of jeans at Walmart, then go visit friends as I had planned, then head for home.

The two free spirits, Alexander and Terry lived in Germany, where I met them, and moved to the US some years ago with an eye on eventually settling in the Southwest somewhere. First they bought an interest in the town of Lobo, Texas and now they also have a home in Silver City, New Mexico. I don’t think they have ever lived in a place that was easy to get to and this was no exception. A phone call and Alexander standing himself in a strategic place, got me there. Seldom do I feel so at ease and at home as I did there. Thank you both!

With the accident formost in my thoughts, I neglected to comment on that part of the ride around Lake Roberts. I can recommend this to any outdoors people who love and appreciate truely wild country. There are hundreds of miles of trails and backroads and the road into the Gila Cliff Dwellings, where ancient people lived for a short time. I will return to this area again.

After some good talk, coffee (without the Ramen taste) apple pie, and some ear rubbing time with dogs Lucky and Baxter, I was off to Deming, home of the Great American Duck Races, through rain and vicious side winds stopping once in Las Cruces for a Big Mac. I thought on the way home that again I was grateful for being in the wind, having a few good friends, and once again was still alive after a few moments of inattention to the here and now.

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If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans.