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DAY
NINETEEN COMMENTARY
Vegas,
baby!
Wow, man, like, lemme just say this: Vegas is not what I expected at
all.
These
are all the lights?
These
are all the casinos?
Where's my
man George Airbus?
I
mean, c'mon -- wait,
what’s this you’re telling me? Uh huh…uh huh…so this is Las Vegas, NM, not Las Vegas, NV? Hmmm. OK, now I
get it. (Boy, what a difference one little letter can make -- Ed.) OK, so this was
the only major sign I was to see...
Well before this debacle, the New Way had worked out again in
the morning leaving Alamogordo, and another relatively “rapid”
departure allowed me to have the motorcycle’s oil changed on the way
out
of town. The rig had racked up over 3,000 miles (as a rule of
thumb the longest suggested interval for a bike of this size) since
leaving Surfside Beach eighteen days earlier. In fact, somewhere on the
ride into town I had passed what I had come to think of as the
“Fail-Safe” (tm), the point at which it would be a shorter distance to
continue the trek rather than to turn back! And of course that 3K
figure is due to the zig-zag sightseeing route I am taking,
for the same mileage covered in a straight line would have put me a few
hundred miles into the Pacific Ocean by now.
After passing an interesting choice of travel ads in the
lobby of the
Motel 6 -- spiritually, both the beginning and the end of my journey,
n’est-ce pas?
-- I took one last look at the beautiful morning view of
the nearby Sacramento Mountains and headed to the motorcycle shop.
Whilst talking to the boys there -- and where I was favored with donuts
n’ coffee, and the chance to sit on a Honda Gold
Wing up on its center
stand, thus understanding what it would be like to tour the country
perched upon that motorcycle’s throne -- I learned that for maximum
riding pleasure I should head back east
on the very same road I came in
on, thus climbing back up into the mountains, and then break off to the
north slightly afterwards. Fair enough.
Upon leaving, I was thrilled to note that the price of gas had gone up
eight cents at the station I re-filled at just the previous evening --
timed that
one right for a change! Although a minimally-satisfying tour through
Alamogordo proper (and subsequent
construction delays) slowed my progress, I eventually got back up the
mountain and spent some quality time at around 8,800 ft. elevation, in
and around Cloudcroft, NM.
On the way up I used my binoculars for the first time on the trip. The
view of the White Sands
from up on the hill was impressive, as were
other pictures of the valley and of the trestle used for
the old
switchback railway in the early 1900’s. During my visit to the Park
Ranger station I saw a reprint of the passenger service schedule, and
it showed that the train took three
hours to cover the 26 miles uphill
from Alamogordo to Cloudcroft! Another road which offered scenic views
led all the way across the mountain ridge to the National
Sunspot
Observatory, and although I didn’t have quite
enough time for that trek, I did enjoy some of the sky-scapes up here
in Cloud Country.
As I believe I mentioned in yesterday’s recap of my ride through it in
the other direction, Cloudcroft itself had that frontier-look that
The
Chief (tm) apparently just can no longer get enough of. Perhaps there
were a few too many artsy shops, but also a rustic old hotel, an
excellent camping/outdoor store and a couple of cool-looking eateries.
And before I go too far in dissing the shops, I should relay the
following tale.
Ever since the conversation with Stan outside of Del Rio, TX, and the
ride out of Sanderson back on Day
Seventeen, I had
decided I wanted to have a little statuette of the Patron Saint of
Travelers riding on the dashboard shelf. I mean, I had made it this far
with perhaps only the blessing of my host from Fredericksburg, so how
could I go wrong in getting “official” coverage? Problem was, there was
no place in Cloudcroft that carried that sort of stuff, but the shop
owner I first spoke with knew of another shop owner who would know
where to go, and that second owner sent me up the road to the neat
little town of Ruidoso, pretty much the route I had planned to take
regardless.
Ruidoso had recently experienced some very heavy rainfall, causing
flooding and mud slides that were responsible for one fatality. I saw
some evidence of the severity on the road up there, with mud flows near
creek crossings and a few washed-out dirt roads. There were also cows
(and, at one point, a horse) walking around on the road, looking for
just that right spot to graze, well outside of where their ranch must
have been. And in the ongoing “I Hate to Sound Like A Broken Record”
category, there was almost no traffic to speak of on the road between
the towns.
The search for my statuette began in earnest at the Visitors Center,
where two friendly and helpful employees suggested either of two
Christian bookshops further up the main street, as did a nice guy who
hailed from Chicago, and who had also axed a few questions about the
motorcycle’s trailer. Getting up into the main business area and
parking was no picnic, as in-town traffic was heavy and the parking
lots offered challenging, steep pavement to contend with. Finally, upon
docking the rig, I moseyed on over to the cute little retail area only
to find
that both of the shops were closed because, you know, it’s Wednesday
(?)
Hmmm…only thing to do now is grab lunch -- since long ago a rarity on
this constantly “late-to-depart” trip -- and then regroup. On the way
up I had both eyeballed and smelled the Circle J Barbeque,
by which I
mean I had seen smoke coming from the cooking shack and could detect
the delectable aromas even while driving by. Turned out that the "Two
Meat Platter" was a very
good call -- brisket and sausage, in my case -- and while I was there I
read approximately (1) one page of
the Albuquerque newspaper I had been sitting on for the last three or
four days. I
also remembered that the Visitor Center folks had suggested checking in
with the Catholic church on the avenue I’ll call “Church Row”, because
about seven straight establishments on it were, in fact, churches. But
did you think I had any idea about which one was which? No, I did not,
and so I checked every one of them in succession -- Baptist, Church of
Christ, and so on, and so on -- until I finally hit St. Eleanor’s. The
people at the other ones must have thought I was crazy, or stupid, for
going to their churches and asking about a statuette of a Catholic
saint, but at least I knew enough not to go to a temple or a mosque.
Not that I had seen any of those, of course, though I had seen this, and
shuddered.
So I axed the young lady if they did have figurines like some people
had thought they might, and while they did not, they did have some
pendants for use with a necklace. I hadn’t planned on that particular
route -- it had to be on the bike, and pointing forward to guide the
path just like Stan had said -- but I knew I could affix the thing
directly to the dashboard and do it that way. The lass said, “Is he
your patron saint?” And I replied, “not really, but I am on a long
trip, so…” SO-o-o, after much searching, for $2 I had now added the
missing
piece of the puzzle to the bike -- or had I?
The route out of Ruidoso was to eventually take me to a four-lane for
just a short stretch, but before this I climbed, climbed,
climbed and passed the wonderfully scenic Sierra Blanca and Mount
Veracruz (though admittedly those pix don't capture the
beauty too well). Descending again (down to 6,000 ft.) through
Carrizozo, I and
the rig were in a definite rhythm, so the four-lane ride was
mercifully brief and I was back in for another beautiful ride through
the countryside. I passed through the town of Vaughn, NM, with not much
left there but a nice old-style diner called Penny's. Alongside
the sparsely-traveled
high-speed two-lane road I spotted -- hey, is that a wind farm? The
Chief (tm) may soon be selling those things for a living! Crossing a
railroad track
brought me onto a nice, isolated, twisty hilly road
towards my destination for the evening, but not before crossing the
Pecos River
again, which failed to impress quite the same way as last
time.
As it was getting dark, I realized I wouldn’t be heading directly into
town tonight, so I set up camp, ate a few fistfuls of trail
mix as dinner, and got to work on website
updates for you, Dear Reader. Engrossed as I was in that task, I
(almost) failed to notice that it had gotten rather cooler out --
especially since I was still sitting there in shorts and a T-shirt --
and when my fingers felt like they were about to go numb I took it as a
signal to retire for the evening. That, and the fact that it was 2 AM.
Basically I had experienced about a 40-degree swing on that day in New
Mexico alone, the
coldest weather of the trip thus far. Alas, some dog was barking all
night long at a nearby farm, so I only caught about four hours of
sleep. YA-W-W-W-N…
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