Albuquerque

I don't know if it was all those Bugs Bunny cartoons, but I always thought this would be a great place to see. 

I caught a ride from Monticello to Albuquerque, it was a windfall. The Colorado southern mountains were snowy and breathtaking in the moonlight. New Mexico was a whole new world. I could bicycle around without gloves on! I broke a sweat easily. It was a lot like Southern California. The high rolling hills right before the base of the mountain had a Camarillo feel to it. Life was sweet. A few moments later, I was caught in a warm (emotionaly and weather-wise) scene, at 6500 feet. Cactus, saw palmetto and shrubbery held the orange hue of the painted sunset, while the filaments on knee-high grass danced and swayed. The mountainside to the northeast was touched with light, and I was too. Life was grand! 

I would spend three days in the Sandia foothills. Monday was nothing but beautiful rest. Sunshine hot on my face. Sweating in the sleeping bag. Cozy sweat smells and nylon and polyester feel. A modest though steady wind throughout. And of course sunsets are always bright. My last NM sunset brought thin pinkish clouds whisping across the full moon. The sight was short, a final farewell. I spent some of my last daylight digging my hands in the grasses where the road met the dirt, and powder would flick out as I removed my hands. Goodness it was dry. The ride to the Greyhound was anything but enjoyable. What should have been a little over an hour took almost three. The angst began as I descended into a wash that, after half-an-hour of dragging through loose riverbed gravel, ended in a dam that I had to drag my 60-pound loaded bicycle up and over. Next came goatheads. And I was lost, I couldn't believe it. Slowly my front tire would lose air and from time to time I'd have to fight the bicycle from tipping sideways to take it off and pump I up. The bicycle paths were intermittently bumpy and caused air loss with each pavement crack. Eventually, a mere mile and a half from the station, our brave front tire could hold no air. I didn't realize how quickly I could change a tire! I had to make that bus!

I had no difficulty parting with that bicycle. A gift from the wind, just as easily returned. By time I got to the greyhound station, it had given me such and aching body and mind that I was happy to part with it. Time to save up for a new one. My new life has begun. Morning walks to mother's, sleeping in the thick grass under the warm Charleton stars, redoing all those lonesome downtown things, now all again, but alongside a new friend.

The Long Long Road and Tucumcari

A week ago, I realized that I was stuck in Provo.
I was so bogged down in planning, that I didn't bother acting, and with me, that always leads to a depressed and sluggish feeling. After a call from my friend, now in Moab, I realize my time to act is now. He mentioned a friend who had just left to Salt Lake City and was passing through Moab. I jumped at the opportunity. Sunday came and we rode down to Moab. The town got at my heart quick. We went into my friend's house and we wasted no time in hopping on his bed and waking him up out of his sleeping-bag slumber. We walked out and I was charmed by the red-rock cliffs and fields that I saw off to the north of town. The day ended with a charming sun disappearing behind the ever-prominent cliffs. The next day it snowed and snowed. We met up with a girl and went to hike Arches National Park. As we walked, the snow sprinkled our faces and red-rock dust and fins mixed with the pure white. The sun half appeared from behind a veil of clouds from time to time, enough to bring a smile and sparkle to our eyes. At times it felt heavenly. I share an excerpt from my paper journal:

The next few nights I thought on the lyrics of one of my most-cherished bluegrass albums. Its a Long Long Road by Blue Highway. I could not help but feel it during the bicycle ride from Moab to Monticello, a fifty-five mile journey with an elevation uptake of 2000 feet, along with 200-ft-tall rolling hills. It was subliminal. Red rock, blue skies, robust white clouds, and the lightest-yellow grasses, sometimes for miles to each side, meeting up with more red-rock cliffs.
At one point the snow began to fall, and I rode on, turning to Jim VanCleve's Devil's Courthouse for strength and heated-up blood. The mandolin solo symbolized the snow that poured around me and figuratively through me. This part of the country really is getting under my skin.

It's a long long road to wander alone
It's a cold cold wind hear it moan
Cryin' like a lost child out in the night
Searching for the way, and looking for the light

I think of all the snow, all the red dust, all the rubber residue. It all sort of blends together in your mind. I passed open cattle pastures, rocks that looked like towers, wands, even marks of royalty. I passed Church Rock, next to the turn-off to Utah Rte. 211 and it looked like a Pope's crown. I exulted in it, and after not too much longer, a man pulled off to the side, and offered a ride. He rolled down the window and he had a great pure look in his eyes. I had met him during my first time in Monticello. When I travel I seem to have perfect timing. I landed at the home where I'd visit just as the husband was beginning to split wood. We got it done quick, though I was tiring out. As much as I hated it, he was right, and it was time for me to lay low and recover until I head back out.  

. . . But not before one final southern utah adventure! After some research, I headed down to Home of Truth, and got a ride from a gentleman who actually knew the ghost town's founder, Marie Ogden. So neat. Well I get there, and I check it out. There is a sizable rock to the north, and after seeing the old homes built into the earth, I begin to climb. It was gentle enough to simply walk up and occasionally stair-step up. I was enrapt in the reds and whites and yellows. I got to the small mesa and walked about it for a half-hour, catching a view of the canyon lands  (which really were horizon-to-horizon) looking out to all directions. I began my climb down, I wrapped around the northwest side, gradually hopping down, level by level, when convenient. I came to a double arch, each one actually forming an entrance to a small cave. The arches and cave's depth both measured approx. four feet. By grabbing up a hunk of deadwood, I stepped up and made a hop to a dimple in the rock and grabbed the lip of the arch to climb in. Red dominated the cave's insides but chipped w away to reveal sandstone -- so soft it covered the inside to the depth of an inch with pale powder. I take off my coat and lay upon it, The February sun warm enough to sleep by. I bare my feet and they dry quickly. The sun heats up my waist and legs and toes. The redrock hugs my hips and rib cage. I melt into the rock. My fingers are cooled as I conceal my hand in sand. Pants, arms, hair are covered in red and yellow. I am perfectly and completely serene. I look out and see the quiet mountains in the distance -- the color of the sky in its shaded portions and white in the sun --with a twisted conifer close up, a perfect setting for my surrender to sleep. 

Musical Location of the Day

In all honesty, all I saw of this town was during a midnight greyhound ride. Tucumcari, New Mexico. A town whose name origins are unsure, from stories of a Native American contending with a father for the hand of his daughter to the simple explanation that it is named after the local mountain, Mt. Tucumcari, signifying breast in the native tongue. And how fitting; as from both mountain and mother flow precious fluid, without which is no life. Either way, the song goes as follows:

 

 I was thinkin' 'bout Mary as I left Tucumcari

 Four hours to make Santa Fe

 I know she's been hopin' I'll quit this damn ropin' 

 But that's one thing she'd never say

 It's more than a living it's been my whole life

 It's taking and giving, pleasure and strife

 Well I've known all along this day would come: I guess my ropin' days are done 

The significance of this song is unmistakeable. There are times where we each must put away from ourselves that which seems a complete part of us. For this man, it was the life of a cowboy; and I , my traveling. And soon, I shall take to the road once more as an over-the-road trucker, which will be no less in-my-bones when the time comes to sever it.

My Gear

My buddy had me show him all of my gear before I left Monticello, and I wanted to do the same for anyone else who was curious. I'll include links to the webpages purchased therefrom.
The Bicycle: Dawes Lightning Road (Steel). I wouldn't recommend this to anyone unless you were on a tight budget. Its bulky, but won't break. It has served me well, but is heavy. There's a reason passionate 'roadies' pay big thousands to shave off a few ounces here and a pound there. That's one less pound(s) that you have to carry for a hundred(s) miles on long trips. Overall, it is functional and can climb, and I don't worry about going too fast on it. So, for my budget, it was a perfect choice.
Saddlebags/Panniers: Avenir Metro Panniers (1,380 Cubic Inches). I saw a review where someone claimed they could fit a total of four gallon milk jugs in these, two on each side. Its true. Not only can you stuff these things to the max, the zippers are strong. I've broken a lot of zippers in my life, and I can't seem to do it with these. They still catch on plastic or loose fabrics, so be aware of that.
Rear Rack: Topeak Explorer Rack (w/o Spring). The set up is a bit tricky, but it is engineered to fit just about any bicycle. Even if you have a bicycle it isn't designed for (such as mine. It is older) you can finagle it and it gives just as much support and stability. It safely holds 50 pounds. It hasn't warped or shown signs of ware after more than a thousand miles and rough roads. In my opinion you get more than what you pay for on this.
Sleeping Bag: Slumberjack Lone Pine (Zero Degrees). I've slept a few nights in Provo area above 5000ft where the temperature squeezed just above 0, and trust me, with a minimal ground pad, this bag kept me warm and asleep (nothing worse than being so cold you can only get 30 minutes of shuteye at a time). In my opinion, Slumberjack is an overall great outdoor company. Their stuff is good balance of light enough, durable enough (there were a few times where I thought for sure in my clumsiness I had torn it, but it held up), and warm enough. And to top it all off, they are classy and ergonomic (looks good). A little expensive, but you get exactly what you pay for.
Thermals: E.C.W.C.S. Brown Top (Extreme Cold Weather Clothing System). This is a great option for anyone doing physical activity in below-freezing temperature. As I mentioned in my Monticello post, I took off my coat, leaving this and my polyester work-out shirt exposed to the 20-25 degree air. I had gathered a bit of sweat in the arms, but within a minute or so, it was all gone. Great way to keep warm and dry while working in the cold. It also makes a good ground cover (no heat loss to the ground) in a pinch. I have found, in retrospect, that Uncle Sam's sells them for less than I paid for them at other surplus stores. I ended up forking over 20 dollars for mine.
Tent: 3810 G.I. Type Camo Bivouac. Again, military surplus is the way to go when you can, in my opinion. They are always durable. This sucker weighs in at 2 pounds, and sets up in 5 minutes. It has even kept off snow (though you better have it staked down good, otherwise the weight of the snow will collapse it) while sleeping. I once left it for two days while it had rained and frozen overnight. It was entombed in ice, and after breaking the ice off, it still stood. Surprisingly tough for its simple design. Says 3-season, but it can get away with winter. I did, for some 8 total weeks of camping in it :)

All other gear is noteworthy, but not unique enough to promote. Polyester and tight-fitting is always best. It keeps in your heat but is not overly hot. It is easily overpriced and you never should pay more than ten for a decent one.