Day Four

Please click on the photos to enlarge. The captions are below the photos.

One of the things I enjoy about traveling is visiting places that I have not been before and seeing and learning things that are new to me. Each new day on these traveling vacations is the start of an adventure. The promise of adventure was fulfilled today!

Socorro is about an hour south of Albuquerque straight down interstate 25. While it does not provide much in the way of driving excitement, this drive along the Rio Grande offers its own form of visual delights. The gently rolling terrain offers up the lush green banks of the river bordered by barren grassland shod with the occasional five-foot tall tree. To the east of the river you are treated to the silhouette of a range of mountains with peaks rising four to five thousand feet above the river valley. I will name the peaks here just because I like the names. The first peak just southeast of Albuquerque is Mosca at 9,509 feet, next is Manzano at 10,098 feet, followed by Gallinas at 8,515 with Carrizo and Sierra Blanca rounding out the limit of your vision respectively at 9,605 and 12,003 feet.

To the right is a smattering of smaller peaks, unnamed on the map but providing their own blend of beauty and majesty. These peaks are not in a mountain range, instead, they rise dramatically out of the valley floor, messes of jagged rocks that are probably only populated by snakes and lizards.

Socorro itself is much like many New Mexico desert towns, dry, dusty and devoid of greenery. The main street runs north-south and is lined with motels, restaurants and other businesses catering to travelers. There seems to be nothing of permanence here, as if, were it not for people passing through, there would be no reason for the town to exist.

My hotel was about a third of the way down the strip and when I pulled in I was delighted to see over a dozen BMW motorcycles of various vintage and design intentions, touring to adventure. This was both surprising and pleasing because the predominant motorcycle on the road is Harley Davidson and when I put down for the night Harley is typically the make of other motorcycles that populate the parking lot.

As I wrote in the previous day’s post, I ate at a restaurant a couple of doors down (that is, a couple of empty lots and then a couple of buildings over); I chatted to the waitress about the most local of the offerings on the menu and ended up with a huge platter of chicken, beans, rice lettuce, cheese tomato and green chili. It was rather savory and went down well with the beers I used to wash away the thirst the long ride had built up. One thing the meal made me realize was just how dried out the desert was making me. On taking my first bite of the green chili the little bit of chili that remained on the fork as I pulled it out of my mouth eased into the microscopic cracks on my lips and let its fiery nature be known with full force. Thank goodness for beer!! I enjoyed the rest of the meal but was careful to keep my lips free of chili!!

I left Socorro the next morning shortly after the sun came up heading east towards Arizona for what I hoped would be an exciting ride through the mountains. One thing about the desert is though it gets hot during the day, the nights can be quite chilly and here at four to five thousand feet in elevation the cold side of that equation holds quite true. It was in the fifties when I left and shortly into my ride I decided to stop and plug in my heated gear. I always start the day with it on so that I don’t have to get off the bike to put it on, as I did when I broke that travel rule in Missouri on the way out and had to pull all that stuff on in a rest stop parking area.


This is the south side of the Gallinas Mountains on route 60 just west of Socorro.

Heading up to the Magdalena Mountains just west of Socorro

Heading out on route 60 I passed along the south side of the Galinas and Datil Mountains with South Baldy and Mt. Washington to my south each rising over 10,000 feet. After I passed Magdalena, a former rail head for cattle and mining, I decided to turn the heated gear on to warm up my toes. A few miles down the road I was still not feeling heat in my boots so I pulled over to investigate. My heated gear consists of a vest, socks and gloves. There is a rheostat with two controls on it so that I can modulate the temperature. My first thought was a blown fuse and in all the planning and preparation I did for the trip, one thing I didn’t pack (and will on future trips) was spare fuses!!! I had mountains ahead of me, a couple of hundred miles worth of mountains and if yesterday’s experience was anything to go by it would be plenty cold up through the passes so I had to figure out a way to get heat to these wonderful accessories. I thought of doing what I have done with cars and that is pull a fuse from another circuit that I am either not using or can live without until I can get a new fuse. While a car typically has a couple dozen or more fuses, the typical motorcycle has only five or six and you need each one!! Before I went to that decision point, I thought I would go through a little process of elimination so I unplugged the rheostat and plugged the socks directly into the lead. Good news!! My toes heated right up so I tried the vest too and that worked as well. Well, the fuse was still good so the problem had to be the rheostat. I plugged everything back into the rheostat and learned that if I wiggled the wire around a little I could find a decent enough connection to get power so once I had it in a position I left it alone.

Antelope on Kokopelli Ranch west of Socorro along route 60. This is the same species of antelope I saw as I left Tucumcari on day three.

At Datil I turned south on route 12 and the grassland that I had been traveling through continued to open up in front of me as the mountains rose in the background. When you drive through these grasslands the road is straight as an arrow for miles and stretches out before you until it disappears over a small rise. The scenery changed from the open grassland to upland forest with the smaller trees of drier mountain ranges. I crossed the continental divide in the Mangas Mountains and descended the western side of the divide riding through the Apache-Sitgreaves National Forest along the San Francisco River in the Tularosa Mountains.

Route 12 west of Datil where the road vanishes into the distance.

I liked this mountian along route 12 on the approach to the Continental Divide.

One thing that is inconsistent out here is the variety of vegetation on the east and west sides of mountains. Sometimes the lush greenery is on the east side and other times it is on the west. Down in this lower part of New Mexico it is the west side that is lush and green. Ponderosa pines tower up on either side of the road as it snakes through the valley, hugging the banks of the river, bubbling its way to the Pacific Ocean. On a side note, for those of you who don’t know it, the continental divide is an imaginary line zigzag north and south in the Rockies; rivers flowing into the Gulf of Mexico are on the east side of the divide and rivers flowing into the Pacific are on the west. This part of the ride becomes a little more fun as I get sweeping turns which require leaning way over in order to maintain the posted speed limits. The ponderosa forest opens up into a wider valley with many cows feeding contentedly on the very green grass, a contrast to the light tan, half-dried grass of the preceding hour and a half.

This photo-op is the classic "bike divided by the continental divide" photo. The real reason I got off the bike here was to take a leak but I was too chicken to do it ....... even though I had only seen three cars in the last hour!!

Just north of Rancho Grande Estates I turn south on route 180 which runs between the San Francisco and Mogollon Mountains. The road is fairly twisty and fun to ride while still remaining within the posted speed limits. I did execute a few passes even though there was a double yellow line but they were safe (and fun).

Heading south along route 180 in New Mexico approaching the Mogollon Mountians

Just south of Pleasanton there was a scenic pull-off where I stopped to both take photos of Whitewater Baldy mountain rising up to 10,770 feet. Just as I was getting off the bike I heard the familiar rumble of a large v-twin and turned to see a couple astride a beautiful Harley Davidson Road King pull in. The reason we stopped was to take the layers off. While the days were starting out cold the temperatures rose quickly once the sun came up. They were nice and took a picture of me with my camera and then took off as I was still getting ready.

When it comes to aural appeal, nothing beats the Road King. He thumbed the starter and the engine came to life with a sharp bark, brrraaap, before settling into the whumpa-whumpa-whumpa idle of that large displacement motor. He got it off the side stand and all three acres of gleaming chrome pulled out, the Harley leaving in its wake the deep-throated thrum of its powerful cylinders drumming out the signature sound of the motorcycling monarch, the King of the Road. When it comes to pure sexy, nothing, neither in sight nor sound, beats the Road King.

Whitewater Baldy Mountain in the Mogollon Mountian range

Some guy standing around waiting for his photo to be taken with the Whitewater Baldy as the backdrop.


I turned west off 180 onto 78 which took me out of New Mexico into Arizona. This is a wonderful little stretch of road that twists up to the border and crests with an amazing view of the Peloncillo Mountains across the Gila River valley. This descent serves up nice tight sweepers that were fun to ride but it is the view that is absolutely breathtaking! The transition from highland forest to barren desert is very sudden but the tight cluster of rugged mountain territory does not let up. Each turn of the road reveals either stunning rock formations against the backdrop of green forest or rugged rocks covered in green plants against the backdrop of barren, jagged rocks. Unfortunately I only got one good picture of a rock that does not even capture the view – it was the only other pull-off on the ride down. You can tell when you are traveling through areas that are not heavily traveled by tourists because of the lack of pull-offs in places where the views are amazing. It was so beautiful that I had to remind myself to blink so my eyes would not dry out.

The descent into Arizona. This photo does not do it justice but it shows how quickly the vegetation changes from lush green to barren desert. The view is of the Peloncillo Mountians across the Gila River in Arizona.

As you crest the climb out of New Mexico into Arizona, you pop around this corner and you see the view of the Peloncillo Mountians.

This is one of the cool rock formations I passed on the way down to the Gila River valley.

At the bottom I jumped onto 191 headed north through Clifton back into the Apache National Forest. Before coming to Clifton I had never seen open strip mining. The closest I ever got to it was photographs in National Geographic and footage on television. After seeing the beauty of the terrain on that descent, it was heartbreaking to ride through thousands and thousands of acres of mountainside that had been blown up and trucked away. Another first was to see one of those dump trucks that is larger than a house. The people standing around them were shorter than the tires and they had to climb a ladder to a little landing and then another ladder up to the cab. Those monsters are HUGE!!! I wonder how many gallons they consume per mile! But, whatever it is they pull out of the ground there, I am sure we need it somewhere and the mining activity does provide jobs.

That is Clifton in the valley below the strip mine.


A shot of the strip mine with the San Francisco, New Mexico mountians as a backdrop.

Another photo of the strip mined hillside.

This is what the hillside looks like just above the mines. Unfortunately, it will only take a couple of years for this to be strip mined just like the photos above. I am glad I captured the picture before the destruction.

After the mines, and driving through a couple of tunnels, which was kind of cool, came what, to date, is probably my most frightening climb up a mountain. It was a narrow two-lane road with no shoulder and no guard rail. Last year I rode down a similar road at the Mokee Dugway in Utah and that was unpaved but the fear there was sliding and dropping the bike. Here, you were moving along at road speed but coming around the corners and being able to see the bottom of the cliff in a quick glance gets the adrenaline going! This was the climb out of the San Francisco and Gila River valleys (their confluence occurs just west of Clifton) and with that behind me the road remained just as twisty as it worked its way through the Apache National Forest.

This road is not for the faint of heart. Most US and state routes have well marked corners (those yellow signs showing the recommended corner speed) which allow you to begin the decision process for executing the turn. This road has no marked corners once you are out of the mines. You are essentially on your own and one moment you may be blasting back up to the posted speed limit and then all of a sudden you are full-force braking because the corner was sharper than it initially appeared.

After a few miles you feel just when you think you are getting a good feel for the road it throws up another surprise, a decreasing radius corner, a sudden dip where it appears there should have been a climb and a sudden left in the middle of what looked like a corner that should have kept curving to the right. If you relaxed and crashed on this road, which apparently happened to quite a number of bikers the day before, you would be blessed if you stayed on the road. The drop-offs are sheer enough that unless someone knew you went over the edge, nobody would even know where to start looking for you. You would be enveloped in vegetation on a steep hillside and with over 100 miles of road, it would be like searching the ocean in the dark in the middle of a storm!

It is one of those roads we call the “oh my God” road. Dipping into the guy figurative bucket, it is the kind of road that ensures the ponderosa pines are not the only wood out there! I hope to ride it again at some point in the near future. I stopped about half way to Alpine at for a scenic overlook and the chance to use the bathroom. I spoke to another BMW rider who was going in the opposite direction and he said the road to that point was pretty twisty. When I got back on the road and headed to Alpine I found that it was a set of easy sweepers; the poor guy had no idea what he was in for!!!

The initial climb up the "Oh my God" road.

A view of the following mountain ranges going far into the distance. The first is the closest and so-on. Gila Mountains, Pinaleno Mountians, Galiuro Mountians and the Mescal Mountains as seen from route 191 in Arizona.

On the way down to Alpine I was doing my normal 5-10 over when a sport bike screamed past me on a straight. I check my mirrors regularly and he was coming so fast I did not even see his approach. He probably sneered at the pokey touring bike he was passing and figured he was blasting by to “deliver his message.” One thing with the R1200RT is that it is a touring bike that you can take to the track. I shifted down and rolled hard on the throttle and was very soon on his tail and up in the triple digits, keeping it more than double the posted. The guy was a little startled when he noticed I was with him and he pressed on but could not shake the “pokey bike” but after a couple of miles I let him go about his way. That testosterone!!! I got a good chuckle out of it. Had I wanted to, the bike has enough power to have passed him but that would have made ME the radar bait – yes, even in my madness I still retained a little logic and reason! :)

I settled into a nice rhythm for the corners and pulled off on the side of the road to put my layers back on as it was getting cold up here. On the side of the road was a pick-up that had seen better days and a horse trailer. A horse and two mules were standing next to the trailer and the two men beside the trailer were getting ready to load them up. They walked over to look at the bike and chat a while. The one who looked like he was in charge had a knife holder, with a knife, strapped to his belt. He was probably in his mid-forties and looked like he had been seasoned by more than his fair share of tough times. He did not look ragged, he looked rugged, spare, spry and strong. As they approached they separated a little so that each was to one side of me, facing me but each to one side and all of a sudden it felt like I was about to get taken. Even with the three animals there was plenty of room in the trailer for the bike.

A tickle of fear rose up in me and I nervously glanced at the knife handle, noticing that there was no restraining clip as pistol holsters have. I think the guy noticed me glance down there couple of times so he smiled a little as he spoke but it was one of those smiles that, though intended to put you at ease, deepens the fear. I think he was like his horses because smelled the fear. He probably knew he could easily take me, all softie urban guy on some fancy-schmancy machine that was me. He stood a little under six feet and probably weight in at about 175, had a rugged face, clean shaven with black hair under a well-used Stetson-like hat. He looked like he was part Latino and part Native American and his skin, though smooth and blemish free, revealed that it had seen a lot of summers in the sun. It is hard to capture the subtle dynamics of the situation but if you have spent a little time around folks who do a lot of work with their hands you notice that they rarely go into their pockets – pockets are storage bins for tools and such, not for hands. Hands are for work. Anyway, his hands hung easy by his sides, easy but not loose.

He tried to help me relax by complimenting my bike and I aided the effort by asking about the road ahead, chatting about the kid who screamed past ahead of me and after a minute or two of conversation, I relaxed, somehow knowing I was as safe as I had initially assumed when I pulled over. They were nice folks who both pointed out where to be on the lookout for cops as well as rerouted me along a road that was more scenic than the one I initially intended to ride.

As I said, it was cold up here but the road eased down onto the Mogollon Plateau as I pointed my bike north to Holbrook where I got back onto the freeway for the drive into Flagstaff where I would spend the night. The traffic on I-40 was FLYING!! The trucks were doing 80 – 85 and some of the cars were going even faster. I let a few go by so that there was a good amount of radar fodder and settled into a high-speed blat [sic] to my destination.

The approach to Flagstaff was pretty cool. Flagstaff sits to the south of Humphrey’s Peak which, at 12,643 ft., is the highest point in Arizona. What makes it cool is that it is not a crag on top of a range but this huge mountain that rises out of the plains, steep-sided all the way to its snow-covered peak. It is weird to see snow so close up when you are sweltering in 90+ degree desert heat.

Tomorrow, on to see the Grand Canyon for the first time. I had initially intended on going pretty far into southern Utah but the experience of riding today and having to remove some portion of the intended ride helped change my mind. At least in Arizona I had the choice of several routes but as sparsely populated as southern Utah is, once you get on the route, you are dedicated to the end, even if you get there in the dark. I really do not want to arrive in the dark because of a couple of things, the high rate of alcoholism (evidenced by the constant “Don’t Drink and Drive” admonishments pasted on billboards and roadside signage on every road I have traveled since entering New Mexico) and the presence of deer and elk. Last time I was in this part of the country I had a couple of close calls with those critters and I have no intention of repeating that this year.