Category New Mexico

Dual sport and destinations

Today, like many others on this strange trip, will be total in my memory, mile by mile and for some of it corner by corner. Whooping! in my helmet almost gave me a sore throat. Today was a short day to Canyon de Chelly, only 164 miles, dirt included, so the satisfaction of every yard had plenty of space to be lived and re-lived as it was happening.

The route took Indian Service Road 13, maybe twenty miles from Farmington into the Navajo Reserve to Lukachukai, then ISR 12, then ISR 64. The map shows half of 13 as unpaved (my GPS couldn’t even find it until we were on top of it) but when we got that far it had been newly paved, unfortunately. If it had still been unpaved, that section would have been maybe too interesting, as the new sign where the ‘plunge’ happens says it’s 14% grade, then a ten mile stretch out of the mountains. See below.

The desolate ride through the desert at first takes you past Ship Rock, about four miles off the road. The desert sand is golden at this point. Taking the dirt road through this flat, surreal colour to the Rock was a fine start to the day. This picture doesn’t capture it because I’m using a barely adequate camera, the video does better.  Here’s Lucinda at the base.

Here’s a short section of video. It’s hard to describe how it felt to be in the middle of nothing for many miles around, except this rock and an escarpment beside it, and riding to it, alone. This is one reason I’m doing this – to have these experiences in as many places as I can find.


Then, later, still on 13 and beside the road, odd formations began to appear, usually with a reservation home or two in near sight.

Abruptly, the desert stopped and the mountains started. Within twenty minutes we were above the snow line. I thought of home.

The twisties were open on the way up and tight on the way down.

Further down, snow gone, it was OK to put her on the kickstand without a fall over and take a pic. Look at the tree angle directly away from the camera.

And then at the bottom of the mountain, it started doing this

Then back to the plains. Pic looks back over the town of Lukachukai.

Gas and a meal at the first Navajo town we’ve passed on the reserve. Meal = map, minitacos, milk.

Then, Canyon de Chelly.  I’m stumped here because arriving at 3:00 the light was dull behind gathering clouds, and every minute that passed made for worse pics. So you have to imagine. TH had told me this was a must and it was. I’ll write about it another time, but I think the point is that de Chelly is an enormous no-gaps artifact combining a near perfect view of the physical living experiences of a tribe, the Anasazi, condensed in an oasis of creative opportunity, and the beyond belief structure of the place, all of which you can see. It’s a huge, and with some visually informed imagination, a near complete story in one shot, and that didn’t come by ever, I didn’t think. Enough on this, words don’t do it. TH didn’t even try hard, and he’s good with them. I actually don’t have one good shot compared to all the one’s you’ve seen, but here’s one of a  cliff home.

The land they farmed and lived on, surrounded by the huge enclosing walls made me want to live it

So we stayed until the sun went down

Until dark

Then on to Chinle.


First, for the riders, a little suspension history.

Back in BC, the rear Continental air shock was swapped for Ohlins. The front forks were swapped for WP 48mm’s, plus a new big lower clamp and (in Atlanta) the springs were swapped for progressives.  I detoured my route specifically to see Bobby at BMW Atlanta, owner of two (!) HP2s and perhaps the most respected mind, according to ADV, on the HP2 subject in the States. He de-bugged the hardware and gave me adjustment instructions to think about. The real work had to be done by riding it, obviously.

So I’ve been trying to dial it in. Even by Texas things were still not close, with a dead front end feel, and me pretty much blaming myself for not showing the confidence needed since my injury in the spring. But I also knew that I was having to make serious allowances, airing down to an extreme, shedding all weight, picking off-topic lines, jacking rear preload, whatever, to get the front to bite. But really I know nothing and needed help, bad. So I called Bobby again a few days ago with tales of woe. We ran through everything. Finally he left me with two things to check and one thing to change, patiently walking me through the theory, and I did as instructed.

As I rolled into Farmington yesterday there were dirt roads, ungated, leading off into the hills that looked perfect. As in sand. My recent, but not in the past, enemy.

Today, despite the promise of what’s just a day or two ahead, down the road, I took the day off to ride the roads I’d seen coming in. And things couldn’t have been better. Fixed – I have a front wheel again.

The roads I picked were packed and, on the larger ones to the BP oil/gas works all around here, graded flat, like snow, with berms off to the sides. But sand. My nerves were a bit tattered after something as straightforward as the Oldore sand washes making me feel a bit of an idiot. Off we went. And guess what, the ride was Velcro, as it should be. It was the rear rebound causing the problem with the front, exactly as Bobby said.
Softer graded sand after an hour or so and still as easy as pavement on this very pretty road in the hills

So we went sightseeing. Over this bridge

And beside this bridge – ATV tracks led me out on a scenic river bed and back to it. I was expecting quicksand to China.



Beside some deep cuts

A good day.

Rio Arriba, then northwest

You may wonder why this blog has no coverage of the cities I pass through. Several reasons.
I don’t like spending time in them on a bike – when I have to pass through, as a stop over, or to get Lucinda looked at, I just want to get back into the country.
Traffic experiences have been horrible. Atlanta was beyond belief.
They’re dangerous to ride in.
I tried. Ottawa, Montreal, Savanna, Atlanta, Austin. I don’t need cities.
I live in the best city in the world.
All this might change, but for now I just follow my gut.
So off we go, north, leaving Santa Fe without even a pic. Oh well.
And Lucinda is gas station centric and they’re better in the country. Our entire social circle is/are gas station employees. So we have brunch ($20 in gas for her, she likes a big meal to start the day, it sees her through until mid-afternoon) at the first one that looks right.
Very shortly, headed due north towards Chama, we run beside the Rio Arriba
There’s something magnetic about alluvial plains. Primitive food source, where we could reliably stalk and spear/stone game to drag home to our significant other.
We ran by coloured bluffs. Blue

And gold
And back onto the high plains, about 8000′, spotted with failed roadside ventures
Then the scenery, at about Tierra Amarilla, changed completely to agricultural land and stayed that way until Farmington. Nothing large scale like we’d seen in the south, midwest or even eastern Washington. No operation was bigger than a family could handle I’m guessing. Around Farmington, farms were subsistence scale.
We pulled in for a late lunch before Chama and puppies!
As we approached Dulce things became greyer. In the age of search I’ll keep most negatives to myself, but this was not a happy part of the world. At least not the day I was there. Frankly it was bleak.
The dam and lake above the town
Then, for 50 miles of great riding through open fast twisties we gradually descended into Farmington, but the grey never lifted. Which is another story.

Track: El Paso to Santa Fe


Going out to check the bike as soon as I wake is the normal routine. The temperature has dropped again. It’s 22F, nearly -6C. This is a shame because I’ve another reasonably long day ahead. So I decide I’ll leave as soon as it’s 0C, measured by smoke/no smoke and go back in to call DT to chat about tires, etc.

It’s about 150 miles to Jemez before another 125 to Santa Fe and we cross more beautiful desert on our way to Cuba, our first gas stop, passing more sandstone escarpments.

And pass horses and mules occasionally. I’m not sure if they’re wild or not. No fences, so maybe wild.

The escarpments get bigger.

Then we’re into the hills and shortly before entering the Jemez canyon, the town of Jemez. This all you get because the town is on the other side of the street and there’s a big wooden sign that says:

No photographs

No video cameras

No cassette recorders (I’ll have to ask Siri, my new BFF, if she knows what this is)

No sketching

It’s an Indian reservation and old, dense and lived in, like a favorite pair of shoes. Washing hangs out to dry across the streets, dogs sit in the sun, kids totter on bent bikes, homes are randomly aligned, power cables are haphazardly supported, bright red peppers hang on strings everywhere. Gorgeous. But no pictures.

Then into the canyon

And down to the river

The road is twisty and leads to the ruins of an old mission church. Built in 1621 and designed by a Franciscan priest, it burned down in 1623.

There’s a point on the road after the town where hot springs rush up and flow under and across the road and join the river above these falls

Then the unexpected perfect riding thing happened and we were in twisties for miles, gaining altitude until at 9000′ the trees opened up and a high altitude grassland plain appeared, the Valles Caldera. It was one of those moments when I Whoop! in my helmet.

Then after topping out, the road descended through very tight twisties. It was several degrees below 0 and I was concerned about tire temperature but we let her rip a bit.

Then a special diversion, to the Los Alamos National Laboratory. Much larger than I’d imagined, there are over 10,000 employees on a campus at the edge of the forest in pristine buildings, pouring out to their cars;  I’d arrived at 5:00. I was passed through security without any questions and headed down the main drag, brilliantly named Bikini Atoll. That’s the spirit guys!

On the highest point of the campus was a dominant building, where all the very cool ideas are cooked up no doubt.
Then on to Santa Fe, as the sun set.

Plains of Agustin

The temperature’s been dropping daily and we’re off to a cold start to the Cibola Forests. About 50 miles from Socorro, it’s a climb up and over hills to the Plains of Agustin (correct spelling) which is vast and beautiful, 50 miles by 20 at 7000′. Antelope, hare/rabbit things, very bloody cold and flat. Smack in the middle of this enormous plain is the Very Large Array.

There were also some dirt roads.


After leaving the Plains it’s through more hills and into the Cibola forests. Not so much a forest, but trees where there have been none for days.

Looking back towards the Plains.

And into Pie Town. More a tiny village and named after the apple pies they made in the 20’s. Yup, another oddball name, like Truth Or Consequences, NM. The cafe where they originally made the pies still sells them as they were.

Down the road a bit, a more typical building. There’s no-one to be seen. As usual.

And then a 100 miles down, past a sandstone escarpment to San Raphael and Grant’s.

Ride notes: Stop and add insulation and winter gloves when I first need them, not later.

White Sands

Today was about mileage. Mileage days are short on photo’s.

The land surrounding El Paso is surprisingly agricultural, although small scale. Driving a small road out past Las Cruces took us through orchards of old trees.

Then the road wound up over a high ridge and the desert was clear and laid out below hugely. You could see the 100 miles past White Sands to Alamogordo. Nowhere so far has a view been so distant. Looking southeast.

And looking northeast.

Finally, after yesterday’s epic, White Sands. The sand is gypsum, laid down in a salty, tropical sea 275 million years ago. It doesn’t blow away because the water table, incredibly, is only three feet below the surface and the moisture binds it. The dunes are up to 60 feet high. But I arrived after Thanksgiving weekend and they were covered in footprints as far as the eye could see. Not really photo worthy. But I found a section of road that wound through, unspoiled. Very white.

Later, through a lava field.

And after 305 miles, back to the Rio Grande, which we haven’t seen since Big Bend, and is now running north/south, just before the sun goes down.

Ride notes: Why is my GPS dimming when I put it in the power mount? My watch strap is blowing out, add to shopping list.


The plan was to visit Hueco Tanks (after an email reminder from TJ) then reverse back to El Paso and head north to White Sands. So far the ride has been completely free of non weather related screw-ups. Today we got two fails.

Arriving at Hueco Tanks we got stopped by a gate and a friendly Parks official. The park, because of the petroglyphs, is protected. The visitor limit at any one time is 70 apparently. She said there were another 30 waiting in the camp site and my chances of getting in today were about zero.
So we took a pic under a tree instead.

So after loosing a couple of hours we headed off to White Sands. According to my GPS mapping software there’s a short cut bypassing highway 70. So off we went. The first thing we see are these, about 5 miles apart.

But for some reason the wording doesn’t make sense, because it’s a road, for vehicles. Part of me says the signs mean no vehicles allowed off the road. But then we see the tank crossing signs and they’re clearly either on the road or off the road and I’m confused. In denial actually. And there’s trouble in the distance.

But we go quickly past the radar buildings and past a series of testing ranges. Clearly we’re off track.
And sure enough we come to a military checkpoint. A soldier asks why I ignored the signs and I stumble through the poor-signage-wording excuse. Somehow he was OK with that. Rather than getting bent out of shape at my bullshit he told me nicely to go back the way I came. I thought better of taking a picture of the situation. So it was back to El Paso and a quick re-planning session.