Day 7: Signs and bugs

I did a lot of New Mexico riding today. 355 miles and I never left the Land of Enchantment. I really enjoyed my stay at the Murray Hotel in Silver City. It has a retro 1940’s look but with thoroughly modern conveniences.

My day started at 6:45 this morning. I was still in bed when I was awakened by the roar of 20 plus bikes tearing out of town. I started laughing , thinking of those Brits, all my age and older, flying out of town determined to wake me up and break every speed limit in the state.

I tried to get out of town early, I really did, but it seems when people see a lone biker people want to talk. The first was a 60- something  guy on a mountain bicycle with extra large tires. He asked me about my bike and I in turn asked him about his since I have a Surley Long Haul Trucker steel frame bike.  He was pleased to know I will pedal and he in turn told me he owned a GS, an older model. He was wearing a baseball hat under his biking helmet and had a classic vintage 60’s scraggly beard. I took him for a draft evader but in the course of our conversation I learned he was retired U.S. Navy having worked in sonar tracking of Soviet subs. He finally said to hell with the Navy and has been in Nevada ever since. Those were his words. He asked me where I was going and I explained my general clockwise loop toward Lincoln. He offered to retrieve his old maps and show me some route options. He left on his bike and I resumed trying to load my bike.

At that point a van pulled alongside and it was another BMW enthusiast who wanted to show me pictures of his BMW. It was the model used in an old James Bond film. I’m sorry, I can’t remember the model. We stood there talking bikes when Sam, the navy man came pedaling up. I bid the van fan good day and sat down on the sidewalk with Sam and studied maps. It was one of those great, spontaneous moments that makes solo travel so fulfilling. I had totally misread this man. Here he was a veteran going out of his way to help me. He ended up giving me his map. We shook hands and off he went.

I finally got away shortly before 10:00. My route took me up scenic 180 into the Gila again. I made a right at Reserve, NM and rode the high country for the rest of the day. I crossed the Continental Divide at an elevation of about 7,250 feet. Along the way I stopped to admire some of the scenery of the Gila Wilderness. When it was set aside as a wilderness it was large enough that a man could ride in one direction on a horse or a mule for two weeks and never see another person. That’s a big piece of real estate.

Backroads travel takes you to some really out of the way places. I stopped for gas at the Glenwood Trading Post. It was the only real viable business in this tiny wide spot in the road. The inside of the store was right of the Great Depression and I’m not talking about the Cracker Barrel Country Store nostalgia version. The place was dimly lit and much of the interior was cluttered with what I think had been someone’s long ago effort a stocking a variety store only to see that venture fail and leave the merchandise to wither and decay. The good news for me was a shelf stocked with Payday candy bars that were not out of date. I paid for my gas and was on my way.

Once again I found the only thunderstorm in New Mexico and managed to ride in it for an hour. The temperature dropped from 88 to 51 and stayed there for quite awhile. It may be a desert but it still rains out here.

I passed some signs today that put me to thinking about the mental state of the people who come up with these things. The first was a state highway sign that said “Do not drive on wet oil.” Hmmm…..I wondered as I was whizzing along around a curve at 65mph, “am I about to die? Is the road up ahead covered in black goo that will spell my doom? Could it be the prison inmates just had too much time on their hands and made a bunch of these and the state had to put them somewhere?”  I rounded the curve and found dry blacktop. Score one for the inmates.

Next up was a sign that really made me feel bad for the youth of tiny Magdalena, NM. I was cruising carefully down their main street at 25mph so the speed trap police officer parked under the tree would not have an excuse to write me a ticket when what did I see but the local high school and a sign in it’s yard that said “Home of the Magdalena Steers.” Think about it for a minute. I get using bulls or stallions for a mascot but a steer? Just imagine the trash talk, the smack going down across the line of scrimmage. The poor, castrated Steers of Magdalena are never going to live it down. They should find the principal who presided over such stupidity and if they have already fired him they should rehire him just so they can fire him again for coming up with the Steers thing.

Late afternoon found me in Corrizozo, a town you may not have heard of before. It is important because it was the location of the rail depot that put Lincoln out of business after all of the Billy the Kid troubles n the Lincoln County War. I can’t tell that Corrizozo prospered much from putting the hurt on Lincoln. Still, I was tired and there was a motel there and I thought I would get a room.

I should have been warned off by the owner having her charcoal grill going right by the front door. I should have heeded the smeared and dirty fly swatter on the counter but I didn’t. I asked if there was a room available. (There was a good chance there was since mine was the only vehicle in the parking lot.) “Why yes. Yes there is.” said the diminutive Indian lady and it could be mine for $37.50 cash and no receipt coming back my way. The place was entirely off the books. Still I gave little lady my cold hard cash and got a key, a real key, to Room #3.  As I walked the ten steps from the lobby, being careful not to get burned on her grill, I noticed two Indians in a worn out pickup driving slowly by my bike and looking it over good. These were not men who would have what it takes to buy one but they would have the ability to take mine. I decided to use at least some of my little grey cells and check the room out before unloading the bike. I did think of that. Did you know dirty motel rooms can have bedbugs? They can have them in the bed, on the walls and on the furniture. They can also have ants crawling all over the walls. Yes, I hit the jackpot here. My Room #3 had them both in abundance. I threw the key on the bed and walked out and got on my bike. By then another guy was walking around my bike. I decided to donate the $37.50 to Little Indian woman and her grill and get out of there which I did.

Forty-five minutes later I pulled up to the Comfort Inn in Ruidoso. I had looked at it’s advertisement on my mini-iPad and found that their rooms had been remodeled in 2012. Things were looking up. I walked in and waited for the desk clerk to help the woman who walked in just as I did. Their conversation went like this:

Woman: “Do you have any rooms?”
Clerk: “Yes, we have plenty. What kind do you want?”
She got her room.

Then it was my turn:
Me: “I would like a room.”
Clerk: “We don’t have any.”

As you might imagine I did not take this lying down. We exchanged a few more pleasantries and the best the Comfort Inn clerk could come up with was they did not have a room in my price range. I know what you’re thinking, she knows I’m poor because my bike and it’s doo-dads only cost $30,000.00. No one drives cars that cheap anymore. I persisted and told her to give me what they had. She said it was too expensive. I finally laid my cards on the table for her – “Miss, you don’t have anything in this place that I can’t afford so give me a room now.” I am proud to report I am writing this blog tonight in a deluxe double queen suite with a pullout bed and desk area, all for 109.00. After she quoted me the rate I asked her if they took AAA.

“Why yes sir we do,” she said sweetly, “but I took one look at you and gave you the Senior Citizen Discount.”

Score one for her. You can’t win them all.

I like the rough and tumble and the unexpected and I seem to get it all out here. Sam the Navy man was so helpful and even Little Indian woman helped me by giving me the opportunity to hone my bedbug skills. Finally, anti-biker clerk was the most instructive of all because she made me feel in some much less significant way what a black person or a gay person feels like when the door is slammed in their face. Stuff like that is wrong on any level.

I don’t know where I’m going tomorrow. I’m thinking of taking out an ad on T.V. here to offer my services to end droughts. Just call  me and the rain will follow.

Be safe and bless you all,
Brian