Last (expected) Post

I’m Baaack. I couldn’t even post into my blog last night, I was so spent. It was necessary for me to get home from Santa Fe to Phoenix and that wasn’t exactly close.
It was up early with the sound of bells ringing from an old church by the main square and prepare for a long day of riding. As I had planned, it got in to Madrid NM, which was a very short ride from Santa Fe to look around and absorb the Wild Hog phenomenon (this is where many scenes of the movie were shot). I had heard references to the movie from family and friends alike since I was planning this trip. And although I found it entertaining I tried my best to separate myself and my experiences from being a cliché of the movie. For me, Madrid was more that I came, I saw, I bought a couple T-shirts, and I went.
It seemed somewhat inevitable that I had to spend some time riding down the I-40 west bound. As I stared into the horizon during the early morning I could already see the skies looking quite ominous. I am thinking to myself, “not again”. Being wet and cold for another day just lost its appeal and I had too many miles to go to spend it fatigued from the elements.
As I rode through all of the storms of the previous days, the vision of what seemed like every other biker pulled over to the side of the road as they put on their rain gear in anticipation for what was ahead came back into my head. As I zoomed passed them into the dark streaks falling from the sky it was obvious they knew something I didn’t. It was obvious they were better prepared. It was obvious they were not from Phoenix. All this was going through my head as it was imminent that I had another day of storms ahead of me.
I-40 dumped into Albuquerque I decided to pull over and find the local Harley dealer and take the next step in my touring commitment and purchase rain gear. It didn’t take long to pick out the gray reflective suit that matched my bike well. It was a matter of minutes and I was off again.
I took the 25 south for what seemed forever until I hit the 60 west. By this time I was underneath the dark clouds but I still had a few miles to go before I hit the rain. I had a little less than a half tank of gas, it was hot where I was, there were lines at the pump, so I decided to fuel up at the next town. Not a good call. You know when that voice in your head is calling you an idiot. When I ride with my friends and we pull over to gas up I always top off my tank. I tell my friends, I never regretted not fueling up… The last person to take my advice; me.
I get into this dilapidated tiny town that was way past its best days and pull into the Conoco station. There are yellow bags over each and every pump nozzle. This wasn’t a good sign. By this time I was getting low on fuel. I was climbing in altitude and my mileage certainly had dropped so I didn’t think I was going to make it to the next town, about 35 miles away. I went inside to ask what was up with their pumps. The attendant told me they couldn’t afford to keep gas in the tanks, business was too slow. With probably a desperate look on my face I asked for options. Maybe there was a liquor store around and I could find out if my bike will run on Jack Daniels. The lady pointed out an old garage that I had past and to check there.
I headed back a mile, which was half the distance of the town, and pulled into the old rundown garage. The entire property was gravel dirt with two old single hose pumps in the middle of the lot and a two bay garage that didn’t look like it even had doors. One pump served diesel and the other 87 octane gas. I was hoping I wasn’t pumping turpentine into my tank but I didn’t have a lot of alternatives at that point. I pulled out the bottle of octane boost I kept in the side bag. A couple of ounces of that and a prayer and over 5 gallons of gas later I was off again.
My next stop was when I felt the first of many rain drops to come. I was so excited; I was now prepared for what was to come. I pulled off the side of the road as I saw so many more experienced bikers do before me and dawned my rain suit. Man, I looked good and I looked like I knew what I was doing! I took off again. I soon kept hearing this whipping sound that hadn’t been there before. I didn’t have to be a genius to know something wasn’t right. And it is not usually necessary to be a genius to know you should remove the new tags on your gear. Yes, I must have screamed to anyone passing the other way, “hey, I just bought a new suit!” Once that was removed I was off again and the weather could no longer beat me up. In fact, I was probably too aggressive on the road as a personal statement that the 81 miles of rain was a non-issue.
By Springerville I was once again down to my regular riding clothes and on a mission to get back to Phoenix. If you see the Spot II link you will see I hauled ass. The balance of the ride back was uneventful. My mind started to go a bit blank with all the miles of the past week and my ever increasing body temperature as I got closer to home. I promised my family and a few friends that I would wear a helmet on this trip. I kept that promise all the way until I got to 68th street and Shea. It was so damn hot that the last few miles home were with my helmet hanging on the back of my bike.
I was asked as soon as I got home; would I do it all again? Would I ride alone again on a trip like that? My answer was, “I would do it again next week!”
The Numbers:
Length of trip: 7 days, 5 nights, one day no riding
Total miles: 2562
Longest day: last day at 563 miles
Shortest day: 4th day in Aspen 0 miles
Total fuel used: 58.95 gallons
Fuel cost: $187.42
Average MPG: 43.5
Experience: Priceless