Virtual-Doug

Trip Map

This is in answer to Paul's question about my routes on the Las Vegas trip.

The top map is on the way to Las Vegas, and the bottom is the way back home.

Homeward Bound

Ah, bliss.  The morning I was to leave Albuquerque, I headed to the the Owl Cafe.  I had to use my last opportunity to get huevos rancheros New Mexico style - in other words, with lots of green chile.  I wish I had remembered to get a photo of the place on the way out - the architecture is distinctive - but I did remember to buy a black Owl Cafe t-shirt.

There was a nice nip in the air as I headed east on old Route 66.  At the town of Tijeras, I turned south along a comfortably bendy two-laner.  Ah, delight - riding through old towns, some of them land grants from the days when Spain owned the area.  Old churches in decaying villages as I rode on nice curvy roads along the side of the Manzano mountains.

Too soon, I came back out onto the eastern plains of New Mexico.  The landscape flattened out and soon oil rigs appeared.  Southeastern New Mexico is atop part of the big Permian Basin oil fields, which are being awakened from decades of decline by the advent of new technologies.  Before the trip, I had wondered why motel room rates were so high - and now I knew its because the demand for rooms from the many new oilfield workers.  Simple supply and demand.

I arrived in Artesia much too early to end the day, so I cancelled the motel reservations and rode on.  I disliked crossing into Texas - I enjoyed the “ooo and ah” as people saw the license plate on my scooter that placed me far from home.  Once back in Texas, I was just another bike.

I had a bit of a hard time finding a room in San Angelo. It seems the fracking oil boom has hit there too, and most rooms were taken by oil field workers.

I wanted to make it home the next day, so Saturday morning, I was up before the dawn and on my way.  About an hour down the road, I found a bakery in Eldorado.  Two things about Eldorado:  first, the bakery was run by an Asian couple.  When I asked the woman “You aren’t from around here, are you?”, she replied with a thick accent that she had just moved from Pennsylvania.  I was to find out later that she and her husband are Cambodian.  The other prominent note about Eldorado is that it is the home of the Yearning for Zion Ranch  - the headquarters of the fundamentalist and polygamist break away Mormon sect which was raided for child abuse awhile back.  

I cut across the southern end of the Texas Hill Country, then into the border city of Laredo.  Mistake in doing that - way too much traffic.  But Laredo also meant I was getting close to home, and as rain clouds threatened, I boogied alongside the Rio Grande until I saw the home fires burning.

So - was it a great trip?

Hell yes!  I loved it - meeting the challenges of riding 3,600 miles on a 400 cc scooter. From the subfreezing morning in Portales to the Mojave desert, from flat plains to mountain twisties, it was a lot of fun.

Wonder where I’ll go next.

Onwards to Albuquerque

Okay - I admit it.  I rode into Colorado just enough to be able to say I was in the state.  My goal on this trip was to ride through seven states, and I've done it.  Fourteen states down - only thirty six to go.

Last night I stayed at a motel that serves Monument Valley.  Think the landscape of a Roadrunner cartoon.  Spectacular.  Some of the formations leaked outside the park and stayed right there waiting for me to photograph it.

On the way into New Mexico last week, somebody had stolen the welcome sign, so I had to get a shot of the New Mexico sign on the Arizona side.

I got to Bloomfield, and while gassing up, saw  Blake's Lotaburger across the street.  For a former New Mexican like me, who still craves green chile, a Lotaburger with cheese and green chile is heaven in the mouth.  Good stuff - and the chile made my chapped lips smart a little.

At one time, US Route 550 was the most dangerous highway in the state, with the three lane road making for many head-on collisions while cars were passing.  Its all four lane now.

But the spring winds of New Mexico were about.  They got pretty fierce, and as I rode into Albuquerque from the north, I saw a dust storm approaching.  The gusts were strong enough to make the cars and trucks slow down.

Dinner with old friends Carol and Larry,  Good ol' flat enchiladas with green chile and an egg on top.  Oh yum!  The food was almost as good as the conversation.

Life is good.

(States visited so far.)

Onward to Las Vegas

I love being in the desert.  We once lived in the high desert of Albuquerque, NM, where the humidity was extremely low.  But my body has become accustomed to high humidity while living in the Rio Grande Valley of Deep South Texas, and protested the dryness a little in Wickenburg, AZ, where it was drier than a popcorn fart.  I set out on the last leg of the trip with cracked lips, dry nose and dry skin - and the humidity was 9%.

I had to stop and take some photos of the area - it reminded me so much of New Mexico, with the faux colonial and pueblo style buildings, with rugged mountains in the distance.

(Be sure to click on each photo to see a larger version.)

It is serious desert from Phoenix to Las Vegas.  The road is dotted with little towns that have largely been abandoned.  I loved the name of the only church in Hope, AZ.

I had lots of time to think and reflect as the miles rolled under my wheels.  I have often derided the boredom of driving through The Big Empty of West Texas and eastern New Mexico, yet I enjoyed riding through the Mojave Desert.  I suppose local riders see nothing to like about the rides through the desert, but would be intrigued by West Texas, seeing the crop circles created by the irrigation systems, the oil pump jacks and the (newish) wind farms.  I guess it is what you are used to seeing.  I was intrigued by the desert.

There are a lot more riders out here in the west than there are in south Texas.  Leaving Wickenburg, I was passed by a rider on a BMW R1200R.  I spotted him filling up, and pulled over to talk to him - a man about my age.  Funny thing, we kept seeing each other the rest of the day, including while stopped for lunch in Needles, CA.

I traveled to Las Vegas for a military reunion, and I won't bore  you with tales of old men.  The older we are, the better we were.  But, it was so great to see Bill Paquette, my radio operator way back then.  I never expected to see Bill again after he was grievously wounded in 1967.  It was also great to see Ken Buchert, my commanding officer who taught me what it meant to be a good and honorable officer.

After the reunion, I'll be back on the road and going through a bit of southern Utah.

Across the 48th State

The high mountain town of Eagar, AZ, was gorgeous in the early morning light.  When I went to breakfast, it was 39 degrees, yet when I returned to my room, it was already 45.  The sun was warming the world quickly, so I eschewed the long johns, yet still wore the other stuff.  I filled the tank at a convenience store that wasn't open yet (but the pumps were on), then down the road towards Show Low.

This was the kind of morning that keeps me coming back to riding.  Bright sun, gorgeous high mountain scenery, no traffic.  I came upon high mountain ponds as well as elk crossing signs,  I had bugs in my teeth.

A cup of coffee in Show Low, then I began the long drop from over 7,000 feet to Phoenix' 1,500 feet - the change from 39 degrees to Phoenix' 91.  I had to shed some extra clothes as I descended.

Phoenix must have a lot of motorcyclists.  I waved at lots of them as they rode up into the mountains - I suppose to get out of the heat and to ride some twisties.  Lots of chrome - clean chrome - not dirty bikes like mine.  I may ride a scooter, but at least its not a garage queen.  Stopping for gas in Payson, I struck up a conversation with a three Harley riders, and I fielded the usual "You rode from Texas on THAT?"  One of them had owned his bike for seven years and had 5,000 miles on it.  I've owned my scoot for two years and just turned 27,000 miles.

I made a mistake in my trip planning - I routed myself through Phoenix.  Yuck!  Saturday traffic - people out shopping, retirees poking along, and lots of stop-and-go.  Once out of the city, I was out on the desert - very different from the mountains.  The town of Wickenburg is a small artsy cowboy kinda town.  

Next stop - Las Vegas after a ride through the desert.

Across Fifty Four Shades of Brown

I woke up at half past ridiculous, but having gone to bed early, I was refreshed and ready to go.  An hour before sunrise in Portales, New Mexico, I opened my motel room door and found out it was colder than a mother in law's heart.  Twenty seven degrees was a bit chilly for riding.

So I bundled up with everything - long johns, t-shirt, flannel shirt, fleece jacket, liner and finally, my riding jacket.  Long johns, riding pants liner, then riding pants.  Fur-lined gloves with liner.  I felt like the Michelin Man.

Dawn was just breaking as I left town, heading west across the last cultivated land I would see the rest of the day.  After an hour, I just had to stop for coffee and breakfast.  My hands were very cold.

 

But, coffee, eggs and sausage warmed the heart and hands and I was off again.  The land slowly changed from scrub to short grasses and scruffy bushes, then finally I came to the New Mexico I love - the sculpted rocks with mountains.  And yes - the famous fifty four shades of brown of the New Mexico landscape.

Lunch was in Socorro - New Mexico style enchiladas, meaning they are served flat rather than rolled, with green chile (of course) and an egg on top.  Oh yum - heaven in my tummy.

And the rest of the high altitude ride (my GPS showed over 8,000 feet), was wonderful, riding through places like Pie Town and Datil.

The bike?  She gave me a scare as I left Portales as the headlights did not work.  But I think this was the first time she had been below freezing.  After a little warmth, the lights came on and she ran beautifully for the rest of the day.

Bedtime found me in the White Mountains of Arizona.  A shower was much needed and much enjoyed.  The weather forecast said it would be below freezing again in the morning, but as the day wore on, I would be riding down out of the mountains into Phoenix - where it would be in the 80s.  Hmmm - gonna have to find a place to shed the long johns and flannel shirt.

Life is good.

From Hill Country to the Big Empty

The weather front was due to come through Kerrville the early morning, so when the lighting flash awakened me at 5:30, that was fine with me. Breakfast at six while I watched the rain and packed up.  By the time I loaded the bike, the rain had stopped.  Leaving Kerrville, there was no wind but the temperature was dropping.

The wind came in ten minutes - sharp and from the north.  But the Texas Hill Country is a motorcyclist's dream - lots of twisties and whopp-dee-dos.  The winding ranch roads I took were great - little streams, old houses, sheep grazing.

(As always, be sure to click on the photo to see a larger version.)

 

 

Then the land flattens out into an area mostly level, but dotted with mesas and buttes.  There are lots of ranches, but cowboy country has a new industry - wind farms, generating electricity.  The West Texas wind is constant.

 

 

 

 

Went through London. 

The temperatures were in the high 40s, but it was the 35-40 mph wind that made me cold.    "Hey Doug - there's always wind on a moving motorcycle."  True, but my scooter has a lot of protection - windscreen, fairing, even protection for the legs and feet.  But the wind was from the north, and I was often traveling west.  The cross wind frosted my right side a bit, necessitating a few stops for hot chocolate.  The wind also ruined my gas mileage.  I usually run about 60-62 miles per gallon, but the stiff wind cut that to 52.  One tank was a never-before-seen 48 mpg.  Ugh!  That's the kind a mileage a Harley gets.

Eventually I moved out onto the plains - not a mesa in sight - just lots of farm land irrigated with water from an aquifer.  The land is incredibly flat.  One town is known as Levelland.

 

As I was leaving Texas, the wind began to drop.  The sun warmed me up a little and I began to look forward to the end of the day's ride.  There was no sign welcoming me to New Mexico, but I knew it without any sign.  The wide two-lane Texas country road with the broad shoulders gave way to a narrow road with no shoulders - and was very bumpy.

But I was in New Mexico and I celebrated with a bowl of green chile stew.

Las Vegas and Back - on a Scooter

(Note:  I am posting this and subsequent road stories late.  For reasons known only to the computer gods, I could not post during the trip.  I started this trip on April 17.)

It was beyond humid.  As I was packing the scooter this morning, I looked at the sky expecting rain, but the weatherman said no - just low clouds.  I was still inside my subdivision when the humidity became liquid.  No, not rain - just enough moisture to crap up the windshield.

And I was off on a ten day ride - five days to get to Las Vegas, three days at the reunion of the men of B 3/7 Infantry I served with in 1967, then five days back.  Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, California, Nevada, Utah and Colorado.  The weather stayed cloudy with a hint of mist all during the day - and it was windy.  Fortunately, it was behind me most of the time.

Riding the back roads, I came across the Eagle Ford shale area south of San Antonio.  This is brush country, and until recently was good only for ranching.  But the development of the technology known as fracking has turned places like Cotulla and Tilden into boomtowns.  The two-lane road is traveled by lots of heavy trucks - and had some signs I had never seen before.

Seismic testing?  I knew they were searching for more oil shale, but I half expected the feel the ground tremble.  

I refueled at Tilden, then put some more miles behind me before enjoying a plate of huevos rancheros at a cracked vinyl seat Mexican restaurant in Jourdanton.  Back on the road, I was happy to finally roll into the Texas hill country.  South Texas is boringly flat - not much excitement riding through endless miles of flat brushy terrain.  As I neared Bandera, the rocky hills began and nicer vistas opened up.  The road was not exactly the twisties, but it was a lot more interesting than the first hours of the ride.

In my room in Kerrville - tomorrow will be a much longer day.

The Long Ride Home

I've made the trip from the Houston/Galveston area before - there's no sense in boring the reader with all that.  Besides the fact that temperatures were well into the 90s and I ran into a stiff wind all day, the last leg of the trip was unremarkable.

But the whole trip - the entire 3,085 mile trip - was fabulous!  I enjoyed every single minute of it - even the rain-soaked days, the times I was on the Interstate, the times when I got lost, the times when I was flipping up my helmet to sneeze.  All of that was enjoyable.

Why did I enjoy it?

My answer is similar to that of the mountain climber - a variation on "Because its there."  It was challenging and I found that I had set a challenge for myself that I could meet.

For me, a large part of the quality of life is determined by taking risks - calculated risk.  Different people may calculate their risks differently, and I am not just talking about physical risk.  Going to live in Việt Nam is an example.  There was no physical risk involved - Việt Nam is a very safe place to live.  But, living there meant I had to retire early and that incurred financial risks.  As any investor knows, the greater the risk, the better the potential payoff.  The "investment" in going to Việt Nam has paid off handsomely for Cindy and me.  Our reward is to have these wonderful Vietnamese kids in our lives.

Risk keeps you sharp.  If you are trying to mitigate the possible harm from taking a risk, you must think and plan and work.  I like that.  My terror lies in becoming a TV vegetable, rendered incapable of thinking or doing, but only sitting in front of the television.  I truly believe God gave each of us something important to do with our lives, and if we are afraid to take risks, we are afraid to accomplish what we are called to do. 

If you are familiar with real Christianity, you know it requires the follower to take what is perceived as a huge risk - you are asked to trust God.  Yes - I am aware that combining motorcycle riding with Christianity is a bit strange, but the connection is that to do either requires taking risks.

Riding long distances on two wheels satisfies the need to take risks. To be honest, there is little physical risk.  Ask any motorcyclist - riding city streets is much more dangerous than riding highways. But, being out in the weather is invigorating, as is the view.  You see things from a bike that you don’t see from a car.

I don’t have a music system on my bike - and that is on purpose.  Being a bit of a loner, I enjoy the time to have conversations with myself - to think about things - to ponder - to be introspective.  Maybe I could have been a monk, except I’m not crazy about the celibacy thing. 

Most riders are surprised I took such a long trip on such a small bike.  Yeah - 400cc is kinda small, and while I can cruise comfortably at 65-70 mph, there were a few times when I would have liked to have a few more ponies under me.

Will I do it again?  Oh yeah - I have some ideas rattling around in my head.

Onward to Houston

The ride from Crowley, LA,  to Houston was scheduled to be the shortest day of the ride -a  mere four hours.  I wanted to enjoy dinner with Trang, now a doctoral student at the University of Houston, so I planned to take my time, yet still have time to get into my motel room, then ride to her apartment.

From this photo, taken in a tiny town near the coast, can you tell what area I am in?  Its Cajun country - the "French Culture" as they refer to it. The small town of Gueydan is in the heart of the state's rice growing area and calls itself "The Duck Capital."

(If you can't read the top line of text on the sign, click on the photo and you will see a larger version.)

As I ride through the rural American South and in many rural areas of West Texas, I see places like this.   Seeing them makes me curious - what is the story behind these old broken homes?  Was there a family fight when the family scion passed away?  Did the kids move away from home to find a job? Did the former owners just get tired of floods and hurricanes?  I'll never know, of course, but it is fun to let the imagination run wild while riding.

But I soon came to Lake Charles, Louisiana, and I got on the Interstate.

Yuck - how I dislike the Iinterstate when I'm riding.  Oh, the bike does just fine, but the noise of the big trucks when they are right next to you is deafening.  People drive too fast - or worse, too slow - and nobody seems to see the world outside their windows.  I crossed the river and the state line, then got off the super slab and back onto some small roads.  I found a Mexican cafe for lunch, then launched into Houston traffic, headed for the area around Hobby Airport on I-45.  Again - the definition of craziness is the interstate highway.

As always, it did my heart wonders to spend time with Trang.  Strangely, we didn't go out for Vietnamese food as I didn't want to ride all the way over to the Bellaire area.  It spooks me to have her on the back of the bike without her wearing real protective gear.

As I rode back to my motel room after saying goodbye, I thought about the next leg of the trip was ahead.  Eager to get home, yet truly enjoying the trip.