Great Divide Mountain Bike Trip, June 2005

Several years back, HLT and AHT rode roughly 2/5 of the mountain-bike trail between the Canadian and Mexican borders. It follows the continental divide and is roughly 3000 miles long. JMT, Ann, and Bruce joined in to do the most recent segment, 10 days North->South across New Mexico. This was rougly 400 miles; I came along for the final couple of days, from Silver City to Antelope Wells. Most of the trip is on dirt roads; the final day is on a paved road. (But why is it paved in the first place? It's not like there's more than two cars an hour on it...) We had a sag wag along and traded drivers every hour or so. We saw a good number of people both hiking and biking the route, planning on doing however many miles they could in 4 weeks. After the ride, I took it easy driving back the 700 miles to Boulder.

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I arrive at the Silver City RV park at 1:13 AM Friday morning.

JMT munches on rhubarb pies the next morning, a victim of my recent rhubarb-baking kick.

These cows enjoy their freedom behind the gate.

Sag wagon lies behind the cacti. Ooo -- check out the It's Only a Rental song, courtesy of Car Talk!

Bruce in front.

Check out that fancy Slayer!

Ann is dominated by the Slayer.

Some sort of cool plant.

JMT is practically knocked off her bike by the bull snake blocking the path.

Horny toad!!!!!

JMT photographs the non-toad.

HLT studies the instructions to put taro chips into the Camelbak.

Taro chips wish they could grow above ground rather than be silenced to the subterrenean lifestyle to which they are forced.

JMT and Bruce cook up that tasty hippie stew!

Pi is consumed.

Check out that Milky Way! The sky was really quite incredible -- horizon-to-horizon stars, with no moon. Las Cruces, pop. 100,000, is several hours away. No trick photography here -- this is just a 1-minute exposure of the sky.

Sunrise (and also see the nearly-new moon ahead of it).

The idea of the tour is to go along the continental divide (27 crossings in 3000 miles); I-10 takes advantage of its location just as much as we do.

More toads! This one has a substantially higher horniness coefficient than the last one.

Final crossing of the divide.

JMT aims.

JMT runs.

We're now in Hachita, where Ann taking a 2 PM nap underneath the canopy of the general store.

We prepare dinner behind the store. (Will enough ice cream cones get one special treatment in Hachita...?)

Cous-Cous Bruce catches well.

Whoa! Ann is attacked by a large, flying animal. Tarantula wasp? Whatever it is, it's a monster with huge wings.

It is half the radius of a loaf of bread!

I am sure the painting (of a chicken being drawn and quartered between two individuals) has some significance which I have missed.

Philip and Michele in front of their store, still bummed after forgetting the XBox in Truth or Consequences....

Bruce reads in bed.

Mom's feet are held within her sleeping bag as the Milky Way rises over town.

Packing up, morning of day 3.

In spite of the cool brickwork and the industrial-font sign, the church has closed for business, with a big 4x8 sheet of plywood nailed up inside the foyer...

Cows May Exist, according to the sign.

Bulls may also exist, apparently.

Dinosaurs still prowl the area.

JMT shows off her new vehicle.

Cows run from the camera.

Final mile to the border.

HLT decides to bluff her way across the border and not tell them about weapons she may posess.

Here is Officer Balderson, chief superintendent of the Antelope Wells crossing. Note the distinct lack of traffic at his border, specifically in contrast to the newly-enlarged 52 lanes of border-crossing traffic stalls just an hour east at El Paso / Juarez. (`Don't you tell anybody about our crossing here -- we like it just the way it is.') Balderson owns 15 dogs, most of which he says are illegal immigrants who have strayed across the border. He lives in a small brick house with a barbecue grill just behind the office.

JMT has adjusted the superintendent's sprinkler to water his roses. We pack up bikes behind the house.

Mixtures of red and green chile back in Silver City.

OK, time for me to drive back. I hit the road northbound and got near Albuquerque before finding a quiet place sequestered away from traffic to bed down for the night (pictured at left).
I lay down, and an hour later `Paul' drives up, gets out of his vehicle, and asks me if I'm ok (`I thought you were dead, man!'). I tell him I'm fine. I hear him light up a joint as he drives off.
15 minutes later, a cop rolls up with lights flashing. He tells me that, `for your own safety,' he recommends I not stay there, and find a KOA instead. I thank him for his concern and go back to bed.
5 minutes later, the same cop comes back. `Sir, was I not clear enough for you? You will not be sleeping here tonight, and if I come back and find you here again, we're going to have some words.' It wasn't clear that I'd violated any law, but to avoid him interrupting my sleep again, I regretfully packed up out of the sagebrush and headed down to the place he'd recommended: the parking lot of the `Casino Isleta' on the Isleta indian reservation, I-25 exit 252. I reclined the seat back and camped in my car in a far corner of the parking lot.

Two hours later, in the casino parking lot, I wake up to hear someone playing what sounds like radio-bingo in the vehicle next to me.
`B9. G7. Fuck! I'm out again, man...'
I hear him walking around as he keeps talking, so I look up to see what the issue is.
`Hey! We meet again, my friend! How you doin'? I saw your ride here -- I thought I'd come and say hi.'
It's `Paul' from last night. He gets straight to topic.
`So you smoke anything, man?'
Me: `Oh, you know...'
Me: `Hey, it's pretty early, you know... what time is it?
`4 AM, brother.'
I look at the clock; it's 5:39.
`So do you smoke a lot, man?'
Me: `Oh, you know, you know, it's mellow man, you know... mellow...'
`You doin' any crank, man?'
Me: `Oh, not really, you know...'
`Take one, man! A toke would so wake you up.'
Me: `Oh, that's cool, that's cool...'
`You do rock? I got some rock here, man.'
Me: `Oh, that's cool, that's cool...'
`What's up, brother? You just do some bud, yeah?'
Me: `Oh yeah, that's cool, that's cool...'
`What's up, man? Seriously? What do you smoke? What's with that? Just some rock -- I mean, one toke never hurt anybody, you know what I mean? But what am I sayin'... here I am and the narcs are after me -- I mean, I'm on the run, if you get my drift. They're trying to catch me, the fuckers.'
Me: `Oh, that's cool, that's cool... It's all good, man, you know?'
`So where're you headed? You live down here?'
Me: `You know, Denver and stuff. Just chillin', you know...'
Eyeing the interior of my vehicle: `Hey! You got a Palm Pilot in there, man? Oh, you're loaded, brother! Nah, really, I'm just checkin' out your ride. It's sweet. It's a hell of a lot better than mine. I'm just jokin'. Mine's a four-wheel, though. I'll go up to that mountain, drive it around a little. You sure you don't want some crank... wake you right up, you know...'
Me: `You know, you know, it's cool, it's cool...'
`That's cool. Man, those narcs are gonna be after me, you know?'
Me: `Ooo -- man, you know, I think I'll just get headin' here, you know?'
`I ain't scarin' you or anything', am I? Man, whoa, just chill, there...'
Me: `Yeah, just chillin, you know, gotta drive, gotta drive. I'll see you around, you know? Adios, amigo...'

OK. I drive a few hours, have some huevos, take a nap, and end up North of Alamosa just outside the sand dunes. There's a sign for `Colorado Gators', which sounds like a cheezy attraction. I decide not to give them any cash, but I'll go in and see what the scoop is. It turns out they have 600 gators living in year-round courtesy of 87-degree hydrothermal pools at 7000'. Sure enough, they seemed healthy and just the work of one slightly crazy man who's raising tilapia but has a reptile fetish.
Here, my dinosaur meets her possible distant cousins.

This is a pushme-pullya-style gecko.

I forget what this is, but it looks like a tube of toothpaste (much bigger, though).

Note the 14,000' peaks in the background...

Trixie is slightly concerned about the whole thing. She feels she would be more comfortable around her relatives the birds...

Careful of those horns...

On the beautiful drive back...

Henry Throop

Last modified Wed Jun 15 17:27:28 2005

	I arrive at the Silver City RV park at 1:13 AM Friday morning.
	JMT munches on rhubarb pies the next morning, a victim of my recent rhubarb-baking kick.

	These cows enjoy their freedom behind the gate.
	Sag wagon lies behind the cacti. Ooo -- check out the It's Only a Rental song, courtesy of Car Talk!

	Bruce in front.

	Check out that fancy Slayer!
	Ann is dominated by the Slayer.

	Some sort of cool plant.

	JMT is practically knocked off her bike by the bull snake blocking the path.





	Horny toad!!!!!
	JMT photographs the non-toad.
	HLT studies the instructions to put taro chips into the Camelbak.


	Taro chips wish they could grow above ground rather than be silenced to the subterrenean lifestyle to which they are forced.
	JMT and Bruce cook up that tasty hippie stew!
	Pi is consumed.









	Check out that Milky Way! The sky was really quite incredible -- horizon-to-horizon stars, with no moon. Las Cruces, pop. 100,000, is several hours away. No trick photography here -- this is just a 1-minute exposure of the sky.



	Sunrise (and also see the nearly-new moon ahead of it).
	The idea of the tour is to go along the continental divide (27 crossings in 3000 miles); I-10 takes advantage of its location just as much as we do.

	More toads! This one has a substantially higher horniness coefficient than the last one.
	Final crossing of the divide.
	JMT aims.
	JMT runs.
	We're now in Hachita, where Ann taking a 2 PM nap underneath the canopy of the general store.
	We prepare dinner behind the store. (Will enough ice cream cones get one special treatment in Hachita...?)
	Cous-Cous Bruce catches well.
	Whoa! Ann is attacked by a large, flying animal. Tarantula wasp? Whatever it is, it's a monster with huge wings.
	It is half the radius of a loaf of bread!

	I am sure the painting (of a chicken being drawn and quartered between two individuals) has some significance which I have missed.

	Philip and Michele in front of their store, still bummed after forgetting the XBox in Truth or Consequences....
	Bruce reads in bed.

	Mom's feet are held within her sleeping bag as the Milky Way rises over town.
	Packing up, morning of day 3.
	In spite of the cool brickwork and the industrial-font sign, the church has closed for business, with a big 4x8 sheet of plywood nailed up inside the foyer...


	Cows May Exist, according to the sign.
	Bulls may also exist, apparently.
	Dinosaurs still prowl the area.

	JMT shows off her new vehicle.
	Cows run from the camera.
	Final mile to the border.
	HLT decides to bluff her way across the border and not tell them about weapons she may posess.

	Here is Officer Balderson, chief superintendent of the Antelope Wells crossing. Note the distinct lack of traffic at his border, specifically in contrast to the newly-enlarged 52 lanes of border-crossing traffic stalls just an hour east at El Paso / Juarez. (`Don't you tell anybody about our crossing here -- we like it just the way it is.') Balderson owns 15 dogs, most of which he says are illegal immigrants who have strayed across the border. He lives in a small brick house with a barbecue grill just behind the office.
	JMT has adjusted the superintendent's sprinkler to water his roses. We pack up bikes behind the house.




	Mixtures of red and green chile back in Silver City.
	OK, time for me to drive back. I hit the road northbound and got near Albuquerque before finding a quiet place sequestered away from traffic to bed down for the night (pictured at left). I lay down, and an hour later `Paul' drives up, gets out of his vehicle, and asks me if I'm ok (`I thought you were dead, man!'). I tell him I'm fine. I hear him light up a joint as he drives off. 15 minutes later, a cop rolls up with lights flashing. He tells me that, `for your own safety,' he recommends I not stay there, and find a KOA instead. I thank him for his concern and go back to bed. 5 minutes later, the same cop comes back. `Sir, was I not clear enough for you? You will not be sleeping here tonight, and if I come back and find you here again, we're going to have some words.' It wasn't clear that I'd violated any law, but to avoid him interrupting my sleep again, I regretfully packed up out of the sagebrush and headed down to the place he'd recommended: the parking lot of the `Casino Isleta' on the Isleta indian reservation, I-25 exit 252. I reclined the seat back and camped in my car in a far corner of the parking lot.
	Two hours later, in the casino parking lot, I wake up to hear someone playing what sounds like radio-bingo in the vehicle next to me. `B9. G7. Fuck! I'm out again, man...' I hear him walking around as he keeps talking, so I look up to see what the issue is. `Hey! We meet again, my friend! How you doin'? I saw your ride here -- I thought I'd come and say hi.' It's `Paul' from last night. He gets straight to topic. `So you smoke anything, man?' Me: `Oh, you know...' Me: `Hey, it's pretty early, you know... what time is it? `4 AM, brother.' I look at the clock; it's 5:39. `So do you smoke a lot, man?' Me: `Oh, you know, you know, it's mellow man, you know... mellow...' `You doin' any crank, man?' Me: `Oh, not really, you know...' `Take one, man! A toke would so wake you up.' Me: `Oh, that's cool, that's cool...' `You do rock? I got some rock here, man.' Me: `Oh, that's cool, that's cool...' `What's up, brother? You just do some bud, yeah?' Me: `Oh yeah, that's cool, that's cool...' `What's up, man? Seriously? What do you smoke? What's with that? Just some rock -- I mean, one toke never hurt anybody, you know what I mean? But what am I sayin'... here I am and the narcs are after me -- I mean, I'm on the run, if you get my drift. They're trying to catch me, the fuckers.' Me: `Oh, that's cool, that's cool... It's all good, man, you know?' `So where're you headed? You live down here?' Me: `You know, Denver and stuff. Just chillin', you know...' Eyeing the interior of my vehicle: `Hey! You got a Palm Pilot in there, man? Oh, you're loaded, brother! Nah, really, I'm just checkin' out your ride. It's sweet. It's a hell of a lot better than mine. I'm just jokin'. Mine's a four-wheel, though. I'll go up to that mountain, drive it around a little. You sure you don't want some crank... wake you right up, you know...' Me: `You know, you know, it's cool, it's cool...' `That's cool. Man, those narcs are gonna be after me, you know?' Me: `Ooo -- man, you know, I think I'll just get headin' here, you know?' `I ain't scarin' you or anything', am I? Man, whoa, just chill, there...' Me: `Yeah, just chillin, you know, gotta drive, gotta drive. I'll see you around, you know? Adios, amigo...'
	OK. I drive a few hours, have some huevos, take a nap, and end up North of Alamosa just outside the sand dunes. There's a sign for `Colorado Gators', which sounds like a cheezy attraction. I decide not to give them any cash, but I'll go in and see what the scoop is. It turns out they have 600 gators living in year-round courtesy of 87-degree hydrothermal pools at 7000'. Sure enough, they seemed healthy and just the work of one slightly crazy man who's raising tilapia but has a reptile fetish. Here, my dinosaur meets her possible distant cousins.
	This is a pushme-pullya-style gecko.
	I forget what this is, but it looks like a tube of toothpaste (much bigger, though).








	Note the 14,000' peaks in the background...
	Trixie is slightly concerned about the whole thing. She feels she would be more comfortable around her relatives the birds...

	Careful of those horns...

	On the beautiful drive back...