Sleeping by the tracks

After leaving Albuquerque, I was starting to take on a very driven mentality. I had lost some time in the Denver area, and if I wanted to making it back home by Thanksgiving, I needed to book it. My brother and sister-in-law were coming back home, and I hadn't seen them in a couple years. Since Thanksgiving is a pretty big deal with my family, I made it a priority to get home by then. I don't regret taking extra time in the Denver area; it just made the return trip a little tight on time. So, once I got out of high elevation where I needed to find homes to stay in, and thus could camp out in the lower desert, I decided to hold a pretty strong pace.

After I went over the mountains in New Mexico, I was dead focused on making it to Texas by the end of the week. So the next day, I was racing to make distance. However, I quickly realized that, in the desert, there aren't many little towns to stop in, for water or to camp for the night. This kind of presents a problem, especially in the desert. I didn't realize how cold the desert gets at night. I mean, it's the desert, right? Heh.

So, I leave Mountainair, NM, trying to head to the next town, forty miles away. And then the sun sets, and the temperature drops, and my legs start getting tired. And on this road in the desert, there is no sign of human dwelling, only the trucks passing me on the road and the trains passing on the rails. So, what do I do? I find a random pull-off on the highway that's used by railroad workers, where there are some electrical boxes and propane tanks right next to the railroad. (The tracks are only about 50 feet from the road). And I make camp behind these big propane tanks, between the highway and the railroad, and try to stay warm. I think I was pretty well hidden, since no one came by and gave me any trouble in the middle of the night. I did hear some coyotes come by late in the night though...... It turns out that on this section of railroad, a train comes by about every 15 minutes, rumbling right by my tent. All in all, I didn't get the most sleep that night. But, it's all good, because I made pancakes in the morning. Heck, yes!

Heading east

On Wednesday, I headed out from Rio Rancho, NM, only to have to turn around a mile down the road. My bike was giving me troubles, out of nowhere. For those that know bikes, the derailleur hanger was bent inwards, throwing off the real axle, the derailleur, and the brake rotor. Things I couldn't fix. But Cris is kinda my hero, and he gave me a life to a bike shop, which fixed it for free. Sweet!

After that, I left for good, and rode through Albuquerque, down south to Belen. It was an odd type of beauty that New Mexico has. The mountains run in a line from north to south, and Albuquerque is nestled at the foot of Sandia's Peak. Sandia's is some kind of desert mountain I suppose, with impressive height in the midst of arid plains, but unlike the Colorado mountains, there's little greenery or snow on it. It's a red-brown protrusion in the ground, like someone took a chisel and punched a dent in the earth from the other side. And the string of mountains continued down all the way along my route. A beautiful accompaniment under the desert sun.

Thursday night and Friday morning were full of weird experiences, mainly just interactions with people. I was asking around town about a place to camp out, and I met a guy named Mike who was super sympathetic and helpful. As it turns out, he's with the Army, and does black ops in Afghanistan, most of it he can't even tell me about. I was totally taken off guard, since he's such a chill guy, not giving off any stereotypical rough-and-tumble feel. But he drove me to the fire department, let me use his sleeping bag, and promised me some MRE's for the ride the next day (freaking sweet!).

The guys at the fire department were cool that night, and let me use a side lot to camp out in. I got to chat with some of the guys there - all in all a good night.

Next morning, though, things changed, I suppose. I was relaxing, eating breakfast at the fire station, taking my time, when one of the firemen, off-duty I think (maybe the chief?), drove up to me, and told me to get off the property. I was still waking up, not completely coherent but completely taken off-guard, and I just said, “huh?” He said something along the lines of “We can't have you all sprawled out like that.” Apparently, I was sprawled out too much. Whatever. So, I started packing things up, which took another 30 minutes, and he watched me from the other side of the parking lot.

Not only that, but Mike, who said he would call me the next morning, never called me or came by, which was totally weird since he kept saying he would at least come by. He's left a message on my phone since then, so I'm assuming something came up. Weird though.

I stuck around for a while, as I also had to make a decision about what I was going to be doing come January. I sat outside the Belen library for over an hour, mentally debating, weighing my options, going back and forth, trying to figure out God's voice. After I finally made a decision, which I didn't feel completely confident about, I left and headed south.

I cut through the New Mexican mountains, and headed across the desert for home, finally heading back east. Fleeing the sunset, I suppose.

Down into Albuquerque

I left Santa Fe, and rode on to Rio Rancho, NM, after resting on Sunday. It was a sweet ride, as it was only 50 miles, and pretty much all downhill – soooo nice to be reaping the rewards of altitude. It started out rather rough, with a flat tire, a broken spoke, and a derailleur gone crazy in the span of about 5 miles. But, I didn't get super frustrated this time. I just fixed them and went on, for the most part, since I was equipped to do so. I felt confident for once, that I could make it home, that God would work things out and help me deal with the random contingencies that arise. And I made it to Rio Rancho.

I hung out with good friend Cristobal Duran, and stayed with his family, which was a blast! His mom makes amazing Mexican food, and I'm pretty sure I was spoiled for the several days I was there. She has inspired me to make chilaquiles when I get home. More than the food, it was cool to hang out with their family for a couple days, to kick it with Cris and his siblings. I was very impressed at the cohesion of their family; they were all so close, so very close, and there was nothing melodramatic or disingenuous about it. They were just tight. And their parents seemed like very down to earth leaders. Mr. Duran had a very impressive nature about him, a quiet, soft-spoken kind of strength and a strong devotion to God, and he led his family in that way. It was cool to be a part of that for a couple days. Big thanks to them for letting me stay there and hang out!

While I was in the Albuquerque area, I also had the chance to hang out with a guy named Tom Seamon, a NYC native transplanted to New Mexico. I happened to meet him on the side of the road coming from Alamosa, and we ended up having lunch in Albuquerque. We checked out the Old Town, historic district of the city, and I got to hear his story, including some sweet stories about driving a nuclear submarine during the Cold War, and almost being a part of the start of nuclear war. Good thing it was almost.

I also had a chance to hear about his life-long journey with his homosexuality, and hear about how he dealt with it over the years. Even more interesting, he shared how he blended his Christian beliefs with his homosexuality, which he now openly admits to. As I listened, it was incredibly eye-opening to hear the story from his vantage point, from someone who been through struggles with his sexuality for years, and has been in the church during the whole time. His experiences carry a weight far more powerful than any logical argument or rationale, and will definitely give me something to think about. Thanks so much for hanging out and sharing, Tom! You'll be in my thoughts and prayers.

Things do work out. Really.

Next day, I got to hang out with Soraya for a little while. She was such a big help, taking me to the bike shop to get my spokes fixed and get the tools I need to fix it on the road. It was good to get it taken care of, but it definitely would have made it hard to get to Santa Fe that late in the day. But, Soraya was so gracious, and offered to give me a lift to Santa Fe.

She also let me borrow her jeep that afternoon to check out Taos. Crazy, right? Letting a scruffy-looking guy borrow your car, just to see the area? I mean, sounds crazy to me, but I was/am so thankful. You're awesome Soraya!

So, I went for a drive through the mountains to Taos Ski Valley. Man, it was so beautiful. I took this little road that wound through the desert for a few miles until it hit the foot of the mountains. As you approach, you see this wall of peaks, like a line of soldiers standing in a tight row; just desert for miles, and then mountain after mountain marking the end of the flats, a line in the sand. Then, the road finds a gap in the line, and start making its way between mountain after mountain, alongside a small creek.

I stopped at a little pull-off and had lunch – my exquisite diet of tuna and cucumber sandwiches :). The creek was running by, rushing over some stones in the stream-bed, and massive evergreen trees towering overhead. The setting sun was casting its rays here and there throughout the valley. I was just overwhelmed by God's peace. (It's ridiculous how the emotions of one day can completely contrast the emotions of the next). I was so blessed to have made it here, have my bike taken care of, and have a way to Santa Fe arranged. And what more could I ask for, sitting alongside that mountain stream with nothing but the sound of flowing water, and food to eat. It was so refreshing after the previous day. Before I left, I sang “Come Thou Fount” at the top of my lungs, standing there in the little valley.

Soraya gave me lift to Santa Fe, and I stayed that night with a guy named Alan Sharpio. I stayed another day in Santa Fe, taking a Sabbath day to rest and catch up. Thanks so much Soraya for the lift and everything, and thanks so much to Alan for letting me stay a couple days.

Broken, on the side of the road

Next day, I left Alamosa, and I felt like I could conquer the world. Right? I mean, I just beat the Rockies, so the flats of the San Luis Valley, down to Taos? Ain't no thing! Shoot! ….. Right.

I headed south, trying to hold a steady pace. I got to Antonito by around lunch time, and stopped at a church there to eat. I was feeling restless in my spirit though. Again, I was coming back to trying to hear God's voice, and develop my ability to do so. And it was still very much frustrating, mainly because I'm not good at it. I had been told that it would be downhill to Taos from Antonito, but outside of town, I definitely started climbing. And climbed, and climbed. My frustration was mounting, up to the New Mexico border. And I broke a spoke on my wheel – a wheel on which I had two spokes replaced in Denver. And I starting losing it. You'd think I'd have some confidence after the day before, but I was very comforted in that moment. I was in the middle of nowhere, no bike shops till maybe Taos, which was 60 miles away. Just a sign a hundred yards ahead that said “Welcome to New Mexico” on it. I was irritated, and I started questioning God if He was opposing me on this trip. I was wondering if I was Jonah, if maybe I was supposed to end the trip in Denver, if I wasn't supposed to make it back to Russellville. I tried listening, to hear what God was trying to tell me, but again, I couldn't discern God's voice out of the turbulence in my mind. And so I got even more frustrated, audibly shouting, “Just let me hear you! Make it clear!” Did God want me to go back to Denver? I didn't know. I knew I wanted to keep on going, and make it home.

I kept going, slowly, trudging uphill, but slowly breaking down. When I got to the foot of San Antonio Peak, amidst the chaos in my mind of my objections and emotions, I heard, “Get on your knees.” What? Here? In the middle of nowhere, kind of the desert, on the shoulder of the highway? “Couldn't hurt, I guess, at this point.” So I stopped, and knelt, still very frustrated and fed up. And God exposed my heart, my pride, my lack of submission to Him. I still held onto the trip as my own. I wanted to finish it, no matter what, to make it home, and I really wasn't willing to change my plans for Him. Even after all that had happened, I still held onto it, and wouldn't let Him take it. It was proud and selfish, and He broke me down, on the side of the road. Painfully, I gave it up, and let it go. If He wanted me to turn around, I would, and I meant it. And I felt Him say, “That's all I wanted.” Now, I maintained the option of Him turning me around, but I just needed very clear instruction. Very clear. But it never came.

I limped my bike along to Taos, breaking another spoke before the day was done. And it was downhill to Taos, but just the last 20 miles. Anyway, Soraya Perez was awesome enough to pick me up in her Jeep outside of town, and we got to hang out that night. Such a refreshing ending to a draining day.

My Mountain

So this was it, the big day that I had been anticipating and amping up for – my ride over the Rockies. Well, part of them at least. I want to go through the San Luis valley (Blanca Peak, Alamosa, Taos, Santa Fe, etc) because I knew that area was beautiful, and I wanted to do some mountain climbing on this trip. I mean, I'm a guy. I need a mountain to climb. Or in the cycling world, a mountain pass to summit. So this was it – La Veta Pass. 9200+ feet, with over a mile of net elevation change, and 75 mile ride from start to finish (Walsenburg to Alamosa).

So, Mark drops me off in Walsenburg (thanks again!), and I head toward the Rockies. I made a steady pace for the first 5 miles, and then it hit. Worst headwind ever. Or at least for me, on this trip. 50 mph, I'm guessing, straight from the west. I usually don't look at my speedometer much, because it usually depresses me, but I looked that day. It was depressing – 6 mph. I mean, you can run that fast, easy. But, it quickly became a mental battle – could I hang in there, no matter how long it took, no matter if the wind relented or not? Sure, I could gear down, and go slow. But could I hang in there, and see the day through? I thank God that He gave me the sanity to trust in Him, and I knew He would carry me through. Again, the physical journey became a spiritual battle – me and JC vs. the other guy and his stupid wind. And we made it to the top (where I was singing “Undefeated” by Audio Adrenaline at the top of my spent lungs), and down the other side.

On the other side of the mountains, the wind died. Just the majestic view of Blanca Peak, right over my shoulder. It was dangerous at times, because I didn't want to watch the road – just stare to my right at an impressive image of serenity, a towering watchmen over the valley. I made it, that day, by 7:30 PM, and was greeted in Alamosa by the hospitality of Don Thompson and Jan Oen. Thanks so much for a bed to sleep in after a long day! We had done it - we had bested the wind and the mountains.

You just don't go fast on a bike!

After Pueblo, I headed south to Walsenburg, CO. Like always on my trip, I got a late start in the morning. For some reason, I move incredibly slow in the mornings. It's a fact of life that I have just come to accept. Seriously, from the time I wake up to the time I'm on the road, typically two hours have passed. Some days three. It's deeply frustrating, and usually ends up ruining my mornings. I get on the road late, and then I'm stressed out trying to make up time, and when the afternoon comes and I'm still behind schedule, I end up just trying to talk myself out of stress. It's a vicious cycle of being slow, and stressing out because I'm behind schedule.

Anyway, after finally getting out of Pueblo, I hope on I-25, only to find a lovely headwind coming out of the mountains. It might have taken me 3 hours to go a litte over 20 miles, as well as draining all my energy. And I though I was in shape..... The entire way to Colorado City (first leg of the day) I was so stressed and frustrated, because I had told Mark Schneider, the guy who I was staying with, I was going to meet him in Walsenburg. All morning, I just kept fighting the headwind trying to make up time to meet him, and just got angrier and angrier (it's surprising how much a little wind can alter your demeanor). But, after lunch, and accepting the fact that I may be late, and I might be the slowest person in the world, the second half of the day was fun, and cruised into Walsenburg before Mark did. It's funny how a change in perspective makes all the difference.

I stayed with Mark and Val Schneider, who live in an adobe house that they made themselves. They grow a lot of their own food, have their own well, the works. They have a super cool set-up, and were really hospitable to this hobo on a bike. And they had great apple pie. Thanks Mark and Val!