Windy West Texas

The next day, I rode on to Lubbock, TX, which just ended up being a long, tiring day. I knew before I started that it was going to be end up being over 100 miles that day, which didn't really excite me. That, and I had a decent cross-wind hitting me all day, which makes life a little more difficult, and slow. So, it ended up becoming just a long day, spending a lot of time in the saddle. Not much to say there, except that when I say the Lubbock City Limit sign, I was kinda ecstatic. And then I had another 15 miles to go before the day was done.

But, again, the Lord provides. A lady that I met in Texico, NM, named Jo Igo, got me in contact with her son, Chris, who goes to Texas Tech. He lives with several other guys on the south side of town, and they let me crash at their place. It was great hanging with those guys, all of whom are solid guys, and really fun to be around. It reminded me a lot of the house I lived in my senior year of college, and the camaraderie we had there – a bunch of solid Christian guys growing and encouraging each other. What a huge blessing, especially after a completely draining day!

The next day, I was super determined to make some headway getting home, since I had been eager to get home by Thanksgiving. But, I'm guessing God had other plans. After breaking and replacing a broken spoke that morning, I hit the road, and quickly hit more problems. About ten blocks down the road, I ran over something and flatted my tire. No big deal – fixed it and went on. About a mile from the city limits, I broke a spoke, and really started questioning how far I was going to make it. And, get this, as I was fixing my spoke, another spoke broke. I don't know why. I guess it's one of those things. So, I spent an hour or two fixing my wheel, and decided to head back to stay with Chris and the guys. And I flatted another tire. At that point, I gave up, pretty much. Some days, you just can't win, and this was one of those days, I suppose. Maybe it was God telling me to stick around for another day. I don't know. Chris picked me up, and I stayed another night with the guys, which, again, was a huge blessing to even have that option. Thanks so much guys!

Charity

Recently, I've been the recipient of grace, in various forms, I suppose. Maybe charity is a better word for it. And, it's been a struggle to know how to deal with it. I think that a lot of it has to do with my personality, how I'm wired if you will. Take for instance a guy in Belen, NM, that gave me a few bucks out of nowhere, just walked up and gave it to me. Another guy, in Fort Sumner, NM, when I asked to fill up my water bottles, he started giving me a bunch of candy.

In Texico, last night (11/7), I was sitting in the gas station reading my Bible, solely because it was warm there, and I wanted to chill. I promise, I wasn't looking for handouts. A guy, with some coworkers, sits down near me, and shortly asks me if I'm hungry. I guess I look homeless – oh well. I said I'm fine, and we proceed to swap stories. He's from Cuidad Juarez – crazy, right? - and he travels back and forth to Oklahoma every week with a load of used cars. Anyway, he presses if I want anything, and I let him buy me a candy bar, since I have the worst sweet-tooth ever. He pays for it, and I see a disgusted look on the face of the lady behind the counter. Now, maybe I was imagining the look, but I started questioning myself – was it right to let him buy me a candy bar, potentially under the pretense of me being a legitimate hobo? I mean, I have food, I'm okay on money, I have a place to sleep at night (although it's sometimes cold). I'm not homeless or poor – so is it wrong to accept his charity?

So, today I get blown away, for the millionth time on this trip. I go to church at First Baptist in Texico, New Mexico. I'll admit, that I did want to, while I was at church, ask somebody about a place to do a load of laundry – my clothes reeked from desert sweat. So, when I'm chatting with the pastor, and he asks me if I need a place to stay, I decline, saying that I'm camping in the park. However, I did say that I'm looking for a place to do laundry, even a laundromat or something. After the service, he drives me and all my gear to Clovis, pays for a hotel room, pays for breakfast, and gives me a bunch of money for laundry. A hotel room. That's kind of a big expense, you know? I think he got tired of me saying “Thank You.” I feel like I should give him something in return, like I should somehow earn this gift, maybe clean his house from top to bottom or something. But, all that was right to do was receive. And that's really hard for me to do, all along this trip, is receive that which is freely given. I try to make sure that I don't beg, and that I'm honest about my need situation. But, even so, I feel like I need to earn it, to be independent. And that part of me is such an American, individualistic thing, and I think it makes it so hard to accept God's grace that He gives us, that we could never earn anyway. And yet we try. Or I try at least. The least, I can do, I think, is be grateful. Thank you so much, Rob Hollis, for a shower, and clean clothes, and being a conduit of grace. And to everyone who has given, I can't say thank you enough. May you be blessed even more than I.

Some Halloween candy, some respite

I left Fort Sumner early on Saturday, again trying to make it to the Texas border by that night. I met a cool guy that morning whom, when I saw him walking around outside, I asked for water. His name was Alberto, and he brought me into his place. We chatted for a little bit, and he ended up giving me a bag full of candy, and couple bananas. I thought it was rather funny, in an encouraging way – this stranger that I just met helping me out by giving what looked like leftover Halloween candy. Which I gladly accepted. I mean, it's candy. Don't have to ask tell me twice.

That day, I was feeling slightly under the weather, but that might have had something to do with the night spent in the desert. Maybe. But I made it to Texico, NM, found a place to camp, and crashed hard. Thank God for warm Kelty sleeping bags! I hid myself in the town park, with the police station right next to it, and hoping not to be seen by them. I was so ready to take a day off and let my legs relax, trying to get some decent sleep.

Finally, some tailwind

After waking up in the middle of nowhere, and realizing in the daylight that there really wasn't anything around, I started heading to the next town – Encino, NM. I had been really struggling mentally after Belen, since making a fairly big decision regarding my future and what I was going to be doing for the next year. I guess it was a big decision, and being me, I always second-guess myself. I wasn't very certain of the decision that I had made, and I started worrying. And when you have hours to yourself on a bike, it can tend to snowball. There were a lot of moments that day when I really didn't want to keep biking. So, I did a lot of praying that day, praying for God's will to be done, and just kept going.

Fortunately, there was some relief that afternoon, a little encouragement from the tailwind that I got. Since, in the desert, there might not be anything for, say, 60 miles, that day I had the choice of riding 40 miles, or 100 miles. So, being stubborn, I decided to ride 100, going to Fort Sumner. And I made it by sundown, due to the merciful western wind. It was exciting to feel fast, even if it had nothing to do with me. It gave my spirits a little lift, at the least. It was one of those rides when I couldn't see my destination until I was on top of it. Just little hill after little hill in the desert, with nothing around but the occasional train. Then, I crested a hill, and down in the valley sat Fort Sumner, out of nowhere. The day ended well.

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.