Lost and Found: bikepacking around Hermit Peak, NM.
April 24, 2012
Not all trips go quite to plan. In fact, not all trips even have a plan…
Last weekend, I delved into Santa Fe National Forest, home to the crumpled folds of the Sangre de Cristo mountains – Spanish for ‘Blood of Christ’, so named for their red hue come sunrise and sunset. In fact, the Sangre de Cristos form the southernmost subrange of the Rockies, stretching some 250 miles from Santa Fe to Salida, up in Colorado – which is where I’d first encountered them.
My companions were two long term Santa Fean residents: bikepacking eccentric Tim – I say this in the most endearing way – and aspiring bikepacking racer Joanne. Having driven out to Las Vegas (New Mexico that is, not Nevada) over on the eastern side of the forest, our plan was to ride back west to Santa Fe. Or maybe we’d make a loop north round Mora. Or perhaps even strike out towards Taos…
In any event, there’s nothing like getting completely, hopelessly lost for a refreshing sense of unabated exploration. It’s a good reminder too that at times it’s ok to forget the destination, and simply enjoy the moment. Even if it’s not the moment you had in mind…
Despite several valiant attempts at formulating a plan, by the time we'd unloaded our bikes, we were more focused on getting riding than worrying about details like direction. When the roads are as scenic and quiet as they are in northern New Mexico, sometimes it's hard to stop moving...
Pavement gave way to dirt, as we followed a gently undulating road beside the Sapello River westwards. Things were looking good... until it dead ended in a private ranch. That night we pitched tent beside a grove of wintery aspens.
We tried to follow a singletrack from our campsite, in the hope it would link us with trails on the western side of ridge. But it proved more hike than bike, so we opted to retrace our tyre tracks and look for a more rideable exit strategy. Did I mentioned we had a GPS? Unfortunately we left it in the car...
Luckily Tim had printed out detailed 1:20 000 topo maps. Unlikely, they didn't quite cover where we were heading...
Furthermore, our attempts to head north were foiled by a boundary of impregnable private land, despite public access indications on our map. So we settled on skirting round to the south towards Las Dispensias and Mineral Hull, via a well-packed gravel track that climbed once more into the forest.
Soon, we were picking our way along a rutted dirt as we closed in on Hermit Peak, a jagged granite monolith that marks the extreme southern end of the Rockies.
The cemetery here claimed to be established in 1985... but it looked more like it dated back to 1885.
The trail between Las Dispensas and El Porvenir was unkept, overgrown.. and suited our tastes quite perfectly. South West USA - and New Mexico in particular - is blessed with an enviable network of forest service roads that all but guarantee traffic-free riding.
Trailside tweaking. Joanne is prepping her rig for racing, so was using the trip as a chance to hone gear choices.
Here she is stretching out her muscled legs, shaped by many miles of riding and racing around the world - including with the US national team in the Pan American Championships in Cuba. More racehead than rambler, she was riding a custom carbon Crumpton cyclocross bike and left us in the dust on pavement. But her skinny tyres struggled more than our plump 29ers when the going got rough.
A nosy llama in the meadows below Hermit Peak.
Scoping out a suitable spot for our second night's camping.
We stopped early to enjoy the afternoon sun from our vantage point above Mineral Hill.
What's on the menu? For me, it was Trader Joe's brown rice and ready-made chana masala. Quick 'n easy. Good 'n wholesome. Camping food for just a few dollars.
I'm rarely without my tub of peanut butter and a 'honey bear' to sustain me during the day. But in a ploy to shed weight, I'd transferred a few helpings into smaller Nalgene containers, more appropriate for miniature adventures. They were joined by Tim's secret energy boost formula: pure coconut oil. Coconut oil contains tryglycerides, which unlike other saturated fats, are burned immediately rather than being stored in the body. It also has healthy, fatty acids and all kinds of nutritional benefits - it's good for skin, hair and the heart.
Similarly, to shave valuable grams from my packlist, I'd taken advantage of a clear forecast and borrowed this 11oz (311g) 6 Moon Designs Gatewood Cape Tarp. It also transforms into a rather unfashionable (but eminently practical) poncho. More on this nifty little tarp later...
The next morning, Joanne peeled off east to put in some road miles and return to her car, while we pressed on with our freeform adventure, Santa Fe in our distant sights. Hermit Peak - originally known by early Spanish settlers as El Cerro Del Tecalote, or the hill of the owl - loomed impressively behind us. In the 1860s, an Italian missionary made his home in a cave below there, trading carved crucifixes for food.
The village of San Geronimo reminded me of an aldea in backcountry Northern Mexico.
It seemed to be comprised of little more than a collection of dishelled houses, a weather-cracked church and a few rusty pickup truck fading in the sun.
From San Pablo, we unearthed a trail that worked its way up slabs and steps of bedrock, back into the Santa Fe National Forest.
It's not always easy to discern what is a public right of way, and what might drive a gun-slinging rancher to arms... Unfortunately, it seems that many of the roads that historically provided public access to the National Forest now fall in private land.
Finally we emerged onto a ridge, home to fingers of rutted trails that pointed in every which direction. Unfortunately, any efforts made to strike west towards Barillas Peak were met with improbably steep grades, disappearing trails and intense hike n' bikes.
Another (scenic) dead end...
The mighty ponderosa.
And a miniature barrel cacti, a little out of place amongst the pine needles.
Finally, after an inspired, freeform bushwack (via dry creek beds and chicanes of pine trees) we emerged into the open sunlight of a beautiful meadow, marked with crumbling, red stone ruins. Bikepacking: takes you to places other tours cannot reach...
And the steeds that got us here. My Surly, dressed in Porcelain Rocket gear, and Tim's dropped-barred Raleigh, adorned with Revelate garb.
Tim was running both Anything Cages on his Reba suspension forks and water bottles. Another novel invention included running an upside-down aero bar, hoseclamped round the headtube to support a roll bag, rather than hanging weight of the handlebars.
From here on - given that we were well and truly off the pages of our map - we kept to the main thoroughfare and resisted the urge to explore further. Even it meant undoing the work we'd done all day, as we swung round back to whence we came...
Classic New Mexico triptych. One...
Two...
And three...
Finally we emerged onto the fringes of the I-25, just a handful of miles from Las Vegas, and many more from Santa Fe. Not quite as planned... Still, even dining by the stained forecourt of the gas station couldn't take away from a superb weekend of camping, riding... and the unexpected discoveries of getting lost.
Thanks to Joanne for driving us out to Las Vegas and joining in the adventure, and Tim for his sheer enthusiasm for bikepacking in New Mexico… and his inimitable style of journey planning (-:
Spring is in the air: a night out in Santa Fe
April 14, 2012
Spring is in the air.
Although the sun’s rays have yet to permeate the northern folds of the mountains, where pockets of snow linger on, the mid elevation trails are revealing themselves like hidden gems.
And with winter’s retreat, comes untold scope for overnight escapes…
Even the most diminutive of bike tours earns a guilt-free, culinary perk. The Kakawa Chocolate House specialises in all things chocolaty, and happens to be on the way out of town...
From the vast array of exotic elixirs to sample, we shared a 'Marie Antoinette' - a heady blend of chocolate, almond milk, orange blossom water, Ceylon cinnamon, Mexican vanilla and orange blossom essential oil. 6 precious oz of hot chocolate for $6; so thick you can almost stand your spoon in it. That's Santa Fe chic.. and Santa Fe prices.
Our ride took us out via the Dale Ball trail network, the spiderweb of singletrack that begins just a few miles from downtown.
After working our way up amongst the piñons and cacti, we picked up the infamously steep, precipitous Chamisa Trail, teetering on the edge of the mountainside in the Santa Fe National Forest. With the trailer in tow, I made it a fair way before running out of steam.
Once over the saddle, a steep, gullied descent plummeted us back down, opening out into a peaceful meadow surrounded by sentinel Ponderosas. Perfect camping conditions: it came complete with babbling brook and dappled afternoon light.
Ponderosas - characterised by their cinnamon-red bark and black crevasses.
The face of concentration: Nancy studies for her acupuncture finals. The next day...
Clouds and thunderstorms hovered overhead, but thankfully their threats proved empty.
We'd resisted the pre-packed delights of Trader Joe's, and chosen instead to opt for simple camping fare. Quinoa and millet are high in protein and slow to burn - ideal cycling fodder. Millet is alkaline forming, which helps balance out a predominantly acidic modern diet.
Quick recipe:
- Chop up zucchini, garlic, onion.
- Add bouillon, salt and water.
- Cook for a bit.
- Then add tuna and tomatoes towards the end.
- Squeeze in some lemon.
- Enjoy.
Beginning the descent on the Windsor Trail the next morning, amongst pines, aspens and willows.
THe trail dived into the half-light of Tesuque Creek. This dark, fairy tale-like tunnel winds its way down along a bed of pine needles, over rocks, through rutted gullies...
And through one creek crossing after another - 17 of them in all. The trail reminded me of my old riding haunt in the UK, the Quantocks.
Spring is in the air: cherry blossoms along the trail.
A traditional coyote fence, often seen in South West. These fences are traditionally made from dead aspen poles, and first used by Native Americans and early Spanish settlers for protecting livestock from wild animals, and marauding bands of desperados. This particular example surrounded a plush property in Tesuque...
The rig: I hooked up the Ogre with Tout Terrain's single wheel trailer, the Mule, providing ample capacity to carry all our kit. Despite the extra weight, I like the simplicity of biking with a trailer in these situations - it's easy to throw everything in, and just go.
Knowing the conditions ahead, I'd jacked up the Mule to its highest suspension setting, providing 160mm of air sprung travel. Although this decreases stability, the chromo cage clears rocks and logs effortlessly.
Tout Terrain Mule Mini Review:
- Easy to pack
- Integrated stand is really useful
- Seat post mounted hitch and 20in wheel offers a very stable ride off road
- Tight turning circle
- Really nicely made, with great attention to detail
but…
- Very expensive (549-669 Euros)
- Cuts corners on singletrack and through tight traffic
- Heavy (7.3kg with stand) and longer than wheel-axle mounted trailers.
Food and drink: bookends to any good ride. Refuelling at the Slurp Airstream back in Santa Fe.
Heading for the Foothills: Alburquerque, NM.
February 25, 2012
A retropost…
Whenever I visit a new city, it’s become second nature that I find myself scrutinising its provision for cyclists and access to public transport – basically, its feasibility for car-free living.
In the UK I’m lucky enough to live in Bristol, a bustling metropolis in South West England, that affords quick and easy access into the surrounding green spaces. It’s just a 15 minute ride before congestion gives way to empty backlanes, and only a little longer before I’m amongst the twisting, turning singletrack of the local woodland trail network. An hour’s train ride deposits me near the Quantocks or Wales, both of which abound in mountain biking potential and overnight escapes.
All in all, it’s an amazing blend for a city of its size, and I’m always on the lookout for anywhere can replicate this formula. With a bit less rain, and a bit more sun…
Albuquerque is the largest city in New Mexico – not that that’s saying much in a state that’s home to just two million people – and could be a contender. In the heart of the city, miles of urban-themed mountain biking can be unearthed along the edges of the Rio Grande. It’s well served with bike lanes for hassle-free commuting and the surrounding open desert is the perfect stomping ground for roadies. I’ve mentioned the otherwordly White Mesa before, and there’s also the forest around Cedro Peak nearby - rumour has it technical day rides abound outside wintry months.
Like the relationship between Bristol and Bath, Albuquerque has a more affluent neighbour – Santa Fe – easily and cheaply linked by the Railrunner train, a service that offers free bike travel. Come spring, Santa Fe offers its own trail network, Dale Ball, just a short bike ride away from the train station.
But the deal-clincher for mountain bikers is the year-round, primo singletrack within cycling distance of Albuquerque’s downtown. As I discovered to my delight, the Sandia Foothills - pictured below – are the perfect antithesis to those winter blues…
The Sandia Foothills trail network is, on the whole, mellow and flowy. The terrain is ideal for both those relatively new to mountain biking, with a few more technical runs to keep experienced riders on their toes.
Altitudes range from 5700ft to 6800ft, with far reaching over the city and the surrounding high desert.
Singletrack weaves its way through giant, lichen-flecked boulders, groves of contorted cholla cacti and whispery grasses.
A perfect slice of the Sandia Mountains - Spanish for watermelon, so named for the colour they turn come sunset.
The Foothills are well marked. The area seems particularly popular with trail runners, with endless footpaths winding into the higher folds of the Sandia Mountains Wilderness.
Bone dry and perfect for building up trail confidence.
The trails meander their way amongst various desert shrubs; chamisa, three-leaf sumac, desert holly and big sage. Those soft, silvery-blue tones seem all the more striking against big, New Mexican skies.
A little talk... Nancy's swapped out her Jones Loop bars for a set of Salsa Moto Aces, with a 17 degree sweep. While the Jones proved perfect for touring, the Salsas put her in a more involved riding position - they seem to have noticeably improved her mountain biking skills.
I cannibalised them from the Ogre. Being the handlebar junkie that I am, I've invested in new steering. Andy Pearce's 22 degree sweep ti bars aren't just supremely elegant, they're also comfortable and wide enough for great control.
I'm reintroducing myself to big wheels and rigid-forked mountain biking. Most of the Foothills are smooth and flowy; perfect for this bare bones setup. Next time I'll remove my Salsa Anything Cages - a quick and easy process - in case they catch on branches or rocks.
High desert colours...
Nancy picks her way through one of the rock gardens that pepper the network...
... and adds a touch of glamour to her trail riding wardrobe.
Blazing quick singletrack hurtles us through cacti and grasses on the way back to the trailhead.
So far so good with the Ogre. 29er issues aside, this is turning out to be one of the most versatile bikes I've ridden.
The Sandia Foothills. It's not often singletrack like this is accessible almost every day of the year. And just a few miles from a city...
Silver City to Antelope Wells – goodbye USA
December 12, 2009
So, just 120 miles to go to the end of the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route… Seeing as Jeff and Anna had ridden on ahead the day before (while I faffed around at the post office), I had a little catching up to do if we wanted to cross the border in convoy.
It’s always hard to drag yourself away from such warm hospitality as the Bike House in Silver City – especially when a snow storm is raging outside – so it wasn’t until 4.30pm that I took to the road.
When I left Silver City, Greta gave me this gold disc to add to my collection of mnemonics, and Andrew toasted me off with a shot of a tipple called Sotol, from a plant that grown in the wilds of Northern Mexico. Partly to say goodbye, and partly because, as he put it, he liked ceremony.
In fact, I'd left so late that I only made it 20 miles out of town. Just far enough to stay with Couchsurfers Rich and Mary, who kindly put me up and fed me at such short notice. New Mexico positively beams with sun much of the year, and they took advantage of recent government tax breaks to invest in solar panels around their house. The sun now provides enough energy to heat their water and all the electricity they need - and they sell a chunk back to the grid too.
After some initial pavement out of Silver City, it was back to dirt again.
The road descended gently along the Continental Divide, from 6000ft to 4500ft, across a desert dotted with colonies of yukas: squat, punk-style plans with spikey leaves.
Note to self: must avoid.
As seems to be the norm in New Mexico, there was absolutely no-one on the backroads.
After its trim, the beard is making a comeback, though it could well be that the scruffy look doesn't go down too well with the Mexicans. At this point, I was listening to the close harmony singing of Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young. Great desert music.
Conveniently, a cargo train that seemed to stretch for at least a mile, had positioned itself right across the crossing - so I had to ride down a dirt track to skirt round it, before clambering over the rails. I did consider sliding underneath...
Separ. Not a lot going on here...
Or here. I caught up with the others in Hatchita, a bizarre, ex-mining ghost town. Not a lot more it seemed but a post office, a string of dilapidated houses and forgotten cars gathering dust.
Jason's cockpit. What more do you need but a map and a few Snickers bars?
We were a dirtbag chaingang again, with just a 45 mile ride to the border ahead.
We pulled over at dusk and found a spot to camp in the scrub. The night sky had never seemed so crammed full of stars and our soundtrack was the bizarre, almost warbling sound of howling coyotes - and later, Jason's resonant snoring. After a long day in the saddle, there's nothing quite like cooking dinner over a fire...
Or even breakfast, before the sun's fingers have crept across the valley floor.
Sunset...
... and sunrise. It was still below freezing at night, but as soon as the sun hit, it was T-shirt time.
The road was literally bolt straight and all but empty - nothing but the sheen of jet black pavement unravelling far, far into the distance, and endless yellow stripes guiding us ever onwards. Given the security concerns in Northern Mexico at the moment, Antelope Wells seemed the perfect place to cross. There was nothing on the road but border patrol guards, who occasionally raced up and down in their gleaming trucks, towing quads.
Just one mile to go! Almost the end of the epic Great Divide Mountain Bike Route. At this point, the boys stopped for a pee. Our last in the USA.
Beware the rattlesnake. They can take over the baton from the bears...
Goodbye USA...
Resting up in Silver City, New Mexico
December 8, 2009
Silver City is my last stop before Mexico. And it’s proved to be something of a find: alternative, liberal-minded, quirky and very bike friendly. To those familiar with Wales, it’s like Machynlleth in the desert (so without the rain). Yet again, I’ve been experiencing the all-encompassing and unifying embrace of bike culture, and have spent the last few days exploring the abundance of local singletrack, socialising, bike fettling – and storing up on massive amounts of cheap and tasty burritos.
I'm not a car fanatic, but despite my love of bicycles, I do have an admitedly bizarre fascination for big, gas guzzling American classics. Silver City is rife with them.
I love the boldness of their designs. The wheelchair sticker is the finishing, somewhat surreal touch.
A few streets away.
Outside the Food Basket supermarket.
First things first though. No sooner had we arrived in Silver City, then the kind folks at Gila Hike and Bike pointed us over to Jamie's bike-friendly houseshare. There we were promptly invited to camp out in the living room and set up HQ. Apparently the Bike House regularly scoops up passing bike tourers. It's an eclectic hangout, home to a violinist/roofer, an artist/carpenter, a uni professor/goofball, a trail maintenance worker/musician, a triathlete/student and a musician/student. As you'd expect with such a bunch, a interesting characters came and went too.
In fact, it had a somewhat magical, infinitely sprawling layout, complete with a dog (Muzquiz), black cat (Snowflake), duck (Mussolini) and chickens (Ginger Balls, Ramseys and Stuart, the cockroach hunting A-Team). The house was also home to a giant puppet making collective who put on plays and build floats at festival times. It's owner, Jamie, is sure we've entered into the age of Bikes and Giant Puppets: 'You can't function in the new world without learning to ride a bike. Not being able to ride a bike is on the same level as illiteracy.'
Mussolini and the chickens, a few of the many residents we met.
It's easy to find too. Just look for the house decorated with bikes.
Here's Jamie. I'm not sure if I've ever met anyone with as much positive energy and exuberance, flitting between sheer brilliant originality and complete lunacy... Jamie's a university professor, and as we rode back from one ride, he commented: 'Humans have an almost infinite capacity for civility, if they're given the right structure. Like this,' he said, pointing to his bike, 'and not that,' pointing to the university.
Delving into the former magnesium and iron mines that burrow beneath Boston Hill.
I managed to get a taste for most of the trail systems in the area, which can all be reached by bike from the centre of the city - like the Continental Divide and Little Walnut. Silver City seems to be a place where you really could live car free, a rare thing in America.
The contorted fingers of a Cholla cactus.
One of the most unusual trail features I've come across - a vast net made from stainless steel cables, cast across a deep chasm. Riding over it is like bobbing out at sea on a boat.
There's a wealth of interesting, grassroots projects going on in the city. The brightly decorated Bikeworks, housed in a big warehouse on the edge of town, is a bicycle co-op which will keep you mobile on the cheap. There you can work on your bike and buy/swap recycled parts.
Dave teaches a couple of kids to split a chain.
Then they get to work doing up some bikes that will be given away as Christmas presents. Bikeworks run a program to promote cycling amongst kids - put in as many hours as you are old doing up bikes and you get to keep one. Very cool.
The space was immaculately kept, with an impressive array of tool stations and shelf upon shelf of old parts waiting to be recycled.
Anna took the opportunity to straighten out her damaged Tubus rack that resulted from her recent spill. Luckily it's made from chromoly so is bend-happy.
Marcus and Dustin, from the Navajo reservation I'd ridden through, had rebuilt an early carbon Trek and a lovely lugged Japanese Centurian road bike. They were planning their maiden rides the next day.
On Sunday, I went for a locals ride, cycling through the Arenas Valley to Fort Baird. There's a lot of cowboy history here. Aside from being the birthplace of Billy the Kid (so named for his kid-like features which garnered him a lot of attention in the press), the area around Silver City was also home to the Buffalo Soldiers, the African American soldiers who were stationed here to fight the Apaches. There's lots of rich folklore to the area. We rode past Brewer Hill, named after Madame Brewer, who 'serviced' the African American soldiers. The gargantuan Milly took care of the Whites. Both women were astute business ladies and important figures in the local community. They provided loans for 1st properties of Hispanics and Afro Americans who couldn't get money from more conventional banks.
Also en route was this adobe church in Pinos Altos, built largely on donations from the Hurst family in 1898, who amassed their fortune in mining in the area.
Their son, William Randolf Hurst, then went on to become the powerful newspaper magnate - building the incredible Hurst Castle in California.
Putting down some mini roots for a few days is a good chance to recharge, repair bikes and embark on projects. This is Jeff's self made framebag, designed to squeeze between the seat and chainstays. Looks a bit like a squirrel coffin.
And here's the coke-can-cooker I made. I figure I'll be cooking less in Mexico, so can save some weight by sending the MSR Whisperlite onwards.
In fact, I'm losing my front panniers too, as I've culled my winter clothing. The theory is that as soon as we leave Silver City, things should start to warm up... I'm planning to get a rack top bag to fit to the front rack, for bits and bobs overflow, and a frame bag to fill in the dead space above the water bottles. Now that I'm not carrying a heavy DSLR, I'm running my Ortlieb bar bag again, which will be very practical for Mexico. Luckily it fits in nicely wedged up against Epic Designs' sling-style handlebar bag, which gives me lots of options for lightweight, hike and bike tours.
Now though, it’s time to move on from Silver City. Thank you Jamie and friends for all your kind hospitality.
I’m not sure if I was expecting to feel this, but I’ll be very sorry to leave the US. The last few months here have been nothing short of incredible; the majesty of the places I’ve ridden through matched only by the warmth of those who have welcomed me into their lives.
The Great Divide Mountain Bike Route has revealed remote and wild trails, incredible desert and mountain communities, and the US’ unavoidable mix of fearless individuality and adventure on the one hand, and its State of Fear mentality on the other…
The next blog post should be from Mexico, only 120 miles away…
Pie Town to Silver City, NM (one last storm)
December 7, 2009
One last storm. Or so I hope.
The ride from Pie Town to Silver City, just 120 miles from the Mexican border, proved to be a little more challenging than we were expecting. The gauntlet was thrown down one last time. And I like that. It’s good to be humbled, and reminded that Mother Nature can always put you well and truly in your place.
Storms were brewing as we left the idyllic haven of Pie Town. Snow had been forecast, though Stan confidently assured us we'd experience little more than a 'dusting' along our route.
Clouds were puffing up in all kinds of dramatic shapes.
And it was getting chilly. Here's Jeff in full cold-combat mode.
And here's the promised dusting of snow.
Still, it was undoubtedly beautiful; New Mexico is wild and remote in feel.
Now that the days are shorter, the temperatures colder, there's a rhythm to the evenings. Ride till dusk. Gather wood. Pitch tent. Light fire. Gulp down food. Chat philosophically round the blaze. Sleep.
Up in the higher reaches, snow had begun to gather.
But more of a worry was the dirt track that was rapidly becoming a mudpit. Mud jammed under the braces of suspension forks, or in mudguards, reducing us to an abrupt standstill.
It even stuck to shoes when we pushed the bikes. (now I know what it's like to wear stilettos)
In fact, the only way around it was to heft the mud-laden bikes onto the grasslands along the road, clean them as best we could...
... and push.
Then came the snow. Definitely more than a dusting. It was cold...
And conditions were starting to look a little bleak.
Though luckily for us, it was something of a blessing in disguise, as the snow softened to tacky mud, and allowed us to ride again.
Mind you, not the best places to have a mechanical. The mud and snow wreaked havoc on derailleurs, and abruptly, Jeff's chain snapped.
Luckily, the Rohloff hub was still trucking along happily.
Despite its icy shell.
Hm. Not a lot to see...
With repairs seen to, we scrunched our way through snow and ice.
There was a definite icy beauty to the surroundings. Perhaps not what I was expecting to see in southern New Mexico, but stunning none the less.
By now, it was getting (even) colder, and darkness was beginning to fall too.
Time to find a campspot, and light a massive fire.
Anna's Tubus front rack needed some TLC too. I forgot to mention the deep sand that had pocked the trail the day before. Hitting one patch fast, she stacked, earning herself a nasty bruising and bending her front rack.
Heading back onto the trail from our camping spot the following morning.
Thankfully, the road was clear and, with a little imagination, there was even a few hints of sunshine. We stopped at Beaverhead Work Station to clean the bikes, fill up our water bottles and prepare ourselves for the three big climbs ahead.
This area is close to Geronimo's birthplace, the famous Chiricahua Apache. Geronimo fought against the invasion of his people's tribal land for decades after his family was killed by Mexican troops near Casas Grandes in 1858. No one knows exactly where Geronimo was born; apparently in Apache tradition, the birthplace remains secret in order to return there to meditate and receive strength.
The road climbed and dipped relentlessly onwards. Most of it was fairly fast riding, mined with unexpected muddy patches that slowed us right down to a pitiful crawl. At the top of one 8000 ft pass, a man with a silver moustache and a cowboy hat pulled over in his log-laden truck, and announced that a storm was due in 'in one hour', bringing with it up to two foot of snow. Great news! Worried we might get stuck in the mountains, we pushed on even when darkness fell, slipping and sliding our way down a rocky, icy gully of a trail.
After a few precarious stacks, we decided to call it a night. Wood was gathered and a fire was hastily built. We cooked our food in pots heated by the embers and mulled over the information we'd been given. When would the storm hit?
As luck would have it, the storm passed us by that night, and we awoke to blue skies and sunshine.
One last climb lay ahead, before the trail emerged up on the Continental Divide ridgeline. In fact, this was our last big climb of the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route.
Alligator Juniper.
Volcanic views. Sunshine at last!
After a fast descent, we emerged back onto pavement, detouring to the Gila Hot Springs on the banks of the Gila River. The road there was beautiful but tortuous, with steep, punishing climbs. In fact, this road forms part of the 105 miles final stage of the Tour de Gila, deemed enough of a challenge for Lance Armstrong to race this year.
Sinuous, 1000ft climbs were rewarded with big views.
Driftwood artwork at the springs. Unfortunately by the time we made it there, the grumpy German running the only store for miles around decided to shut early for the day; he actually shooed Jeff, who'd raced ahead to make it there five minutes before closing time, disdainfully away. Luckily his far kinder neighbour offered us all the ingredients for a gourmet dinner: pasta, sauce and elkmeat.
The ride to Silver City along the mountain road was no less forgiving, emerging at the historic settlement of Pinos Altos, on the Great Divide, before a final plummet down to Silver City. There, the local bike shop, Gila Hike and Bike, found us a wonderful place to stay and recharge our batteries. The very last leg of the US lies ahead. Only 120 miles to Mexico!
Thanksgiving in Pie Town, NM
December 5, 2009
Bike tourers like to daydream. After all, those long, open roads furnish a lot of thinking times. Life thoughts to be processed, aspirations to be shared, views to be aired. So after the Night of the Fire Vigil, Jeff, Jason and I idly conjured up a Best Case Scenario as we rode, somewhat triumphantly, into the quirkily titled Pie Town.
First, we eat lots of pie. Second, we find somewhere warm to stay the night. And third, someone invites us a Thanksgiving Feast.
I’m pleased to report that Pie Town certainly delivered…
Excellent news, as pie is very much what we were hoping eat... Here's Anna, who's also cycled down from Alaska, via the Pacific Coast, Yosemite National Park and Death Valley. And George, who joined our merry band of travellers after walking the length of the Great Divide Trail. I quizzed George about his beard; he begun to grow it in Glacier National Park, at the beginning of the trip, and the net result represents some 5 months of growth. Impressive.
Aside from pies, there wasn't much to Pie Town. The story goes that during the Great Depression, an enterprising individual would trek seven miles to sell pies to weary travellers heading for California. From this grew a 4 room hotel, a cafe and a community: Pie Town. Nowadays, there's not even a grocery store or a telephone. Just 62 people, two pie shops and a Post Office...
Oh, and three churches.
Luckily, Pie Town is also home to the Toaster House, a free hostel geared to bikers and bikers journeying along the Great Divide. It was closed for the season, but after Stan from the Pie-O-Neer Cafe flicked the necessary switches, we had a home for the night. And there could have been no better place to spend Thanksgiving than the Toaster House. It was a beautiful, atmospheric abode with a wood burning stove, a warm vibe and a guestbook crammed with scribblings.
The Toaster House is owned by Nita, who graced us all with generous bear bugs before setting off to spend Thanksgiving with her daughters. It reminded me of the 4-hugs-a-day advice I'd been given outside a gas station in Idaho.
You can't miss it, we were told. Just look for the toasters.
I lost track of how much pie I ate. But it was a lot. Apple, Cherry, Pear, Pumpkin, Pecan & Oat, Sweet Potato, Very Berry, Peach...
Here's Jeff and pie empressario Cathy, who ensured the pies just kept coming...
Mind you, we did work for our food, chopping and hauling wood in return for pie. Here's Stan and his 1960 GMC truck; he's owned it since he was 19. Using an antique chainsaw, we spent the afternoon gathering wood, loading it into the truck and honing our manly axing skills.
In fact, it wasn't just Stan who could have stepped out of another era. Pie Town seemed caught in a time warp. The rusting hulks of cars...
... dilapidated houses...
... post office boxes from the '20s...
... and ancient pickup trucks parked up in every yard. The men too were classic. More often then not, they sported broad rimmed hats, thick moustaches, toothy smiles and greying pony tails, loping along with a tall, gangly gait.
In fact, Pie Town had a completely unpretentious feel to it. Very down to earth, like much of New Mexico, so it seems. None of the smugness that can sometimes pervade the more upwardly mobile mountain towns.
Musicians drifted in and out, jamming in the cafe in the evening; an ancient astronomer, a zen buddhist, a herbalist. Steel string guitars, a violin and a double bass. Like everyone else, we were welcomed in with open arms; fed and watered with unremitting generosity. 'May your mocassins leave many happy tracks,' said guitarist Jim.
We even managed to escape for a pre Thanksgiving Dinner ride, striking out into the nearby Datil Mountains, in the Cibola National Forest. The climb to Davenport Lookout, at 9354ft, was a loose and scrabbly affair, and might just have worked off a few of those pies...
Best of all, we caught sight of eight bull elks stampeding across the desert, kicking up a plume of dust into the evening light. Then it was time to feast...
Gallup to Pie Town, New Mexico
December 4, 2009
At last! I’m back on the Great Divide Mountain Bike ride, having deviated off route after hitting a few massive storms, like this one and this one. I’m also now riding with brothers Jeff and Jason, who I first bumped into outside a supermarket in Alaska, then at a bike-friendly house party in Montana.
The Wild Bunch. I've finally met up with fellow ferals Jeff and Jason. They've been riding the Great Divide, and also deviated away from the Rockies when the storms hit in Wyoming.
Good to be back on dirt again. From Gallup, I followed FR50, which meant I was off pavement for a good chunk of the way. It was quiet, and I didn't see anyone else but a lady in a jeep crammed with kids. She pulled over, we chatted, and she gave me a medicine wheel made from buffalo hide by a Lakota sundancer.
A smorgasboard of conditions. Pavement turned to gravel, which in turned morphed into fast, hardpack dirt. All good stuff, until I hit the snowline, or rather the mushline.
Areas shielded by the sun were grim and cold. Stretches of sheet ice added to the challenge.
Last light in the forest. Time to pick up the pace.
FR50 dips in and out of a chequer board of National Forest land. The good news is that for the most part, you can camp anywhere in National Forest, for up to 14 days. I was keen to push on though and meet up with the others, which meant riding through nightfall too. Sketchy given the conditions.
Jeff and Jason were running late too. They turned up just after me, at our prearranged meeting point - a lonely junction in the middle of the forest. With the likelyhood of no access to water over the next few days, they were hauling fourteen litres a piece up a 1000ft climb from Grants.
We quickly set up about building a fire, huddling round it as we caught up with our respective adventure these last few months.
Morning light. With it came heat...
The next day, we pretty much chilled out round the fire. Here's Jason sleeping off the contents of the winebox he'd also hauled up from Grants, as well as all the water. That's dedication.
Finally, we extricated ourselves from our sleeping bags and hit the road.
It was a stunning ride, on a hardpack trail past massive lava flows.
And as is often the case on the GDR, we had the trail to ourselves .
Camping opportunities in New Mexico are proving to be abundant too. It's simply a case of pulling over in the scrubland, pitching the tents and gathering some wood for a fire. In fact, the temperature fluctuations are incredible. Shorts and T shirts in the day, and well below freezing a night.
Whoah, is that me?! Here I am in my cocoon, having just woken up after a particularly chilly night's sleep: the temperature had dropped down to well below -15c. My Alpkit 400 sleeping bag, as lovely as it is, is rated to -3c... and the water bottle I stashed in there with me froze solid...
In fact, the next night we arranged an all night fire vigil, taking it in shifts to stoke the fire and keep an eye on errant sparks. Just as well, as the temperature plummeted to -20c or so. New Mexico is a high altitude desert and I've never known such temperature shifts - piping hot in the day, artic cold at night. My shift was from 12.30am to 3am, and I sat and read, listening to the crackle of wood and watching the glowing embers spiral into the night sky like fire flies. A peaceful time.
New Mexico feels wondefully remote. We barely saw a soul. At a junction marked by nothing more than a massive tractor tyre, bushy-bearded Ted, who'd passed by earlier in the day, was waiting for us with cold pizza and Coke.
He took us to the hogan, an Indian-style dwelling made from mud and rocks, that he was building way out in the bush, amongst the lava caves and juniper trees.
A Vietnam Vet, Ted clearly liked his solitude.
Rejoining the trail again from Ted's hogan.
From here, the landscape opened up again into open grasslands as we continued along the Chain of Craters Byway, under a sky bleached out by the sun.
Lunchtime picnic.
For the most part, the gravel road was quiet. But when vehicles did pass by, they smothered us in dust.
It was getting washboarded and sandy in places too.
And lumpy. Up and down, up and down... Ahead lay the aptly named Sawtooth Mountains.
Five miles short of Pie Town, darkness and coldness enveloped us once more. So we pulled over for the night, hastily gathered some wood, and began our all night fire vigil to stay warm.
Thankfully, the vigil was a success, all things considered. Certainly a memorable night. We got up early the next morning, and finished off the ride to the fabled Pie Town. We were all starved. Hm, I wonder what's on the menu round here?
Crossing the Navajo Reservation: Monticello UT, to Gallup, NM
November 21, 2009
I’ve now crossed the Navajo Reservation and have arrived in Gallup, New Mexico. From here a forest road should lead me be back onto the Great Divide mountain bike route for the last few hundred miles to Mexico. I’m looking forward to the solitude of dirt tracks again, to crossing the high desert of New Mexico, and stopping over in the intriguingly-named Pie Town…
The Navajo Reservation was a quietly beautiful stretch, completely different in vibe to anything so far. In some ways, it had more of a ‘developing world’ feel, which sits incongruously within the context of the States. As I approached the area, people seemed reticent to say too much, just that it was ‘different’. In fact, the reservation almost felt like an introduction to Mexico: small, remote settlements, glass strewn roads, tyre repair shops and stray, barking dogs.
Leaving the Alajo mountains behind.
The San Juan theatre, a little gem in the settlement of Blanding, Utah.
The Church of the Latter Day Saints - this is Mormon country.
My second solo night in a motel since the beginning of the trip! The lovely, family run Recapture Lodge in Bluff. They even gave me a end-of-season cyclist's discount. It's good to treat yourself once in a while...
Empty roads and nothing but rock. Red rock.
As I crossed into the Najavo Reservation, I noticed a string of homemade information panels prompting people to recycle, or collect their litter. Hopefully they will work - there was way more rubbish alongside the roads here than elsewhere.
Times are a changing. Thin Bear now takes Visa.
The Round Rock Trading Post, established 1887. As a people, the Navajos were reserved but always friendly. A few elders, with cowboy hats, braded ponytails and bedecked in globs of turquoise, asked me what I was up to, and wished me luck for the road ahead. One man leant out of his truck and asked: aren't you a bit far away for the Tour de France?! At least a dozen people honked their horns or waved hello.
I managed to keep to quiet backroads for the most part, just the occasional beaten up Cadillac or new, shiny pickup whooshed by.
Time for a quick wash.
Putting in the miles in the open desert of Arizona, amongst the canyons and the mesas. At night, xylaphone-ribbed dogs barked across the valley. By day they took chase, kicking up dust and sometimes snapping at my heels; others watched me sullenly as they picked away at their roadkills.
Watch out for all the glass. No flats thanks to the liquid sealant and my trusty Schwalbe Marathon XR/Extreme tyres, but more broken bottles by the road than I've seen in a long time.
At times, I rode alongside the polished bulges of slickrock mountains; at other times, they were were more like shards of split red rock piercing the sky. It was indeed a dramatic landscape, lost in a haze of scrub and vegetation.
Bike v Truck. Thankfully, not a scene from Steven Spielberg's Duel.
More surreal scenery, catching the glow of the evening light as I headed into Window Rock, Arizona, a handful of miles from the New Mexican border.
Yahtahey: hello in Navajo. The guys at this store, who were from the Zuni tribe, handed me a couple of Snickers to keep me fueled for the last climb to Gallop.
Yes siree.
Gallup, my introduction to New Mexico, has a mix of white, Navajo and Mexican inhabitants, though the area is largely Navajo. It had a wild west feel to it, far less manicured than the mountain towns; dusty and rough round the edges.
I passed by this ridiculous truck on the way in, and stopped to take a picture. It's for sale, said the owner. I have a bike, I said. You can put it in the back, he said. At the time I thought it was a funny, snappy exchange. But it's also systematic of a belief: a bike can't replace a car.
I was lucky enough to meet Bryan, a photojournalist for the local paper, who I spotted and accosted in the street thanks to his telltale mountain bike helmet. Luckily for me, we ended up going for a spin in the High Desert trails with his friend Chuck. It was a beautiful ride; a fast, flowy 14 mile loop. Chuck and Bryan rode fast, working me hard on the endless short burst climbs.
In fact, Gallup has over a 100 miles of singletrack, much of which is reachable on a bike from the city itself. There's a really active, grassroots riding scene there, with everything from technical singletrack and high desert riding to slickrock in the forest. There aren't any bike shops at the moment but a new one, Smoking Handlebars, is due to open soon.
That evening, we went for a forest walk in a nearby canyon. Sometimes travel can seem like a series of brief exchanges - in a grocery store, or by the roadside. Fleeting words that can underline the loneliness of a solo traveller.
So it feels good to tap into a community like this; Bryan and Chuck welcomed me in, with food, a place to stay and great company. Another example of the all-encompassing arms of bike culture.
As well as running a community newspaper, Chuck and his wife also own a funky little coffee van, finished in polished aluminium. Very cool. I had my first lesson in expresso making and the morning I set off, I necked three coffees and chomped down a platter of maple syrup swamped waffles. I was jacked up for the rest of the day...
Leaving Gallup. Once you work your way through the strip mall blight of the new part of town, Route 66 leads you past classic-looking motels like this. I love the typography of these places, pure Americana. Various oddball shops bedecked with murals of eagles and mountains sold Indian medicine, art, moccasins and tourist trinkets. Gallup is definitely up there with my Favourite Towns So Far.
