Passes & Canyons Blog

Is this where the problem is?

The RMMRC was doing a lunch ride last week and I figured I’d go. The bike to take this day was the Honda CB750. It seemed a little hesitant starting but I didn’t think a lot about that. But I did take note.

We were gathering as we so often do at the Phillips 66 station in Morrison so I headed out that way. Oh my god, what traffic! Bandimere Speedway is immediately north of this station and it turns out they were having some blow-out farewell event. Which is to say, after all these years, Bandimere is shutting down and presumably is moving somewhere else. There was a long line of cars coming off the highway from southbound and that line snaked around and made the right turn onto Rooney Road, which runs up to Bandimere. Normally I would turn onto Rooney and then do a quick left into the station. This time, fortunately, I could go past Rooney and turn into the station’s other exit.

I needed gas so I pulled up to the pump. After filling I wanted to pull over where the other guys were gathered but this time the bike very nearly did not start. Not the hesitation of at home; this time it was extremely iffy. But it did start and I pulled over.

I needed to hit the restroom so I parked and ran and did that and when I got back they were all firing up and getting ready to ride. I turned the key, pushed the starter, and nothing happened. Not for a second or two anyway, but then it fired and caught immediately. I leaned over to Roy and told him I was not sure about my bike, it seemed there was a battery problem. He said he thought I’d be fine, and if need be he had cables to jump-start me. So reluctantly I decided to cruise on.

We rode into Morrison just enough to get on Mount Vernon Avenue, which runs around the east end of town and heads up past Red Rocks. We went on up to and then under I-70 and made a left turn onto old U.S. 40, which runs alongside I-70 heading up Mount Vernon Canyon. For some odd reason there was a ton of traffic here and we had to wait a couple times before we could get through the light and make our turn. And some idiot woman coming the other way thought that she ought to go ahead and make her right turn onto U.S. 40 even though we were clearly using the space but I made it entirely plain to her that I was not yielding.

These were all red flags and I didn’t like how this day was shaping up. Plus, now that we were above the interstate on the side of the hill we could see that it was a parking lot. Good thing we’re not on that road.

Mixed in with us up ahead was a guy in a 1968 Impala and we hadn’t gone very far when he did a quick u-turn and held his finger up waving it in a circle as he went past going the other direction. I didn’t have to wonder why for more than a second or two because I then saw that our road was also a parking lot just ahead. OK, that’s it. I’m taking the hint and going home. I waved to Roy and Charley, behind me, and turned back.

I figured stop-and-go like that is never fun, it’s murder on your clutch wrist, and with a bike that probably won’t start again if I make a small error in hand and foot coordination one of the many times I would need to move forward–going uphill–this just was not something I was going to do. I hoped I would have no problem getting home but as long as I kept the bike running I should be fine. And I was.

At home I flipped open my Samsung tablet and immediately saw an item about a crash on I-70 up by Floyd Hill backing up west-bound traffic. Yep.

So I saw Roy two days later and he told me I made the right choice. They soon turned around and just headed over to a place in Golden to have a somewhat early lunch. Then they all went home. This was a ride that was just not going to happen.

Of course, then I was still going to need to figure out what’s wrong with my bike.

Biker Quote for Today

When writing the story of your life, never let anyone else hold the pen.

The EagleRider tour stopped at Marin Headlands on the last day of the ride.

I got a reminder on this recent RMMRC New Mexico ride of the differences in how Europeans ride vs. Americans. Alberto, who I guess I haven’t mentioned before, is Italian. He connected with the RMMRC for this trip because someone posted the ride on the BMW riders club‘s events listing. Welcome Alberto.

I rode with a bunch or Europeans way back in 2010 on a media tour hosted by EagleRider. There were French, Italians, Brits, Canadians, and even a few of us from the U.S. And it turns out that accepted protocol varies from one country to another.

Alberto reminded me of all this by the way he rode so close behind the leader whenever he was riding second. That is to say, he didn’t ride so close when he was further back. My interpretation was that when he had people in front of him riding at a decent gap he fell into the same pattern, but when the only one in front of him was the leader he was always right behind the leader.

For most people in this country–certainly for me–that’s a no-no. I don’t want somebody crowding me like that.

But here’s the thing: For the most part, those guys are much better riders than 90 percent of American riders. Their training and licensing rules are vastly stricter than what we have here. In short, they ride close together because they know the other people around them, in cars and on motorcycles, are highly trained and skilled and they can all do this together safely. Say that about Americans and you’ll get laughed out of the room.

I remember on that EagleRider tour being really annoyed by how these guys would be right on my butt, and some of the others were also not pleased. But for them it was perfectly normal. I mean, I consider myself a pretty darn good rider but I would not be at all comfortable going 130 on the Autobahn. That’s what these guys do–safely.

Could we have stricter training and licensing regulations–and safer roads? Probably not a chance. Over there driving is defined as a privilege, one you have to earn. Over here it is deemed a right and don’t you dare try to impinge on my rights. And yes, that includes my right to talk on my cell phone while I’m driving in heavy traffic. (Not!)

But even if you really are that skilled, I’d appreciate it if you would give me a bit more space. It’s just what my comfort level desires.

Biker Quote for Today

Riding a motorcycle is like an art–something you do because you feel something inside.

One of the sweet roads we rode on this trip.

Q: What do you call it when your whole group just splinters?
A: The last day.

Heading out on the last day of the RMMRC New Mexico ride it was every man for himself. Some wanted to get home ASAP and got up early and blasted. Others didn’t get such an early start but were gone before the rest of us had finished breakfast. Then there were those of us who were not in a hurry and still intended to have a enjoyable day’s ride.

John and Alberto got up early and headed out. Tom and Dave left without me knowing it, as did Bruce, who I was told planned to take I-25 and may or may not have been traveling with Dave and Tom. That left Charley, Gene, Randy, and me, and we got off about 8:15.

Gas at Questa, then north. At first Gene set an easy pace, about 75, and that was fine with me. His speed increased gradually till we were going about 85. Turned left at Fort Garland, over to CO 17 at Alamosa and north. There was a sign that there was chip-sealing going on along 17 and we soon ran into that, but at first they stopped us, let a car pass the other way, and waved us on. Turned out it was not a fresh chip-seal and in fact they were sweeping off the loose gravel. And it only went on for a few miles so we got past it easily and quickly. Much nicer than the chip seal we ran into coming into Grants a couple days earlier.

Then lots of blasting and passing. The weather was beautiful. Above us only blue and to the northeast some light clouds, not of the thunderstorm variety. We stopped for a pee break in Fort Garland and then rode on to Poncha Springs. Stopped for a bit at the same place we stopped on the way out. Then rode on just to Buena Vista and stopped to get gas. This is a much more civilized way to travel than the river trip where stopping in less than 150 miles was frowned upon.

Then we just rode. Running pretty fast and passing a lot of other vehicles. The weather held and it was a really nice day to be out on the road. Saw a lot of other motorcycles, which seemed a little odd considering it was a week day. But we’d seen a lot of bikes so I guess maybe it’s just summer.

I’m getting the hang of coming back to town down US 285 with a group on bikes. Leaving Fairplay I was not committed to keeping up with Gene and Randy but did so as much as possible and, because of traffic, succeeding. Charley seemed to be thinking the same thing. Then we got to Pine Junction and the two of them got in the right lane and I moved into the almost vacant left lane and blasted past them and was now well out in front. I cruised at a comfortable, for me, pace of 75 and after awhile they caught up and passed me, with Charley now having caught up with them so he followed me on in.

We got to C-470 pretty much together and Randy cut off and we three continued east. All the way. I was the first to turn off although Charley had moved to the left lane in considerable lead of his left turn. I believe Gene lives in Aurora, somewhere not far east of Havana. Not sure they even saw me turn. And then in another eight blocks I was home. All in all a really good ride.

Biker Quote for Today

Dad, why do people who ride motorcycles look so happy?

Look son, in my opinion they are crazy. Also, they have a weird philosophy, they think they are free, they believe in enjoying the wind in their faces, the dust, the rain, the sun and everything else. They call their friends brothers; they help each other, they greet each other even though they are strangers. When they get off their bikes they embrace as if they have not seen each other in years, they live for the day, they are likely to die at any time but apparently do not care.

Dad, can you buy me a motorcycle?

On the New Mexico ride.

If you only have one motorcycle then you have no issue, the bike you have is the best one for this ride. But I have three, so that requires some decision-making any time I go out.

On this recent RMMRC New Mexico ride I took the V-Strom and it ended up I was glad I did. It wasn’t in the plan and I’m not sure any of us knew what it was like, but we ended up riding US 191 which, as I mentioned previously, was a motorcyclist’s dream. On a road with lots of curves marked 15 mph and 10 mph it’s really nice to have a light, agile bike.

I was riding ahead of Charley and he really brought it home at one point when he told me it was just everything he could do to keep up with me. Now, Charley is a good rider but he has a really big BMW. Not one of the very biggest, but no small beast. So while he was really working that thing I was dancing.

I think the general tendency of a lot of riders is to discount something small like the 650 V-Strom I ride but then there are days like that one when they are forced to reconsider. It happened last year on the Great River Road ride. We did a day going through some hilly country and I was riding second, behind Dave, who is a very good rider, on a large machine. I was on the V-Strom.

Thinking about it at the time, I concluded that with Dave on that machine, surely my little bike was more agile and so if he could do it, I could do it. And I stuck right with him the whole way–a bit to his surprise I believe. That night as we walked to dinner he told me, “You did some fine riding today.” Yeah, it has a lot to do with the bike.

Later on this New Mexico ride we had left Grants but had to stop briefly to regroup at Milan. While there we talked with some guys on mid-sized dirt bikes. I watched one in particular who walked along the line of our bikes checking out each one. He came to mine, with me on it, and he broke into a big grin and gave me a thumbs-up. He came over and said this was his favorite street bike, that he used to have one just like it, even the same color. Then he leaned in and in a lower voice, conspiratorially, said “All these other expensive, fancy bikes . . . this one’s more fun to ride.”

So now the OFMC is getting set to take off on our annual trip and I’m torn. We’re going to be doing a lot of miles and the Concours is the better highway bike. But we’re also heading up to Lolo Pass, up near Missoula down into Idaho. At the top of Lolo Pass, heading west, there is a sign “warning” you that there is nothing but winding road for the next 99 miles. Please don’t throw me in that briar patch. And that’s the kind of road the V-Strom is best at.

I’ve ridden Lolo once before, and I was on the V-Strom that time. But my recollection is that these 99 miles don’t have the 10 mph and 15 mph curves that US 191 has. Whatever; I’ve already taken the V on a long trip this year and the Connie gets to have her chance.

Biker Quote for Today

Sometimes I wonder if my bike is thinking about me too.

Time to relax after a 300-mile day.

As the crow flies it is about 175 miles from Grants, New Mexico, to Red River. Of course that’s not how roads go but sometimes, if you really try, you can make the ride a whole lot longer. On this recent RMMRC New Mexico ride, we made it about 300.

Grants to Red River is northeast, so we started by going west. That’s because there’s really no way to make that run going east without going through or around Albuquerque. No fun. Plus, that would have entailed riding all the way from Grants to Albuquerque on I-40. Extra no fun.

Instead, we headed west on I-40 about 25 miles to Thoreau, and then turned north. But first, barely getting going, I noticed that Charley, riding sweep, was nowhere to be seen. It turned out that just as he was getting on the highway his glasses simply fell apart. Unable to put them back together there on the spot, he pulled out some prescription sunglasses and put those on, then cranked it to catch up.

Seeing that he wasn’t behind me, I slowed down a lot. Once he caught up with me I tried catching up with the other guys but they were blasting. I was hitting 95 at times and couldn’t catch up, although when we passed a radar sign the other day it said I was going seven mph slower than what my speedometer was saying, so who knows how fast I was really going.

The others pulled off at the next exit, Milan, which is where we caught up with them. We sat there a little while, during which time we chatted a bit with some guys on dirt bikes. Then we were off again.

At Thoreau we headed north on NM 371, and then reached CR 9, which turned east. We were on the rim of a basin right there, heading into the basin, and as far as I could see we were heading into a lot of nothing. That told me this next stretch was going to be long and mostly straight. And it was. Plus, a mileage sign said Cuba, our next destination, 94 miles.

So we cruised along a ways and came to an intersection of a road coming up from the south and there were three dirt bikes parked there. I wondered if those were those same guys. If so, either we took a longer route than we might have or they rode on gravel. Who knew?

After awhile we came upon maybe the biggest array of solar panels any of us has ever seen. There was a little store there and we were overdue for a stop so we did. Meanwhile, apparently the dirt bikers went past us while we were in there because when we stopped in Cuba there they were again. I asked and they said they came up on the road from where we’d seen them and it was paved and a nice road. Some of the navigation on this trip has not been the best, it seems. But it can be really hard to know what a road is like with just maps.

We headed on from Cuba, presumably to Alcalde and to the south end of Taos to do the Angel Fire loop. At some point Gene took the lead and we were headed the route I expected and then he made a left turn. I forgot my maps on this trip so for maybe the first time ever I was not able to check and see where we were and what our route was. But this seemed wrong.

We kept going north then turned east past a sign saying Ojo Caliente ahead. I thought oh man! Ojo Caliente? Why are we so far north? And then we hit US 285 and Ojo Caliente was south and we turned north. I thought, oh man, if we take 285 up to Tres Piedras and go east we’ll be on US 64 headed for the north end of Taos. And I decided if that happened I would go left to Questa regardless of what everyone else did.

But we didn’t go to Tres Piedras, we turned east on what turned out to be a cut-off. Nobody ahead of me stopped to make sure folks behind made the turn so I did, but I wasn’t really in a place where they could see me in time to make the turn. Bruce did made the turn, and Charley, but Bruce said later he knew about the turn and would not have seen me in time. We reached US 64 just west of the Rio Grande Gorge and yes, that’s where we were.

Coming up to the NM 150 intersection, Gene pulled over and said we had two options: go left to Questa and over and beat the rain or go through Taos and head right into the belly of the beast. “Look at that over there.” The sky “over there” was as dark and ugly as you could imagine.

We headed to Questa. We got to Red River and got checked in, then sat out on the deck drinking, smoking cigars, and talking. And then about the time we were heading out to dinner the rain arrived. Two days in a row now that we dodged it while on the bikes. Our luck continued to hold.

Biker Quote for Today

Happiness is a motorcycle, a full tank of gas and twisty roads.

How lucky Tom was to have a sag wagon along on this trip.

It was only a terrific stroke of luck for Tom that when his motorcycle died in Arizona on one of the loneliest, most out-of-the-way roads around that Dave was right behind with his Ford F-250 pick-up and a trailer. Dave had planned on doing the ride but then had surgery the week before and couldn’t ride. On the morning of our departure, on the spur of the moment, he decided to heck with it, he was going even if that meant he had to drive. And as long as he was driving the F-250 he figured he might as well bring along his trailer, just in case someone needed it. And Tom did.

How much would a tow truck have cost to get him anywhere the bike could be worked on, and then how long might he have to stay in that town until parts arrived? We’re talking a significant chunk of cash here. As it turned out, the problem was just in the switch that keeps you from riding off with your side-stand down, so not expensive to fix at all. But Tom had the leisure of handling the problem back at home and the only cost, besides not getting to do the rest of the trip on his bike, was paying Dave for gas.

Not surprisingly, this whole situation has ignited a discussion within the RMMRC. Perhaps it would be nice to have a sag wagon along on all our long trips. After all, it was just last year that Dave was the one with a problem–bad stator on his Beemer–that resulted in him staying in Minnesota while the rest of us rode on home. Then he had to deal with this away-from-home dealer rather than the local shop he knows and where they know him.

Of course the real issue here could simply be, who among us wants to make the trip but not ride? Somebody would have to drive the truck. Well, the RMMRC has another long trip coming up soon, out to the Columbia River and the Cascades. And Tom has volunteered to be the driver. If, he adds, everyone else pays for his gas.

It would be like insurance. Everyone pays a little, hoping truthfully to get nothing in return, but really happy to have the coverage if you do need it.

This pay-for-the-gas provision has generated some discussion. Initially some people were immediately willing to pay it; some others were hesitant. On its own the cost would not be negligible–except compared to a huge towing bill. An F-250 gets about 15 miles per gallon. Let’s figure $3.50 per gallon, and a 3,200-mile trip, like this Columbia River thing. That would be about 213 gallons, with a total cost of about $745. Let’s say there are 10 guys going; that would be about $75 each for insurance. You see where this is heading?

Suppose eight guys are willing to pay but two are not. If one of them does break down then what? We’re not going to abandon them. Maybe at that point they have to make the choice to pay the entire gas cost or else figure out some other way out of their predicament. I mean, at that point if one of the guys who paid for the insurance broke down he would not have his sag wagon available that he was paying for. That totally doesn’t work.

If you just decided, as a group, that anyone going had to join in on the insurance are you going to drive people away? Nobody wants to do that.

And even if everyone is paying, what are you going to do if more than one person breaks down?

To get some perspective, let’s look at what would happen without a sag wagon. Just last year, coincidentally not 50 miles from where Tom had his problem, Bill had a problem. He hit a big rock in the road and bent his wheel, causing the tire to lose air with no possibility of reinflating. Amazingly, the tire did not go flat until we reached our day’s destination.

After exploring several options what he finally ended up doing was getting a tow to the next town, where a shop put in a tube that we figured had solved the problem. That tow cost about $150 and delayed our next day’s start till 3 p.m. on our longest day of the trip. But we handled it and we rode on. (Although by the time we got to Farmington the tube had lost air and the next morning Bill paid $2,000 for a new tire and wheel at the local Harley shop. At home he figures he would have gotten the wheel and tire for half that.)

As a different example, in 2018 on an OFMC trip we had a major disruption when Dennis unknowingly put diesel fuel in his Indian. Obviously we didn’t have a sag wagon so we replicated one. That is, Dennis made phone calls and then we rode him over to the nearest town where there was a U-Haul shop, he rented a truck and we went back to his bike, we loaded his bike on, and we altered our course to go to the nearest Indian dealer. It wasn’t cheap, especially since it was a one-way rental on the U-Haul. But we made it work. And it cost Dennis a pile of money.

In short, there is no obvious best answer. Perhaps the thing that will keep this from becoming too much of a dilemma is what I mentioned before: Who wants to get stuck driving the truck? Tom is willing on this next trip but then what? Who? Certainly not me–I came to ride!

Biker Quote for Today

A dirt bike is like your buddy. A road bike is your lover.

Lunch time in Quemado.

Leaving Silver City on Day Four of the RMMRC‘s recent New Mexico trip we enjoyed the benefits of taking a different route than planned the day before. In addition to enjoying the fabulous US 191, which we would have missed entirely, we now rode north on US 180, the route we would have been backtracking on if we had not taken US 191. So now it was a new road, not a repeat.

And make no mistake, US 180 is a very nice road, going through some really nice terrain. The day before, when the decision was made to take 191 I was displeased because I knew what a nice road we were missing, while not suspecting what a great road we had in store.

We headed north, through Buckhorn, Alma, to Rancho Grande Estates, where we turned east on NM 12, to Apache Creek, where we turned north on NM 32, to Quemado. The last time I had been on this road was in 2018 when the OFMC was on what I dubbed “the Chipseal Tour.” At that time this entire 38-mile stretch was being chip-sealed and that was really about all we paid attention to. This time it was just smooth road and I got to enjoy the road and the country. And like the run up US 180, it was a nice road to ride.

We got to Quemado and figured it was time for lunch and gas. One question we’d had earlier was whether we might like to go a little further east on US 60 to a place called Pie Town. The main thing going on in that town is that they sell pie. How inviting is that? The problem would have been that it is another 20 or so miles out of our way, which would have made it a nearly 40-mile side trip, just for lunch. Did we want to do that? Plus, the sky was looking pretty threatening. We had decided we would put off any decision until we got to Quemado.

So we got to Quemado and pulled into the parking lot of a restaurant, which turned out to be closed. Was there another restaurant in town? We weren’t sure. We had noticed a road running northwest out of Pie Town that connected to our route a bit to the north–was that road paved?

Our deliberations were interrupted by a woman who drove over to us and got out. Were we looking for a restaurant? There is a really nice one just up the street past the gas station. And by the way, she owns them both and due to a labor shortage they each close on different days of the week. We asked her about the road out of Pie Town and she said it definitely is not paved and it is a dirt road you really, really do not want to get caught on if it rains–which is what the sky was seriously threatening. We ate at her second place up the street.

After lunch we headed out in a hurry but there was no need for speed–the clouds were going the other way and we stayed completely dry. We took NM 36 north to where it connected with NM 117, which runs northeast through El Malpais National Monument. No surprise that this is a very pretty area, too, and if I had been in the lead we would have stopped at Ventana Arch, a big arch very near the road with a parking area. But I wasn’t and we didn’t.

We reached I-40 four miles east of Grants, our stop for the night. We got gas right there and then had the option of blasting four miles on the interstate to town or taking a four-mile stretch of old Route 66 to town. Most of us chose Route 66. Bad, bad choice.

I didn’t see what happened with the guys ahead of me but just before we got onto that stretch of road I noticed a pilot car parked next to the road. Some construction going on? Immediately ahead it was obvious from the very clear difference in appearance that some work had been done on the road. In another second I knew what the work had been, it was chip seal. And apparently, earlier that day, when the crew got to their stopping point they had just dumped all their remaining gravel right there.

I hit about four inches of completely loose gravel and fish-tailed wildly, struggling to keep the bike up. Charley, behind me, tells me he saw me fish-tailing and at least had some time to prepare but nevertheless found himself fish-tailing wildly, too. After that first part the gravel wasn’t so deep but we had four miles of the stuff to ride through to get to Grants. It was a slow, unsteady ride. I was just glad I was on the V-Strom and not the Concours.

Within minutes of reaching the motel the skies did finally open up. After dodging rain all day we were off the bikes when it finally hit. Nice.

Biker Quote for Today

“Damn, buying that motorcycle was a bad investment,” said no one ever.

I guess this is one way you can work on steep slopes alongside a highway.

As John Lennon famously remarked, life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans. This was one of those days.

The plan the RMMRC had in mind was simple: head south out of Gallup to Alpine, turn east and then south to Silver City. Right. We did head south out of Gallup, retracing the route the OFMC took last year going the other direction. For a long time it didn’t look familiar to me until we stopped at the same junction–AZ 61 and US 191–we stopped at last year. Roads look different going in different directions, plus it was probably a lot greener this year than last.

Then on to Alpine. John was leading and at Alpine the only gas station is where the two highways meet. The plan was to get gas in Alpine, John made the turn and kept going. Several of us knew this was wrong. Tom was behind John motioning for him to turn around but no response. I finally just pulled off and stopped but everyone behind me kept going so I went after them. Outside of town everyone finally stopped and turned back. There was discussion at the gas station of whether we wanted to go the way we first started to go, US 180, or not turn and go south on US 191. We would take 180, but first, it’s a little early but maybe we should have lunch here.

We went in a restaurant and seated ourselves but got no service. They were very busy. Forget this, we agreed, let’s just ride.

Back out on our bikes we were ready to go and several took off after John in the direction agreed upon when Bruce motioned toward Tom’s bike sitting there with no Tom in sight. OK, whoa. Charley radioed John to stop, that we weren’t all ready yet. Just then Tom came out of the store across the road and was startled to see everyone ready to ride. So he geared up and got ready but by the time he was ready, the ones who had gone ahead had apparently conferenced and made the decision to go the other way. They came back, passed us, and made the left turn. We shook our heads and followed.

I knew the way we had planned to go was beautiful, going through a canyon and over a couple passes, but US 191 turned out to be a motorcyclist’s dream: 50 miles of tight turns, ups and downs, scenic views, and almost zero traffic. I mean, like almost zero. And if you look at the map you’ll see why: it doesn’t really take you anywhere you can’t get to a lot easier and quicker on other roads. It makes you wonder why this road was ever built. But for motorcyclists it is heaven.

Not so much for other vehicles. Dave was following us in his Ford F-250 with trailer on behind and he noted when we stopped at one point that it was really work for him and he knew we were all just having fun. But 10 mph and 15 mph turns with his rig are just not fun.

And then at one point Tom pulled off at a place where there was a bit of shoulder. What’s up? The other guys were gone up ahead but there were Bruce, Tom, and me, and then Dave pulled in with his truck.

Tom had no power and was barely able to keep moving. Seemingly a fuel issue, either filter or pump. But his bike was not going any further under its own power. For Tom’s incredible good fortune, however, there was Dave with a truck and a trailer and lots of tie-downs. This whole business of getting the bike loaded deserves and will receive its own separate post; suffice it to say for now that we got the bike loaded and strapped down and took off again.

Just ahead we found that the road goes right through–not around, through–one of the biggest open pit mines in the world, the Morenci Mine. I’ve seen huge open pit mines before but this had to be 10 times the size of the biggest I’ve ever seen. It’s really hard to comprehend until you see it, and even then. And you really do go right through the thing. On all sides of you there are these humongous earth movers carrying their loads of ore and it’s astonishing.

So that was a highlight. We then met back up with the rest of the guys in Morenci, the town, and were on our way. We missed the turn we intended to take and so followed AZ 75 to where we got on US 70 almost all the way to Lordsburg, back in New Mexico, and turned northeast on NM 90 up to Silver City. Long day; nice to park the bike and walk away from it.

Biker Quote for Today

There is absolutely no excuse for what I’m about to do – let’s ride.