Last night I wandered the town in the darkness a while, trying to find any activity after Thanksgiving, then swung into the Hot Licks Saloon next to the hotel to see if there was any life. It was empty save the bartender. He said he was closing for the evening. I told him I couldn't imagine why…
Poor baby - all alone in the cold
One thing I remembered from the conversation with the hotel manager yesterday was that he said the town was literally vacated back in 1975 after the copper mine shut down. He said you could take a nap in the middle of main street since there was no one around. Also said they had organized races in the town through all the empty streets - I'm assuming cars - because there was nothing to hit except the walls.
This morning I woke up about 5:30 am feeling rested and happy to report having no "ghost encounters". I played Barry Manilow music all night to scare anything away so it obviously worked. One scary thing did happen... my riding pants got up and walked around on their own, but that was probably bacterial and not paranormal.
However, I will tell you the upstairs hallway made the hair on my neck stand up every time I went to the room. And to be honest, I stared straight ahead when I walked down the hallway, not looking into the open rooms on either side in case some headless ghost might be standing there.
Flipping through the "Guest Ghost Encounters" book in the lobby this morning, I saw myriad stories from previous guests who had sightings and weird experiences in the hotel. Room No. 6, adjacent to mine, seemed to have a lot of encounters especially. It's a nice hotel, just one of those that has a feeling you're not alone.
But I digress. Aware of other guests who'd arrived last night, I tiptoed down the creaky, squeaky hall and out into the crisp deep blue of predawn over Bisbee. I walked downtown to grab a coffee at the Bisbee Coffee Company and waited for my brain which had stayed in bed and would arrive later.
Bisbee Coffee and a warm blueberry scone right outta the oven!
The sun was breaking over the mountains when I headed back to pack up
Z’ O'tel La More
Ohhh What a Pig In the Mooooorning! Ohhh what a pig all the daaaaaay!
Packed and ready! Yeeeee Haaaaa!
I was sad to see the morning come cause it meant heading back towards Texas, but I was also filled with that rush of getting prepped and on the road. Bisbee's a cool place and I'm glad I stopped and stayed. I really hated losing a day of riding, but the fuel stops in these areas are limited to begin with and on Thanksgiving Day I figured the two gas stations between Bisbee and El Paso would be closed.
It was quite cold this morning, not sure what temp, but colder than any time on this trip. I headed into the morning sun, squinting and eyes watering in the cold air. The canyons leaving Bisbee, itself around 5500', were freezing and I couldn't wait to hit the valley floor heading for Douglas to warm up. Except I forgot cold air falls and the valley floor was even worse. After about 20 minutes, my lips matched the blue of my jeans.
Tagging behind a Border Patrol Tahoe into the gas station at Douglas, I topped off and then looped through the downtown section. Douglas is a border crossing town, sitting in the flat valley and has the classic old downtown with an old hotel, theater and 50's era stores. I was too chilled and lazy to take off my glove for a pic, so use your imagination.
Even early in the morning, Black Friday was in full swing, as there were several Mexican clothing outlets downtown with racks of clothes on the sidewalks and lots of locals were already pushing and shoving their way to happiness.
Driven by an irrational fear of shopping, I headed northeast on 80 and soon was into the long stretches of valleys and thousands of acres of ranch land, cattle spotted here and there. To either side were low mountains and I was struck by the immense size of the grazing lands and ranch spreads. At one point, I saw a spotting post watching the valley from atop a high stone hill, the spotting scope peering over a huge mound of rock.
At one point, I passed two BP trucks on the side of the road with a group of illegals being loaded into the back of a truck. Several of them were wearing bright colored clothing, like red and blue, as if they were going to the mall or something. I mean you'd think they'd understand the basic idea of blending into the environment if they're trying to sneak across an open desert unnoticed. Even I could spot a red jacket 10 miles away out there. For God's sake people, dress like a creosote bush or something! Better yet wear a cow suit and cross a ranch with the herd! For crying out loud.
After a bit, I passed a sign for "Skeleton Canyon", the name catching my attention and then hit a tiny community named "Apache".
Apache, Arizona
About 1/2 mile past, there was a cone-shaped stone monument. I pulled off and read the placard stating the monument commemorated Geronimo’s surrender to the U.S. Cavalry. Since Geronimo was the last chief to fight, his surrender officially ended the Indian wars. The sign said he had actually been cornered in Skeleton Canyon, before eventually agreeing to surrender. It was really cool to have run across this spot.
One thing I've pondered often on this trip is the massive desert area Geronimo covered, moving the tribes over such harsh terrain, providing food and water and surviving in the brutality of that climate. It's actually an amazing feat of logistics, not to mention the fighting and evasion for so many years. Only when you are in the middle of the landscape and have ridden for hours and days over such huge plains and mountain areas does that feat sink in.
From the monument, it wasn't long until I crossed the state line into New Mexico. It was with regret that I left Arizona, as I've had a blast, ridden absolutely beautiful areas rich with history and met great, friendly folks everywhere I went.
Waaaah - hate to leave
I shot a few pics of the state border, then rodeo'd on into Rodeo, NM and shortly after, passed the entry road to Portal where I'd started my Arizona adventure. It was a fun feeling knowing I'd made the loop.
Passing the sign for Portal, the entrance for my ride through Arizona a few days previous
Rodeo, New Mexico
On the way to Animas, I had some major excitement. I actually came up behind another car! Eventually I even passed it!!! Though I'm being sarcastic, that's the only car I encountered in my lane for the entire stretch from Douglas, New Mexico to El Paso which is close to 220 miles.
In the oncoming side I saw maybe 10 - 12 vehicles at the most. Soooooo if you like solitude and little traffic when you ride, have I got the route for you! Repeat after me, "New. Mexico. Highway. 9."
In Animas I stopped to top off at the Boot Heel Grocery again. This time, I did buy a pack of tortillas, the perfect motorcycle road food - they are flat, filling and fit perfectly under the lid of the tank bag.
The local ranchers were coming in to buy supplies, which in each and every case consisted of beer and ice. Or occasionally, ice and beer. While I was gassing up, three cowboys came out and walked past, the third looking at me and spitting the longest tobacco spit I've ever seen, somewhat in my general direction, his eye never leaving mine. My eye did leave his to watch the brown stream that extended from his mouth all the way to the ground, completely unbroken. I was impressed. I guess. Anyway, I'm not sure he liked my horrendous helmet hairdoo...
Boot Heel Grocery in Animas. Biggest seller is beer. Probably more gallons than gas.
Oh, and by the way, ain't no city-boy cowboys out there in that part of the country. You got the real deal in this area.
From Animas to Columbus is about 80 miles and as before, the road is long, lonely and a great place to ride. I counted hawks, almost hitting one sitting in the middle of a curve having his leisurely breakfast. I counted paisanos, who were out in force today. And most interestingly, every one of the 30-40 I saw were running across the highway from the same side. Every single one. They all ran from my left to my right, or from north to the south. Weird.
I counted Border Patrol trucks. I counted 487,632 bottles of beer on the wall until I got a headache.
As I approached Hachati, I saw a man in a wheelchair tending his garden. He gave me a big wave and I honked back. It was touching and sad, because he was using a hoe from his wheelchair and his entire garden was a patch about 4 feet wide and maybe 8 long, in an irregular shape from what he was able to reach from the wheelchair. I felt sadness and hope simultaneously - sadness at the difficulty of what he was doing, and hope, because he wasn't wasting his life, but instead living it as best he could. If I see him again, I will stop to meet him.
Somewhere between Hachati and Columbus, I saw a glint way ahead in the other lane and slowed in case it was a mountie. Eventually, I saw it was another motorcycle and as he approached, it was an old guy with a beard on an old cruiser with a huge windshield, towing a home-made trailer built from an old Thule roof carrier. He gave me a huge wave and smile as if happy to see another guy who enjoyed the lonely road just as he did.
From Columbus, it's roughly one hour to El Paso, and the terrain becomes flatter and sandier the closer you get. At some points, you are very close to the border itself and the entire Hwy 9 runs parallel to the old bed of what was the railroad built to bring copper from Bisbee to El Paso.
It’s along this stretch that I saw the stacks of stone I mentioned before. At about 30 miles out from El Paso, I began to see stacks of rocks. Not often, but every once in a while. I photographed some very obvious ones, but sometimes it is merely two or three stones near a fence. Sometimes two or three stacked on 5 or 6 successive fence posts. Whether it's just the fun prank of a drunk cowboy artist, or road signs for illegals, who knows, but if you head that way, keep an eye out for them.
The mountains around El Paso on the horizon
Beautiful colors on these trees as I entered El P
I pulled onto I-10 in Sunland Park exactly at 1 pm and sunk into the bizarre sensations of traffic, society and congestion. All I had in mind was getting as far as possible, as soon as possible, and just hit it for Balmorhea.
I had planned to shoot a few pics in the old part of El Paso, and maybe spend the afternoon and night, but once my senses were violated I just went on. Gassed up in Horizon City just outside of El Paso and despite hunger pangs couldn't bring myself to stop anywhere to eat.
At first, 80 mph felt strange and uncomfortable after days of riding slow, but it wasn't long until it didn't feel fast enough.
Somewhere between El Paso and Sierra Blanca I passed a guy heading west on BMW 650 Dakar - the red white and blue one - and he was wearing a fluorescent yellow jacket and pants. We waved at each other. Surprisingly, I've seen very few bikes on this trip - mostly Harleys of course and not a single GS except for the 650 Dakar today.
I stopped in Van Horn to gas up and ate a quick burger since the coffee and breakfast scone had finally worn off with a vengeance. Kerrville was still 5 hours away and it was nearing 6 pm, so I figured Balmorhea would be a good spot to stop. I've heard about the state park and the lodging there and figured I'd try.
The late light of day on the highway was absolutely beautiful and stirred that deep undefined love I have about west Texas skies. Indulge me with some 80 mph one-handers:
The road into Balmorhea
I missed getting a cabin in the state park there by about 15 minutes, but found the El Oso Flojo Lodge in the little town. It's actually very nice and I'm the only guest at the moment.
As to the bike, the mileage issue seems to have cleared itself up. I can't figure out why, cause the bike was getting low 30's most of the trip until today. I got 46 mpg, then 43 mpg and of course on I-10 with the 80 mph limit it's down to sub 37. Weird.
More later gators!