Trip - Day 2
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| The Tiger 800 alongside Clayton Lake |
After the obligatory photo of the bikes sitting lakeside we head off again and within minutes the road turns to gravel. The surface is well worn and fortunately the dust stays to a minimum. We ride in a staggered formation to avoid the rock-spray as we cruise steadily at 40-50 MPH on the arrow-straight path. As the sun climbs higher into the blue we pass a deserted ranch, so derelict that its scenery is simultaneously eerie and beautiful.
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| Deserted ranch house any my trusty Tiger |
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| With both doors evicted from their hinges you can see straight through to the back yard |
As we press onward the scenery offers up little of interest a less variation for miles and miles. The arid prairie land remains mostly barren aside from never-ending wild grasses and the odd splash of green from patches of wild shrubs, like green freckles against the red clay, as our finely tuned and heavily-laden machines purr tirelessly beneath us. Thick knobby tires drone against the smooth surface of the road as the temperature continues to climb - though still bearable at the moment. The gently rolling hills climb and fall as the dusty grey strip of road cuts across the fields toward the horizon until, out of nowhere, we find ourselves atop a ridge that descends into a scenic valley below. We stop again for a quick rest and a photo and, through our intercoms, reminisce of our previous trips where only memories were taken; nothing digital. We joke that, by mandate of our better-halves, this time will be different...
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| Windy road to valley below |
Another hour ticks by as our GPS's slowly count-down the day's mileage. Just as the route starts becoming monotonous we find ourselves climbing in elevation, across a sharp ridge with twisting and winding turns. Giant granite boulders breakup the scenery as we continue to climb and then, just as quickly as it began, the climb ends and we find ourselves once again on a flat, straight road but this time at an elevation just over 8,000 feet across the high-plains of New Mexico. The feeling is somewhat surreal as we are so used to the Colorado scenery of up- then-immediately-down-again but this time it's up, then nothing but flat. Off in the distance we can see the high-plains give-way and step back down again through would-be waterfalls if this area were to receive any significant precipitation. At this altitude the air is cooler so we take advantage while we still can and pull off for a hydration break. Chris unpacks his drone and gets some aerial footage of our stop with the lower plains beckoning off in the distance. While I regret it later, we speed past St. Johns Church just outside Yankee, NM. It's a scenic little chapel dropped in the middle of nowhere with aged stone walls. There isn't a tree in sight so the stark contrast between the green prairie and blue sky makes a simple, yet stunning scene. I'd like to stop but we have miles in front of us and we risk having to setup after sunset if we stop too often. The high-plains, serene as they are, eventually give way again to a winding descent into the small town of Raton. The NM-CO border is nearly in eyeshot but we turn south and head back towards the heart of New Mexico.
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| Abandoned farm on the NM high-plains |
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| High-plains give way to the lower plains below |
Our route winds through another series of deserted gravel roads and while the scenery offers much of the same, it's somehow different. This path travels along the edge of a river gorge cut into the plains after eons of weather. The roads this time are bumpier as frequent travel towards the Carson National Forest have beaten washboards into the rough surface. This is our first taste of a rough(ish) road but our bikes brazenly bear the beating with their soft off-road suspension, easily soaking up the bumps. As we cruise a herd of antelope dart out into the road ahead of us and scamper off into the tall grass. I'm taken back by the sighting and get so excited about it that I forget to watch the road and nearly rear-end my riding partner. This should serve as a warning but it goes unheeded - for now. With Chris sharing the connection to my in-helmet speakers, we chat lightly and comment about the unique ambiance that this part of the country offers. He mentions "strata" as we weave our way through the gorge - pointing off in the distance to the hundreds of discrete layers of red clay and sandstone stacked in the canyon walls, peering out at us as where a raging river carved away a path long ago. We press on towards the park and the first sign of trouble with my gear: a bee stuck in my helmet. Not on my face - fortunately - but in the millimeters gap between the inner visor and the anti-fog lens. I'm confused at first, thinking that it's on the exterior of the visor. I try repeatedly to flick the intruder back towards whence it came but to no avail. My focus now changes (once again) from the road to the more immediate threat. How did it get in there? I stop, find neutral and jiggle the lens enough to free my prisoner, finding that the inner lens isn't fitting tightly against the visor like it should. Tragedy averted (this time...)
Before long we're at the entrance to Carson. Pine trees abound but the road continues to deteriorate. The washboard gravel creates a resonance at certain speeds that makes the traction-control system engage so finding a safe, yet comfortable speed becomes more difficult. Along with the popularity of the park, too, comes the added bonus of traffic. First it's a Jeep, wandering around just slow enough to catch it up. We pass and pick up speed again but now the road throws another curve-ball in the form of dust. This would eventually drive me mad as our trip's leader throws up a storm of the dry particulate matter at any speed. My options are to fall back (nearly a mile) or attempt to ride side-by-side and take advantage of the cleaner air. Unfortunately the increasing traffic, combined with continuous twisty roads, makes this practice unsafe so I'm left with no choice but to tell Chris to press onward and leave me, quite literally, in the dust. My hope is that if I fall far enough behind that it will have mostly cleared by the time I pass the same spot but an absolute stillness in the air leaves the clouds lingering longer than I'm able to lollygag. I'm irritated but the scenery is too great and leaves me in a conflicted state of mind.
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| Snow peaks off in the distance, driving through Carson National Forest |
The elevation continues to climb as we weave our way toward the ridge. At the top we stop for again to clear the dust from my visor, grab another pic and a bottle of water before saddling up again for more of the same washboard gravel. As we weave through the rolling hills, grasslands give way to birch, aspen and pine forests and the once-flat horizon is now dotted with ridges and snow-capped mountains. Sensing my frustration with the ever growing dust clouds, I'm offered chance to lead the procession as we begin our drop back down the mountains. I pick up the pace, getting more comfortable with the handling characteristics and putting more faith in the traction control system of my trusty steed. I test the limits of grip by swinging the rear tire out behind me through the corners, sliding and leaning out of the corner as the rear rubber fights for grip against the gravel ground. As we descend, our path begins to follow the Costilla Creek and it's, quite possibly, the most scenic trek of our voyage. The crystal-clear river water flows quickly as it winds through smooth beds of lush grass, rocky canyons and thick forests. Being a national park, dispersed camping is permitted, a trait that becomes blatantly evident as droves of campers, travel trailers, RV's and tents pack every flat space along the water. Traffic continues to increase as we get closer and closer to civilization and the dust continues to pile up on every surface of me and my machine. The scenic drive eventually gives way to pavement once again and we stop at the next fuel station to quench our thirst and that of our machines.The stop puts us within a stone's throw of Colorado but instead of hopping across the border we turn south once more as the red hills of New Mexico steer the highway through the arid valley below, now absent of the lush forests afforded at higher elevations. Our trip through the valley doesn't last long before we turn off the highway once more and head back up the mountains on another series of rocky roads. Our path this time climbs much faster than before, up into the forested hillside with scenic overlooks at regular intervals. This particular road is free of washboard ruts but trades small, light gravel for baseball-sized chunks of rock strewn across the road surface. They're far too numerous to avoid so the bone-jarring experience becomes persistent as we press on. Now, another issue with my gear arises, this time with the GPS. My aftermarket mount places the unit above the instrument cluster but extends towards the rider to put the screen within arm's reach. Unfortunately my suspension can't soak up all the bumps this time and the vibrations cause the navigation unit to constantly disconnect from its power harness. Several miles into the route and I opt to remove the device altogether and stuff it in one of my jacket pockets in wait for a smoother surface.
Heading South again, we pass the Colfax County Airport into a series of wonderful switch-backs. Our knobby tires don't offer the purchase to the tarmac that our other rides do but the slow-speed turns are still exhilarating as we lean deep into each corner. Once at the summit we spot a dispersed camp area and head back off road to investigate. About 1/8 of a mile in and it's clear that we're a little too late in the afternoon to snag one of the better sites. As before, campers and tents litter the countryside and only the ratty, hard-to-reach sites remain. Chris quizzes my preferences as we pass each site but, being the perfectionist that I am, I'm holding out for that storybook location so we ride on. Being nestled among one of the many ravines of the mountains the path is narrow and the available sites are set closely to the road, often with drops or rises on either side. As we pass one of these sites, I'm gazing down the ravine, trying to ascertain if this is the site for us. I should have heeded the earlier warnings: as I'm evaluating the prospective tent sites I'm not watching the road and, in the shaded dusk light, the 3-4" rut created by an off-roader during the last rainstorm goes unnoticed. My front tire, eager to grip the edge, tears into the tire track and, within an instant, flings the handlebars sharply to the left pitching me violently towards the right. I do what I can to catch the bars but it's too little too late and bike thuds in a spray of gravel and plastic parts as I'm thrown down onto my thigh, then shoulder. I call out through the intercom "I'm down!! I'm down!!" and hear Chris' voice call back "I'm coming." And that was it! All in an instant, before I could blink, it was all over. The bike lay perched on it's side, hanging precariously over a drainage ditch and culvert at the road's edge.
I pick myself up, give myself a pat-down to assess the injuries and find - much to my relief - that I'm not in any pain and can walk without issue. The dwellers of the adjacent campsite are quick to arrive, as is my riding partner, to check my condition and determine if medical professionals are needed. Our attention quickly turns to the bike and between myself, my buddy and a handful of the men who just watched this ordeal unfold, grab the bike and put it back into its upright stance. The result of my lapse of judgement leaves the windscreen broken into two pieces, the mirror missing, front fender broken (don't worry, the sign post that it hit is OK), the upper-right storage bag in tatters and the turn signal dangling by a wire. Fortunately the upper crash-bars took the brunt of the impact and, while heavily scratched, left the bodywork unscathed. The right-side pannier is also slightly dented. It doesn't look bad but I'll find later that it rendered my internal electronic hookups without power and the hinge in multiple pieces.
Fortunately, I'm not seriously hurt. My pride, however, takes the brunt of the burden. With my things collected, and my eyes now back on the road, we continue up the path looking for a suitable spot but the road quickly turns unrideable as the ruts from Jeeps and other 4x4's have left tracks which are unsafe for the average rider. We turn back and eventually settle on a site in a holler, alongside a babbling brook, next to the spot of my folly and set up camp for night two. It doesn't take long to get the necessary gear unloaded but the site is sparse and I end up with a lumpy spot for my tent while Chris takes the smoother patch of grass. With our bikes in arms-reach it doesn't take long before we're both working on dinner. My mind is filled with a million thoughts of "what if" and reliving those few chaotic seconds. Chris is also obviously rattled (by either my "off" or something else - I'm not certain) and nary a word is spoken between us. Our site sets us just shy of 10,000' in altitude so the Adventure Meals don't cook as thoroughly as they should. I have pasta primavera and Chris chokes down half of his beef stew. He comments that it's one of the worst ones that he's had and, similarly, my noodles are still crunchy. Neither of us are in the mood for anything more so the Scotch and deserts remain packed away in their associated containers. Light begins to become scarce so we turn in for the night to try and get some rest.
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| My campsite after the crash |
I'm still embarrassed/pissed/disappointed from my earlier fuckup and my head remains rattled long into the wee hours of the morning - so much so that I use my work phone to get a picture of our campsite - a fact that I forget about for months. My hip also begins to throb where I landed on it and am unable to sleep on my side like normal. I try to take my mind somewhere else by watching a movie on my tablet but the temp has been dropping rapidly since sunset and I'm now fighting to keep warm. I left my thermals in the tail bag of the bike and, at this point, I'm not about to fight the cold to get them so I make-do with what I have. I toss and turn until around 3:30 AM when my brain finally shuts down and get a few moments of rest.
Overall, the day was filled with highs and lows, both in the literal sense and the figurative one. We started the day at around 2,000 feet and ended up on high-plains, mountain tops, river valleys and everything in between. We saw antelope, storybook river streams, aspen forests and a dizzying variety of gravel roads. The experience is priceless but the contrast to the end of the day is a tough pill to swallow and the cost of repairs is certain to cut deep. Fortunately we are well prepared, despite a few mishaps with the gear so I'll get whatever rest I can and get ready for tomorrow!
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