Trip - Day 3

Day three of the trip begins at over 9000 feet in elevation. Having tossed and turned nearly all night we wake and don our cold-weather gear. It's too cold to eat and between yesterday's crash and the cold neither of us are in any mood to stick around too long. We load the bikes and head towards the nearest town for our morning routine of fuel, food and bio-breaks. After the prior day's fiasco it becomes clear that we are unlikely to make our planned mileage so Chris starts making adjustments to the route and lops off a chunk of the ride from the early part of the day. It's also clear that our gear really isn't suited for 30 degree nights so our initial plan of staying at over 10,000' needs revision. While enjoying a breakfast burrito from a local New Mexico staple our tour plans are revised: the new goal is to make it just across the Colorado border, cut out a portion of the route and find an established campground. At least, that's the plan...

Our route begins by climbing a dusty cliff-side road out of Espanola towards the San Lorenzo forrest. The trail winds its way up into the hills on mostly smooth gravel roads. As with the day before, dust continues to be a challenge. I trail behind Chris and his GS in a cloud of ever-increasing particulate matter. I snap a few shots with my action camera as we wind through the dense forest. As we blaze deeper and deeper into the park the road surface continues to throw up progressively increasing challenges: lumps and humps abound as gravel gives way to small stones, then rugged rocks and finally big boulders. The terrain and altitude continue to deliver a 1-2 punch as we snake deeper and deeper off the grid. 

An hour or two pass before we reach our peak altitude at just over 11,000 feet where we stop for a breather and a quick pic next to the snow banks that still skirt the roadsides. Things are calm and we slowly continue to build our confidence, gaining invaluable experience in a variety of terrain. We press forward and the scenery changes from dense pine forests to the scorched remnants of fires long-gone. The trail also affords a number of lesser-used off-chutes leading either further up the mountains or towards scenic overlooks of the valley below. Fortunately traffic is light: only a couple of other vehicles are found during the days ride which helps to keep the dust down. 

With the summit behind us the road begins to descent and we slowly make our way to the next city. The trails rugged nature limits our pace to 3rd gear or less - often much less - and, as it continues to fall in altitude, so too does the quality of the road surface. The larger boulders occasionally graze my footpegs and I'm starting to appreciate having a solid aluminum skid-plate. The trail during the ascent afforded plenty of leeway to avoid ruts and rocks but the decline is much less relenting. As the trail continues to degrade it becomes a game of finding the smallest rocks to hit: a smooth path is simply unattainable. Nevertheless we press on as the temperature begins to climb with the thicker air. Before long the trail narrows and becomes what I can only describe as an ATV-only path. The edges of the road curve steeply upwards on both sides and rocks the size of cantaloupe litter the surface. It takes ever increasing strength, stamina and concentration to remain upright on the uneven earth. And then, inevitably, it happens: Chris rides just a little too far up the embankment. His tires grab the slope with aggression and tug his bike closer and closer to the brink. His speed is too low to correct it, there's no runway to catch it and in the blink of an eye he's tipping over on his side. A last-ditch attempt to save it finds him flinging his foot outwards in an attempt to stay vertical but the attempt is futile and the bike lands on his ankle, trapping it (and him) underneath. He rolls from the seat to the ground and onto his back but being pinned under the panniers there's nowhere to go. His bike, like an anchor, tethers him to the spot. He screams through the intercom as his ankle pops and crackles under the strain. He yells for help to me but there's nowhere for me to stop. The steep decline makes my bike want to continue onwards without me. In a rushed panic I find a rock to chock my front wheel and rush over to pull his bike from its perch. Reluctantly it releases its grip and Chris is free to sit up and assess the damage.

As we recoup he attempts to put weight on his foot but succumbs to the pain shooting up from his ankle. "I think it's broken" he tells me through the intercom and I start to worry that we've bitten off more than we can chew. I dig my cell phone from my pocket and assess our current situation: no service, a down rider, and no way out. Our options are limited but there's still hope. He rests as we study the maps and discuss the plan to get back to civilization. Our original route has us bouncing through a network of roads towards Blue Bird Mesa, then north towards the San Pedro Parks Wilderness area but the injury necessitates a quicker exit from the park. The shortest route from our current location involves as near a bee-line towards Coyote as one can make. I walk his bike down the current slope to the nearest level area before hiking back up the hill to do the same with my own ride. Chris limps down the hill and sets up at the bottom to watch my painfully slow progress, assess the damage to his bike (miraculously there is none) and rest his wounded ankle. I ride both bikes down what's turned into a rocky 2-track to the next downward slope and repeat the process over again, slowly traversing the rocky road. The next mile of trail takes well over an hour as I continue to play leapfrog with the two heavily laden machines. Chris limps onward until we finally find level land, at which point, I help him back up onto his bike and we press onwards. He winces in pain with every up-shift and is forced to remain seated despite the lumpy terrain.

Another hour passes and we finally make our way onto a more frequently traveled road. Our pace quickens again as the sun begins to slip closer and closer towards the horizon. The scenery continues to astound: the gravel road winds through heavy forests along the edge of a creek. Through the lower levels of the trees we can see lush grassy clearings abutting the the dry creek beds, with steep hills on both sides. The road hugs the terrain closely, rising and falling through the holler, winding left and right in a long series of sharp turns that dodge the dense forests. Before long the thick trees give way and, as the road ends, we are dumped atop a ridge overlooking the small community of Coyote below. The scenes are breathtaking but so is Chris' ankle - quite literally - so we're afforded little time to enjoy it.

At long last we are finally back within cell range. We pull our phones from our pockets and pinpoint the nearest large town. We're both exhausted, dehydrated and Chris is enduring serious pain. We decide to forego  the Colorado border, skip camping and opt instead for a hotel where we can recoup, get a good shower, a hot meal and regather our strength. Incidentally, the nearest hotel is back where we started, in Espanola. The return route is mostly highway, which is much appreciated after our day of trials. Aside from a quick pic alongside the base of the Abiquiu Lake dam the route is uneventful and the higher speeds afford some relief from the heat as we both open our jacket vents to improve airflow.

Once in Espanola we begin the search for a hotel. Our first attempt lands us at a run down joint in a rougher part of town. Our indecision finds us leaving (twice) to see if any other options are available but the COVID-19 pandemic has most places shuttered. Our best option is to take a short drive over to Los Alamos where there are more options to pick from. Incidentally our ending location for the day lands us closer to our earlier crash-site than the next nearest town (at least in a straight line...), despite literally driving in a large circle around the forest. 

At the hotel we unwind for an early evening, shower and order a pizza. With the gear removed (not without some effort) Chris' ankle is visibly swollen. He scours his insurance benefits to determine his options and identifies the nearest hospital - should things go from bad to worse. As the night is still young and the sun has yet to escape the sky, I hop back onto the bike to explore the little town. It's a shame that the coronavirus has everything shut too because it's an amazing little place. There is a microbrewery, a number of monuments around town, some cool bars that could have been a much-needed relaxing spot to wet one's whistle, if not for all being closed. There's also the historic Los Alamos National Laboratory, which I would have LOVED to visit and the scenery around town is spectacular as the city is perched around two sides of a deep canyon.

Once back at the hotel we chat about the plans for the following day. He decides to play it by ear and make a judgement call in the morning. If there's enough improvement in his condition we press onwards. If things turn sour we'll stop at the nearest clinic for medical advice. If there's no change then we may slab back to OK. We'll just have to wait until morning. There's little else to do so I break open the remaining Scotch and cozy up with my phone to edit photos and take notes about the day's events.

Night falls and I drift off to sleep. The day was arduous. Our total mileage this time wasn't even enough to consume a tank of fuel: the odometers clocked up around 170 miles despite having ended only about 45 miles from where we started. The scenery was epic and I regret not forcing a few more stops to see the history of the area. The roads were the toughest we've seen to-date and our confidence clearly outpaced our skill levels for this - now broken - leg of the journey.

The following morning we're up early to check on status. Chris didn't sleep much and he's raring to go just as the sun crests the canyon walls outside our accommodations. With COVID there is no breakfast being served at the hotel and our early-bird selves have beat most restaurants to opening. Our only option is to grab a "to-go" bag from the front desk, choke down a dry muffin and gulp a mini bottle of water. We pack our gear and limp down to the bikes. It's pretty clear that there won't be any more off road riding in Chris' near future and my bike is tattered and torn. It's a tough call to make but we both know it's the right one so we shove the disappointment aside and cut the trip short (by several days), plug "home" into the GPS and book it for the state line.

We burn up the miles heading home and before you know it we're in Texas. We pass the infamous "car-henge" just outside Amarillo (no stops for photos today), blast through the panhandle and back into western Oklahoma. The miles churn pretty quickly along the flat, straight, hot, boring drive. By 6pm we're rolling back into my driveway where our better halves have readied a fresh glass of Scotch to drown our disappointment. And just like that, it was all over. An anti-climactic end to our epic first-ride.