Sun., July 11: Back on route 82, we rode into New Mexico. Stopped in Roswell to check out the goofy tourist trap, alien museums, stores selling t-shirts and plastic flying saucers. Ran into rain in the mountains just west of Hondo. Rain turned into high winds and cold, sideways, blowing rain. Blinded by the rain, and buffeted across the lane, I slowed to 35 mph, and put on my flashers. I had to remove my goggles and squint between my fingers to see. We rode through the “squall” but rode into another, a few miles later. There were four squalls in all, and cold rain got down the neck of our rain suits. Rose said, “I wanna go home!” But we took our high speed descent out of the mountains, and the temperature rapidly heated to about ninety degrees. We hit Socorro and got a room for the night, 8 half-quart cans of PBR, and a pint of cheap vodka. And we did a load of wash.
Mon., July 12: Took route 60 west to Magdalena, and some huevos rancheros, for breakfast. Route 12 brought us from Datil to Reserve, and I was surprised to find that the Road Glide got 58 mpg. From Reserve, we took route 180 into Alpine, Arizona, with sweet, cool, mountain air, fragrant of pine. We rode back down 180 to Alma, New Mexico, where I refilled the gas tank, and checked the gas mileage again, this time getting almost 60 mpg! Crossed the Continental Divide twice today, and reached an altitude close to 10,000 feet above sea level, near Alpine. Rode route 180 down to Silver City, New Mexico, home of Billy The Kid, where we got a room.
We took the room at The Drifter because they advertised a bar, pool table, and pool. After we checked in, we found out the bar was closed on Mondays, and the pool was closed, too. The place was run down, pretty much deserted, except for us. But there was a restaurant/bar across the street, so it would do. We’d reached the furthest point of our ride, and would be heading mostly east from now on.
We drank a few left over PBR’s in the room, with ice, and went across the street to the bar and made friends. There was a tiny woman there, named, appropriately, Tiny, who told us not to go to The Buffalo, because it was crowded and there were too many fights. Some big dude across the bar said, “Don’t go to The Buffalo!” So I said, “That’s just what I’m looking for!” I asked for directions, and we rode over to The Buffalo. Great place! Fifty cent pool table, bikers, crazy people, and a cool bartender named Wendy. Got a good buzz there, made friends, took pictures, and went back to the shithole hotel, a piece of history. It looked like Billy The Kid pissed on the rug.
Tue., July 13: We took 180 south and east to The City Of Rocks, an impressive arrangement of boulders, launched and deposited by some ancient volcano. Interstate 10 took us into Las Cruces, where we stopped at Barnett’s Harley Davidson for an oil change. They took the bike right in and we walked down the street for some lunch. With fresh 20/50 flowing through the engine, we rolled down I 10 in the heat, near 100 degrees, into El Paso, with heavy truck traffic, and an accident blocking the right lanes. Checked into the Quality Inn (with coupon), right around beer-thirty. After washing some of the dust from out throats, we took a ride on 375, along the international border fence, and found a motorcycle shop called Biker’s Custom, on Alameda. We hung out for a while with Jimbo, the owner of forty years, and Pete. They made us feel right at home in the well stocked, old school shop. Back along the border fence, and onto Montana, we stopped at the Brotherhood MC Shop. Danny, the owner, showed us around, offered us a beverage, and was very hospitable. This was another great “old school” motorcycle shop. Danny was proud of his newest project: a ‘49 Pan that he picked up south of the border. The biker spirit lives in El Paso! The Mexican food that we had for dinner made my face sweat, and we drank big margaritas, shots of tequila, and, of course, beer.
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