"Ghost stories and other guest experiences" read the cover. He added "it's an interesting no read. We didn't see anything strange last night but if you did...". Perhaps an epilogue to my previous post?
A quick banana, oatmeal and coffee at the hotel, a splash and go at the pump and I was off for a day of riding across nearly 300 miles of desert. With hundreds of miles of desert in every direction at least I wouldn't be needing a weather escort, or so I thought.
From Bisbee I headed south along highway 80 until I came to the outskirts of Douglas, Az. There the road split with truck route 80 bearing left and historic route 80 diving directly into Douglas. It was my assumption that after riding through beautiful downtown Douglas the road would pop out on the south side and rejoin the highway. You know what they say about assuming.
The town was about what I thought it would be but without the bi-lingual signs. There is only one language in Douglas, and it isn't English! (The clerk in the store spoke very good English and was very polite and anxious to point me back to the highway).
On the south side of town, all streets dead ended onto a street running east and west.
Directly on the south side of this road stood a tall wall with a barbed wire fence on the other side of it, a narrow no-mans-land zone, then, presumably, another fence. This extended as far as I could see in both directions. I had found the Mexican Border!
After snapping a couple of photos I turned around and went north on the eastern side of town, through a residential neighborhood. The houses were all small but well kept, set amongst a very nice school with an LED sign announcing upcoming events.
I found the highway and continued east toward Rodeo (this WAS the first time I've been to Rodeo!) which sat just across the border in New Mexico.
I found a safe place to pull over and take the requisite stateline photo, then it was back to business. I did not realize until I stopped for lunch that
I had, concurrently, crossed into the Mountain Time Zone
In a very short time I found an unmarked intersection that was, it turned out, N.M. 9, the tiny thread of a highway that paralleled, more or less, the border nearly all the way across the state.
I had chosen this route in an attempt to stay as true as possible to my intended mission: to ride the perimeter of the lower 48 and, wherever possible, avoid Interstate routes and seek out the back roads and their inhabitants.
The outline of highway 9 on Google Maps was so faint that I wondered if it was even paved and/or safe to travel on it. I didn't need to wait long for the answer. The road was indeed paved and, as it turned out, in pretty good shape. As for safety...
I was only about two hundred yards down the road, still accelerating, when two large buzzards swooped down and landed on a piece of roadkill that lay directly ahead of me. One took off again almost before stopping. The other hesitated long enough to show me his best deer-in-the-headlights imitation, then, as quickly as a bird with a six foot wing span can, took off in a belated attempt to stave off danger (his and mine). As all of this was happening I was decelerating, hoping to reach a maneuverable speed by the time he showed which direction he was headed. We managed to avoid each other but I could have plucked a tail feather for a souvenir. I decided that I would eschew the cruise control for awhile, at least until my heart rate returned to normal!
TRIVIA TIME:
Does anyone recall the tag line that appeared on posters and advertisements for the movie "Easy Rider"?
That battle cry echoed through my mind numerous times while planning for this trip. A mere 14 miles down the highway I found what Peter Fonda, Dennis Hopper and Jack Nicholson could not, America. It was hiding in PW's diner at the corner of highways 9 and 338 in Animas, N.M. This was what America is, or was, or should be.
It started with a plethora of thank you's and yes sir's during the order taking process and continued through my examination of the well conceived Americana decor. Along with displays of times long since lost were two specific pieces that captivated me. The first I was able to capture in a photo.
If you can't read the printing let me know and I will email a larger copy. It is from a book that I own (words I never would have thought possible for me to utter).
The second piece I may need to seek out because the photo can not possibly do it justice. It is titled Words of Freedom.
At first glance it appeared to be a slightly soiled 50 star American flag. Upon closer examination it is covered with names, facts, quotes, the Declaration of Indepence and the Bill of Rights. Each star is labeled with the state it represented, the date of statehood and names and events relating to the state.
These people are the forgotten America. The people who don't ask anything of their country but the freedom to live their lives without the interference of a political body that can't help but trip over itself and defile the rights of polite hard working people in the name of political correctness and securing votes to an office they have forgotten about in search of power. No politician running for Federal Office will ever go to Animas, but a ham and cheese sandwich and conversation with PW should be a prerequisite of any office.
If you've never seen Easy Rider let me suggest this - don't! It doesn't age well. Instead travel to Animas and meet the wonderfully polite waitress who works there.
Somewhere near Hatchita, N.M. I crossed the Continental Divide, a major benchmark of the trip. About 15 miles further down the road I passed the 3,000 mile threshold also, then shortly after my bike turned 15 (15,000 miles that is).
Near the small town of Columbus, N.M., where I had been forewarned to stop for gas (last gas station on highway 9), I noticed that the dips in the road where flash flood warnings had been posted for the last several hundred miles were still dry but surrounded by water on both sides. Both in Columbus and here in Las Cruces I was told of a horrible hail storm that swept through yesterday. Had I not decided to get the room at the Castle Rock Inn, I may have ridden directly into that storm.
My plan was to angle north near the Texas border and spend the night in Las Cruces but someone in the New Mexico Highway Department didn't get the memo. My little gem of a road suddenly came to a stop at a T intersection. By itself that would not seem so unusual. However, the stop sign was the only marking at the intersection. No identification of the intersecting highway, no indication what was to the left or to the right. This was a major highway! There had been no announcement signs during the approach (highway XYZ to El Paso), not even an indication that highway 9 was ending!
Three was a sign of to the right that was written in Mexican, saying something about vehiculas comercialis so I knew I didn't want to go that way. So I turned left and went several miles, through several intersections before they gave me a highway number, 28! Without my GPS working that did me know good. I knew I wanted to go near, but not into Texas, then go north on highway 136, but none of the intersections told me where I was headed.
I had wanted to cross into Texas tomorrow and take a picture of the Welcome sign at the border. Once highway signs did start to appear (still without destinations) I could tell just how lost I was. First I crossed the Rio Grande, then saw a Texas shaped highway marker to confirm that I was in the Lone Star State. But then I was on N.M. 128, then back in Texas getting on I-10 east toward Anthony. I saw a "you are now leaving the Enchantment State" but never a "we really don't give a rip about your sign project". So I turned around, being careful to use the west bound lanes (whew, that was close), and rode another 20+ miles to Las Cruces so I could figure it out tonight.
So tomorrow is another state (hopefully including another sign), as I quickly leave New Mexico behind.
Wish me luck finding Texas!
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