May 3-4

My previous post rattled off all the different challenges I've faced on this trip and then asked, What's next?

On my ride from Las Vegas, New Mexico, to Santa Rosa, New Mexico, I found out just what: thorns .  .  . the return of more winds . . . a Covid scare and a Good Samaritan.

I'm writing this on Wednesday. I needed another day to get the cold I've been battling behind me. Also, more strong winds were forecast for today, and after yesterday I just didn't want to do battle with them again.

That picture above is a screenshot of a video I shot on Tuesday, which is posted below. I don't want to make a practice of having my mug at the top of these pages, but this time it seemed appropriate. Not only does the video have the only images I got from the day, but it was shot when everything seemed to be going well. Immediately after, as I got back on my bike, everything turned to shit.

But let's start from the beginning — my overnight town of Las Vegas.

You might recall I spent an extra day in Las Vegas to rest up and fight off this cold. I also was in some pain from riding in so much wind and climbing so many long hills that I needed some time to give those sore spots a respite. Unfortunately, another rest day wasn't possible, since I had to vacate my room to make space for firemen and evacuees of the nearby Calf Canyon and Hermits Peak wildfires — which have become the largest fires in New Mexico history.

When I awoke Tuesday morning, the winds had died down and shifted direction, so the smoke-filled, dirty-orange skies of the day before had given way to a crystal-clear blue.  I wouldn't have to wear a mask leaving Las Vegas, as I had feared.

According to my map, the first 20 miles of the 65-mile ride would be mostly downhill, so I was looking forward to an easier start. I would have to keep a steady pace, however, because high winds were forecast for the route by early afternoon. (I was trying to get to Santa Rosa before they got too strong.) The first 48 miles or so I would be riding in a southeasterly direction, going directly into the wind. The remaining 17 miles, heading northeast on the shoulder of Interstate 40, I'd have a 3 o'clock crosswind. On this day there would be no services once I got past Romeroville, just a few miles outside of Las Vegas. No convenience stores or gas stations. Nothing. I had a big breakfast — a frozen pasta dish I heated up in my in-room microwave, two slices of leftover pizza, and a couple oatmeal cookies. On the bike I had six Clif bars in my handlebar bag, and my three, 24-ounce water bottles to get me through.

I left from my hotel at 7 a.m. Everything seemed to be in place. 

I decided to divide the ride into thirds, so just past 20 miles I pulled off the road to take a break. There was a driveway, with a gate, that looked like a good spot. 

I leaned my bike against the gate and sat in some brush to down two of the energy bars and all the water in one of my bottles. After about 15 minutes, as I got up to get back on my bike, I noticed about a half-dozen tiny spikes across the back of my left hand. I hadn't felt them go in. And now . . . I couldn't pull them out, at least not with my fingers. I had to get my needle-nose pliers out of my repair kit to remove them. (I've since learned that those thorns were from cactus or other plants here. They have barbs that facilitate their easy (and painless) entry into something and make them difficult to take out. With the pliers I was able to extract them. None of the spots bled. I got back on the bike and pulled out onto the road. I went about 20 feet and felt my rear tire go flat. UGH!

So, I walked my bike back to the driveway and started the process of replacing the inner tube. I had a tiny thorn give me a flat a week before, so I knew I should investigate my tire closely to make sure a thorn, or whatever, wasn't still stuck in the tire, and would soon puncture the next inner tube I put in. I first checked the inner tube for a hole. If I could find the hole, I would know where on the tire the foreign object had entered. Trouble was, this hole was so small that I couldn't find it. I spent at least 15 minutes searching the tube and the tire trying to discover where the puncture occurred. I finally found a thorn slightly poking through the tire. I removed it with my pliers and hoped I had taken care of the culprit. As I was putting in the new tube and getting the wheel back on the bike, the homeowner whose driveway I was using came up the drive from his house in his pickup truck. I was afraid he was leaving and I would have to move all my stuff out of the way. Turned out he was just curious what I was doing. It also turned out he was interested in, and liked to talk about, cycling. All of which was great — I enjoyed chatting with him — but we spent probably 15-20 minutes talking that I could have used heading down the road. (He told me he owned 10 acres around his house and managed the other several thousand acres — which he motioned to with a sweep of his hand — that were owned by a multimillionaire. "What's he use the land for — grazing?" I asked. "It's his playground," he responded. "He comes here to run around in his ATV's, fire off his guns and have fun. He flies in, does that stuff for a few days and flies out." The homeowner had a jug of water in his truck, so he topped off my water bottles and wished me well.

An hour had passed.

But with a fresh inner tube installed, I headed down the road — into a stronger headwind. The mostly downhill portion of the route was over. I had a short, steep descent to the Pecos River, but then a long, steep climb of a few miles out of the canyon the river had cut over the ages. And the wind was getting stronger. And stronger. On a flat stretch, and even on a gradual downhill, I had to downshift into my "granny gear" — the smallest sprocket in front — to keep moving against the wind. My bike computer said I was going just 4-5 mph. After the last several days I'd had enough of the winds. I was getting fed up again. But I was now five miles from taking my next break, so I would keep pushing. And then it happened. I went over a small bump and felt my rear tire fishtail slightly. That usually means one thing — A FLAT TIRE!

I lost it. There was no way I was going to spend more time at the side of the road fixing a flat as the winds kept getting even stronger. I also was now out in more open terrain. There was nowhere to get out of the sun and wind. Screw it!

I leaned my bike against a highway sign and waited for somebody with a pickup truck to come over the hill. After a few minutes a semi-trailer whooshed by.  A few minutes after that a couple of small SUV's. (I was beginning to wonder how long I'd be waiting.) Then a small, black pickup came over the hill. I stepped onto the shoulder and waved my arms. The driver pulled over. I went to the passenger window and breathlessly asked the gentleman at the wheel if he were going to Santa Rosa. He said he was going through the city. I asked him if I could beg a ride because I was wiped out from the flats and the winds. "You don't need to beg," he responded. "I'll take you."

We loaded all my stuff in the small bed of his truck and got back on the road.

My Good Samaritan was named Wayne. He was from Lubbock, Texas, and was driving home after spending several days with a friend in Pueblo, Colorado.

"You know," he told me, "I hiked part of the Appalachian Trail once. And whenever I found myself in a situation where I needed help, somebody always came along."

"Well," I told him, "you're that somebody for me."

I was surprised how quickly we got to Santa Rosa. When I pulled out my phone and spoke into it, telling Google Maps to find the Best Western motel, the voice responded to continue straight for two miles and it would be on the left.

"What's that gizmo?" Wayne asked.

"Google Maps," I replied.

"I think my wife uses something like that," he said.

I got into my room, still fuming over my bad luck with the conditions. And then I got a text. It was from Helen Brooks, my college friend in Santa Fe. I'd met her and her husband for dinner.

"Well, this is kind of an 'oh shit' message I have to send," the text began. . . .  Helen said she had tested positive for Covid, even though she had gotten a second booster shot. I relayed the news to Susan, who insisted that I find a test kit somewhere in Santa Rosa. That was not going to be easy. My motel is near I-40, on the edge of town. The only things around it are truck stops and fast-food restaurants.

I called Santa Rosa's lone pharmacy, which was seven miles away, and asked if they delivered. "We do!" the pharmacist replied. "But the person who makes deliveries already returned for the day. They only do it once. You'll have to wait until tomorrow." I told her my situation and she responded that a convenience-store chain called Allsup's carried test kits — and there was one right across the road from my motel. (Hmm, why hadn't I not noticed an Allsup's when I drove in with Wayne? Spotting a nearby convenience store is something I've gotten pretty good at on this trip.) Anyway, I gave the good news of the test kit's proximity to both Susan and Helen. I got cleaned up and headed out of my motel room to get my test kit.

When I got out to the road, no Allsup's was in sight. Across the road was a vacant lot. I checked Google Maps on my phone. The closest Allsup's was 1.2 miles away. It was on the other side of the road, alright — from a  Days Inn! (I wish the locals could keep their motel chains straight.) I called Allsup's to confirm they had the kits in stock and headed off. If the conditions had been different, I might have taken my bike. But I wanted to thoroughly examine the flat, and also it was too windy to ride. Several gusts moved me around while walking to the store. 

I got my kit. On the walk back, I stopped at a McDonald's for a Deluxe Quarter-Pounder Meal. I then picked up a sandwich at a Subway for dinner later.

Back in my room, I took the test. It was negative. I relayed the news to Susan and Helen. Whew!

After about a 30-minute nap, I got busy on my rear tire. I put on my headlamp and examined it closely. I found two thorns that hadn't worked their way all the way through the tread (but would eventually).  I pulled them out with my pliers. I was about to put the new inner tube in when I thought, "OK, one more check." As I slowly worked my way around the tire again, a tiny thing glinted from the light of my headlamp. I got a grip on it with my pliers and pulled out a half-inch-long, skinnier-than-hair wire that was fairly stiff. It had poked through to the inside of the tire. I don't know why I didn't feel it when I ran my fingers around that area. I'm just glad it's out of there. I hope I got out all the sharp objects.

Santa Rosa has no bike shops, so I couldn't buy new inner tubes here. I put patches on the two punctures. They'll be my spares until I can get to a shop to buy new ones.

I'm glad I took this extra rest day in Santa Rosa. I got a great night's sleep (maybe I'm sleeping better now that I'm not at higher elevations), and I can feel my cold fading. I've had ice on my, uh, sore spots, which seems to have helped. Also, if I had gone out today, I would have been trying to outrun the winds again. They're now blowing at 25-30 mph. They would have been more to my back, though not a straight tailwind.

Tomorrow, Thursday, is forecast to be much calmer, with winds in the single digits all day. I'm headed about 60 miles to Tucumcari and what appears to be a rather interesting motel. That's what's next!

Contact me: Thoughts or comments? Email me at richardridesusa@gmail.com.

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