invasion of america - buy the ticket, take the ride

Day 30. New Mexico

It all starts with a bunch of Apaches eating danishes in the lobby of my hotel...

Actually, it starts a moment before that when I woke up in a daze in a hotel room in Dulce, New Mexico, with blurred visions of blood thirsty Apaches riding down on fool-hearty cowboys that had most likely, foolishly invaded their lands. Arrows were captured in mid-air, moments away from impacting the chests of their victims. The cowboys were all wounded but they were still fighting valiantly in the face of certain death. Even with the arrows seconds away from ending their lives, they were able to take aim and fire their pistols at the rather "put-out" savages. It was just a cheap hotel room painting but it I was the perfect way to enjoy waking up. If you are the type of person that enjoys an early morning "death for all" day dream.

I packed up my gear and walked down to the lobby...

...this is where we pick up the beginning of the story...

....and into a scene that was straight out of the painting. Of course, the cowboys and indians were a bit different looking from the savage still life in my hotel room, but they were all the same. They were all standing around the lobby, chit-chatting and eating cheap hotel continental breakfast items. It's hard to imagine these cowboys as the same ones from the painting while they were stuffing their faces with Dolly Madison pastries. I guess that little red stuff in the corner of their mouths is jelly and not blood.

My how far life has come. Of course, these cowboys and indians didn't embrace the spirit of the John Wayne movies at all. In fact, other than the general bulbous shape of the Duke, these white boys didn't seem "cowboy" at all, not wearing micro-flauge outfits from head to toe and whispering racial slurs about these, "navajos". It would have been easy to lose my cool had it not been for the great irony of the moment. In a wonderful twist of fate, the navaj.... The indians were the ones that were actually wearing the uniform of a greedy nation(best western hotel) and sporting fake smiles that said "trust me". Had the painting been reinacted today, I wonder how it would all play out. The white folk are again, armed and ready to kill, but I doubt that the Indians would use arrows this time around. Perhaps lawyers hurt the enemy worse than an arrow in the throat.

It had rained the night before so most of the perfect New Mexico landscape looked like a wet dog trying to come into the house and muddy up the white carpets. It was a dull day, unseasonably cold, very uninviting. My rear tire was pretty bald so moisture puddling up on the roadways wasn't what I wanted to have factoring into the day's drive. Historically, this part of the country hasn't been kind to me and my vehicles. I have broken down here twice in different vehicles and have been stranded here without much hope to my name both times. My anxieties were higher than normal but I was ready.

Today was supposed to be a drive north to Alamosa, Colorado for a show, but it had cancelled a few days before and a drive north was sort of pointless unless I just wanted to say I had ridden Colorado(a huge thing for motorcyclists). Not needing anything more to brag about I decided that instead I would point the bike due west and just head toward the infamous "four corners" of America which was a little over two hours away. It's one of America's greatest tourist traps and I love tourist traps. Love them.

The rains had been hitting the road hard over the past few days and there were huge chunks of asphalt missing on the roadway that had to be dodged if one wanted to live to see Utah. You would think that I, as a reasonable and learned man, would have opted to slow down a bit, and perhaps take it easy on the sharp narrow curves that rip through the rocky, Apache-ladden desert of New Mexico. One slip and I am bound to be the easily captured meal of one Wiley little coyote that is burnt out on chasing an elusive roadrunner.

The bike seemed to be moving itself down the road all on it's own, and other than the strange rocking motion that had been plaguing the engine since Texas, it seemed hell bent on getting out of Injun territory sans sharp arrows stuck in it's side.

The four corners are in the middle of the Navajo reservation, which should never be mistaken for the APACHE reservation as the two were not good friends, historically. Others have made the mistake of calling one tribe by the other's name and I know that certain tribes have arranged to have some breakfast pastries wiped on the muddy floor before being placed on a tray befor the offenders ate them.

Outside of this, it's a place of incredible beauty, even with the monsoon blowing around me. This is where they have filmed all the great westerns and Thelma and Louise. It's here that a coyote chased down a roadrunner while wearing rollerskates and a rocket strapped across his back and came up short and died at the bottom of a huge ravine(had he waited for the rainy season he could have walked up and just grabbed the fucking roadruner that would be hiding under the sage bush. AND, had he missed and flown off the cliff, he would have landed in a river instead of a catcus). It's here that the natives carved their homes out of the sides of huge rock walls and kept great secrets about the universe(ones that Mulder kept trying to prove to the world but was never able to). It is here that the rocks vary in color from "rare steak red" to "ripe pumpkin orange". It is here that the sky stretches across the land without interruption as far as you can see. It is here that one man would take on the entire nation and yelling his name would mean undertaking a brave act. It's here that a man on a bike can disappear into the world and come to realize that he is nothing but just a part of the world.

The rains were coming down so hard that you could only stand on the four different states for no more than five or ten seconds before the uncomfortableness of it all made you move to shelter. Thankfully, all four states have put up shelters where you can get out of the rain, and buy some indian trinkets and/or some fry bread. I was hoping for so much more than this, but a little bit of rain doesn't spoil a moment. Not even if it's the storm of the century and it's dumping over an inch of rain an hour. You can't ruin life with the weather. Even Shackleford, who survived the worst weather ever, wouldn't be noteworthy, had he not had the weather to carve his name in history.

I headed north to Moab, Utah and I was hoping to get to Salt Lake City before it was too late. I was worried about my tire and I needed to get it fixed before the shop in Salt Lake City closed for the weekend.

[side note: the storm of the century had just rolled in to southeastern Utah and it was dumping over an inch of rain an hour]

I wish I could say that I saw some of the beauty around me, but again, I was forced to focus on the road that was leading me home. Periodically the weather would break and the powerful smell of wet sage would creep into the helmet and that would make my eyes water. But before I could completely get lost in the moment the rains would return and I would be forced to get back on task and "get there".

By the time I got to Green River, Utah I could tell there was no way I was going to make it Salt Lake. The rain was still coming down but now the winds had picked up and were blowing at 60 plus miles an hour. Which is enough to make anyone stop for the night.

I stopped for the night.

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Day 31 Green River, Utah

Blue skies. Hippies. Dry clothes and not even one tiny little breeze. The bike was clean of all bugs and dirt. The air was filled with the strong smell of sage.

I headed north to Price and just couldn't get enough of..... Have you ever run two hours on a treadmill? Notice how that scenery didn't change? That was the first two hours of today's trip. It wasn't completely Utah's fault. The bike was near death and I was so worried that it wasn't going to make it that I didn't pay attention to anything else around me. And when I did look up and pay attention it looked like the same highland desert.

I got to the BMW shop in Salt Lake City and I was just thrilled to be alive! The weather was beautiful and I felt like I had plenty of time to get the tire replaced and be on my way so I could enjoy the rest of the day. That was until the mechanic came out to look at the bike and he said the one thing that you never want to hear out of a mechanic's mouth. He said, "oh shit!" As it turned out, my chain had sprung and that had chewed up the rear sprocket on the bike - in real life terms it's the same as your lungs collapsing. It turns out that for the last seven hundred miles I was riding a death trap. Had the chain caught the sprocket just a wee bit out of time or out of sequence, the bike would have locked up and come to a stop in a hurry. It would have sent me flying along the highway sans bike. I doubt even the rich smell of sage would have improved the ride.

550 bucks to save the bike's life. Cheaper than a new pair of lungs but more than I have available to me. I'm 1300 miles away from home. It's Saturday afternoon. I have a show in California on Wednesday which is 870 miles away and no way to get there. I have 200 bucks to my name. It turns out that the Apaches back in New Mexico over charged my credit card and therefore, maxed it out. I have no idea where my friend with whom I am supposed to be staying with is. My butt hurts and I'm hungry for pizza.

I almost wish it was raining or that a dog was pissing on my shoe. At least then the image would have been perfect. Perfect enough for a cheap hotel room painting that could hang above the bed.

Five hard hours in a truck stop with nothing to do. Nothing but wait for the answers to find me and watch the weather channel(it was snowing in Buffalo a lot. I know, cause they said 50 times). There are times when giving up seems like the best option. I have seen this come up more than once during this trip and in my life. In fact, the winds on this trip have yet to give me one day off since I started this dream of a lifetime, but I have yet to turn around even though I've wanted to. Not once. Not yet.

I didn't know it at the time, but there was a young lady with more life in her hair than I had in my whole body that was going to show me the way. Salvation, it would seem, was found in the fact that even though the arrow was heading toward me, I could still go down shooting.