Route 66 Gallup, New Mexico to Amarillo, Texas: May 27, 2019 Day 6 - Santa Fe Plaza to East Santa Fe KOA

Brother Mark composed this description of today's ride:

THE GREAT SOUTHWEST ROUTE 66 ADVENTURE

Day 6 (May 27, Monday)--Santa Fe to (almost) Glorietta Pass (east of Santa Fe)

After yesterday's mega-adventure, today served as a semi-recovery day.

After spending a leisurely morning (re)packing, we made the less-than-a-mile trek to the historic Santa Fe Plaza, which one could argue is the birthplace of the "modern" (aka "cowboy") Southwest.

Many people asked about our trip, and seemed genuinely interested.

After walking around the square, taking in the ambiance, architecture and art, we found our way to the Blue Corn Cafe for a wonderful New Mexican food lunch.

Today's ride was 14 miles (23 km) from the Plaza to the Santa Fe Journey KOA, east of the city.  It was an up and down ride, but mostly up.

Because the weather continues to be windy and cold, Kent suggested that we rethink our tent camping strategy, lest we end up in Oz, or some similar location.

So we "upgraded"our tent site for a KOA "camping cabin"--a simple 13'x16' wooden cottage with bunk beds and one full bed (both with mattress pads).

Nothing fancy at all, but at least we didn't have to worry about our tiny tents blowing away to who-knows-where (with us inside them)!

We took advantage of the laundry facilities. (Imagine the aroma of six sets of stinky bike clothes.)

The laundry room was decorated in full blown 'Route 66.'

Among other things, we tried our hand at cooking dehydrated lasagna on our 'rocket' camp stove.

Except for me spilling a bit all over the front of Kent (it looked like someone threw up on him), it went pretty well!

[Editor's note: I'm pretty sure he deliberately threw the sizzling brew at me. But why? What did it do to deserve this? I'll tell you why: Brother Mark has always believed that Mother liked me best(aka, The Smothers Brothers Syndrome) , and sometimes, despite the steel-like grip he has on his inner child, it occasionally finds some kind of sinister expression. He has a real problem. He just doesn't know it. And don't tell him. I'm not sure if he actually reads this blog, so I think I'm safe most of the time. Perhaps someday he'll get therapy.]

We should sleep well, and be ready for a big day tomorrow.

Downtown Santa Fe Plaza functions as another Time Machine along Route 66 enabling visitors to see and sense the Old Southwest.

Santa Fe's "real" name is La Villa Real de la Santa Fe de San Francisco de Asis, translated "The Royal Town of the Holy Faith of Saint Francis of Assisi."

Native American's knew it long before the Spanish as as Ogha P'oge ("White Shell Water Place").

Santa Fe, founded in 1610 as the captital of Nuevo Mexico,claims title as the oldest State capital in the USA. This "city" has been continuously inhabited since 900 AD!

As a capital it served as the strategic economic, military, and governing epicenter of the region passing through Spanish, Mexican, and American ownership throughout the birth and settlement of the old Southwest, It has been referred to historically as the "Washington D.C. of the Old West."

Native Artisans create and sell one-of-a-kind art for wearing and decorating.



Desperately requiring fuel for our awesome athletic bodies, we each enjoy the largest tostados imaginable.

If you look closely you will see we are not fat or obese. We are just solidly built :-)

(Despite burning over 4,000 calories per day, I gain weight on this trip. Couldn't help it. Southwest Mexican food is amazing!)

We pause in the Plaza before striking out towards today's destination.

This photo captures the gist of our riding terrain today.

Up and down, up and down, up and down.

Wide paved road shoulders for riding are so nice.

True Story.



Compared to our micro mini cycling tents, tonight we stay in the Taj Mahal.

Sitting on the porch I pose pretending to be an old man. It's fun to make-believe occasionally :-)

Definitely an upgrade from a nylon tent!

KOA stands for "Kampground of America," a national franchise of camp grounds for recreational vehicles and tenters.

So I think a cabin in a KOA should be called a Kamping Kabin. It only makes sense, eh?

Therefore are staying in a KK at KOA. K?

Product placement?

Closing my eyes, imagining and remembering my delicious lunchtime Tostado really helped me eat this.

Actually, it was rather good.

Notice the spike on the right hand side of today's speed graph?

That might be a land speed record for me on a bike. (Okay. I admit it. I'm not a racer. On purpose.)

Flying 62 kph (38 mph) downhill on a heavily loaded bike starting to shake like a Space Shuttle upon re-entry gives new meaning to the phrase "fast and furious." Especially when I realize I have no way to actually slow this rig down, much less stop it.

Kids: Do not try this even with (crazy) adult supervision!

I'm setting a bad example here, and not proud of it. (But it was a great adrenaline rush!)

Route 66 Gallup, New Mexico to Amarillo, Texas: May 26, 2019 Day 5 Bernalillo to Santa Fe, New Mexico

I posted this entry for the day on our Shelley Brothers Cycling Adventures Facebook page:

Day 5: Bernalillo to Sante Fe, New Mexico.

Brother Mark predicted this would be our toughest day’s ride for our entire trek. 

I’m pretty sure he's correct. Or, at least I hope he is, for I’m not sure either one of us could repeat or exceed today’s experience any time soon. 

We experienced it all today:

Side winds trying to push us over. Was a challenge to keep our bikes upright;

Headwinds on the inclines creating the sensation gravity hates us.

Tailwinds hitting us, feeling like someone is punching us in the back saying, “Get a move on!”;

Blazing temps dangerously raising body temps;

Miraculous cloud cover at the 11th hour;

Chased by a thunderstorm;

Meeting some incredible people across a wide spectrum of cultural identities.

(Just another day in the life of a touring cyclist ;-) 

By the end of the day we climbed a little over 3,100 ft (945 meters) over a distance of 59 miles (93 km). 

Our first few hours found us navigating an ancient segment of Route 66 as guests on Native Land.

One 5 mile (8 km) section was a washboard of sand/gravel/rock nearly impossible to travel: like riding our bikes on soft beach sand mixed with marble-sized rocks.

While struggling along, 70+ year old Steve pulls up in his old pick up and expresses his concern for us.

Then he realized we weren’t in trouble, just crazy. (We get that a lot on these rides.)

So we talked about calving, and water tables, and rattlesnakes “which are all over that hill just across this road.” He was being serious.

Many First Nations residents waved and cheered us on, like the two older ladies who called out their car window, “Now you boys take care of yourselves.”

The second half of our ride we climbed big time. In our lowest gears we laboured up radical inclines requiring “hundreds” of pedal rotations per minute.

It was so hot!

Then came the blessed cloud cover.

Then came the blessed tailwind.

Then came the storm.

It was pushing us along with 45 mph (73 kph) cold gusts, but the rain and lightning kept gaining, and there was literally no place to take shelter, and nothing to do but keep pedalling hard, making a direct run for the edge of Santa Fe in hopes of finding shelter from the lightening, winds, and rain. 

And we did.

Literally moments before the water hit, pulling our bikes over a hill, the first building we saw was a gas station/convenience store. 

We huddled with our bikes under the awning of the storefront, ate some snack food, watching the storm pass. 

That’s when we met Gary, artist, motorcyclist, and appreciator of Route 66.

We swapped stories and insights and became instant friends.

Gary gave us his phone number if we were ever back in town, or near his summer home in Montana. 

Storm passed and our tired rubber jelly legs faithfully took us the final 10 miles (16 km) through the town, mostly along a beautiful paved riverbed bike path, to our Motel 6. 

Ate pizza. Cleaned up. Conked out. 

Here’s some photos telling our story through this interesting day:

Poking my head out of my tent I enjoy the sunrise.



The Flat Tire Champ wins again!

Before we even pedal out of the campground, Mark experiences and repairs flat number 3 or 4.

I'm losing count ;-)



Happy Black Bear wishes us well.



After a short ride to the outskirts of what you could call the edge of northern Albuquerque, we follow another very old segment of Route 66.

We just don't like spending anymore more time on the noisy shoulder pavement of the Interstate than required.

This road is NOT as firm as it looks in the photo.

Most of the surface shares the same depth and density as beach sand.

We pedal a torturous 5 mile (8 km) stretch that feels like an eternity and has me thinking very bad words about everything.

But it is along this stretch we meet Steve, an elderly, active rancher driving an older pick up.

He expresses concern about our physical well being. Realizing we are fine, I see in his eyes he still very much questions our mental condition.

I'm pretty sure he wanted to ask, "What the Hades are you doing riding a bike out here on this road?"

But he was too kind to do so.

Instead, we had a fascinating discussion about the unique challenges of ranching in this rattlesnake infested region.

These large specimens of cattle make it very clear who owns the roads in these them hills. (We are in open range territory. Very few fences.)

We stop a good distance away to "let" them pass. 

We immediately wondered if we stopped far enough away. 

It's a stare down.

We blink first.

They win. (I'm so grateful at this moment cattle are vegetarians!)

They move on.

We live. (At this moment, out of gratefulness and respect for the bovines, I become a vegetarian. For a couple of hours. Until just before lunch :-)

Finally we rediscover pavement.

And Romerdo's Market in the wide spot in the road on the map labeled Pena Blanca. (Translated: "White Sorrow." Wonder what the story and history behind this village might be?!)

And we are grateful.

We planned and hoped some kind of "watering hole oasis" might be found in this little village. If not, the second and very long half of our day would be in serious trouble.

Our deepest "Thanks!" to Romerdo's!



Shade in Romerdo's tiny parking lot is a breath from heaven. (The heat of the pavement reminds us hell isn't far away.)

It's not just the bottle of cold water I have just poured over my head making me look sweaty.

I looked that way before I dumped the cold water bottle contents over my head. I just wasn't smiling so much.

The temps in the 90'sF (40'sC).

This brief stop no doubt imprints in my memory as one of those lifelong recollections of "Ahhhhh...."

That's me on the right. Mark on the left.

He's the best brother, friend, and fellow Adventure Cyclist anyone could ask for.



Climbing out of the hot valley sheltering Romerdo's Market, we pedal onto this vast plain.

A huge valley between two ranges of high mountains.

Also a natural super-charged wind tunnel.

Powerful side winds make it difficult to keep our bikes upright.

This looks deceptively flat. It isn't. It's a slight, very long inclined road needlessly warming us up for what's ahead.

Note the intensifying cloud cover.

This reality comes to bear big time in a couple of hours.



In the thick of this windstorm, in the middle of this flat-as-the-sea valley, we get educated.

Summarizing this roadside info piece: "This road and the mountain side you are about to climb has been a pain in the butt for travelers since prehistoric time and remained so until the advent of first the railroad and then the automobile."

We soon discover this route continues to remain a literal pain in the butt to Adventure Cyclists.

Note how my havelock neck covering blows away from my person at a 45 degree angle. The wind she does blow!



We climb the Interstate shoulder lane up up up to the top of the pass.

I pause and consider the rapidly deepening dark clouds quickly pursuing us from behind.

The powerful sidewind now becomes a powerful tailwind.

We see the lightening and water wall approaching.

We are out in the middle of nowhere totally unprotected.

No shelter anywhere.

I'm not worried about getting wet. (A bit of coolness would be nice after being toasted all day.)

But this looks dangerous.

With the wind at our back we pedal with all our might. (Without the tail wind, we'd be goners.)

For at least an hour we flee towards the edge of Sante Fe and the hope of shelter.

But the storm creeps ever so much closer.

Just as the first big drops start falling sparsely on the pavement we crest a hill to the welcoming site of a large gasoline station and convenience store combo.

As soon as we roll up under the store awning, the floodgates of heaven open wide.

We gratefully purchase cold drinks and sandwiches and sit on the porch as the sky flushes and cleans the earth.



Gary also waits out the storm under the protective cover of the convenience store.

He lives around here in the cooler seasons, then motorcycles to his summer home in Montana.

Gary experiences Route 66 with a motor between his two wheels.

But our love for two wheels and Route 66 gives us plenty in common to chat about.

We compare notes and experiences of our journeys on The Mother Road.



We are slowly navigating our way through Sante Fe to our Motel 6.

And I mean "slowly."

On all our rides, Brother Mark consistently demonstrates a greater endurance than I on a bike.

Today is the first and only time I've seen him "crawling along."

He must really be tired.

I'm sure he is, for I can barely pedal and balance.

We've covered almost 60 miles (100 km), climbing almost 3,000 ft (1,000 m) in some of the most challenging elements of heat and wind and water and road surfaces we've ever encountered.

When I say our legs are like jelly, it's barely a metaphorical word.

We actually shake when we walk.

We continue slowly, both of us aware that if we stop, it may truly be hard to get moving again.



This is NOT our trail. Its the dry (right now) river bed along which our nicely paved bike path follows.

Saying bye bye to the bad clouds as they fly away to soak a few cyclists somewhere else.



I could kiss the person who designed this bike trail.

Tunnels go under streets, meaning we don't have to pedal up and down to street level all the time.



Yay!

This sign confirms we are still on our Route.

We finally reach Motel 6.

Our room is on the second level, and there is no elevator. Just exterior stairs.

We unload our bikes at ground level, and make several trips, taking gear up first, and then lift and push our bikes up the stairs.

We really don't mind. It's just wonderful to be here and be done pedalling for the day.

First Priority: Order the pizzas and very cold coca colas.

Second Priority: Take showers while waiting for pizza to arrive.

Third Priority: Eat all the pizza in the AIR CONDITIONED room.

Fourth Priority: Sleep.

No one can say we don't have our priorities in order!



The graph above accurately reflects the challenge of the day.

Route 66 Gallup, New Mexico to Amarillo, Texas: May 25, 2019 Day 4 Albuquerque to Bernalillo, New Mexico

Brother Mark posted on our Facebook page for this day:

Day 4:  NM-TX-OK Route 66 Trek

Crossing the Rio Grande

Woke up to a "soft" front tire this AM.  This is not unexpected after riding 14 miles on the Interstate yesterday.  Tiny wires from pieces of tires are strewn over the shoulder (see photo below).

A quick tube change and we were on our way.  (Flat Score:  Kent-1, Mark-1).

Route 66 Casino Hotel, where we stayed last night, is located on the Rio Puerco River.  So our first 5 miles (8 km)  this morning was a long, grueling climb to a hill called "Lost Horizon."

[This "climb" up the Lost Horizon represents the eastern boundary of the Colorado Plateau, a major geological/ecological feature defining the nature of much of the Southwestern USA]. 

But soon after that we coasted ["Flew" might be a better word!] down to the Rio Grande and Downtown Albuquerque on Route 66.

We figured out today we rode perpendicular through the Monarch butterfly migration going north!  \

At times we saw many of them crossing our path in flight, and found way too many that didn't make, and were now laying motionless on the road.

Even though much of 66 through Albuquerque has been modernized, there are some very distinct New Mexican remnants of the Mother Road to be enjoyed.

Recent good friends and cycling buddies (Thanks, Steve Doyle!), Susan and Dan Kutvirt, live just a couple of miles off Route 66, and Dan cooked us lunch. [I believe in his spare time Dan operates a first class pasta factory supplying many retailers of fine food.]

After a great (but too short) visit with Susan and Dan, Dan led us back to Route 66 via a paved bike trail.  It gave us a welcome relief from traffic!

Our 42 mile day ended at the Coronado Campground, run by the City of Bernalillo.

Our camping shelter overlooks the Rio Grande in the shadow of the Sandia Mountains.  Quite idyllic!

Tomorrow we climb over 2,000 ft to Santa Fe.  Hoping for an early start.

Shortly after departing our plush hotel, we find this preserved bridge beckoning back to the "real" days of Route 66 travel.

About five minutes past the bridge, Bro Mark goes flat.

Doesn't take long to fix. He's incredibly well practiced and very skilled at this procedure.

Our 5 mile (8 km) climb to the edge of Albuquerque provides a great morning cardio workout.

I pause at the top of the hill descending into the city.

In a few yards (meters) the downhill grade increases dramatically.

I use my brake to slow things down as my very heavily loaded bike begins wobbling and shaking like an unevenly loaded washing machine.  

We enjoy a wonderful lunch with Susan and Dan.

Wish we could have visit much longer, but the sun keeps moving even when we don't.

Dan, a cycling enthusiast himself, personally guides us north out of the city on a few miles (km) of the very impressive 400 miles (650 km) of bike paths and trails created by the city.

I'm guessing Albuquerque nears the top of US cities for designated bike routes proportional to population; "only" 500,000 people call Albuquerque their home!

Our path follows along the edge of the iconic Rio Grande River as it weaves its way south through the city.



We reconnect with Route 66 heading north out of the city.

A few hours later, we reach our well maintained city campground near Bernalilllo.

We deposit our heavy loads in our concrete camp structure and deal with the first and most important matter - Refueling.

Heaven smiled down on us and provided an iHop (International House of Pancakes) Restaurant.

They serve much more than just pancakes.

Notice in photo we eat dessert first. Cool people do so, and Brother Mark couldn't be more cool than he presents in this photo :-)




Back at the campground we shower and enjoy the view from our campsite.



As daylight diminishes, we erect our shelters.

We hope to rest well tonight. Tomorrow we do some serious climbing. The first of several days of serious climbing.

We must cross over the Sangre de Christo ("Blood of Christ") Mountains, inaccurately, in my opinion, referred to as the "foothills" of the Rocky Mountains.

Tomorrow two cyclists will discover there's nothing "foothill-ish" about them!

Route 66 Gallup to Amarillio: May 24. 2019 Day 3 - Acomita to Albuquerque, New Mexico

Day 3: Acomita Village/Sky City to (almost) Albuquerque, New Mexico

Mark posted this Shelley Brothers Cycling Adventures Facebook page entry for today's ride:

Although we had to wait until mid-morning for the temps to warm up, it turned out to be a great day for cycling adventures.

The wind decreased considerably, and we were able to find and ride on a lot of the older sections of Route 66.

Instead off cutting through the mountains and mesas, much of Route 66 hugged the base of these landscapes, which made for more curves, fewer cars and some really breathtaking scenic moments (which fail to be captured adequately in photos).

We rode 7 miles on an old section not even marked as Historic Route 66, though earlier maps and other sources assured us it was indeed 66.

Much (but not all) the asphalt was still there.  At one point, our path was blocked by a fence declaring it as "Indian land--No Trespassing"!

The last 14 miles (22 km) were on Interstate 40, going up and down long and relative steep inclines.

A total of 45 miles (73 km) brought us to the Route 66 Casino Hotel--our home for this evening.

All in all, a great day for bicycle touring!

Photos from today's ride:

Winds calmed down considerably. Temperatures rose to a more pleasant level.

Our Casino Hotel is located next to the Interstate Highway. But a short 2 km (1 mi) ride east reunited us with Route 66.

I could feel the magic at the very moment. We were now on a non-commercialized segment of 66.

Almost like a Time Machine, we travel back to at least the 1950's and find ourselves in a different world, a different time.





The Interstate Highway CUTS through the land. Hills and rocks and valleys are obstacles in the way requiring removal.

In contrast, Old Route 66 FLOWS with the land, welcoming it and embracing it with respect, providing enchanting views and moments, especially when experienced on the slower, more-at-one-and-in-the-moment-with-the-environment of cycling.

This first segment of today's ride ranks as one of my two most favourite sections of Route 66. Some of the best bike touring and visuals between Chicago, Illinois and Los Angeles, California.



Welcome to Elephant Rock.

It looks very much like an elephant when you see the whole thing when approached from the east heading west.

Unfortunately, since we are travelling west to east (so as to be pushed along occasionally by the prevailing winds), I failed to get a picture of it.



Purposeful and personal graffiti speaks from this rock as travelers from the 1920's to present day record their names upon it.

Elephant Rock served as a welcome landmark to over 200,000 climate refugees fleeing the uninhabitable American Mid West Dust Bowl on their way to California via Route 66 in the 1930s.

American folksinger Woody Guthrie captured that reality when he sang,

We loaded up our jalopies and piled our families in,
We rattled down that highway [Route 66] to never come back again.
("Dust Bowl Disaster")

Which part of the Elephant might this be?



Nature and history felt so close today.



Flat mesa top reminds us that we now ride along the bottom of  what was once a vast ocean covering the American southwest.

The flat top of the Mesa was beach front property back then.



The bigness and openness of this country defies words. (That's me pedalling along.)



Brother Mark has a knack for discovering these old old sections of Route 66 that were left to die when the route was realigned for one reason or another.

This bumpy old pavement wasn't the most comfortable ride, but well worth it. These old sections seem to be maintained just enough to adequately service the sparse population utilizing them.

We see the sights and hear the sound of the wind much like the pilgrims in Woody Guthrie's song.

I say very literally that our bums truly felt history on this road!



Old house of rocks long abandoned. Soot still blackens the rocks above the fireplace.

Who might have lived here? Where did they come from? How did they thrive, or perhaps just survive? Where did they go? When?

I ask myself this question many times as we ride Route 66.



Someone still lives on these lands. No houses or buildings in view. But somewhere the West stills lives on.

I googled "Highland Meadows Estates" to discover somewhere down this lane-way are 29 one acre lots that can be purchased for $45,000 each. Build your home here. Average well is 100-300 ft deep.

I didn't see any homes for a long ways away (?)



Our old segment of Route 66 gets older, or perhaps just less used.



Now we're talking really old Route 66. I take this photo from the shoulder of Interstate 40.

Mark isn't with me at the moment.

When the bumpy pavement turned to soft sandy dirt road, I opted out, preferring the pavement of
over the Interstate.

Our map showed the sandy road cutting cross country a few kilometers (miles) and intersecting about where I stand as I take this photo. Mark decided he would try navigating it and meet up with me here.

He didn't show up.

I waited.

Finally he came.

But not on this dirt road.

Riding up from behind on the Interstate shoulder, he explained what happened.

Shortly after taking the road less traveled he encountered clearly posted signs informing him he was on Native American land, and requested he respect their property by not trespassing. He respected.

Because he can read.



Interstate 40 isn't kind to snakes.



For the last part of today's ride we cycle on the hot, loud, and ups and downs of the Interstate.



Ain't that the biggest gasoline pump you ever seen?



We reach our motel for the night.



Fascinating to observe the seriousness and intensity of concentration manifested in this place.

I think they're having fun (?)

One of my kids and I stayed here about three years ago.

At that time a scaled down carpeted Route 66 highway weaved through the building.

Someone remodeled.

I like the old design better.

Time to rest up for tomorrow's ride.