Great Bend KS – Los Lunas NM
Thu Jun 20, 2024
(~993 miles)

There are roads which must not be followed, armies which must not be attacked, towns which must not be besieged, positions which must not be contested, commands of the sovereign which must not be obeyed.

― Sun Tzu, The Art of War

Mud. Not the clumpy mealy-textured mud that you maybe could make mud pies with, but slick, runny, greasy, stick-to-your-tires, stick-to-your-everything Western-type mud. I can barely tromp through it on foot to the bonus without slipping, let alone think about riding down a hill coated with it. How did I find myself here on a 700lb fully-loaded sport-touring motorcycle with street tires, seven miles from the nearest paved road in the middle of New Mexico wilderness, at the top of a rutted switchback slope covered in said mud, rain and lightning above, and with no formal off-road riding experience to speak of? Easy… points. Lots and lots of points.

 

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I squeezed as much sleep as I could into what would be my shortest rest bonus of the leg, but it wasn’t much. I was feeling more beat-up than usual after the first day of a rally, which I chalked up mostly to the extra exertion without rear suspension. This daily rest thing may actually work in my favor for this particular rally. 🤪

It was 15 minutes past the four hour mark (almost 05:30) by the time I’d geared up, swigged some room coffee, and got the bike packed. I snapped the necessary photo of my entire motorcycle with rally flag and clocked out of bonus ZSLPA using the app.

This morning, I’ll be engaging my first alien in battle, some 40 miles east of here. But first, I needed rotary-wing support (10 points worth) added to my current strike force of tank assets. That means starting today out by riding 50 miles due south to gather one more military bonus, and then straight back here through Great Bend.

I wasted no time hopping on US 281 again for the arrow-straight blast down rural two-lane highway to Pratt KS. It was very humid and a soupy fog lay over the pre-dawn flat landscape of Kansas rangelands, which were a marked difference from the rolling cornfields back in Iowa. I kept a sharp eye for deer and other critters, but had no wildlife encounters aside from one scurrying racoon. I did pass one rally rider already headed back north, my first sighting since the starting charge yesterday afternoon.

Pratt Regional Airport sits on the plains a few miles north of the city of Pratt itself, so my work here was quick and easy. The airport entrance has an impressive display of two jets and an AH-1 Cobra attack helicopter mounted on stands close to the highway. The helo was what I needed, bonus RACPK for 15 rotary-wing asset points.

With my strike force now fully assembled, including 11 armored and 15 rotary-wing assets, I was ready to meet the first alien bastard in battle! Retracing US 281 north, I enjoyed a pretty sunrise over the plains to my right.

Rolling back into Great Bend after that little 100 mile out-n-back, I turned east on US 56 for a few miles to KS 156 northeast. East on KS 4 or another 20 miles to the tiny beat-up village (city!) of Geneseo KS in the middle of nowhere. Turning off the highway onto the narrow barely-paved residential roads felt like stepping back 70 years in time. I was forcibly reminded of my broken suspension navigating these pothole-y paths to the Geneseo City Museum, which is actually a nondescript one-and-a-half story bungalow on a quiet neightborhood street corner. Sketchy!? 😂

Putting my side stand down on the shoulder of the crowned street, I was reminded how much lower the bike was sitting now and had to point the bike almost straight out into the empty road to get a balanced parking angle. I felt a bit like a creeper, approaching what looks like someone’s home with my ammo can and phone at the ready so early in the morning. But nobody was around and there was a sign for the museum on the side of the house, so I walked up on the rear porch to find the big plate-glass window that we needed to snap for bonus AGCMU.

There was supposed to be an inflatable green alien propped in the window, but the craven little pipsqueak must have heard the LDX troopers were coming for him and gone flying home. That’s OK, I still claim the 5400 points!

Submitted the bonus through the app and got outta Geneseo right quick before the neighbors could call the sheriff on me. Now I head west. For a WHILE. 440 miles to my next bonus, in Colorado. So that means retracing my earlier route yet again, back through Great Bend, for the third time today, with over 150 miles ridden!

As it was close to midday, I was feeling hungry for something hot and quick, so I pulled in at the McDonalds along US 56 to grab a quick McMuffin and use the bathroom. I don’t know why, but it was the best goddamn sausage McMuffin I’ve ever had! The sausage just seemed especially fresh and juicy – maybe they get it locally? 🐖 Probably just really hungry.

Back out at the bike gearing up, a local guy approached me having seen my attire, MA plates, and IBA plate backer. He had apparently ridden his BMW motorcycle all over the planet and was just interested in chatting with a fellow long-distance rider. He showed me a cool photo of Nigerian locals carrying his motorcycle across a river on their shoulders! Pretty nice guy and totally cool about keeping it brief when I explained I was actually on the clock in a rally. He wished me luck, and I got back on the road, aimed southwest on route 56 out of town (for good this time!).

Not much to say about traversing the rest of Kansas. From Larned, I rode KS 156 west for a while to Garden City, where I made a fuel stop and picked up US 50 into Colorado. The last time I rode this stretch was during the ’22 LDX, dodging some impressive storm cells and stiff side winds at night while heading for a bonus in Lamar. All was peaceful and sunny passing through this afternoon, however, and it barely seems like the same place.

Eastern Colorado is not much different from Kansas, perhaps a few more hills? After passing through Lamar and Las Animas, I picked up CO 10 in La Junta, veering slightly southwest to remain in the southern part of the state. With bright blue skies, white clouds, empty road, and mountains just starting to appear on the horizon, life didn’t suck at the moment. Oh, except the ever-loving… bump…jouncy jouncy …stand up. 😩

I knew from my previous ride through this area and by watching the online radar that weather can pop up quickly and severely across southern Colorado. Soon enough, I began seeing the occasional cloud looking a bit more rowdy, and I started closely monitoring the weather radar for my route through the mountains ahead.

After crossing I-25 at Walsenburg, I continued west on US 160, passing right on by a 4-point helicopter bonus. I’d decided not to gather any non-essential military bonuses this early in the leg, if there was any chance I might alter my plan and need to circle back and use them against a different alien. Just keeping my options open.

This would be my first time riding US 160 through the southern Rockies and I was looking forward to it. Near La Veta, the terrain finally began to change and low mountains dominated the skyline, making a welcome change from the flatlands of the past several days.

Climbing up to the relatively low elevation La Veta pass, I suddenly felt that familiar feeling when the bike is struggling for fuel. I quickly flipped the valve for the aux tank, but it was a bit too late to save from a stall, especially going uphill. Really? What is it with me and fuel on rallies? 🙄 At least I have a full auxiliary tank sitting right behind me this time. Pulling over to the narrow shoulder with my hazard lights flashing, I sat and waited a few minutes for fuel  to transfer to the lower tank, so I could restart the engine and forget this ever happened.

Five minutes passed, cars motoring by me on their way up the pass – at least there was an uphill passing lane right here, so they had room to move away from me. Flipped on the ignition and tried it but still nothing. OK, screw this. I figured the gas should transfer faster and reach the fuel pump quicker if I’m facing downhill. Luckily, there wasn’t a lot of traffic, so I managed to push the bike, wheeling it around across the lanes and over to the other side of the highway facing downhill. Caught my breath for a minute, then hopped on and started coasting. The engine finally caught.

Turning around in a dirt pulloff, I headed west again, up over the low but very pretty mountain pass. Descended through the canyon of the Sangre de Cristo Creek into the wide San Luis valley, arriving in Fort Garland around 13:30 local time. There were a lot of motorcycles around here, mostly of the cruiser variety, and there seemed to be some sort of group ride stopped here for a break. Turning left over the railroad tracks, I soon pulled into a nice little veteran’s memorial county park.

Fixed-wing asset bonus FBTFC (10 points) is another T-33 Shooting Star, produced during the 1950s and used for training by the US Navy. This bonus alone would give me the necessary military force (hitpoints) needed to overcome my next alien opponent.

After submitting the bonus, I stopped at a nearby gas station on 160 to fill up since I’d already cracked open the aux tank and didn’t want to risk another close call in the mountains ahead. Then I proceeded across the wide valley for another 100 miles or so, enjoying the distant mountainscape and watching carefully as the clouds grew denser and darker the further west I rode. The radar told me storms were popping up everywhere in southwest Colorado, so I knew I’d be getting wet at some point.

Past Del Norte, the mountains gradually began closing in around me and the riding got much prettier, though it became cloudy now and rain started off and on, sometimes pretty heavy. There was quite a bit of traffic on 160 moving rather slowly, but also plenty of passing zones to get by other vehicles. As I climbed up and over steep 10,000-ft Wolf Creek Pass, the rain and wind came pelting me pretty good from all directions since I was now IN the rain clouds!

My helmet has been leaking at the top of the face shield in heavy weather for a while now, so I wasn’t surprised to see water trickling across my vision over my Pinlock screen and leaving droplets that the forward motion of the bike couldn’t blow away. I just hunkered down in my waterproof jacket, keeping the speed reasonable and my eyesight focused ahead to just make it through. The majestic cliff scenery and curves were breathtaking up through here, but there was no way I was going to stop for a photo in this tempest!  This must be a real hoot to ride in good weather, and I’m already looking forward to coming back to Wolf Creek Pass as soon as possible.

The conditions got easier to handle after coming down from the high colder elevation and the clouds, though the rain continued pattering down more or less steadily. Pagosa Springs impressed me as a neat-looking destination town that would make a fun place for an overnight or two on a future touring trip. Traffic seemed a bit heavier after that town all the way to Durango. Somewhere along here, I came up on and passed another rally rider heading in the same direction. Traffic was frustratingly slow due to large trucks, many curves, and fewer passing zones in addition to the weather.

Finally arriving at the outskirts of Durango as the rain tapered off, the other rider caught up to me as I waited to turn left onto US 550 south. In 15 miles, we crossed into New Mexico. In another ten, we reached what I hoped was the correct turnoff for the next bonus. The forward operating base had received reports of a UFO crash site out in the desert, northeast of the town of Aztec!

Last night I’d spent some time researching this bonus. It is huge points will be the primary anchor for my Leg A route. The rally book clearly stated it was down dirt roads, involved a short hike, and even recommended using Google Earth to scout it beforehand. If the rallymaster is telling me all that right in the book, I’m going to take note, based on prior experience!

This “crash site” actually has an attraction pin on Google Maps and there are websites about it that included tips on getting there. The most direct route from the paved highway is 7.5 miles of fairly flat, maintained gravel road. The source I found warned about letting the GPS take you in via other possible but much rougher and hillier 4×4 roads. When zoomed in on a map, you can see that the entire area is honeycombed with dirt roads and trails through the hills and mountains – pretty remote territory.

I’d been careful to note the difference between how Basecamp wanted to route me and how the website suggested, so as I passed the GPS turn (Road 2651), it was gravel and didn’t seem all that scary, but I decided to stick with the online recommendation, continuing on to Hart Canyon Road (CR 2770) just another couple miles down 550. The fact that the road had a name and not just a number made me feel better about the choice as well. The rain had stopped as we rode south and the ground still looked mostly dry around here. The storms hadn’t reached this far south yet, though you could see plenty of clouds forming distantly in various directions.

We turned off US 550 around 15:00 local – thus beginning two of the most harrowing hours I’ve spent motorcycling. The road was well-graded but wash-boarded and bumpy, so it was hard to find a comfortable steady speed, especially with the bad shock. The other guy had what looked like a GSA, so I kept expecting him to roar around me at any time and blast on to the bonus. He seemed content to follow, however, and we made it slow but steady along those 7 miles through some really pretty desert. The road was fairly flat and straight, easy to navigate over until we reach what I have come to think of as The Bluff (my capitals).

The Bluff is an impressive-looking 40-50 foot (?) wall of rock with several weathered outcroppings to the left (north) of the road, which I suppose frames one side of this shallow canyon. I have no idea if it has a real name or not.

Google, not knowing any better, wants me to stop here and go a’bushwhacking and rock climbing through the desert scrub, directly to the bonus coordinates up on the canyon rim. In fact, there was another rally bike parked right here on the side of the road, itsrider nowhere to be seen. Looking at that wall and knowing from the description where the site marker is, I wonder how the hell that rider was going to get up there from here!? Later, I was wishing I’d stopped and gone no further from this point too. Hindsight.

But I’d scouted ahead per instructions and thought I was being clever by dropping a waypoint at the “official” trailhead parking area for the short walk would supposedly lead to the bonus. Hart Canyon Rd winds around to the left just ahead, and leads up top via a single switchback for a quicker hike in. Continuing a couple hundred yards past the rockpile, the road starts deteriorating as it slopes gently up, with large ruts carved from storm runoff snaking along the path of travel. There’s a fork here where the road starts to curve up the incline to the left, and a smaller jeep track continues straight. I have to stop, take this in, and work up some confidence. Weather has clearly had its way with the road surface going up this incline and those longitudinal ruts continue up and out of sight around the switchback, leaving rounded irregular ridges of dirt in between them.

While I bet this section would be no big deal for the ADV bikes, I’m on a heavy street bike with (broken) short suspension travel. Plus, my darkside car tire does not handle these types of ruts very well if I hit them even a little bit incorrectly or with the wrong amount of momentum. But the dirt was dry and tacky-looking, and it looked do-able if I picked a careful line and kept the throttle steady.

The other rider pulled up near me, so I figured he had the same plan. We looked at each other with shrugs. Gesturing up the curve, I shouted something like “Doesn’t look good! But the parking area is up there somewhere.”. Not sure if he could hear me in his helmet but seemed like he was doing this, so so was I. I didn’t want to climb those rocks nor walk a quarter mile up this hill if I didn’t have to, so ‘ride your plan’. This is where I should have turned around and gone to park with that other bike. Oh woe is me.

Beyond a basic knowledge of keeping a steady throttle, keeping loose arms, and staying off the front brake, my offroad riding knowledge is limited to YouTube channels and podcasts. Rallies are about the only time my wheels leave the pavement, but it’s been enough that I have a general feel for it. I made it up the entire slope to the top of the canyon with a couple short stops and saved tip-overs. A rear shock might have been even more useful here, but at least I’d been getting used to standing on the pegs. 🙄

Now atop The Bluff,  the other rider joined me near the entrance to the trailhead parking. I decided that this was good enough for me. The blind hill driveway was much steeper and more heavily rutted from four-wheel vehicles –  just too rough to attempt. We both maneuvered our bikes to get them pointed back the way we came and then parked alongside the road and dismounted. Right then, of course, the rain, which had been threatening off in the distance, began to patter down. With the bikes off, we could hear thunder rumbling off to the south and you could see the clouds moving quickly as the weather around us grew more unstable.

I introduced myself to the other rider, considering what we’d just managed to do together (so far!) and managed to understand that his name is Craig. Gesturing at the sky, I shouted (because I’m keeping my helmet on in the rain), “We’d better find this pretty quick, it’s not gonna be fun trying to go back DOWN that hill once it’s wet!”

Grabbing my metal box rally flag and my phone, I immediately set off trudging up the driveway, which was already getting slippery and hard to stand up on, especially in those motorcycle boots. Across the small dirt parking area, I found the trailhead, using Google Maps without the navigation started to help orient me towards the Aztec UFO Crash Site.

I began following what looked like the main trail west along the ridgeline, based on a sign posted. I assumed this trail would go right to the plaque that we needed to photograph, which appeared like it would be downhill from here back towards the edge of The Bluff. However, there seemed to be a network of dirt paths all over the hillside, and Craig chose to split off and try to head more directly downhill towards the bonus.

After tramping down the trail for a few minutes and passing through a gate, I realized that this path was already taking me past the bonus pin on Google, and seemed to be continuing west. I decided to head downhill via the smaller paths as well, bushwhacking a bit through the scrub as the maze of trails didn’t present a direct path to where I needed to go. The rain pelted down noisily on my helmet, and my faceshield fogged continually from the leaking plus the breathing heavier from the the exertion of stomping through this mud, that wanted to throw me on my ass with every step. How on earth were we going to get the bikes back down that hill!?

I couldn’t hear the thunder that well in my helmet, through the breathing noise and my earplugs, but the occasional lighting flash was too obvious to miss and my toes were curled inside my boots as I tramped around through the desert trees and scrub. At least I was not the tallest object around here! The paths went every which way and there were exposed open areas as well, so it took what felt like forever to zero in on the bonus. It was actually 10 minutes total from the bike before I stumbled into the right clearing and spotted a man-made object standing out of the rock. With much relief, I shouted for Craig that I’d found it, but I had no idea which direction he’d gone in by now.

Much relieved that I’d found my quarry, I took the photo of 14,561-point bonus AAZTC, a plaque commemorating the alleged “crash of a spacecraft” on this spot in 1948.

Carefully submitting the photo as I started shambling back up the wet, muddy, rocky path in the direction of the bikes, I realized the ground had gotten even more saturated and unstable. Walking required my full attention here. I had to walk off-trail from rock to rock on some of the steeper sections just to make any progress without slipping.

Huffing and puffing inside my helmet, I stopped for a moment to take in the scenery while catching my breath. Despite the stress and lightening overhead, it was beautiful out there in the desert! Seeing clearer skies in the distance boosted my morale somewhat, in knowing that these were very localized storms and likely wouldn’t last very long once I got moving.

I made it up the hill through a combination of the trail maze and dead reckoning, emerging back in the trailhead area in just over 10 minutes. Craig was already back at the bikes, so after side-stepping my way carefully down the driveway to the road, I asked if he’d found the bonus. He hadn’t, being more concerned with the lightning that was flashing around us. I explained best I could where I’d found it – to go to the very tip of the pin on Google maps, but he seemed pretty set on getting out of there. With lightning flashing fairly frequently, I completely understood though I felt so bad for him after coming all this way!

I needed to catch my breath for a couple minutes as I packed things away. Looking down the slope, the previously hard-baked dirt ridges glistened with the rainfall and I knew that descending this wet .3 mile switchback was beyond my ability level on any bike, let alone this beast of a rally bike, and after a full day’s riding already at that! Based on the videos I’ve watched, there isn’t a heck of a lot you can do to control a bike on mud like this even with better tires. It’s so easy to completely lose traction, as the mud coats the tires like wet cement and the ruts draw you in sideways like a spider catching flies. I’m sure a skilled dirt bike rider with knobbies and more confidence could have made pretty short work of it, though. Especially if they’re not worried about having an intact motorcycle capable of riding another 7000 miles over the next week or so.

Still, we’re sitting here exposed on a canyon rim, seven miles from the nearest civilization, with the storm above us, and the clock is ticking. There is no choice. I have to get the bike down this hill, and I was determined to do it as slowly and carefully as necessary to get down in one piece. I urged Craig to go ahead and leave if he wanted – I didn’t want to hold him up in any way. He declined, perhaps wisely wanting to see me attempt the descent first and see what not to do! 😅 Sticking together could be of mutual benefit, it seemed to me, so I didn’t press the point.

It was around this time when the first big truck went rumbling through, coming out of the desert behind us and crawling down the hill, oblivious of the obstacle that was for us at the moment. OK wow, I hadn’t realized this road was being used commercially this far out here, but I guess the grading should have clued me in. Apparently, there are oil and gas companies that use this road for access to their mineral properties. We gave the workers in the cab a wave and waited for them to get on down the hill a ways before we got started. I knew stopping once we began sliding down would be the hardest part of this.

Throwing a muddy boot over the seat, the bike started up OK, and I mentally reviewed anything I could drag up from the recesses of my brain about how to ride in mud. It wasn’t much. I let out the clutch gingerly and started inching down the road, trying to stay out of the deepest ruts, up on the rounded and now-slick crowns in between. Almost right away, my wheels slipped sideways to the left so I had to steer that way so not to tip over. And slid right into a bush in the ditch next to the road. Fuuuuuck!

Now, I really realized how precarious this situation was, because there was no way for me to get off the bike without letting it tip over. The side stand was facing into the bush/ditch and the mud wouldn’t have held the bike up anyway. I couldn’t steer back to the right to get back up out of the ditch because the rear wheel would just spin.

Enter Craig, my hero, who put his bike on the stand on a firmer part of the road and came over to assist. With him holding the bike steady, I dismounted. Then the two of us manhandled this big lunk of a motorcycle out of the bush and back over the small lip of the ditch, back up onto the middle of the road away from the edge. Our boots found no purchase in the slime, so it’s amazing we didn’t drop the bike and/or injure ourselves.

Whew, that was interesting! I’m soaked in sweat and adrenaline now, huffing and puffing while Craig waited patiently for me to be ready. Then I kicked my foot over and resumed temporary control of the motorcycle, thanking my companion while he turned and trudged back up to his bike. When my legs stopped shaking, I felt ready to try again. Ten feet later, I slid into another rut. In trying to avoid drifting to the left edge again, I used some throttle and the bike slid out from under me, this time right in the road. Down for real this time.

Craig, the absolute legend, again dismounted and came to help, not even having moved his bike yet, I think. We got the ST upright and I mounted again, close to tears of frustration. Really? Is this how it’s going to be just getting down this stupid little hill? I told Craig how much I appreciated him sticking around. I had no idea how I would have gotten out of these relatively minor scrapes without a second person to hold the bike. Probably would have had to take everything off the bike and lug it down the hill, then try to walk it down through the underbrush, hoping for less slippery surface. Although I felt like if the bike went all the way into one of the side ditches as they got deeper, I’d never get it out by myself.

Now I was determined to go very slowly. And I mean SLOW, like inch by inch. Fully releasing the clutch was just out of the question here since I was going too slow for any engine braking. In fact, I decided to just keep the bike in neutral unless needed some power to get out of a rut, slowly duck-walking and letting the bike slide down that hill, seeking sure footing with every inch gained. It was difficult using the throttle to even get out of a rut, because then I’d have to slow quickly without the front brake, which means using my foot brake and taking that foot off the ground. I didn’t care how long this took, I was intent on not dropping the bike again. I just needed to get down to the flat road where hopefully there was a firmer gravel base.

Foot by foot, we got down that dumb little slope, me checking my mirror every so often to make sure Craig was doing alright.  We’d made it around the bend and down past the fork, when I saw Craig had tipped over. Whoop! Alright, there’s a flat spot up ahead with some rocks. I got the bike on its side stand for the first time since parking and went back to help him lift his machine upright (he was uninjured). I was exHAUSTED, not to mention covered with sweat and mud, and I couldn’t even be bothered about it. Getting out to the highway safely together was the only thing on my mind at the moment.

I think maybe two more trucks came by us during this period of almost 40 minutes (!) it took us to get down that hill. It felt like 40 hours. Most likely they would have helped us out if we’d needed it, but for now we just tried to get out of their way as they came up behind us and waved them past. It was nice to know the road was used at least.

Finally reaching the bottom-bottom of the slope, we had to cross one final stretch of  crack-trenches across the road with running rivulets of rainwater. The sight of flat stony gravel never looked so good to me. I had to pull over for a minute at the base of The Bluff to just take a minute and appreciate how glad I was to be down off that switchback. I knew it would still be slippery going, but throttle control and rear braking would be possible again at least, keeping it slow.

We got moving, and once I had momentum it was easier to just keep going, my eyes focused ahead for the best lines down the road, avoiding anything that looked wet and mucky and aiming for the stonier sections. My phone started ringing, bringing me out of my reverie abruptly as I saw that it was Rallymaster Nancy calling. It felt weird getting a call out in the desert in the middle of this ordeal, in the middle of nowhere. Yet so comforting that we actually had cell coverage! Nancy explained that they had been watching our Spotwalla tracks. They saw that we’d been out at the bonus for much longer than anyone before us, so were checking to make sure we were OK.

Touched by their thoughtful concern for our well-being, I explained how the weather had moved in quickly on us and turned the road and especially the final hill “slicker than snot”. I suggested warning riders headed here how difficult the terrain had become and not to go up that final hill. I told her  that I’d probably still be stuck back in that trench without Craig’s assistance, but that we were doing OK now and headed back out to the highway together. She bid us be safe and to let them know when we got out, then we rang off. Well that was truly nice of them – I’d had no idea we were being watched so closely!

I had pulled a few hundred yards ahead of Craig when I spotted a passenger car up ahead, crawling along towards us. I continued picking my line as the vehicle slowed down and the man inside tried to hail me down. Thinking he was a tourist or some local out just puttering around, I shouted “I can’t stop right now, sorry!” since the terrain was iffy at that spot. A bit later, when I reached a good stopping spot to let Craig close the distance. I saw him in my mirrors aw him still coming along, with the car having turned around and coming up behind him. I didn’t want this car to get ahead of me and interfere with controlling my speed now that I had some momentum, so I started riding again, covering another half mile or so, before stopping to wait once more.

This time, I waited for Craig to catch up. The guy in the car pulled up alongside and had a young boy in the seat beside him. I heard him say the name Steve, blowing my mind a little bit – how does this guy know me? Between he and Craig shouting over the rain and my earplugs, I came to understand that he was a local long-distance rider (Steve Kotlarz I found out later) who was not in the rally, but lived in the area and had been following the group spot. It wasn’t clear if he was here at behest of the rallymasters, but he had piled his young son into the car and come out to check on us after seeing our trackers not move for a long while, knowing how treacherous the mud gets around here.

I was way too mentally shot to take it all in at that moment, but sincerely appreciated this amazing and caring gesture on Steve’s part. I guess that’s part of the culture and hospitality out West, helping people in trouble from the elements. I explained that I’d just been on a call with Nancy, and that we seemed to be squared away. Steve said he’d continue to follow us out to the highway and we thanked him for sticking with us.

Two hours after leaving US 550, we emerged from the desert again, covered in mud, sweat, and worn-off adrenaline.

I got off the bike for a few minutes to look it over and just sort of get my legs under me again, trying to absorb what we’d just been through. I was soaked in sweat and starting to feel a chill. I shook hands and exchanged relieved grins with Craig (surname Phillips I would later learn) in recognition of our shared ordeal. I thanked him again from the heart, for his critical help and with sticking together. Our combined LDX troop strength had gotten us through a stressful and exhausting sortie into the New Mexican desert. I felt really heartbroken for him that he had not been able to bag that bonus!

While thanking Steve again for coming out to check on us, he offered to put us up in rooms at the hotel he owns back north in Durango. Legend! I believe Craig took him up on that generous offer, but as good as a warm hotel room sounded right now, I declined. I already have a place booked south of Albuquerque and there’s still many miles to ride today to try to get back on plan.

US 550 to parking spot: 0:23
Walk to find bonus: 0:10
Walk back to bike: 0:10
Parking spot to bottom of The Bluff (incl 2.5 tip-overs): 0:37
Back to US 550: 0:40
Total time pavement to pavement: 2:00

It was still raining lightly and I was starting to feel a chill from my soaked base layer, so there was no sense standing around. After final farewells, I dragged my boot back up over the seat, already trying to organize my next steps. I was soaked, muddy, and mentally fried. I needed to get off the bike for a bit, and had not yet taken my meal bonus today, so that is my new top priority.

Char was also watching Spotwalla and called me shortly after I got moving south on 550. I gave her a quick summary of the whole ordeal as I passed through the town of Aztec. I explained my current route and that I was looking for likely restaurants along 550 that I could use for the meal bonus. I was hoping for something easy and familiar like a Denny’s or similar, but there didn’t appear to be anything like that close by. I later found out that just a couple miles from Hart Canyon Road, I’d passed right by the Aztec Restaurant, a local place that had offered food, shelter, and amazing hospitality and assistance to several of my fellow rally riders.

Last night, I’d booked a hotel down in Socorro NM along I-25, intending to stop there after nabbing a daylight-only bonus in Belen. But I’d cut the timing way too close in my plan and forgotten to budget time for the meal bonus.. That plus the AAZTC bonus delay means I’m running too far behind. I won’t be able to nab that daylight bonus until tomorrow morning, which would mean backtracking north from Socorro about 40 miles – that’s time that I just don’t have! So I’ll have to just write off the Socorro reservation and book another hotel closer to the bonus, or at least along the way. This is all pouring out of my mouth steam-of-consciousness for poor Char to listen to while trying to spot a restaurant and navigate my route.

While on the phone, I actually missed where 550 turns in Aztec over the Animas River, adding to my weariness… I was just SO beat. I had to bang a uey and backtrack a mile to continue on route. It was feeling cooler as the evening wore on and the wind chill hit my soaked gloves and underclothes, making me shiver. I didn’t want to stop until I reached a restaurant though – I needed to get off the bike and get warm and dry, pronto!

Just a few mile from Aztec, I came to the next little town of Bloomfield, at the crossroad with US 64. Just past the intersection and next to a gas station, in turquoise block letters, a nondescript building proclaimed itself: ROADSIDE Restaurant. OK, a bit generic but fine, that’s exactly what I’m looking for. Char quickly looked it up and confirmed that it looked like a sit-down restaurant of the type I needed, then we rang off so I could take care of business.

Getting of the bike, I spotted an covered patio area on one side of the building that seemed might be dry enough to lay out my gear while I dined and took my meal bonus. I went over there first and stripped off my soaking gloves and helmet, then used the rally app to clock in to my meal bonus. It was about 19:30, so still daylight behind the thick cloud cover. Looking through the windows, the restaurant looked OK, but the patio wasn’t that dry so I just decided to bring my gear in with me, to dry out after all.

I felt a bit bad coming inside dripping everywhere, but really just too tired to think much on it. The restaurant was actually quite nice as I recall, spartan but clean and welcoming, and not too busy. A very nice Navajo lady greeted me and was happy to seat me at a window booth so I could spread out my jacket and helmet. Still shivering, I asked for hot tea, then went back outside to grab my laptop and other stuff so I could figure my shit out. I grabbed my spare LD Comfort top, as mine had been soaked through with sweat out in the desert and was chilling me to my core.

All I wanted to do was get warm and dry and just breeeaathe for a minute! I wanted HOT food, so along with the tea, I ordered a full bowl of their daily soup, and a club sandwich to soak it up (eyes bigger than my stomach, perhaps). A trip to the restroom to dry off and change my shirt, then a nice bowl of tortilla chips with a wonderful salsa was set before me. I munched away happily, just so so glad to be off the bike right at that moment! If there was ever a time to be grateful for these enforced meal bonus breaks, this was it! I was planning to enjoy every minute of it. Annnnd, no.

Same as yesterday, I had asked for the check along with the meal. Notice anything um, problematic about the check in the above photo?

Yeah, it’s not computer generated, which is one of the requirements for bonus documentation. My heart sunk into my stomach. All this nice hot food ready to eat in front of me, and I might actually have to put all my wet gear back on and leave immediately to find another restaurant offering the proper documentation! The soup looks and smells soooo good… the gods are truly cruel sometimes! 😩

Immediately, I texted photos of the receipt and my meal to the rallymaster, seeking advice, maybe absolution (?), I don’t really know. Then I went up to the front register to chat with the staff to see if it would be possible to get any sort of computer generated receipt. Sure enough, the credit card receipt was computer generated and they went ahead and processed that for me right away. However, it did not list the food items that I’d purchased, which is also a requirement of the meal bonus. Arrrrgh! With a bit more persistence, the staff produced yet another type of “order receipt” or some-such. This actually had food items listed, albeit with rather generic names.

I immediately texted pics of the computer-gen receipts to the rally staff as well.  Apparently, the preponderance of evidence that I was, in fact, taking a true meal bonus as intended, convinced them and they said it would be accepted. Whew, but that blew like 10 minutes – so much for a peaceful rest break! At least I was feeling more alert now, and I dug in to my tasty food enthusiastically, trying to make the most of my remaining bonus minutes. That soup was so hot and flavorful! Really hit the spot and made me feel like half a person again.

Char had texted me links to two hotels in the city of Los Lunas NM. After quickly confirming that was along my planned route, I booked the Quality Inn, relieved to have that settled. I have a destination, now I just need to get there.

As the meal bonus timer neared the 45 minute mark, I started getting my gear together for a couple trips out to the bike. The super-nice waitress had brought me a rather overly-large pitcher of milk for my tea when I’d asked. As I was putting on my jacket, the sleeve must have hit it and knocked it over, spilling milk all over the table, the floor, and my boots. Ah crap, I was so embarrassed after all the receipt hassle and they had been so nice to me! I retrieved a few paper towels at a nearby waitstaff re-supply nook, but there was just too much to mop up easily. She came over and kindly told me not to worry about it. I apologized profusely and left her chuckling over a bad joke about not “crying over spilled milk” before heading out the door for the last time. 😬 🤦‍♂️

Out at the bike, the rain had let up for the moment, so I was able to lay out my three receipts for the one meal on top of my ammo box. Took the MEALB bonus documentation photo and submitted it quickly through the app, then proceeded to layer up for the cold desert night and pack everything away. I put on my drier set of gloves and plugged in my heated liner as well, intent on keeping my body core temp as comfortable as possible for the rest of the day’s ride. 190 miles still to go until I can finally rest!

So just under an hour from when I first pulled into the restaurant lot, I pulled out and continued south via US 550 in the gathering gloom. I crossed the San Juan River and headed SSE across the desert plateaus. The radar had shown more storms ahead of me, though it looked like it would be clearing up closer to Albuquerque and the I-40 corridor.

I called Char one last time for the night to let her know I was moving again and had a new hotel booked. It was late over on the east coast by now, so I wished her a good night and thanks as always for her loving support. Then I was alone with my thoughts in the dark, with lightning flashing against the distant skies ahead of me.

Temperatures dropped down to 55 at the higher elevations. The rain came on, and it came HEAVY, along with the darkness. It’s about 85 miles between Bloomfield and Cuba, which is the next town of any major size along 550. It was a long lonely stretch of riding, hunkered down within my jacket against the pounding water, trying to see through my leaking face shield, water streaming across the roadway and down the slopes of at least two mountain ranges that I passed over.

Cars were putting on hazard lights and even pulling over to wait out the tempest, but truly I had no where to go – there was no public shelter anywhere that I could see in the remote communities I passed through, no place to get out of the rain out in the middle of nowhere. I wasn’t about to just pull over and sit on the shoulder in this tempest, with water running over my boots! The only choice was to keep chugging along carefully. I can’t believe it, will this day never let up?!

Luckily, I was warmer and feeling much better after that great meal to fuel my body. Concentrating on seeing the road ahead through the rain and not crashing had me very alert and not at all sleepy, despite the long day behind me. Hey, at least most of the mud will be washed off the bike now!

Crossing the Mesa de Cuba (?) was the absolute worst, wind howling, water blowing at me from all directions, just an all out assault. And then suddenly, after cresting the pass and started the descent into the small town of Cuba, the weather finally started to abate, apparently trapped up higher by the ridgeline. I pulled in for fuel at a Speedway, glad for the quick opportunity to stand, but was moving again in 6-7 minutes. I snapped a screenshot of my radar app showing the  storm cell that I’d just crossed through up on the ridge.

The rain continued as lighter sprinkles and showers for a bit longer as I wound my way south through additional mountainous terrain. It finally stopped as I came down out of the heights northwest of San Ysidro. A big full moon lit up the clearing sky ahead of me. Temperatures rose quickly into the 70s as I reached flatter terrain of the valleys and rode through more populated areas now to I-25. It was like getting a warm hug after a bad nightmare.

Easy cruising from there on out, cutting straight south through Albuquerque and pulling off the highway some 20 miles later in the suburb of Los Lunas at 23:20. That gave me just barely enough time to get a six-hour rest bonus in before 06:00. Check-in was nice and quick at the hotel and there was a convenient rear door pretty close to my room.

I was shattered, but laid all my stuff out to dry after washing my LD Comforts and getting a nice long hot shower. Then I took time to do my paperwork, and realized that I’d neglected to write all the necessary bonus information on the meal receipt(s) back in Bloomfield!  Shit, that emotional maelstrom about getting the three different receipts, then I go and make this rookie mistake!

At the time, I was not clear on how the meal bonuses were being treated. There were no points listed in the rally book, which led me to believe they were mandatory. That would mean I just DNF’d the whole rally! I texted Nancy, letting her know I realized my mistake, asking what that meant for me. I didn’t expect a response given this late hour, so I just went to bed, letting my exhaustion override this new wrinkle. What will be, will be.

It had been another long and emotionally trying day. In an odd masochistic way, this made me feel somewhat better about things in general. It reminded me that even with all the new rule changes, there is yet plenty of challenge and hardship to be had out here on the road. As a well-known moto-blogger once penned: “…that’s why you’d better show up with your big girl panties on and bring your A game. Rallyin’ ain’t for sissies.” (FuzzyGalore)

More photos from today.

 

Author’s note: Huge shout-out and thank-yous to Craig Phillips and Steve Kotlarz for being out there for a fellow rider in need. Also to the rallymasters Paul & Nancy for watching over your flock so carefully in times of hardship and peril. This is a truly great community to be part of.