*****
The beauty of motorcycling, for me at least, is the way it focuses the mind. What has already happened is no longer relevant. What might have happened instead, even less so. What may happen next is only important if it comes to pass. All that matters is the present moment. What is now. What is happening. All verbs transformed to the present participle.
This is especially true in when riding through storms. Four of them today. But more about that later.
We began the day in one of the prettiest cities in the Southwest, Santa Fe. After checking out and grabbing a quick breakfast, we rode to the 'old' part of town. Narrow avenidas running between adobe buildings. (Or buildings stuccoed in such a way as to appear adobe.) An old-style plaza at the centre, and a cathedral, St. Francis of Assisi Basilica, at one end of it.
We were hoping this was the church we'd heard of with the 'floating' spiral staircase, it's structural integrity the work of some saint rather than principles of engineering. Alas, it was not. But it was an impressive structure nonetheless. And I say this as someone not generally impressed by churches.
The most interesting feature was the baptismal font in the centre. It featured na obsidianesque font spilling water continuously into a large octagonal pool inset into the floor.
After looking through the various tourist-oriented shops, and poking about the cathedral - Colin's camera drawing the ire of at least one old lady - we took off down the highway, back toward Albuquerque.
Before reaching New Mexico's largest city, though, we hung a right onto US 550, bound for the Four Corners Monument. We had decided earlier in the day that the ruins at Chaco weren't going to work out for us. The rainstorms of the past couple of days would have transformed the already dicey dirt road to mud, and we weren't ready to risk two heavily laden street bikes in that terrain. It seemed like a recipe for disaster. Chaco will have to wait for another trip, like so many other things. For every fascinating thing we've seen in New Mexico, there are at least five we've had to pass up. Along the way, we crossed the Rio Grande for what must have been the tenth time in the past couple of days. Each time I was struck by it's size: it is no deeper or wider than the Bow River in Calgary. I can only assume the name must have come from its length - unless it just seems big compared to all the other streams and ditches that qualify as rivers in the desert.
When we pulled in to Cuba, in the Jemez Mountains, for gas, we congratulated ourselves on our good luck in skirting around storms. Up to this point, none had managed to reach us, though we could see them not far off on either side of the road. Sadly, we spoke to soon.
A little way outside of town, the wind began to gust with much more strength than before, and the clouds darkened ominously overhead. We pulled over to put on some warmer gear, and asked each other, and ourselves, if we thought we could outrun it. I, for one, was keen to push through as quickly as possible. I think I've mentioned before my dislike of lightning while riding a motorcycle.We thought we probably could push past before it reached us, so didn't put on our rain gear. This was the first of more than one faux pas. Shortly after we were back on the road, the storm caught up with us, and it wasn't long before we were being drenched by the downpour.
We rode through it, and a little further on began to dry out again. Just then, we were confronted by yet another storm. This one looking even worse than the last, and moving faster. We quickly pulled over and began to put on our rain gear. As we did, the storm front reached us, lightning striking within a mile or so of where we stood. We quickly got ourselves back on the bikes and on the road.
This was to be the worst rainstorm I've ever ridden in. It was like riding through a car wash. The rain was streaming down my faceshield, and I could barely see anything but the lightning striking to one side and another at intervals of under a minute. A strong wind threatened to sweep me off the road. The only thing to do was to push everything except the task of riding out of my mind. Just focus on staying in my lane and staying upright and keep moving forward as fast as the conditions would permit, the sooner to be through it.
Two more storms followed, although they paled in comparison. We decided Four Corners wasn't happening today, and that it would be best just to push on to Cortez, where we'd planned to stop for the night. We rode through Shiprock, on the Navaho Reservation, a place of unspeakable misery from the look of it.
Soon we found ourselves in Colorado again, this time in mesa country. The change in weather was as dramatic as the change in geography. Great chimneys of rock thrust up out of the ground, towering over the high plain we rode on.
I already miss New Mexico, but if motorcycling teaches you anything, it's not to dwell in the past. For now, I'm happy to be back in Colorado, and soon I'll feel the same about Utah.
But that's looking too far ahead already. All that matters right now is right now. Tomorrow can wait until it becomes today.
*****
Of course, one should always take some time to reflect. Here is Colin's latest video. As always, we hope you enjoy!
Wow Mark. Your best blog yet. Loved it, thanks.
ReplyDeleteThanks, GEF. And you're welcome, too.
ReplyDelete