Cloudcroft for 48 hours to stay sane

And the pandemic continues without signs of just "going away," as somebody who is seeking re-election has been telling us since back in February. 

Sunday ride with David, Audrey, Keila, and Smitty (from left)

With neither the Tooth Fairy or Santa Claus anywhere in sight I've been trying to shape my own fate as much as possible and adapt to the new realities. The summer is coming to a slow end, even if the mercury hit 90+ degrees today, once again. But the sun comes up later, the evenings are shorter, and the nights are starting to pack a bit of a chill. Arguably, this is the nicest time of the year in Lubbock, and since returning from my trip to Colorado and New Mexico I have been going on daily rides and cooking out on the Kamado as much as possible.

But Lubbock is still Lubbock, and when I have to stay here for more than a few weeks I get antsy and am looking for a way to escape. In normal times that never seemed to be an issue as there were races to go to and foreign places to explore--but now, thanks to our continued high infection rate, most of the world is closed off for us Americans. And so places close-by and reachable by car have taken on a new role in keeping us sane.

Alamogordo and Sacramento Railroad trestle near Cloudcroft

An opportunity to escape came about when my OKC-based buddy Terry texted me that he'd be in his cabin in Cloudcroft for a couple of weeks and whether I wanted to come up and ride bikes with him. "May I bring somebody along?" I asked. Sure enough. And since it was friend Bethany's birthday weekend, we piled into the Beemer last Friday and drove under hazy skies west, to New Mexico. Yes, just like the pandemic the wildfires keep raging, fouling the air almost nationwide and as far away as Europe.

Terry's Jeep and cabin in Cloudcroft

My first trip to Cloudcroft, 43 years ago, had been my first out-of-town trip after my arrival as a strapping 21-year-old in Lubbock. Back then I thought it was totally nuts to drive 265 miles or so to go camping for a weekend! Thank goodness, I no longer have that kind of mindset.

Since we were going to be for less than 48 hours in the mountains I didn't take a bike, instead relying on Terry's offer to loan me one of his. Fortunately we are almost the same size and all I had to take along was a set of pedals plus of course helmet, shoes, and kit. Even so, two adults traveling in the Z4 with the roof down doesn't allow for much luggage, especially when one adds a soft cooler with two dinners and a few bottles of vino. But we managed.

Terry torturing me with his Scalpel

Terry bought this cabin about two years ago and set about various improvements. When he is in Oklahoma City he rents it out via Airbnb--his NM Realtor serves as his property manager, and there are few headaches that Terry has to deal with. He keeps a new ATV out there, plus his bikes, and when he's not out riding he explores new trails with the four-wheeler. The wood cabin has a beautiful west-facing porch. It is set in a totally quiet area away from traffic among the trees, and the cast-iron wood-burning stove in the living area is a centerpiece both in the morning and evenings with a happy fire that warms the whole cabin. 

Ringo sacked out in front of the fire

Terry took me out for a 20-mile gravel ride (I rode his Lynskey gravel bike, which he had raced a week ago in a 75-mile event in Kansas). In our mountain bike riding days, Judy and I would elope to Cloudcroft a couple of times a year and camp out on the Benson Ridge, sometimes accompanied by friends, most often alone. Saturday's ride brought back memories of truly great times out there. Thanks for that ride, Terry!

A sweet ride, this Lynskey gravel bike with Lauf fork

Hazy skies at almost 9,300 feet

Beth, for her part, was treated to a four-wheeler ride through the forest, and she enjoyed every minute of it. Best of all: Neither she nor I crashed! We also didn't crash the two mornings when we accepted Terry's offer to do the dishes if we walked Ringo, his pooch. Nothing like a two-mile walk when it is just 50 degrees and calm and sunny and the trees smell of forest. 

Sunday at noon we once again headed back to Lubbock, but not until we had made a short detour to the old railroad trestle on the outskirts of town. Scenic stuff. The drive itself was less so, at least once we had left the mountains and were back in the plains. Artesia still has its refinery in the middle of town, in Maljamar you can still buy brine as well as fresh water, and Lovington has not become any lovelier. And then there is the aptly named Brownfield (which invited us to pass time by listing all those descriptive names--Sweetwater, Littlefield, Levelland, and the ever-so-spot-on Earth, TX).

Artesia's mid-town Navajo Refining plant 

And now, back in Lubbock, it's more bike riding and attic cleaning and cooking on the Kamado. The pandemic continues, and I just cancelled my trip to Germany that I had scheduled for next week. Maybe the new dates in November will work out, if things improve. Who knows. So, to not go totally crazy, I have another trip planned for a week in the Hill Country, with the BMW and my bikes....

Jürgen

Riding at elevation: two weeks in Colorado and New Mexico

Smoke from the Grizzly Creek fire as seen from Leadville, CO

It's been a weird summer, this COVID summer. Instead of jetting off to far-flung destinations I have been packing up the Beemer, a bike or two, and my Dutch oven (plus a few other essentials) to head out of town with an RCI timeshare condo as my destination. You read about the sweat-soaked trips to the south and east, so in August it was finally time to head northwest, to the mountains. Unfortunately, breathable air and crystal-blue skies were not a daily constant since forest fires have been devastating large tracts of the western US, including some prime terrain in Colorado and New Mexico.

Even the cows were charred ... OK, just kidding

Of course, it could have been worse as I was worried that I might not be able to ride much at all. Just the day before heading out to Avon, CO, my friend Cath, who lives in Telluride, had sent me a message warning me that the Grizzly Creek fire was roaring just 30 miles west of my destination. When I rolled into Leadville and stopped for a beer at Two Mile Brewing I sat on the porch and looked at the ominous sky. Holy smokes, literally! 

Minturn, straight ahead; Vail to the left, please

During my week in Avon (which is about 12 miles west of Vail, on I-70) two days were very hazy; the rest of the time the wind had shifted in such a way that the sky was its usual deep blue, the way it should be at 7,000 ft elevation. Avon is not a bad spot to start one's rides since it is possible to ride east, up to Vail and then onward to Vail Pass, at 10,666 feet or 3,250 meters (that was one of my hardest days); or one can head west down the valley to Eagle (and when there are no fires even farther down into Glenwood Canyon); another possibility is to head south to Minturn and then direction Leadville, at a tad more than 10,500 feet the highest incorporated city in the US; or, not to leave out the north, there are various roads that climb across the Rockies to small ski resorts.

Vail has some amazing bike trails

Leftovers from the last Colorado Classic that ran the TT in Vail

Every day I mapped out rides of between about 35 to almost 55 miles, and each day featured ample climbing. I don't think there was a day when I didn't climb at least 3,000 feet (1,000 meters). Locus helped me find dedicated bike paths and quiet stretches of residential roads in towns such as Vail, which is probably eight miles long but sits in a narrow valley. The road and trail surfaces where almost all immaculate, making riding a real pleasure. I'd leave the condo around 10 a.m., after the slight night chill had given way to warmer temperatures, and I'd be out for several hours.

Colorado has an amazing beer scene, and I was able to incorporate several microbreweries into my daily rides. The best one was undoubtedly Bonfire Brewing in Eagle; unfortunately the ride back climbed steadily, but since I always considered where the wind would be coming from things were manageable. Only three miles from my condo was Vail Brewing, another pleasant place to linger for a few quaffs, especially since those three miles had a slight downhill grade that not only negated the light headwinds but gave me the feeling of sitting on an eBike.

My condo was located in the Christie Lodge, and for the first time I didn't have a full kitchen, meaning that I couldn't bake bread or make pizza from scratch. An electric skillet and a fairly anemic outside propane grill that required a five-minute walk back to the room were my tools—it's easy to get spoiled. Of all the condos that I stayed in this summer, this one was by far the smallest, with the least view (and the most outside noise). Oh well, the grocery store was just a five-minute walk away and the fridge was more than sufficient to keep my beer supply chilled. Plus, there were an outdoor pool and hottub that helped get the body ready for the next day's ride.

After a week in Avon I packed up the BMW and headed down toward Denver. I had touched base with an old cycling buddy, Eric, who had lived in Lubbock until about two or three years ago and who now has a nice condo in Lakewood, on the west side of Denver just a few mies off I-70. It's a drive of only about 90 minutes, so there was ample time for us to get on the bikes for an easy ride over to Golden. Eric knows all the roads, of course, so it was nice not to have to navigate but just follow a wheel. Eric, who is just around 30 and strong as a horse, had mercy on me and didn't drill the hills as hard as he could. Thanks, man! That afternoon we hit three breweries but thanks to good pacing we made it back home before dark, where conversation and more IPA sampling continued. What a great interlude!

The next day, Sunday, I woke up from a foggy night to be surrounded by more haze. Denver was under an ozone advisory: Stay indoors! Do not exercise outside! It wasn't just bad, it was horrible. I never saw the Front Range the entire way down to Walsenburg. Whether it was smog, smoke, or something else, I have never seen anything like it. My eyes were burning for a while (I guess I should have kept the roof up and run the AC, coming to think of it) and what I had envisioned as a scenic drive was a reminder how bad things could have been the entire time.

My destination was Taos, NM. Even after crossing La Veta pass and now being back on the west side of the mountains the atmospheric conditions were anything but pristine. Smoke and haze were everywhere. I suspect that we felt the effects of fires as far away as Arizona and maybe even California. The plan was to meet up with Martha and Alan at an Airbnb that they had rented and onto which I had piggybacked with a small obolus. Coming from Temple, they had spent Saturday night in my house in Lubbock, and would you know it? We arrived at exactly the same time at our domicile for the next six nights! It was pretty uncanny to suddenly be behind them in literally the last half mile.

My two friends had not only brought one of their three dogs, Osler, but also their friend Loida, who was baching it in Temple during her hubby, Chris', deployment on the East coast and who could work remotely while also giving some girl-company to Martha, freeing up Alan to go on rides with me. The Airbnb had a main house with two bedrooms as well as a casita in which I slept. The place belonged to an artistically inclined woman and was a bit wild and crazy in its Taos-kinda-way, very authentic and comfy. It was quiet and private, surrounded by an acre or more of unkempt gardens. Additional sleeping possibilities (upon request) are an old Airstream that's parked on the property and a cool-looking tree house. Well, nobody would have been able to get any sleep in the latter as its metal roof was continuously bombarded by crab apples.

The four of us quickly developed a nice routine of taking turns preparing meals and cleaning dishes. We had a spacious outside seating area, and fortunately the air quality improved very quickly and Alan and I were able to enjoy our rides without wheezing. Even though Alan hasn't ridden much because of his heavy workload at the hospital (he's an infectious disease doc) we both enjoyed our outings tremendously. Sure, the first day saw him crater a little with ten miles to go, but overall we found just the right routes and distances (and intensity) to make it enjoyable for both of us.

One day we rode from Taos down direction Espanola; the actual destination was a winery-cum-taproom just a few miles before Embudo, Vivác, about 25 miles away. Martha and Loida were going to drive the car down and ferry us back up the hill. Now, that's civilized! Our last ride together was once again down into the Rio Grande Gorge, to Pilar, then five miles upstream along this super-scenic stretch, then up an unpaved climb (we were on road bikes and had to walk a few sections), and then north to the Rio Grande Gorge bridge. Alan called it quits here and caught a ride with the two chicas while I completed the loop and rode back to the house for a 50+ miler. It was an appropriate way to end this cycling vacation.

Actually, it wasn't really the final ride. The next day we had to check out and while the Temple crowd headed back to my house and then back home, I drove the 70 or so miles to Santa Fe where I had set up a freebie stay in a Residence Inn. I went for an easy 22-miler on Santa Fe's bike trails and quiet back streets, with ample time at two breweries, Chili Line and Second Street. And that really was the last ride for a few days.

Fires around Santa Fe

On Saturday morning, two weeks after my original departure from Lubbock, I drove straight south from Santa Fe, via NM 41 through the quaint town of Galisteo, onward past Moriarty and through Estancia. A few miles later I turned right, toward the Manzano mountains, and finally arrived at Thunderbird, the piece of property that Wayne, whom I have known for well over 40 years, co-owns with some other family members. He and his wife, Lorane, also have a big house that he built close to Mountainair, but in the summer they prefer to stay in the modest cabin that his grandfather built back in the '30s.

For two days we talked non-stop. We hadn't seen one another in several years (the last time was on the way back from officiating a mountain bike race in Farmington), so there was a lot of catching up to do. The three of us went for a nice walk, Wayne showed me the Airbnb that he has built single-handedly as well as the Tiny House that his brother has designed and built (also as a rental property), and we went on a golf cart trip to an amazing overlook of the Manzanos. Add good food and drink and you have the recipe for the perfect ending to a trip to the Rockies. Monday morning we parted, promising (as we always do) not to wait for such a long time to visit again. And then I was off to Lubbock, six hours away.

Jürgen