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