Everywhere that I go...

The best thing about being on the road, I find, is that every day is new and unique and full of interesting things that you've never seen before. Looking back, I see that I've been on the road for just over a week and already I'm halfway across the country. It's hard to believe it hasn't been longer; it seems like a month at least has gone by.

Before I get into the run-down of where I've been and what I've been up to, let me just say this - Ours is a huge country. You see a map and know that it's a big place full of lots of different kinds of people and terrain, but it's a hard thing to appreciate until you actually try to cross it how big and how varied it is. It's staggeringly big, that's how big it is. It's Huge.



My friend Kevin and I drove up to Eureka Springs, Arkansas, and spent a day walking around among sunburned tourists on antique streets. Eureka Springs was hailed as a curative wonderland at the beginning of the last century, and a relatively large and well-polished town grew up around the handful of little brooks that trickle out of the rocks there. It's a sort of anachronistic gem, really; every building in the downtown area is on the national historic register and great pains have obviously been taken to keep evey fleck and chunk of this place as original as possible. The period hotel atop the mountain is as authentic and intact as the period houses that line the craggy streets, and I had as much fun walking around the neighborhoods as I did taking in the galleries. The whole town has a relaxing, holiday feel to it and even atracts the odd street musician or traveling vendor. Make no mistake, this place is deep within the Ozarks and the surrounding area is as wild and lush a place as any - but the town of Eureka Springs is a quiet little gem of dichotomous culture. Next week is a Bluegrass/Volkswagon festival up there, which should tell you something. Sorry to be missing that.

The following morning I said my goodbyes to Kevin and his family and shot up to Fayettville to eat a quick breakfast before making for Oklahoma and what would turn out to be two of the most boring days of my life. Appologies to anyone who knows and loves this planar state, but I have to wonder how the pioneers made it across Oklahoma without completely losing their minds. The sage brush plane extends to the horizon in every direction for hundreds of miles on end without facet or blemish - it's striking, really, but there's so damned much of it. I won't go on about it, but I will say that Tulsa has bad roads and no good coffee houses.



I rode under a steel-grey sky for the entire day, getting sprinkled on here and there and covered with mud-spray that a steady stream of semi-trucks kicked up at me. The bleak weather and mind-numbing monotony of the ram-rod straight road made for a hard day. Eventually I stopped for the night at Boiling Springs state park, which I was directed to by a cheerful old gentleman by the name of Rob Digman. I met him in a gas staion near the park and he told me I wouldn't be sorry I went there, which my bleary eyes and vibration-numbed hands took as endorsement enough. And he was right - it was a lovely little oasis of forest on a plane of prarie. Six or seven deer jumped away from my bike as I rode in and fat little squirrels rooted around through the underbrush at the edge of my campsite. I set up my tent near a quietly moving creek that wound its way through a thicket of oak. I spent a comfortable night listening to coyotes howling, owls hooting at each other and rain spattering hypnotically on the roof of my tent. Might not sound too nice, but it was great, I'm telling you. The next morning I got up early and packed my gear, then headed out for the second half of Oklahoma. That's right, it took two days to get across that one state.



I eventually got to Black Mesa, the highest point in Oklahoma and right on the border of New Mexico, where I pullled over to look at my map and try to decide if I should take the dirt road to Fulsom or the paved road to Clayton. Once I'd crossed over from Oklahoma to New Mexico the scenery changed almost immediately, becoming more dramatic and interesting, and I wasn't sure if I should risk getting trapped in a muddy pocket of this interesting new terrain or go the safe route to the next town. As I was sitting there a guy pulled up in a truck and asked me if I was alright. I explained what I was doing and he warned me off the dirt road to Fulsom. "That road's hard," he said, "Gets kind of muddy and rocky. I wouldn't take it." Man, am I glad he convinced me not to go that way - I got a look at it from its other side when I rode through Fulsom later on and it would have been a hard and muddy trek indeed.

The road to Clayton is placid and gorgeous, though. I saw a giselle of some sort spring across the road, which was puzzling but cool, rode by several cattle ranches and over several cattle guards and some very attractive arroyos. After Clayton I took a different, paved road to Fulsom, which I had to go through to get to Raton and my campsite for the night. This road took me right by an extinct volcano (Capulin Volcano), which I took the opportunity to ride up and take a few pictures of. Then I rode through field upon field of cattle, dodging the stray cow now and again until I got to Fulsom.



Holy crap, the road from Fulsom to Raton (highway 72) is one of the most remote, stunning roads I've ever been on. It started out as single-lane black top and didn't widen for many miles, and I didn't see a soul on it until right near the end. As I rode down this tiny little country road, these little grey birds kept springing from the underbrush and flying balls-out at eye level right in front of me for a few seconds before darting off. I rode past old adobe houses and a stone church from God only knows when and field upon field of lush, green grass. It was was gorgeous.



Raton is a weird little high desert town. I camped outside of it in Sugarite Canyon for the night, right next to a guy named Jesse and his wife. They were riding their bike from Colorado back home to southern New Mexico. We shared a fire and chatted for a while before going to bed. The camp host came by my tent before I went to sleep and told me that the campsite had a resident skunk that would come by every day looking for food. "We've never had him spray anybody so far. Well, maybe a dog or two, but no people," he said. I got in my tent without seeing the little guy, but I did hear something snooping around just outside my tent during the night. Who knows?



Up early again today and got out across the high desert toward Taos. Stopped briefly in a small town and got the worst breakfast burrito yet wrought by the hands of men from a couple of demure mexican ladies running a deceptively good looking restaurant in some little town that's not even on the map. Continued on down one of the funnest roads I've yet ridden on - all kinds of switch-backs and tight little turns snaking through the low mountains - up to Eagle's Nest, then rode into Taos. Taos strikes me as a cute little tourist town more than anything else. Maybe I don't know enough about it to say, but I couldn't see any reason to stick around too long. I chatted up another biker and hit the road to Santa Fe.



Santa Fe, now, is an interesting little town. Same kind of gallery/restaurant/old pueblo set up as Taos, really, but bigger, nicer, and more active. I rode around the town square a few times before pulling over and getting a superbadass chipotle burrito at a little place called Bumble Bee's (I was looking for a place a friend had told me about called Cowgirls, but couldn't find it until I was on my way out of town. Boo.). Got kind of lost looking for highway 14 south, and when I did find it it had a stop light every fifty yards, so I redirected on over to the freeway and shot on down to Albuquerque and my friend Keith's house.

Keith and I go way back - he was my first navy bunkmate. I don't get to see this guy nearly as often as I'd like, but when I do it's always a good time. I've only met his wife, Victoria, once before but she's a proper sort - She's pregnant now, too, so there's another good person on the way. I'll try to convice them that 'Kele' is what they should name their forthcoming child.

Keith and I went downtown last night to play pool and drink a few beers. What company you go around with really makes all the difference, but I think I'd like Albuquerque pretty well even if I hadn't been hanging out with a good friend. We checked out a few places - Chama microbar, where we got a couple of their very tasty IPAs; Burt's Tiki Bar, where we drank a couple and listened to the resident DJ; the Astrobar, where we had a couple and left just before a hair band started up; the Launchpad, where we drank a couple, and played a quick game of pool while listening to a native band sing bad nu-metal; and finally the Anodine, where we both had scotch and beers and played pool and I developed a crush on one of the waitresses (I couldn't help it - she was wearing saddle-shoe high-heels). Keith has a steadier hand than I do and he spanked me at pool. Grabbed a taco on the way home and chatted until 4 am. It was good to catch up.

I'm going to roll around here for today, then tomorrow Keith and I will travel up to Chaco Canyon together and do a little hiking and camping. The following day Keith will head in to work and I'll move on to Mt. Zion national park, which by all accounts is gorgeous. I probably won't get a chance to write again until I hit San Francisco, but I'll be stopping in Bishop to see a friend of a friend, so I may get a chance to throw down a paragraph or two there. In any case, I'm a few days away from the west coast and very ready to see my girl over there. Not entirely sure I'm that ready to stop traveling yet, but I have had an amazing time so far this trip. Anyway, more soon.