6/28
Today was a hard but very interesting day. We started early climbing the paved NM 126 out of Cuba. After a few miles of rolling things turned steeper. But we were in the very nice tree filled canyon that was straight out of the Wasatch Mountains. I could tell we were further north–fewer ponderosa pines and more firs. Also just more under brush and smaller trees. It was nothing like the sky islands of AZ or the southern NM forests.
We really enjoyed the climb up to Horse-shoe springs, where potable water gushes all over the road. However, it was here that Paula realized she was not wearing her camelbak. A little thought revealed that she had left it in the fridge at the Del Prado motel. A few minutes of indecision resulted, but in the end I decided to unhook the Bob and coast back into town (about 8 miles and 1000 feet lower). I second guessed this decision as I flew down the canyon, but it was too late. The next place (a bike shop) to replace it would be Salida, and it also had her rear blinky light in it.
I made it to the hotel in about 20 minutes, grabbed the camelbak then took off in a fury of speed towards the Jemez mountains once again. Riding without the Bob was very strange. I could maintain much higher speeds on gradual climbs and the acceleration was incredible. However, no matter how hard I tried I could not stand up and pedal. My muscles have been trained to adjust for the wiggling of the Bob and now without it I nearly fell over a few times trying to stand and pedal over small roller hills. Scary, actually.
About 3 miles up the canyon a small pickup truck slowed with its window down. The driver asked, “are you going back up to horseshoe springs?” I was confused at first, but responded in the affirmative. I had given a passing thought to sticking out my thumb to get back up, but I’m much too shy and against using cars to do that. However, this ride was *offered* to me, and I couldn’t really refuse.
The driver had a truck full of girl scouts that she was taking up to the camp high on the mountain. She had seen me leave Paula at horseshoe springs on the way down. Figuring that we had some problem she promised herself that if she saw me riding back up she’d offer a ride.
Riding without the bob was a strange feeling, but driving up NM 126 was stranger still. It’s been over a week of only bike powered climbing. I actually felt scared in the truck going so fast up the hills. But it only took a few minutes to reach Paula, where we thanked the driver profusely for saving us an hour or so on our day.
The pavement continued as we climbed higher. Our next bit of fun: road construction. They are paving more of NM 126, so we waited and waited for the pilot car. We only had .4 miles to ride through the construction (the cars had 3 miles) since we turned off onto FR 70. But they would not let us through (the woman claimed they had heavy equipment there).
Finally it came out that the pilot car had a flat tire. And still we waited.
At some point, and I’m not sure why, the flagger decided that she was being ridiculous by holding us up for the .4 miles we needed to ride and let us through. All we saw were orange barrels–no trucks and no equipment.
FR 70 continued the attack up to above 9000 feet. What a beautiful area! I saw several side trails that seemed worthy of investigation (without loads) and the rocks and trees made for many miles of nice cycling.
We rolled long the ridgetop for miles before deciding to stop for lunch. I could see dark clouds swirling in more than one direction, but could not ascertain which way any of them were moving. It was quite confusing–they seemed to be circling if anything.
Well, we happily finished our lunch before the storm hit. First a light rain (and I assumed it would only be that). Then, worse. And worse still. It hailed and poured for over and hour and a half. So we sat and stood under the trees and tried to cover our bikes and gear. At 9400 feet it was getting quite cold.
Soon the FS trucks began rolling by–they were all rained out of whatever job they were doing so they were heading back to town. The first truck was driven by Robbie, who was out GPS’ing trails not far from where we stopped. He was kind enough to offer us his warm truck to wait the storm out in.
He too was confused by the storm–couldn’t tell where it was going and how long it would stick around. We all agreed that it looked like it would be a typical short one. Not so–this sucker was parked on the ridge and continued to lay it down. We were in the truck warming for a half hour or so and finally left once it seemed to be letting up (only a drizzle now).
Cautiously we started to pedal again and found the road fairly free of mud. It’s been 47 days since a real rainstorm so the ground is happily accepting the water. Some spots were definitely mud bogs, but overall we were able to ride OK.
As we rode further on towards a lower pass we entered winter. The hail had been much more intense in this area and had collected into large drifts that looked like snow. I was happy that there were *worse* places we could have stopped.
The road was covered in mist in places (from the sun peeking out), which combined with the snow made for some eerie miles. A rough and tough FS fire crew truck drove by and gave us a big thumbs up.
More and more miles went on until we hit the dreaded FR 144. We had heard the horror stories about this road, which goes from 9100 to 10,400–all on 4×4, rough, rocky and rutted terrain. Most people barely survive it, and they are going the other direction!! With the rain I did not know if we had any chance of making it up it. I also was not very keen on riding above 10,000 since it was cold enough at 9. It was also late–5pm. But we rolled onwards anyway.
The rain had been kind to this road, I guess, because we didn’t have too much trouble at first. It was wet in places but not really muddy. After a few easy hills we hit some very challenging stuff. We turned a corner and stared at a very rocky, steep and wet pitch. It would have challenged most riders without a load. I gave it my best effort and came out riding–amazingly. Another hill shortly after was similarly technical, but barely rideable. Granny gear with the Bob can be quite interesting.
We expected to keep plugging away on this technical road to 10,400, but at about 9800 it turned to gravel. Slow gravel (muddy), but gravel. We were on our way to the highest elevation of the trip thus far. The wind blew and the sky was shrouded in clouds, but it was starkly beautiful up there.
We climbed to near 10,300, then descended below 10k. Then back up to 10,200, then back below 10. The elevation profiles on the map is definitely not accurate in this area. The final climb took us to 10,400, where we turned onto FR 27 for some very challenging downhill. Rocky and rough (even moreso that FR 144), I decided to crank up my downhill speed instead of babying the Bob as usual. It worked fairly well. This was some real mountain biking–hard even without the bob. Line selection was key.
Mid descent a herd of 40 elk ran across the road directly in front of Paula. They just kept coming! It was quite incredible.
It was getting very dark–towards 8pm now. But we pressed on at Paula’s insistence. She was determined to make it to Abiquiu, but it was still 30 miles (almost all downhill) away. But I was happy to get lower off the mountain where we’d be warmer in case of any more storms. FR 27 turned less technical and somewhat fast until we hit the slickrock sections. Now we were doing some very fun riding and losing elevation fast. At about 8:30 when visibility was going down the tubes I stopped at a decent camp spot and convinced Paula that continuing down this road in the dark was not the best of ideas, even with the promise of hotel and a nice shower in Abiqui. So we camped and were sleeping like babies.
A difficult day, without a doubt, but probably the best so far. I guess we like it difficult.
70 miles, 8000 feet of climbing
6/29
We awoke to raindrops on our tent at about 5am. Perfect timing, since the sun was just up. It continued for the next 45 minutes then cleared up. We got up slowly, cleaned the bikes extensively and ate some breakfast.
We decided that we would take a “rest” day today–only ride the ~20 miles into Abiquiui where we could find one of the last hotels for a number of days. Yesterday’s terriain and brutal thunderstorm has definitely taken its toll on us. But it’s funny, we’re actually feeling pretty good and want to keep going. But sometimes the best time to take a break is exactly when you are feeling good. We could easily pound out another 60-70 miles, but we’ll elect not to.
The downhill into Abuiquiu was mostly a blast — the final 2000 feet in a 2400 foot descent. There were a few short climbs and some horrendous washboards on the final county road (189) into town. We found Bodie’s general store full of good groceries, then headed on to the Abuiqui Inn. Wow, $100 for their cheapest room, which made us glad we stayed the night up on Polvadera ridge instead of pushing on through the dark to get to a $100 Inn. Instead we were checking in at 11am to a very nice (but still too expensive) room where we could relax and regroup for the next push on the GDMBR.
The trip thus far has been quite the adventure. Wow, is all I can say. I love so many aspects of it. We just keep riding north every day–each day we get closer to Canada. I am so used to doing big loops for rides where you start and end at the same place. Now each day is new, unknown and calling of adventure. We’re exploring new areas and riding into virtually unknown situations. I love it that we’re doing all this without motor vehicles and on infrequently traveled roads. The route has been very well planned out thus far–traversing huge mountains, quiet forest roads and even (yesterday) technical terrain. We just keep riding because that’s what we do. It feels great. Through we have been through quite a few tough situations and often wish certain portions would just end, overall the whole experience is invigorating. I can’t wait each day to see new mountains and to see how far we can make it that day. By all accounts we should be tired to death right now, but we are not. Why is this? Averaging over 60 miles a day for 10 days straight over challenging and steep mountain roads should have burned us by now. We even had a deathmarch of a first day. But still we keep going and feeling it. It’s awesome.
We head into more high country tomorrow including several sections above 10,000 feet. We’re excited, however our desire to encounter any mountain storms like we did yesterday is fairly low. Yet another reason to chill here in Abuiqui: it’s supposed to be clearing out as the week rolls on.
20 miles, 700 feet of climbing
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