600 miles from Weatherford OK to wherever it is I am in New Mexico near the Arizona border.
Leaving Weatherford, Oklahoma this morning, I anticipated heat, not wind and certainly not cold wind! I stopped about 50 miles down the interstate and hopped over to the tattered remnants of Route 66. I pulled my leather jacket out and snuggled down into it, flipping the color up to protect my neck. I snapped a picture of Bessie on the Mother Road as the sun is coming up in the east. The history of our country as a mobile society lies buried deep in the old concrete road and the many tiny towns it runs through. The old road runs along I40 and the juxtaposition of the four lane super slab with this narrow barely two lane road is amazing.
Stopped for breakfast and the Denny's off I40 would be a great place to open a restaurant. I understand seating is limited and staff is probably either limited or overworked...and frankly, when I'm not traveling I'm not a fan of eating out so much. I took a seat at the bar with two old crusty locals who were talking about farm equipment. At least the wide screen TV wasn't tuned to Fox News. The local weather report gave a 'wind alert' of 60-70 mph gusts across western Oklahoma and on into the Texas panhandle. A young guy sitting at the end of the counter, looked at me and said, 'Looks like it will be a windy ride!' Yep. Then he looks at me, as I'm trying to eat my eggs that were finally plunked down in front of me by the visibly unhappy waitress, and says, 'Do you know what is better than a woman on a Harley?' I look over and flatly say, 'Nothing,' then laugh uproariously while they guy looks at me and says 'Yeah,' like I had not heard that joke before. I kind wish I had not spoiled the punch line for him.
The first gust of wind was like a punch to the head. Today's ride ALMOST made the case for a full-face helmet. My head was whipped like Nae Nae with every gust. Wind is actually may favorite element to ride in; the power of the machine between my legs and the power of the wind is a seductive combination. At the end of the ride there is a great deal of satisfaction as long as you manage to keep from sliding sideways off the highway or not be whipped into a passing semi's tailwind as the gust pummels you from the other side. All your skills as a rider come into play with severe cross winds. Part of the allure of motorcycle travel for me is the lack of control I have over the elements. Accepting what Mother Nature gifts me with each day regardless of the challenge.
Wind brings change. The metaphor has been used extensively throughout literature, music, and the Bible. I felt the change half way through the day. Certainly any angst had been blown out of every pore in my body after 300 miles of gusts.
"Sometimes when the winds of change blow we find out true direction." Praying the winds of change blow fiercely for our country right now.
It stands to reason the panhandle of Texas is now thick with the wind turbine leviathans churning away lazily as the wind roars through. Seems like the colonies of wind turbines are much more prolific than the last time I rode through here.
Once I arrived in New Mexico the violent gusts lessened but the wind is persistent. I noticed large electronic signs above the highway at intervals warning travelers to 'wear masks, avoid crowds, etc.' and the rest areas along I40 in the area were mostly closed. The Welcome Center was closed, restrooms only open. More people are masked in the travel centers and gas stations. A large electronic sign warned travelers that the little town of Laguna, New Mexico was CLOSED! Do not exit here unless you have a local address! The barren landscape in this part of the country is mostly Native American reservation. The three casinos along the route are closed. I remember stopping on my first two wheeled trip across country at Rio Puerco to snap a photo of the bridge built in 1933 across the Rio Puerco river. It is one of hundreds of oddities and points of interest along historic Route 66. The Native American population on the reservations have been hit hard by the Coronavirus. I've rode through many of the reservations out west and the living conditions are sub standard at best. I'm reminded again of our collective shame at the treatment of Native Americans - and a land that was looted and stolen.
I planned to stop for the night in Albuquerque but quickly hit six lanes of traffic - no interchanges like Dallas - just a butt load of traffic all funneling through the city. Every time I saw a hotel I was in the wrong lane to make the exit. Before I knew it, I was on the other side of the city no hotel in site. I gassed up knowing there was very little between Albuquerque and Gallop. It would be another 80 miles or so to Grants and I prayed there would be a decent hotel. I settled into the saddle and resigned myself to another long stretch. Happy to be surrounded by rocks. If you read 'Riding Soul-O' you know I love rocks. The reddish brown outcroppings dot the horizon; giant boulders teeter precariously along ridges. Rocks give me comfort, they are solid. I have a large glass vase that I keep on my desk in my classroom filled with rocks that I've collected along my two wheeled travel. I use a sharpie and write the location where I picked it up. The rocks are a reminder of the travels, a tiny piece of the landscape, and the soul satisfying journey.
" A sad soul can kill you quicker, far quicker, than a germ (virus)." ~ John Steinbeck, Travels with Charley
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