The yellow jeep started out as a surrogate motorcycle, and became a form of ‘cycle’ in its own right.
Back in New Mexico, I get on the real bike again….back in the saddle. Leave the Jeep for the first time in weeks.
I live part time in a section of desert that – from the interstate – looks as desolate as the moon.
But within 15 minutes I can be in magnificent parts of the planet that most people have never seen.
Out here, the ecosystems change with altitude, not just season.
I left – dry – 102 degree heat at lakeside, and was soon in – dry – 80 degree mountain air that feels like 70 on the East Coast.
Miles of uninterrupted roads. No traffic. Amazing vistas and changing vegetation. No RV’s. Everyone waves. If you stop, everyone stops to help.
Folks have been living and ranching here long before the US was formed. Long before the first Anglos arrived (although some genetic research suggests there were Caucasians here 10,000 years ago, after our current glaciers and icebergs had finished their first 8,000 years of ‘global warming’ and the oceans here had dried – except around Utah).
I had been worried about my return to the Third World of the American East Coast.
In the saddle, this all goes away…..
Around the first few bends, free range cattle stand to attention – literally – as my bike approaches. I stop. Lift my visor. Talk to them (cut me some slack…you try it some time).
They all keep pointing in my direction. Staring.
Smile on a cow (like smile on a dog).
I start up and move….
…they line up to follow…
…I move…
…some scatter…others stay with me….like weather vanes, they all keep moving to point toward me….
If I was not restricted to the road…I’ll bet some of them would have followed me off into the range.
OK….this is good. Like the bears in Arctic, although probably safer.
Ride on.
Stop at the ranch store….also near a local mine.
This is the real deal. No 7-Eleven. Been here long time. Wonderful owners.
Then 85 miles of superb dirt road. Bike in the zone. Views that simply cannot be captured without a stadium size vidi-wall.
Being there.
Cross Plains of San Agustin. Amazing. Scary to ‘tree people’ but relaxing to ‘vista people’.
Arrive at Very Large Array. Collection of radio telescopes on rail tracks using an entire valley as a ‘lens’.
This desert state has some of the highest concentrations of PhD’s in the country/world. One of the major sources of technology.
And, out here, free range cattle and government scientists co-habitate.
(Zero-risk advocates and treble-damage attorneys…please don’t mess with this balance. Cows and humans are smarter than you think and we don’t need to pay you millions to save us.)
Ride into high desert town of Magdalena. Music and happy people everywhere. Old Timers rodeo going on….like football at Bi-Coastal high schools. Big wedding with live Cowboy music. anglos in minority.
Dying to take pictures, but this is a clearly bonded community with all eyes on the new into-town riders. Respectful documentation would require taking the kevlar armor off, walking around a while, getting accepted by locals….in essence earning the right to capture some of their community fun …. without being the drive-by ‘oh mildred look at the cute indians’ tourista.
How does one know this?
One learns it from the body language of the locals after years of riding into their towns.
Get rid of the armor. Let them see the person. Buy a drink. Talk to people. Wander. Sit. After awhile you will notice that they have ‘grokked’ you. The postures of people across the street will relax, and they will continue what they are doing.
Then – as long as you convey in your body language that you are enjoying what they enjoy – you can start carefully documenting some of the surroundings.
That is respect for the community.
Today, I respect but do not have the time to prove it.
Maybe later when I can spend the afternoon at the rodeo….
Back 100 miles on dirt toward home…
Now THIS is land for sale. Not some 500 square foot condo for $400,000…
Keep riding. Mind wide open.
This is not the arctic, but it has some pieces that are darn close….I get the same reverence for things larger and more lasting than we humans.
I arrive back home. 40 mile long lake. Village of camping trailers builds every Thursday and goes away on Monday. Strict environmental controls. Extremely clean. Everyone knows their footprint and packs it out. Mostly families.
A very open community. Everyone cares. Norms self-regulated.
This is the “Hamptons” for people who live in the land… not in the city.
This is not the end of the yellow jeep road.
It is the second bookend in a very, very long ‘read’ of the earth and its people.
Thank you, whomever, for letting me do this…
