I woke up on Friday morning, May 7
th, to another great day for riding. That was good because this was scheduled to be a long day with 800 miles across New Mexico and Texas. Unfortunately, I got off to a bad start by out-thinking myself. As I pulled out of my Motel 6, I could have easily ridden across the street and gassed up at the station right there. But, being the impatient, gotta get on the road, kind of guy that I am, I decided to ride down the interstate a few miles and get gas there. I rode the 9 miles south on I-25 to the US-380 east exit only to discover there’s not much at that exit. US-380 goes east into a little town called San Antonio (not the big place in Texas, but the little place in New Mexico) and San Antonio doesn’t have a gas station or at least not one I could see.
I made a u-turn and headed back the way I had come. I-25 north for the 9 miles and 20 minutes later, I pulled into the Phillips 66 station across the street from my Motel 6 where I filled up the tank. I wasted 30 minutes and rode 20 miles and hadn’t made a lick of progress. Nice! Then it was back on I-25 for the third time to travel the 9 miles back to San Antonio. Ay yi yi!!!
A view of Sierra Blanca from across the desert west of Lincoln.
But, all was not lost. US-380 took me east across some of my favorite terrain in New Mexico. If you’ve never been to south central and southeast New Mexico you’re missing some of the best territory the southwestern US has to offer. I highly recommend you make a trip to the Ruidoso area and enjoy the Lincoln National Forest and the Capitan and Sacramento Mountains. The nearest airport is probably El Paso, Texas, but even the 140 mile ride up from El Paso is scenic and takes you along the edge of the White Sands Missile Range. Don’t let the desert sands fool you though. After about 100 miles you hit the mountains and then the scenery becomes excellent.
US-380 passes north of Sierra Blanca (a 12,003 ft peak near Ruidoso) and south of El Capitan Mountain (a 10,083 ft peak north of Lincoln). It also passes directly through Lincoln, NM where Billy the Kid made his famous escape from the Lincoln County Jail. The terrain around Lincoln is rough and untamed. I think that’s what I like about it. I love imagining what it must have been like back in the 19th century riding horseback through this territory. Of course, that would have been during the peak of the Lincoln County War where a man might have had to pick a side that could leave him dead. So, maybe riding across on a Harley in the 21st century isn’t so bad.
An example of the some of the rugged territory in the Capitan Mountains.
Billy the Kid made his daring escape from the Lincoln County Jail on April 28, 1881, just a couple of weeks before his scheduled May 13th hanging. In the process of escaping, he killed two deputies. In July 1881, Pat Garrett, the sheriff of Lincoln County, made his way into Fort Sumner, NM where he learned Billy was staying with a friend there. He surprised Billy in the middle of the night on July 14th and shot him dead in the Maxwell house. Billy the Kid’s grave is located in Fort Sumner which is about 140 miles northeast of Lincoln. I’ve visited it before on one of my trips through New Mexico, but not this time. Of course, there were rumors and stories for years that Billy wasn’t killed that night by Garrett and one such story even includes him dying in Texas at a ripe old age. I’ll leave that mystery for someone else to solve. I just like the territory and the legend of the area.
The historic sign in Lincoln explaining the origins of the Lincoln County War.
I made a stop in Lincoln to look around. I’ve been here before too, so it was a quick stop to get a couple of pictures and give my butt a rest after 100 miles or so in the saddle. US-380 merges in with US-70 10 miles east of Lincoln in a little town called Hondo. From there it was another 48 miles to Roswell, home of UFOs and aliens. The road between Hondo and Roswell takes you from the mountains back into the desert. It’s wide open and terrific pavement. I opened up the throttle and jumped in behind a local pickup truck that was running 80-85 mph.
The only problem we encountered was a ladder lying in the road. The problem was, the guy I was following at 80-plus mph decided he needed to stop and pick up the ladder. There was never any real drama, but the sudden stop did send a quick charge of adrenaline through my veins as I dodged him and rolled on east toward Roswell. About a quarter mile up the road I saw another pickup truck turning around. I don’t know if he was the original owner of the ladder or just a scavenger like the guy who had been in front of me, but either way, I was tempted to turn back myself and see who got the ladder. Hopefully, they settled it peacefully. I didn’t hear anything in the news that night about a massive gunfight in the New Mexico desert over a ladder, so I suppose it all worked out ok.
More of the New Mexico countryside outside of Hondo.
In addition to it being time to refill the gas tank, I decided I needed breakfast and began looking for a local diner as I rode slowly through Roswell. I saw a gas station on the east side of town to my left and almost missed the diner on my right. Luckily, I spotted the parking lot full of pickup trucks out of the corner of my eye and knew immediately that the Cowboy Café was going to my home away from home for breakfast. You can never go wrong by eating at a local place with a parking lot full of pickup trucks, particularly if you’re looking for a good breakfast.
I filled the gas tank and turned back to cover the half a block to the Cowboy Café. The Cowboy Café shares a parking lot with the gun store next door. How in the world could I go wrong? A parking lot full of pickups and a gun store next door? This place had to be the best diner in town.
The Cowboy Cafe. I highly recommend it for breakfast if you ever find yourself in the Roswell area some day.
I was not disappointed. The service included a couple of terrific waitresses who welcomed me up to the bar and made sure my coffee cup stayed full. They handed me a copy of the local paper to peruse while I waited for my breakfast. My incredibly large breakfast arrived a few minutes later and was topped off by an offer I couldn’t refuse. “You want some homemade hot sauce with that, honey?” the waitress said to me. “Oh, heck yeah!” was my reply. Needless to say, I was in gastronomic heaven! I just had to hope the hot sauce didn’t decide to go on the offensive somewhere down the road.
After getting my fill of eggs, bacon, toast and coffee, I made my way back into the parking lot. I was shedding a layer of clothing since the cool of the morning was wearing off and moving some things around in the saddle bags when a little old lady walked up and started chatting with me. She was decked out in a red outfit that included red shoes and a red leather driving cap (I noticed her Mercedes sitting next to me). She stood 5-foot nothing and had a raspy voice like you would expect from someone who may have smoked for many years.
We chatted for 20 minutes or so as she told me about her life. Her husband of 50-plus years had passed away a couple of years before and she had moved from Roswell to Midland, Texas. Her reason for the move was to go somewhere that had better airline services so she could travel more. (This should give you an idea of how “in the middle of nowhere” Roswell is. Midland, Texas isn’t exactly a metropolis, but it’s bigger than Roswell and apparently, after taking a quick hop into Dallas or Houston, the world is at her fingertips.) Her and her husband had always talked about travel, but, as it goes in life, didn’t get around to doing much of it. She decided she wanted to rectify that situation after his death and was out seeing the world. She was in Roswell visiting her daughter. And, to make it even more interesting, she told me about how much she enjoyed riding a Harley years before with a friend who had one. She was wonderful and, while I knew I had a lot of miles to still cover, I couldn’t imagine a better way to spend a few minutes. I feel like a jackass for not getting her name or a picture. It was such a good time talking with her and listening to her stories that I completely forgot to document it for my ride story.
I continued on US-380 east out of Roswell. Eastern New Mexico and west Texas are very much alike when it comes to the terrain and scenery. It’s mostly flat farm land covered with oil wells (some pumping sweet crude, while others sit rusting away). There are a lot more active wells now than I remember the last time I drove through the area. I’m sure the increase in oil prices has a lot to do with that, but I can remember riding through and seeing acres of wells sitting idle in years past, so it was good to see them pumping and feeding the local economy again.
They were even drilling new wells in West Texas. This was one of several drilling sites I passed during the day.
85 miles east of Roswell, I passed into Texas on US-380. I always give a loud “Woo Hoo!!!” when I cross into Texas from any direction. I lived in Texas for more than 20 years and still have a hard time believing I left there. But hey, you gotta put food on the table and the job was in Virginia, so whatta ya gonna do? Plus, Virginia’s pretty great too. Still, there’s something about that Texas mystic. It’s a lot like the Harley mystic. If I have to explain, you wouldn’t understand. Texas is a special place.
I made a gas stop in Brownfield, Texas. I had planned to get to the east side of town, but a freight train on the west side of town had me blocked anyway, so I decided to fill up at the local farmers co-op on my side of the tracks. I met a few other bikers from Kentucky and North Carolina who were filling up there too. The group was riding together, but the Kentucky twosome were turning north out of Brownfield, while the North Carolina threesome was continuing east to ultimately catch I-20 across the southern US. I didn’t ask where they had been, but we did discuss the great riding weather we were having on this particular day. They rode out a couple of minutes ahead of me, but I passed the North Carolina boys a few miles east of town. North Carolina was in my plans too, but not for a couple of more days.
In a little town called Post, Texas I swung southeast on US-84 toward Abilene. US-84 is a four-lane highway and the most memorable part of this stretch of highway was the wind farms. I assume this is the area where T. Boone Pickens has put his money where his mouth is. The windmills were located in large groups along the ridges and generating power for the towns and farms in the region. I was impressed with the number of windmills in the area. I guess T. Boone was serious when he said we needed to be investing in alternative energy sources.
An example of the wind farms in West Texas. If you look closely you can see the windmills continue across the horizon.
I passed a freight train loaded with military vehicles as I rode southeast on US-84. The train was sliding more east than US-84 and was getting further away, so I decided to take detour and see if I could get to a crossing that would allow me to get a picture of it. I jumped on a farm-to-market (FM) road (Texas designates some of the rural roads as FM roads that are maintained by the state, but aren’t designated as state highways because they are typically smaller roads and connect rural or agricultural areas to market towns.) This was FM-1606 to be exact and it delivered me to the train crossing a mile or so east of US-84. I got there in time to pull my camera from the saddle bag and snap a couple of pictures as the train rumbled by.
The train full of military gear headed south toward Abilene.
Getting up close and personal with the train.
I decided since I was already on a detour, I would continue on FM-1606 and see where it took me. It was a good decision since I stumbled upon a scene that contrasted the old and new in a way I wouldn’t have encountered without the detour. I passed by an old farm with an old broken down water windmill standing beside it. In the background was this massive new electric windmill. It made for a great picture.
I thought this picture best tells the story of why I like to get off the beaten path. Here the old and new collided in a way I wouldn't have seen without my detour down FM-1606.
I continued east on FM-1606 only to discover that it seemed to go on for miles without anything in sight. By this time, I had around 135 miles on the tank of gas and knew I was going to need more in the next 20 or 30 miles or else I’d be pushing that Harley down the road. Since nothing appeared ahead of me, I decided to u-turn back toward US-84 and take a little road I saw earlier that went south. I knew as long as I traveled south and/or west I would ultimately hit either US-84 again or I-20. Either one would get me where I needed to be.
As it turns out, I ultimately found myself back on US-84. I rode it to I-20 where I headed east for gas and lunch in Sweetwater. A full tank of gas and two McDonalds cheeseburgers later, I was back on I-20 headed east into Abilene where I took US-84 again going southeast across Texas. I rode the 125 miles from Sweetwater to Early where I made another gas stop. By now, I was in “racing the sun” mode. My planned stop was in College Station and that was still more than 200 miles away. There was still a lot of daylight left, but not that much daylight. It was looking inevitable that I would find myself riding through parts of Texas in the dark and that brings a whole host of critters into the equation.
In Goldwaithe, Texas I had to make a decision. I could blow off going to College Station, turn south on US-183 and ride into Austin and find a place for the night, or I could continue east on US-84 and make a run for College Station. I opted to make the run for College Station and headed east out of town on US-84.
A couple of miles outside of town I noticed a guy and a dog walking on the other side of the road. I could see that the dog wasn’t on a leash and, as you probably guessed by now, the dog bolted across the road in front of me. As he crossed he hesitated for a split second in my lane. I hit the brakes, locking up the rear, and start sliding toward him trying to keep the bike under control. The squeal of my rear tire must have snapped the dog out of his hesitation and he jumped out of the way. I slid the bike past him only to look in the mirror and see him dart back across the road in front of a mini-van that barely missed him.
This was particularly unusual because back in 2003 I was riding back from Oklahoma and passed through Goldwaithe going south on TX-16. On that occasion I had just passed through town and was running the bike back up to 70 mph when I noticed a dog crouched in his yard. You could tell he was going to chase me, so I slid over to the left side of my lane and got ready to blow past him. Well, he was smarter and quicker than me. He barreled out of the yard and made a beeline for my right ankle. He hit me solid and sent me and the bike flying into the northbound lane. Nothing was coming, so I was never in danger of hitting something, but still, the impact was significant. When I looked back I expected to see him sprawled out in the road. Instead, he was upright and walking back into his yard. What a tough SOB! I was very impressed.
Within half a mile I felt the pain begin to build in my right boot. I honestly thought the little bastard had broken my ankle. I could feel the swelling. But, just like this trip, I was racing the sun then too and couldn’t afford to stop. I kept riding and tried my best to ignore the pain.
I reached my motel that evening and the first thing I noticed were the bite marks in my leather chaps. He apparently drilled me with mouth wide open. The next obstacle was removing my boot. First, I had to take my knife and pry open the eyelets on my boot because they were smashed together and wouldn’t let the laces come loose. Once that was done, I was able to remove the boot and looked down at an ankle that was a purplish, blackish color. It wasn’t broken, but it was in far worse shape than it had been when I rode into Goldwaithe that day.
Score: Goldwaithe dogs 2 – Chuck zero!
I rode US-84 east toward Waco and reached the outskirts of town as the sun set behind me. I had only traveled 120 miles since the last gas stop, but it had been a long day in the saddle and I didn’t want to risk passing through Waco without topping off the tank. I made a gas stop and decided to check my phone messages and let Renee know my plans for the evening. As it turned out she was talking to my son Jeremy (the one who had gotten married a couple of days before in Vegas). He invited me to come spend the night with them in Kyle instead of going to College Station. The only rub was that Kyle is south of Austin and (if you remember my decision point in Goldwaithe from above) I had already intentionally gone east toward Waco instead of south toward Austin.
It was decision time again. I could go the 90 miles to College Station on TX-6 (two lanes, slow and deer) and pay for a motel room or I could go the 125 miles to Kyle on I-35 (four lanes, speed and deer) and sleep for free. Being the cheapskate that I am, I opted for the free night in Kyle.
I flew past the Horny Toad Harley-Davidson shop in Killeen and fought the idiots on I-35 where driving in the left lane for no apparent reason seems to be the state pastime. I arrived in Kyle sometime around 10PM and crashed my daughter-in-law’s first night home as a married woman. Luckily, she let me in the door and we enjoyed fajitas and a cold beer (or two).
This day ended with 810 miles under my belt and about 16 hours on the road (counting the first 30 minutes where I made no progress at all). It also included some of the best riding of the trip across New Mexico and Texas. It was a long day, but a terrific day that ended with Jeremy and Casey, our newest addition to our family. It doesn’t get much better than that! Plus, the sofa I slept on was very comfortable. I was able to get a good night’s rest and was back on the bike early the next morning headed for Houston and breakfast with friends.
