May22, 2018 Socorro, NM to Isleta Pueblo, NM

72.6 miles. Let me just start by saying that if your not living on the edge, you're taking up too much space. I could be sitting in my nice, comfortable rocking chair, in our retirement resort, but I am not. The kind of crap that happened to me today, can not be made up. It was the kind of problematic, uncomfortable, day that I'm getting to old for. Well, maybe. Pam jokes that some day she will have to send the authorities out to find me, because I will just be out there, wandering, somewhere. Today was almost the day. I was really happy to finally be at the Rv, which I made at  about 7: 30, p.m.  Fortunately,  Pam had a better day, finding the Isleta Casino Rv campground, and visiting the casino, and just wondering where in the hell I was.
The morning started out late because I needed to sleep in, and the origional plan was for an easy, 70 mile day, on nice roads, with a rocking tailwind. I turned on my GPS, and headed out through downtown Socorro, following directions through some neighborhood areas, then out a dirt road along a canal. I know better than to ever go on one of the dirt roads on Google maps, but I did it. The road was a little sandy, but generally not bad. Then, I began to climb. I should have pulled the plug right there, but I didn't. I may be a hardhead, and it really got me into trouble today. The climb turned so steep, and so washboard, that I had to walk the bike. After a few miles of riding/walking a washboard ridge, the road actually got better. I went down a rough hill, then started across a nice plateau, not having any idea where I was going. Now, remember, I've done this trip before, And there was none of this, but i blindly carried on. At some point the GPS told me to take a right, but there was no road to the right. Just, prairie. The GPS must have been following a long gone pipeline road that had grown over. This was the first real indication that I was now screwed. I continued to follow the road that the GPS didn't want me to, it tried to recalculate, but came up empty. Did I say screwed, yet? I followed the road until I came to a gate, (with GPS turned off.) On the other side of the gate was a mine, up in the rock, which looked to be abandoned. There were warning and keep out signs everywhere. So, I lifted my bike over the gate, and kept going, still not having a freaking clue where I was going, but, hey, there was only one road, so why not follow it. Once over the gate, the road conditions deteriorated significantly. It narrowed way down, and got alot sandier, too much so to ride very well. About a mile later, I came to another gate. It said keep out, and that it was some sort of off limits wildlife sanctuary. So, I lifted my bike over the gate, and climbed over myself. I had this great feeling of impending doom, but what the hell. I wasn't turning back now. I began to walk more and more, because of the loose consistency of the soil. I was seeing alot of animal tracks, and big, fresh piles of crap, so I'm thinking elk. Unfortunately, I saw no wildlife besides vultures and lizards. I began to descend, and the road really seemed to be going nowhere. I tried my GPS again, and it actually gave me a route, until it told me to take a right again, where there was no road. So, I shut it off. By now about three hours had passed, I was walking only, pushing my bike through dry quicksand, running out of water, and beginning to think about 911. The road seemed to be heading to a narrow gap between two buttes, or bluffs, or just jagged mountains. There was lush green trees, so I figured that it was the Rio Grande. If i could just get to the river I would be easier to find. I followed the ever disappearing and overgrown track of sandy road, down to the river bed, where it opened into a huge open area like a beach. I looked ahead, and damn if there wasn't a dam, across the river. It's been about four hours now, it's hot, and I need a miracle, or I'm dialing 911. I really felt defeated, with no way out. When I got to the dam and looked on the other side, there were three fishermen. What a huge relief, but I was on the wrong side of the river. There was a track across the dam, and an ore car, so it all made sense now. The road I followed was how the they got the ore out of the mine, and across the river. Unfortunately, on the other side of the dam was a six foot gate with razor wire on top. I called to the fishermen, and two of them got a hold of my bike as I lifted it over my head, and mostly over the razor wire. We had to finesse it a little, as the wire was catching on pedals, brake cables, water bottle holders, etc. But we did it. Now, I had to find a way to get over there. Wasn't going to happen. I walked back across the dam, and down into the riverbed. I had to wade through four separate streams, about four feet deep each, with very muddy bottoms, and debris piled up between
each channel. My biking shoes, with metal bottoms were not the ideal attire. The water actually felt good because I was pretty hot, and tired of pushing a bike through sand for miles. Luck had it that the fishermen told me I was only a mile or two from I 25. Five hours had now passed, and when I got to the interstate, I was only 17 miles from Socorro, where I started. I still had over 50 miles to go and it was three p.m.  I pedaled for about 12 miles before I came to a rest area, where I really bugared up the primitive men's room by washing off my mud caked bike shoes and feet in the sink. I chugged well water and refilled my bottles, and was genuinely happy that I had survived that ordeal without having to be rescued. As I came out of the restroom, a guy started up a conversation about my bike, and offered to ride me up the road about fifteen miles to the next town. I would like to think, that a normal man would have taken that offer. But I'm not normal. I declined his offer, hopped on the bike and started pedaling. The tailwind was still cranking, and I was making really good time, when I saw the exit that I got off of last trip. So my mistake was not getting back on the interstate in Socorro, and riding for a while. But the friggin GPS wouldn't tell me that, and I had failed to read my previous trips' blog so I knew what was going on. That was probably my biggest mistake, before ever walking out the door. Not aborting as soon as I saw a dirt road was my next biggest mistake. Battling through it, all reason be damned, was my third mistake, but hey, that's why I'm not sitting in a rocking chair, isn't it?
I did not get off the interstate when I should have, because I wanted to make up time, and I was rewarded for that by getting my first flat tire of the trip. So I plopped down on the shoulder, and changed out my front tire. I couldn't find the offending thorn, of nail, or whatever, so that was a bit worrisome as I pumped up the tire with a new pump I just bought with this exact predicament in mind. Best $30 I ever spent. I stayed on the interstate until the town of Belen, where I got onto NM 314, A downright beautiful, newly paved four lane, with a wide shoulder. Just like riding the interstate, only right through town. I stopped at a McDonald's and filled three bottles with Powerade, for a buck, and downed a hamburger. I still had 22 miles to go, and it was 5 p.m. The wind was still cranking and it blew me down the road until I came to the Isleta Indian reservation, and I took some tribal roads through the Pueblo, complete with hogans and all. Overall, the tribe seemed very modern and well off, compared to most reservations I've been on. I crossed the Rio Grande (over a bridge this time), as I left the Pueblo, and headed up NM47 for about five miles, and finally completed my journey. Pam had already eaten, and fed the slots, so we walked around a beautiful lake at the campground as I decompressed. Pam thought the whole nerve-wracking adventure was humorous, and showed little sympathy.....but I didn't want any. I just wanted a shower and a beer.