It was one o'clock in the morning and the blackness of night seemed to encroach upon the light produced by my headlamps as I drove myself to the emergency room. The intensity of the wind the day before threatened of a storm blowing through the area, and it was a storm of rain and snow that culminated that early Friday morning. I was to depart for New Mexico later that morning, and the four hours spent in the hospital did little to allow for the rest I was hoping to get before beginning the first leg of my trek. Afterward, what time I had left for rest was cold--I had already packed my cold-gear in the wagon--and uncomfortable. Even once morning came, my plans were delayed, then delayed further to the point of frustration; it's exactly that sort of monotonous inconveniences that makes me long for the chilling uncertainty, and thrilling discovery of adventure. But after much cursing, frustration, and impatient waiting, I was on the road east towards Just-About-Nowhere New Mexico.
The first eight hours of my trip were uneventful interstate miles filled with the usual loud music, Monster Energy, and the occasional pondering on how, exactly, I was going to pay this credit card bill. But the interstate highway is not an entirely unrewarding thing; I found it enjoyable to relish the simple things, like the four-cylinder boxer engine purring away at thirty-six hundred RPM like a perfectly balanced aircraft motor, the mile-long BNSF train travelling parallel to the road just slightly slower then I, or light ******** chat amongst truckers on the CB radio. But it's safe to say that, for me, my adventure began as soon as I left the freeway and headed towards Roy, New Mexico. By that point it was late Friday night, and dark as it was nineteen hours earlier in Flagstaff. I only had a vague idea of where I was supposed to be going--the group from Expedition Portal was meeting in a canyon campground--but the town, Roy, was but a small dot placed on a squiggly line on my North America road atlas. Beyond that much I was all on my own with no cell-phone reception, no GPS, no computer, no clear memory of the name of the campground even. That's adventure; I had to rely on my instincts and guesswork without knowing whatsoever what to expect be it an elk in front of me traveling at sixty miles per hour, a pot-hole that could take out an A-arm, or any other imaginable, or unimaginable, danger that could arise.
I was fortunate enough that there was enough signage to light my path, so to speak, and ensure I was, in fact, going the right way and, after was seemed like much too long of a time on a the dirt road I passed the first campground and descended into the canyon. After another span of time that seemed to last too long, the road, which had become a tight shelf road, had leveled out and I could see reflectors in the distance. There was no light anywhere in the canyon save for my own headlamps, so I was surprised when I came to a fork and took a turn to find myself creeping past campsites occupied with darkened overland vehicles and camping gear. I had finally arrived and I had arrived at the correct location. I was glad I had arrived a bit late for any sort of greeting as I was in a bit too much of a tired state to be sociable. I chose a site of my own and 'setup' camp (I try to keep everything inside the wagon, and in such a manner, as I say, so that I can pack up and be rolling in no more than three minutes). I was somewhat familiar with the crowd whom I was sharing the campground with, so I felt not the need to secure my bike; A thing that felt strange to me, usually not willing to learn the lesson of bike-theft the hard way. I rolled up inside the wagon and drifted off to sleep with all-too-familiar and welcome scent of old incense and kerosene.
Nearly ten hours later I awoke and began breakfast; the "Chunks of Energy" and Monster were a much needed meal even if not up to par of my normal morning eats of coffee and whatever protein is available. I spent the next hour or so lounging an smoking in the wagon, finding it more comfortable than any lack of furniture I had back at the house. I was pleased and felt increasingly welcomed as various members of he group stopped by, greeted, and conversed with me as they wandered around the campsite. It is very often I get to meet new people with shared interests so while my day was only just beginning, it was already a good one.
It wasn't long before I the others began to start up there vehicles in preparation for a trail ride. I had begun to organize my gear--I had thrown everything into the wagon late Thursday night in an unusually disorganized fashion--and was not only terribly thrilled about packing up my bike again for a drive I wasn't sure I'd complete with a stock Subaru (the trails ended up being doable in my wagon regardless). By the time I had dressed and readied the others were off and out into the canyon so, wasting no time in the matter, I chased after on my mountain bike. As much as the bike I was riding (being purpose-built for gnarly descents) was exhausting to pedal around on flat ground, it turned out to be quite a fun experience; going on a trail-ride with Toyotas and Jeeps while on a Specialized was a new and very entertaining experience to me. I was rather glad I managed to follow the group, and socialize with everyone at the various stops. In retrospect, I wish I had tried to convince the ride leader, Bear, to cross the widest section of river; my experience would have been complete having hung onto the back of someone's rig with one hand while clinging to my bike over the water with the other.
After much time in the sun, and enough flat-land riding to wear me out, we all settled back into the campground preparing supper and congregating in small groups. We all amongst ourselves as friends, having only just recently met, and discussed any number of various things under the sun. As the sun dipped below the upper canyon rim, the air grew more chill, and the mosquitoes came out, eating everyone for their own dinner. I bundled up in my warmer clothing and prepared a can of food I had stored in the spared-tire compartment of the wagon, wishing I had brought more munchies to share with the group. As the food dwindled, darkness came, and everyone gathered around a lone fire. There were fine stories, fine cigars, and a good vibe of friendship that you don't often find in one's day-to-day life. That was good. That was what we all came for, and just what might bring us all back the next time around.
It is said that the journey is more important than the destination. In the mountain bike film, Roam, it is said, "In mountain biking there is no destination, just a bike, a rider, and a place to ride." Perhaps that is why we travel the way we do; more important that getting to the campsite, or the ruin at the end of the trail, is what we see on the way, and the people we meet. You don't build a fire for the sake of having a pile of ashes. For me, the New Mexico Roundup was never a place to get to, but rather a stop on the way to wherever I might be going next, whether it be with my wagon, my bike, or in my life. It was one day filled with new sites, people, and experiences that I was glad to be a part of, and what came after is a different story.
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