I had to write about those two states. They are extraordinary lands. First New Mexico…I remember it from when I used to pass through eastern NM in 1973-74 in my awesome little 68 Beetle. My first look was shocking…it was ancient, stark, and insanely rugged. The views were infinite, and the ride was wonderful. This past trip didn’t disappoint. When we hit the TX-NM border, the terrain changed, even though we were still in the midst of endless grain farms and vast cattle ranches. The rocks came, and with that, Native Americans and their history.
We rolled up on long, straight two lane roads, which begged for open throttles. A brief, but very friendly stop by a county Sheriff to help explain the intricacies of not getting tickets (REALLY!), we managed to stay at a moderate speed...and dodged a ticket. Up into the Sandia mountains, and down into the valley of the Albuquerque, brought a whole new vista. My wonderful friend Ken told me about the great state and the work of their recent governors, especially Bill Richardson. He brought great prosperity to the state. They are brimming with art, science (a new commercial space flight center at http://www.spaceportamerica.com/ ) and culture.
But Native American Casinos, billboards begging awareness about drivers running around intoxicated and domestic abuse….and the country took a turn in meaning. The Native Americans struggle hardily in the countryside. Yes, they have their own lands, self-governments, and revenue streams. But I couldn’t help but wonder what our wonderful mid-19th century leaders were thinking when they took away the pride, courage, and land of the Native Americans. The land begged for cliff dwellers and nomadic tribes seeking water and arable land. White men weren’t destined to bring millions and millions to live there. Yes, there are many lands now that belong to the Navajo, Jemez, Apache, Zuni….but they were “returned”, given back, begrudgingly.
My friend Ken told me the story about the Long Walk of the Navajo in 1864, an attempt at ethnic cleansing of the Navajo from those territories.( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Long_Walk_of_the_Navajo )It was startling…they hid in the cliffs and valleys near Canyon de Chelly in eastern Arizona, and in western . When they were captured, they (men, women, and children) were forced to walk in moccasins and bare foot all the way to eastern NM and Basque Redondo into internment camps. The line of Navajo walking stretched some ten miles long. Having read extensively about WWII, and the Bataan Death March, the plight of the Navajo is quite similar. In the Cowboy Hall of Fame and Museum in Oklahoma City, there is a large bronze sculpted by James Fraser, called The End of the Trail. It is an emotional and moving sculpture depicting their resolution, despair, and surrender of Native Americans. A must see….
The ride up US 550 against a howling wind, with gusts up to 30 mph, was an interesting challenge. Lining up for the gusts brought a rude surprise as soon as the wind abated…you kind of lean the bike into the wind at an angle, and when the wind stopped…POOF!..You could cover two lanes in a New York second! Had a tendency to tighten the old round muscle we sit on! But the terrain became ever more ancient and majestic. Farmington was the home of the SAFETY CORRIDOR, the place where there was “zero tolerance” for one mile over the speed limit. Billboards abound with the DWI warnings, and domestic violence vigilance. It was the last night in NM, and it was a restful night. I love New Mexico and what it is today. It is ancient and modern all at the same time.
Arizona opened our eyes to more unending black top, two lane roads that passed through high plains desert, carving out the veins of the countryside. We saw the magnificence of the “monuments” of the eroded land. Thomas diverted from us to see Monument Valley, I am sure a great experience. Nathalie and I rode side by side until we departed at the road leading to the Grand Canyon. However, there was no doubt we were in Canyon Country. The lands began to open up to valleys, and the roads began to move in sweepers, and up and down. I headed south to Flagstaff, and Nathalie and Thomas headed West to the canyon.
My ride to Flagstaff was reminder of the many sites to see in Arizona. There were tourists everywhere, at every overlook, at every rest stop. At my hotel in Flagstaff, I ran into many folks migrating back north for the summer, like Canadian geese finding their way back home for warmer weather. I even talked to a guy towing a 1969 Dodge Charger, beautifully restored. I asked if he was showing the car. He said “Nope; I just don’t want to be without it when I spend the summer in Michigan”. Cool. Most people would bring along their favorite picture or amulet…he brings his muscle car. Welcome to America.
