“We can only find our own meaning in our own time." Margaret Atwood
Chapter 11 - The Continental Divide
I left early on my second morning in Phoenix, and the stay had been a
good one. I changed the oil on my bike and did a last bit of laundry. Other
than that, I just relaxed and enjoyed those final hours with my friend Dave.
After a large hot breakfast and plenty of coffee, we said our goodbyes; the
second painful goodbye of that week, and a week marked by great change. Dave
had been a good and dear friend to me, I was lucky to have people like Gerry
and Dave in my life. Perhaps our paths would cross again, but for now, both
of us realized that the time to get on with the next chapter in our lives
was here for the both of us. My last connection with the Army was now cut. I
tied my gear to the back of the seat and, for the last time, we shook hands.
I headed out for the highway, and in a few minutes, I was up to highway
cruising speed and heading east again.
The excitement of the moment was tempered by the realities in front of me.
It was no joke to be heading out alone across country on a motorcycle in
February. The extended forecast was decent, but I knew that an extended
weather prediction was not anything you would want to bet your life on, nor
chance an undertaking carrying substantial personal risk. I remembered how
cold and miserable I had been in October during the rain on that last day
coming into Phoenix, and I would have no support, or the emergency shelter
of a car, traveling with me on the long journey east. I knew that I could
not allow myself to get wet, and that it was imperative not to be caught out
in the open in a storm, especially in the rugged spaces before Dallas.
I was most concerned about the risk of exposure during the first half of the
trip, especially the stretch of highway from El Paso that went up and over
the Davis Mountains. I felt that once I got past the Midland and Odessa area
in Texas I could relax a little. If I were caught in the open in a blizzard
on a desolate stretch of road, I might have to abandon my bike just to
survive. I had made the decision not to leave the shelter of a motel or gas
station if the sky was foreboding or the forecast was bad. I would carry on
for as long and as well as the 250 dollars in my pocket would allow me, but
there was no real rest to be had until the bike and myself were safe at
Danny’s house in North Carolina.
It was pleasant enough for a February day, and it warmed further as the sun
rose in the sky. I needed the temperature to cooperate if I were to have any
chance of putting in some long-mileage riding days. I could not keep it
above 75mph if it was cold, and the more time I could spend traveling at 75
or 80 would make a big difference in the length of the day. I knew that I
would need to take several substantial rest breaks during the day as it was.
I filled up before Tucson and had a coffee in the restaurant. Then it was
out to the highway and quickly up to speed. It was a pleasant day to be on
the road, and the miles slid by. There is a wealth of fine scenery in
Arizona, even on a major road like the I-10. For lunch, I had Danish and a
coffee near Bowie, and quickly got back on the road. The wind was picking
up, and I wanted to make the most out of the warmest part of the day.
Soon I was into New Mexico and traveling through Lordsburg. When the three
of us had come through here last October the wind had been stiff, and the
few trees that there were had been bent over by the onslaught, and the air had
been full of dust. It was not as
bad this time around, but the wind was blowing today as well, and I was buffeted on the bike.
I climbed over the Continental Divide and began the long gradual descent
towards Texas. For now, at least, the river of my life would flow towards
the Atlantic. I stopped in Deming for one last tank of gas before making the
final pull into Las Cruces. I secured a cheap motel room and dropped off my
gear on top of the bed, then headed out for a hamburger. After dinner, I
bought two cans of soda and acquired a bucket of ice at the motel, then took
a long hot shower before climbing into bed with a stiff drink. It had been a
good day, no problems, and no issues. I had traveled less than four hundred
miles, but I was not complaining. Tomorrow would be a major part of the
trip, an importance that was not measured in distance. I would head into
Texas and motor south to Van Horn, and then climb over the Davis Mountains.
After negotiating the mountains, I would leave I-10 and head east on I-20
towards Atlanta. Tomorrow could also be cold and desolate. I would make my
decision based on the morning weather report on the television. I turned the
light off and went to sleep.