Riding a Motorcycle in Crosswinds, Day 16

Sand blowing across the I-25 in New Mexico

Leaned over at a 60 degree angle? I'm not sure it was quite 60 degrees, though riding a motorcycle in crosswinds often feels like it.

New Mexico along the I-25 heading southbound from Raton to Socorro was all crosswinds today, hitting at us from the west as they blew down from the mountains across the plains. My dual compound Michelin Pilot Road 2 tires must have worn down a few millimeters of that softer rubber as I rode leaned over to my right side for all of the 304 miles that Google Maps said we traveled.

The wind can blow at you from one of 360 degrees. So when it blows directly at your back, you figure you're pretty damn lucky. But it seems I've never been that lucky. Still, I'd rather take a headwind than a crosswind.

My Dianese summer riding jacket seemed to be better suited for the winds, allowing the air to pass through so that it didn't create that balloon effect you often see with some riders. My Honda ST1300 has a power windshield, allowing me to adjust the height with a push-button. I could have raised the windshield and created a comfortable little pocket, but I found that the crosswinds caused the bike to rock left and right more, so I kept the windshield down.

As for Sash, she was having a rough time on her Yamaha V-Star 650. She kept trying to keep her head down below the windshield, which seemingly exacerbated the shoulder muscle pains she gets with her fibromyalgia.

Myself, there was sands blowing across the Interstate, blasting me with their pin-prick sprays.  At one point, a tumbleweed blew into my bike as I was riding at 80 MPH and exploded into tiny fragments.


So there we were, in the morning, leaving our hotel in Raton, so eager and happy to get back on the road and rip off another 300 miles. And there we were later in the evening in Socorro, pulling into our next hotel, exhausted and walking like ducks.

I was rather proud of Sash, however.  I guess somehow I'm not really fascinated in the uber-feminine chicky-bunny kind of woman.  I like to know that my girl can withstand the elements of a long day's ride.

Before we arrived at our hotel in Socorro, we stopped at Walking Sands Rest Stop, about 16 miles north of town along the I-25, which apparently had been voted as one of the worst rest stops in the United States by truckers.

Tomorrow, we head west, up over the mountains.

And now for the pics...

Leaving Raton in the morning, Sash is all happy to take to the road.

Sash is still happy after 15 minutes of riding down the I-25 in New Mexico

New Mexico between Raton and Las Vegas is wide open country, just like Montana and Wyoming

Another shot of Sash along the I-25

At this time of year, the grasslands in Northern New Mexico are awash in lavender color

The "Sexy Six Burger" at Dick's Restaurant in Las Vegas, NM, it's six different chile peppers mixed into the ground beef.

Parked in downtown Las Vegas, NM.  That's Dick's Restaurant across the street from us.

Unfortunately, rattle snakes are not the only snakes hanging out at Walking Sands Rest Stop

Walking Sands Rest Stop, just north of Socorro, NM

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Riding Home From the Steel Horse Sisterhood Summit, Day 15

Lunch at Obie's Fillin' Station, Colorado City, CO

After being subjected to four days of love, empowerment, and "you go girl" at the Steel Horse Sisterhood Summit, Sash and I have taken to the road once again on our way back to San Diego.

And like how the 3-week road trip originally started by jumping on to the slab, we do that again by heading south on I-25, ending up in Raton, NM.

Being a guy, perhaps I can't fully describe the experience of being at the Summit. All I can see are women laughing, giggling and hugging, without really understanding what lies underneath the surface of all that.  That's why you can view Sash's photo collection of the weekend.

For the most part, I spent the time with my brother who lives in South Denver.  But it's not to say that I didn't spend any time at the Summit, I did.  I was there to sit at the bar and drink down a few beers, and while doing so I got to talk to several of the female riding attendees.  For the most part, it was about as wild as a college sorority party, complete with half-naked firefighters washing bikes, and some severe booby-squashing-hugs of the circular motion kind.

And many of the women there were over 6 feet tall, with long legs, muscles, and take-charge attitude enough to bring out the little boy in me.  If next year they have a session on how to turn a Honda rider into a sex slave, I may volunteer as the subject.

And speaking of Hondas, I didn't see many.  I saw a Goldwing, and I saw the new 2014 Valkyrie, but otherwise it was 95% Harleys.  There was a couple of sportbikes, at least one Suzuki V-Strom, and one BMW 1200 RT, and a spattering of metric cruisers.


The ride back home always feels different than the ride out.  Somehow, I find myself wanting to do more miles, wanting to ride at faster speeds.  Home is like a magnet pulling me back.  The closer I get, the more I seem focused on it.

Yeah, Home.

The whole weekend at the Summit, Sash met several other women who practically earn a living on the road, selling their wares, from one event to another.

"We can do this!" she said, referring to our marketing business, convinced that we have just as much opportunity to build a client base on the road than we've been able to do in San Diego thus far.  And how can I argue against living on the road, on our motorcycles?

So, we're heading back to San Diego now.  But how long we'll be there, I don't know.

I-25 Southbound, south of Pueblo, CO

Rack of ribs and Odell Porter, at Obie's Fillin' Station, Colorado City, CO

Sash rides south on I-25 Colorado

Sash raises her hand as she nears the New Mexico border, happy to get out of Colorado

Whenever I ride across Raton Pass, I hear that song, "Snowing on Raton".

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Motorcycle Bohemians, Day 10

Since leaving on this 3-week road trip, I've been riding and working. Sash has been doing so as well.

After punching the onslaught of extreme weather with our motorcycles, we arrive at our hotel room with our senses filled with the grandeur of the landscape, and then immediately sink our minds into a rectangular world of pixels and bytes. Often, our only sense of humanity is laying in bed together to feel each other's skin.

Each town is a just a stopping point to shift gears in our minds, sink into a different mental state, and feel a little bit of ourselves for a moment. Each bed feels different, each room has a different smell, but the day to day pattern is the same.

Now settled into Denver for the next five days, there's a sense of relief. No longer riding in cold, wet, windy weather, there's time to relax. We meet with people, eat with them, and still do our work too.

I'm sitting at a Starbucks in Denver Technical Center, amid dozens of other 20-40 year olds all with laptops, all seemingly entrenched in their work. It's like they don't need cubicles in this day and age; they just need Wi-Fi, a computing device, and something to drink.  I do the same, creating websites and writing blog posts.

Meanwhile, Sash has devoted herself to helping with the Steel Horse Sisterhood Summit. She's meeting with its organizer, Joan Krenning.  She's doing what she does best, markets, socializes, builds relationships, and connects at a profoundly deep level in such amazing short time.  There's something about that which fits right in with the Sisterhood Summit.

For me, Denver is just a place where my brother lives. I'm not really here for the Sisterhood Summit as Sash is. My brother works all day, and the only time we get together is at night. So during the day, I'm on this laptop doing my thing. I come to Denver to fill myself with the feeling of family. But there comes a time when it feels like roots are trying grow from my feet. And that time, I feel this urge to move on.

When people ask me where I'm from, I just say, "San Diego".  Technically, I was born in Honolulu, but I grew up in San Diego up until I was 12, and then the rest of my childhood in Santa Ana.  It's often hard for me to say that I'm a San Diegan, and I'm not so sure how to define a San Diegan with its numerous unique communities.  San Diego is just the place where the innocence ended.  I return there wanting to find it again, but it's never there.

Much of what we define ourselves is based on the people around us.  It's like a fine wine.  What makes a Sonoma Valley chardonnay different from a Columbia Valley is the unique climate and soil, affecting a grape's characteristics.  But when you don't put down roots, how then are you defined?

I can't help thinking of some motorcycle riding television characters like Bronson, a disillusioned working man who runs away on a bike to find something authentic in himself, or James from Twin Peaks, the emotional, troubled youth escaping from his demons on a Harley.  They each seem to reject the environment they're from.

I wonder if all motorcycle riders have this inside them, to some lesser or greater extent.

We start the day right with a big breakfast

Sash discusses the Steel Horse Sisterhood Summit with its organizer, Joan Krenning

My brother, my mother, and me

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