We started loading our Royal Enfield Himalayan motorcycles onto a U-Haul 5’x9’ trailer at about
9am, and the South Texas sun was already blazing. Since we’d never loaded our bikes on our own, it
took us a little while to figure it out, but luckily I’m no stranger to ratchet straps and Jenn is no stranger
to logic, and soon we were loaded up and ready to head out.
We love driving, and that’s almost an understatement. This short vacation trip was literally a longish drive just so we could ride our motorcycles in an exotic location. We’ve done several long trips in the last several years, including to California a few times, so in comparison, driving to Cloudcroft was actually kind of a short jaunt for us.
We headed out I-10 West, driving far slower than usual with our trailered motorcycles in tow. The Texas Hill Country is flat out gorgeous, and as we passed Boerne, civilization started to thin out, and the countryside took over the horizon. We decided to stop under an overpass near Kerrville to check out the bikes and ratchet them down a bit more, just in case; Jenn’s bike was being a little weird and the front tire was turning a bit. We didn’t have the fancy wheel chocks so many people use when trailering their bikes. South Texas tip: always find shade in which to perform any task, whenever possible.
On we drove down I-10 West, the Hill Country gradually giving way to the desert, with our turn coming up in Fort Stockton. Normally my GMC truck gets over 400 miles per tank, but not this time. I could see we were running on fumes, but I still thought we’d be able to make it to Fort Stockton. I was wrong. The truck died three miles away from the closest gas station, embarrassingly. This was the first time we’d ever run out of gas on a road trip, and it will likely be the last. Instead of calling for roadside assistance, I unloaded Jenn’s bike at her suggestion since it was being a little wonky anyways, and rode it down to the closest gas station, where I bought and filled an overpriced gas can, strapped it to the back of the bike, and brought it back to the truck. All told, that whole process only took about fifteen minutes, which is probably a fraction of what it would’ve taken roadside assistance to do. The funniest thing about the whole scenario is that I had a gas can at home that I had thought of loading into the truck, just to have just in case, and I second-guessed myself and left it at home. Never again.
And so we reloaded Jenn’s bike into the trailer and drove to that same gas station to refill the truck with fuel and myself with refreshments.
We turned northward on 285 just a couple of miles and minutes farther down the road. If you’ve never driven down that road, avoid it if you can. It’s the fastest, most direct way to Carlsbad and Cloudcroft beyond, but it’s fucking gross. There’s a whole lot of fracking activity going on in that part of the country, and it’s boomed over the past few years. This was our third trip to Cloudcroft, and we can tell you from personal experience that the boom is real. There are all new “lodgings” for roughnecks all up and down that road, water sales, water disposal, and even a couple of new bona fide refineries, all of which were super strange to see in the middle of the flat, wide open desert. The city of Pecos, Texas is particularly gritty, every gas station full of dirty white trucks and the roughnecks that drive them.
As we drove north up 285, casually chatting while listening to music, as we do, we were intensely shocked when a foreign object flew at the windshield at 70 mph. A southbound Halliburton truck (seemingly the most common in the region) must’ve had a rock or steel nut lodged in a tire, and it dislodged itself at just the right moment to do some serious damage to my windshield. The sound was huge and filled the single cab of the truck, overpowering the music and our voices many times. The resulting shatter didn’t penetrate the windshield entirely, but it looks like a huge glass rose, about the size of my closed fist. That was intense.
Once we reached Artesia, which is basically the gateway to the foothills of that little piece of isolated mountain range in which the Lincoln National Forest, Cloudcroft, Mescalero, and Ruidoso are situated, we didn’t take any chances and decided to fill up with gas again. As I stepped out of the Allsup’s (seemingly the only convenience store in New Mexico), I realized that the lower half of my debris/dust shroud under my front bumper was hanging down and about to start dragging. Fortunately, we had the toolkit for our bikes, something I’d gotten shortly after we bought them and always keep with us just in case, and so we did a quick repair right there at the gas pumps. It only took a few minutes, but I got it off, threw it in the back of the truck, and we did the last ninety miles driving through the twisties into the mountains and the beautifully setting sun.
Soon it was dark, and we reached the Spruce Cabins in Cloudcroft, our third time staying there. Believe it or not, they just leave the hotel office unlocked, and our key was waiting for us in a marked envelope. We were a little bit baffled by the short driveway in front of our cabin, as Jenn had specifically picked #8 based on the picture of the long length of the driveway, but I just parked longways, covering the driveway and adjacent lawn, and we got settled in.
That first night we ordered our dinner from Big Daddy’s, which had always been reliably decent. I got the steak and green chile quesadilla, and Jenn got a salad and loaded baked potato. I was so hungry that it tasted magnificent, but I was told by my reliable source that it wasn’t that great, which makes me laugh when I think about it. I’ve always been an “eat out of necessity” kind of guy, and I’ll live with whatever food is available to me, but I do love great-tasting food, and I try to make it myself whenever possible. I’ll add at this point that we discussed the fact that on all our vacations henceforth we should probably get a place with a kitchen so we can make our own breakfasts and dinners.
We’re often somewhat disappointed with the food we get at restaurants. Philosophically speaking, and it’s damned unfortunate, people who work in restaurants are usually underpaid and overworked, statistically leading to drug and alcohol abuse, and it shows through in the service and product. If you give me an overcooked fish though, I will be upset about it, even if I do eat it because of time constraints or whatever, because that’s a cardinal sin and wholly unacceptable. Fishes are the best food. But I digress.
After some dinner and a shower, Mountain Daylight Time meant absolutely nothing and we were asleep shortly thereafter. Because of our various hiccups and towing motorcycles up a mountain, an eight hour trip had become eleven hours, and we were tired.
The next morning, we got up at a leisurely pace, as has become our habit on vacations after learning the hard way not to hurry shit. The cabin didn’t have any coffee in it, and the town of Cloudcroft is about a mile and a half long, so we walked around the “corner” to the Dusty Boot Motel and Restaurant, which makes me think that they should have an event called “The Dusty Boot Motel and Restaurant Jamboree and Hootenanny,” because that’s awesome. The waitress looked and sounded mean, but she was accurate and thorough. Our meals were simple and filling, and that’s all we really needed.
We got back to the cabin, unloaded the bikes, and headed to Allsup’s for gas and water. Unfortunately, the Allsup’s was incredibly busy at that time, probably just before 9am. Cloudcroft doesn’t have any fast food places or a grocery store, not besides the Family Dollar, which is where I suspect a lot of sundries are purchased constantly by the locals, enough to keep them fully stocked. We got ourselves a hairbrush and some soap there the night of our arrival, the two things we forgot to pack before we left. I’m betting the locals probably just make a list once or twice a week and head down the mountain to the desert town of Alamogordo for groceries at Albertson’s.
So, I filled up the gas tanks on the bikes within minutes and talked to a couple of passers-by who were interested in our Himalayans while Jenn was stuck in the Allsup’s line, waiting for local meth heads to pay for cigarettes with change, local blue collars buying their Allsup’s fried breakfast sandwiches, and tourists to buy whatever snacks and beverages they needed. After several minutes, she was finally able to come back out and we got loaded up and headed out.
Our first stop was the Forest Ranger Station just south of Cloudcroft on the Cox Canyon Highway, Rte 130. I got us a paper map of the national forest with all its forest roads, and asked about the White Rim Trail. We were given some instructions on how to get onto the trail, and we headed out. We apparently passed the entrance to the trail, stopped at the beautiful Haynes Canyon Vista Oversvation Site, took a quick pic, then doublebacked to find the entrance to the trail. We found it near the Slide Group Campground, totally not expecting it to be what it was.
The entrance to the trail that we thought we were going to ride was basically through a walk gate, and led onto a single track trail, which matched the description. However, what didn’t match the description was the largeness of its “small rocks” and the steepness of the “easy, gradual incline.” We became fully convinced that the description was written by a very experienced person who had ridden a dirt bike since birth. We were also convinced that that particular trail was too much for us at the time with our bikes that weigh about 450 pounds each. Jenn and I had only been riding our motorcycles for a few months. Jenn had never had one before, and I hadn’t ridden in over twelve years, since a pretty bad motorcycle wreck that had broken me a bit. Neither of us had ridden our motorcycles off-road, so we decided to stick to the easier forest roads.
We continued south branching onto the Sunspot Hwy, Rte 6563, and decided to take a right onto FR 63, aka the Karr Canyon Rd, just south of the Upper Karr Recreation Area. That turned out to be the absolute best idea we could have had as an introduction to off-road riding. It was nicely packed gravel, and we were essentially in a forest tree tunnel for several miles. I’m not sure exactly how long that road was. I mean, we didn’t even know where it went, and we didn’t care. Planning is an off and on thing for Jenn and I. I love planning, and I love looking at maps, so I had a general idea of the lay of the land, and I had downloaded the national forest to my offline maps, so I figured we’d be fine. The road eventually led to the little town of High Rolls on Hwy 82, west of Cloudcroft. We pulled over in the shade of a little grove on the side of the road and I had a look at our maps.
I decided I wanted to try a forest road that led around the north side of Cloudcroft, so we headed that way. We soon realized that much like the White Rim Trail, this particular trail was going to be a little too much for us. We definitely didn’t have the easiest time figuring out where to go next or even getting out of there, but we got out, and headed back to Cloudcroft.
We decided to just head south to the end of the Sunspot Highway, Route 6563, which is a beautifully winding road that has so many beautiful vistas that it was really staggering. It’s hard to put into words how beautiful that place is, with its vast forests, ultra green grass meadows, and mountaintop vistas that stretch for incomprehensible miles. Luckily the speed limit on all those roads is about 35-45 mph, so taking in the scenery is really easy and relaxing. Jenn and I have Sena Bluetooth communicators that she expertly added to our helmets, and the “wow”s and “oh”s were definitely repeated many, many times.
There are two observatories at the end of the Sunspot Hwy, or where it becomes the Sacramento Canyon Road, the Sunspot Solar Observatory and the Apache Point Observatory. We didn’t enter either one, but we sat at the Apache Point Observatory for quite a while. From its grounds you can see clear across the desert from the mountaintop on which we sat, across Alamogordo and White Sands National Monument, all the way to the next mountain range, which I think is west of Caballo and Truth or Consequences, possibly fifty or sixty miles away. Amazing stuff.
After that we were pretty well spent and headed back to our room, riding back up the beautiful Sunspot Highway and enjoying it all over again. We rode and rested for a total of about five hours that first day. It was awesome and intense.
When we got back to our room, we decided to do what needed to be done for the rest of our time there, backed the trailer up against the cabin’s exterior wall, parked the bikes in front of it, and backed the truck into the space next to it. We then ran down to the Albertson’s in Alamogordo for a couple of things, namely lunch for me because I am required to eat every five hours, minimum, so that I don’t get hangry, and snacks for Jenn, because she eats two meals maximum per day.
It’s a strange if picturesque drive down to Alamogordo and back up. It’s so strange how you go from a beautiful and cool enchanted forest land down into a flat, dusty, monochromatically beige, and desolate land full of people and their bullshit, and not much else. Amidst all of that, we were thankful for the Albertson’s and its wide variety. I got a huge sandwich I could split into two days’ worth of lunches, some beer for the evening, and Jenn got some cheese and grapes.
We headed back up to Cloudcroft and spent the rest of the late afternoon lounging in our room with the windows and door open, looking at the Forest Service map, listening to the world go by and watching the news, which we do regardless of where we go. It’s just how we are. I’m trying to convince Jenn to do a podcast with me about the news from our uncommon perspective. We’ll see if she eventually gives in.
We also took a short walk around the neighborhood near the cabins. It’s so interesting to see how so many different people have set themselves up in that forest. There were a bunch of RV parks, several mobile homes, and also a lot of houses with good foundations. It’s so eclectic that it’s almost foreign, especially compared to all the cookie cutter neighborhoods of our native San Antonio.
That second night we had dinner at Dave’s Cafe. It was mediocre. Our waitresses were young and terrible. The beer was too expensive. This is why I say that we should just cook for ourselves wherever we go. It’s ridiculous to be disappointed so often, so why not just avoid it? We headed back to the room and watched some movie or another, probably some ridiculous action flick, and I was probably asleep within an hour or so.
The next morning, Friday morning, we had a vague plan of attack. After checking out the maps in detail, I decided that it would be cool to do a kind of triangle that went from the Sunspot Highway, east through the forest on the Upper Rio Penasco Road, and back up Rte 130 into Cloudcroft. It did not disappoint whatsoever. The Upper RIo Penasco Road was all gravel, and there were a few introductory technical spots for us off-road newbs, but since we’d done so well the day before and had a little more experience, this road was idyllic.
It ran along the little Rio Penasco, which probably flows intensely with the snow melt of spring, but at the end of summer and after a full year’s drought, it was just a little babbling brook, pretty as you could imagine. It took us the better part of an hour to get all the way down that road because you really shouldn’t go faster than the posted 20 mph speed limit, and we didn’t. We got all the way to 130, headed back up north to finish the triangle, stopped at a group campground near Cloudcroft to have a look at the map, and decided to turn right back around and do the triangle in reverse.
It’s hard to describe just how awesome a trip like this is, and our second day of riding was definitely amazing. It was exhausting, intense, challenging, beautiful, and joyous. For off-road newbs like us, the inexperience led to increased levels of adrenaline, but not too much since we were on really nicely calm roads. Our bikes slid around on some of the gravel, but it was for the most part well-packed, so nothing was too crazy. Standing up while riding helped a lot, both for endurance and weight distribution in slidy stuff. It literally feels more stable to stand in the loose stuff, almost letting the bike do what it needs to do through it all, even if it’s hopping around a little beneath you.
One of the things that I particularly enjoyed about the whole experience was something I saw Ewan McGregor talk about in his film Long Way Round, which is an apple tv series about riding motorcycles around the world, from London to New York, a trip inspired by Ted Simon’s book, Jupiter’s Travels, about his trip around the world on a Triumph Tiger 500 in the seventies, which I haven’t yet read. Basically the sentiment is this: when you do stuff like this on a motorcycle, you are completely attuned to and immersed in the environment. You see all the sights, smell and the smells, feel all the cold or heat, and because you’re doing it on a motorcycle, it really does seem like all of your senses are heightened. Because you’re not riding fast over this rough terrain, the world isn’t flying by. You get to see so much of it as you ride through it, calmly and excitedly, simultaneously. I personally can no longer imagine a better mode of travel over land, and it just makes me want to crush miles and miles on my bike; there’s so much to see in this world.
By the time we got back to the cabin, after several hours on the bikes through twisties and forest roads, we were spent yet again, covered in dust and a little sweat, and ready for a little relaxation.
We talked about dinner a bit, and decided that rather than be disappointed with another expensive restaurant dinner, we were going to order dinner for pick up, so we placed an order with Chili’s in Alamogordo, which to us seemed reliably affordable and decent. So we took the drive down and around to the south side of Alamogordo, picked up our food, and went back right through the middle of town so we could see Alamogordo in all its glory.
Alamogordo is an interesting town. They’ve got everything they need and a lot they don’t, like most towns, but it always strikes me as strange that such a big little town would rise up in such an uninhabitable place. We had been to White Sands the first time we came to this part of the world, and while it was breathtakingly vast and unique, there’s not much to see besides many square miles of white sand. Ever since the historic atomic bombs were researched and built there for World War II and the Cold War, I can only imagine that White Sands Monument, the remainder of government facilities, and the services to support all the people and things involved in all of that are what drive the economy there. Walking through the grocery store and cruising the downtown strip of any vacation destination is always, always interesting and provides quite a bit of insight into its culture.
We had dinner when we got back to Cloudcroft, loaded the bikes back onto the trailer, watched the news and a movie, and drifted back to sleep. When we woke the next morning, we did the actual strapping down of the bikes to the trailer, checked out of our cabin, and headed to Allsup’s for coffee and fuel. While we momentarily considered getting ourselves an Allsup’s breakfast, it was only for a moment, and we decided against it in the end, a decision our digestive systems likely appreciated greatly.
We made our way down the mountain and back into Artesia, stopping at Burger King for breakfast, quick, efficient, and safer than Allsup’s, I think, maybe. We checked all the tie-downs on the bikes again just to be sure, and drove back to San Antonio, this time relatively uneventfully, only stopping for gas and more coffee in Fort Stockton.
One of my favorite things about the drive back into San Antonio from out West is the change in scenery and landscape from desolate desert to fertile woods. Around Junction, Texas, you start to notice all the desert scrub brush (whose plant names are basically unknown to me) changing to Mesquite, Cedar and Live Oaks, but only sporadically. You start passing through all the carved hills as you drive east, and if you look closely enough you can see where the hills were drilled to accept dynamite or whatever the hell else they used to cut huge slices through the limestone hills to accept Interstate 10 almost a hundred years ago. The layers of geological history are just laid bare for all to see, but I wonder how many people actually really notice it as they drive by.
As you approach Kerrville, the Oaks and Cedar get thicker and thicker, the desert landscape finally truly giving way to the Texas Hill Country and rolling hills of green-topped trees. It’s truly beautiful, and it spans such a large area of Texas, but almost all of it is owned by someone or another, mostly thanks to almost ancient Spanish Land Grants, so unlike most of our Western neighbor states, there’s really not much public land on which to ride motorcycles, but there’s definitely good hiking and swimming, both of which are also dearly beloved pastimes of ours.
Believe it or not, the Northside of San Antonio is actually part of the Hill Country, and the southern edge of the Balcones Escarpment, so we were home in no time, unloaded our dirty motorcycles, and got into recovery mode. We’ve ridden many miles since, a lot around town, lately more heading north and west from San Antonio. I think one of the next rides I’d like to do will be our first real “endurance ride,” from San Antonio to the Sam Houston National Forest, North of Houston, which is almost a five hour ride when avoiding highways, so it may take us about seven hours with stops for food, gas, and stretching. However, besides an adventure park near Austin and a few roads near Bandera, I’m pretty sure that’s the closest accessible off-road riding we can do. I’ll let you know how it goes.
