Espanola, NM, to Magdalena, NM (via Las Vegas, NV)

We departed Espanola along highway 30, and the first 9.5 miles were fairly flat. That changed dramatically once we hit highway 502, the main road linking Santa Fe with Los Alamos, the city where the atomic bomb was developed. A busy three-lane highway, it climbed steeply through a narrow valley until we reached our turnoff four miles later, the junction with highway 4.

This was a scenic byway which we would travel along for the next two days. After having a lunch at the small town of White Rock, munching away whilst overlooking the meandering Rio Grande from the top of a cliff (pictured), we continued along the shoulderless highway 4 until we reached Bandelier National Monument. Traffic eased considerably after White Rock although it was persistent enough to keep us riding tight along the right-hand side of the road. The tricky part along this road was the many blind corners and crests - as you approach these sections you check to see (or hear) if any cars are coming in either direction, lest you encounter one at an inopportune time.

The scenery changed dramatically once we were out of the valley that Espanola sat in. From dry plains filled with scrub brush and the odd abrupt mesa tops, we glided through small gullies and canyons filled with burly Ponderosa pines, trees that were much taller than I would have expected in such a dry environment. Bandalier's visitor center sat within the Frijoles (Bean) Canyon; after riding 28 solid miles we still had another two miles to do - on foot this time. The reason? The main campground was closed due to renovations, so instead we walked to the nearest designated backcountry camping area. The Park staff were kind enough to let us leave our bikes near their own accommodation, so we were able to simply take our small backpacks, fill them with our tents, sleeping bags and dinner/breakfast, and make for the campsites. And what a lovely camping area it was. Set within the tight confines of the canyon, we had the place to ourselves - no RVs, no generators, no people. Just us. And was that noise I heard in the dark of night a bear...? A mountain lion? Or a coyote? A man in a rain coat? I don't know, and I didn't want to know at the time.

Our walk back to the visitor center early the next morning was a highlight. Instead of walking adjacent to a stream that carves its way through the ponderosa-pine filled canyon (this stream continues to flow even in drought, one of very few in the area that does), we took a path that took us next to the many former homes of the ancient Pueblo peoples. Inhabited as far back as 10,000 years ago, these cliff-face homes were built post 1150AD, highlighting how agricultural advancements led to formerly nomadic peoples to settle in what was a fertile canyon valley. You could clearly see holes in the volcanic rock where roof support posts were once inserted, along with countless pictographs of birds, faces and many other images. What made this place so special to us was how close you could get to the structures, along with the lack of tourists - we were now out of holiday season, the kids were back at school, and we were reaping the relative silence and solitude. It's hypocritical of course, as we are tourists too (special tourists, I always think), but gees it's great to have the 'space' to think about what you're viewing with the intense sounds of traffic and/or tourists bursting your ear drums.

We departed the Park for a campsite higher up in Sante Fe National Forest. Just how high was something we weren't aware of until we asked a few people. Up and up we went - the rise from the western turn-off to Los Alamos was particularly sharp. We were traversing along the side of a caldera, the remains of the very volcano that spewed the lava that Bandelier sits within. Again, the shoulder was non-existent on this stretch of road, although as we were stopping every half-mile or so for a breather (I estimated the grade was anywhere between 6-8 degrees), we were able to pull into what little room there was and let cars pass. One saving grace was the road was largely truckless.

Upon reaching the top we were treated to a view of the caldera, a vast empty hole filled with grass, and rimmed with pine trees. We had expected a sharp downhill at this point, yet the 'top' continued for quite some time - and up and down we went as the sun raced to the horizon (it always seems to be racing to the horizon when you're desperately trying to make it somewhere), only just making our campsite at Jemez Falls as the sun was setting. Luckily we had filled up with water before we commenced our ride that day, as the water at the campground had been turned off the day earlier - whilst we understand that they need to turn water off for the winter (lest pipes freeze), it would be great if they could say that somewhere earlier along the highway. Heaven forbid someone arrives with no water...then again, it was just another example of the myopic thinking focused on people with cars and RVs. They can easily move on. We can't.

The promised downhill came the next day. And what a glorious downhill it was, at 30 miles an hour through the steep confines of a red-rock canyon, again the remnants of ancient lava flows. We were travelling through the Jemez Mountains, and every turn yielded yet more stunning views of valleys and canyons topped by sheer red, orange and yellow coloured cliff faces. It was difficult to stay focused on the road ahead at times, although at least a shoulder appeared - not very wide but appreciated all the same. We stopped in at the hot spring town of Jemez Springs, site of another former pueblo town - this one had been usurped by the advancing Spanish in the early 1600s. We walked through the remains of the Spanish mission that had been established in 1621, the highlight being the stout church walls that still stood tall hundreds of years later. I hadn't quite appreciated how far north the Spanish had come - I know I mentioned this same point earlier in the blog when writing about the San Luis Valley in Colorado, yet seeing these walls made their former presence all that more tangible. The Spanish advance wouldn't have been a pleasant experience for the pueblo peoples, that's for sure.

We continued south along highway 4 until we reached the junction with highway 550. A three lane highway with a large shoulder, we traversed through more dry and arid scenery until we reached the outskirts of Albuquerque, or more accurately the town of Rio Rancho, what I was told is now the country's fastest growing region. We descended into the Rio Grande Valley, and into the city of Bernalillo (which sits adjacent to Rio Rancho) - to the south of the highway, along the gently-sloping ridge, sat countless one-storey homes all built in the earthy-coloured, flat roofed box-style that dominates many structures in the state, and mirrors the ways of the ancient pueblo peoples.

After 55 miles we camped adjacent to the Rio Grande in Bernalillo, and to a Casino that sits on a Native American reservation. How convenient - we showered, and then made straight to the dinner buffet. It was a welcome sight to these starved eyes. And didn't I make the most of it. Three mains courses followed by two desserts, all washed down by two large Sprites. I'm sure they wished they had charged me double. All along they had been warned about my brother's appetite (sorry Matty) - I'm sure I even saw my brother's photo there, just underneath the words WARNING: NO ENTRY TO THIS MAN.

I'll skip our time in Albuquerque, exceopt to mention the annual Balloon Festival, which we were lucky to see (we lucked out getting a third floor room that overlooked the valley - see the picture taken from the front of our room). We ended up staying in Albuquerque for 11 nights, interspersed with our wedding in Las Vegas, where we spent another five nights. We really enjoyed the break, and we both needed it. As did our bikes, which needed $200 worth of work at REI (thanks Chris!). I needed a new cassette, chain, and two new chainrings, new brake pads and a new cable and housing (for my gears)...Alia just needed a new chain. I seem to be riding quite hard compared to Alia. Really hard. Weird. Maybe it's my extra weight, both me plus the extra food I carry. Who knows. Or maybe Alia just caresses her gears and pedals while I hammer them.

We eventually set off from Albuquerque on Saturday Oct 16, and we cycled down along the Rio Grande valley. Albuquerque is blessed with many a bike path, both on and off-road, and for the vast majority of our trip out of the city we were on one or another bikeway (just for the record, we followed the North Diversion route to Indian Way, turned left onto Edith, and then made for Isleta Blvd, which is also highway 314). The cars gradually faded from view after we went through Belen, which sits 35 miles south of Albuquerque; a bit south of this city we pretty much had the road to ourselves, a well surfaced pavement gently rolling along the valley through majestic stands of cottonwood trees and small-scale pastures. It reminded me a tad of the Nile River valley, as once you were more than a 1km or so from the river you were back into arid and dry lands.

We were also travelling along El Camino Real, or the Royal Route, along which colonists from Mexico (as far south as Mexico City) came up into present day New Mexico and further, starting from 1598.

That night, after 55 miles, we camped at Bernardo, at a small RV park. We were basically adjacent to highway 25, although whilst the traffic could be loud at times we were that tired we slept easily through it all. Seemed weird being back in a tent again. I kept looking for the TV and refrigerator. And where was the bed? The next day we travelled along highway 25 into Socorro, the oldest Spanish settlement in New Mexico. We originally planned another 50-odd mile day but after learning a large part of the final 28 miles would be uphill, we erred on the side of caution (and entertainment - it was NFL Sunday after all) and pulled into a motel for the night, run by an Indian (i.e. south Asian) man who was amazed with the size of my calf muscles. Mmmmm. Better dead-bolt the door tonight Mrs Parker. (note - he was actually a lovely man, and he even upgraded us to a bigger bed so that we could have a proper rest)

Sure enough, the ride up to our present location of Magdalena, on highway 60, was fairly tough. We're glad we took the extra day to rest up, as we are finding it harder after such a long break. Magdalena is a small town of less than 1000 people, set against the backdrop of the Magdalena Mountains (well, what else would you name it?!?) and Cibola National Forest. On our way up (we ascended from 4850ft to 6500ft) we also crossed the Magdalena Fault. Magdalena, Magdalena, Magdalena - it's all about Magdalena (Lady Magdalene sits atop a nearby peak, looking down upon the town, according to the local Chamber of Commerce website). Once known as 'Trails End', it was where stock was brought along a corridor that stretched into Arizona in order to get them onto the spur rail line that once ran into Socorro.

From Magdalena we'll head west along highways 60 and 12; highway 12 runs into highway 180, which will take us south to Silver City, NM, and eventually Deming. From there it's a two-day ride into El Paso, Texas, from where we'll technically end our trail at the Mexican border. We then pick up a train to Austin, Texas, on Nov 4. We are off the Great Divide trail now, although we will cross the trail at least twice in the next week, the first time just near Horse Springs, and the second at Silver City. Rain is predicted, and we have no appetite for the rough and rugged New Mexican dirt/gravel roads. It's the pavement for us now. Until next time.