Magdelena, NM to El Paso, Texas (Mexican border)

After leaving Magdelena our thoughts turned very much to the Mexican border, and the few 100s of miles we had to travel. Still some way to go but the end of our north-south trip was very, very tangible now...I could almost taste the Coronas and burritos. I had even picked out the sombrero I would snooze under each lazy afternoon. Bueno. Ehh.

The road out of Magdelena was surprisingly steeper than expected...it's probably wrong to say steep, but just more rises than we had imagined. After 10 miles of steady uphill we crested and entered the rim of the Plains of San Augustin, and not too long after that we could see the day's highlight - the Very Large Array (VLA), a series of 27 radio telescopes that were featured, amongst other programs, in the movie Contact (albeit in a computer-enhanced manner). Each telescope, 25 metres in diameter, sits on one of three railway lines that each extend 13 or so miles in length. The telescopes can be moved in or out; when all the telescopes are spread out, it allows astronomers to look at a large part of the sky. When the opposite occurs, as it did when we were there, astronomers are focused on a smaller part of the sky. The telescopes sit within the Plains, essentially in a valley, to help protect them from unwanted electrical interference from nearby towns.


We camped that night at Datil Wells, 44 miles from Magdelena (via the VLA, which added 8 miles), at a very well run campsite. Each night we would look to the west waiting for an expected bout of bad weather that had been predicted days earlier. We were on alert after being drenched a few weeks earlier in the north of the state - we would often laugh about this, entering what we thought would be the driest state of the few we had travelled through, only to hit by the most water.

A few clouds appeared on this evening but nothing too sinister; the next morning saw a few spots of rain yet, for the most part of our 55 miles riding to Apache Creek, located at the junction of highways 12 and 32, it was more about gusting winds than water cascading from the sky. Today we rode deep within the plain, interrupted every 10 miles of so by modest hills flowing down from the mountains to our north. We rode onto the official Great Divide Trail just west of Old Horse Springs; one look down those hard, jumbled forestry roads sent shivers up my spine. We were more than happy to be on the pavement in this neck of the dirt. We crossed the Continental Divide, at 7300 feet, for our second last time...it felt satisfying to be back on the Divide, our companion from day one. Our old friend made us work hard over the course of this trip but she was relenting in this part of the country, her spine not so pronounced, the inclines more modest and sedate.


We camped beneath gloriously tall Ponderosa Pines at Apache Creek campground in the Gila (pronounced 'Heela') National Forest. The Gila, all of 3.3 million acres, wouldn't just dominate our horizon for the next week, it would also fill our heads with the history of Native Americans and the clash with modern America. Of Native chiefs lured to meetings on the pretence of peace, only to lose their lives and heads; of Geronimo, an Apache born and bred in these mountains, leading the US Calvary on a merry dance through its many canyons and mesas; and of infamous outlaws such as Billy the Kid, (partly) lured by the rich deposits of gold and silver found in the 1800s.

Our ride took us through the central and western sides of the Gila (and near the Arizona border), along highways 12 through Reserve and onto highway 180 through Glenwood and Buckhorn. The mountains to the east were magnificent. It was 26 miles into our ride from Apache Creek (about 13 miles from Reserve) that we had our first relatively major issue with our bikes. I had just noticed a wobble in my rear wheel/tire and asked Alia to look at it as I rode; she could see the tire clearly moving laterally, enough to have us plan to stop once we could find an open spot to do so - we were climbing through some steep hairpins on our way up to Saliz Pass (6436 feet) under a darkening sky, and just couldn't find enough space to pull over. We needn't have bothered; only seconds later and a curt 'POP' forced us to the tight confines of a corner of the highway. Not only had my tube burst, but my rear tire had been ripped along the bead for approx. 4 inches. A flawed tire wall had finally given way, putting pressure on the tube inside. As the rain began to fall we got the wheel off and removed the tire, yet as we attempted to use duct tape to repair the damage we could see it wouldn't hold enough to protect a new tube and any serious weight I would need to put on the bike.

Decision time.

In a surprisingly calm manner (well, for me at least. No outburst this time) we decided that we would walk to the nearest clearing (we could get enough air in the new tube to walk the bike) and begin seeing if someone could take us the 85 miles to Silver City. Failing this, we would simply walk around 12 miles and camp (we were in National Forest, which means you can legally camp anywhere excluding near streams/rivers), getting up the next day to walk the final eight miles to the nearest small town of Glenwood. From there we knew could order a tire from Silver City and have it Fedexed to us. Walking 20 miles really didn't faze us too much - we can walk at 4 miles an hour, and with our gear still on our bikes it wasn't too hard pushing my bike along. Obviously not our preference but well within our scope.

About a mile into our walk and a man stopped in a pull-out and asked us if we needed some help. We looked at each other and thought it made sense to see what this meant. Jerry, the man in the car, said he would happily take us into Silver City, not far from where he lived, and bring us back with a new tire...wow, what an offer. He couldn't take our bikes with us but these could be safely stashed in the dense bush near the road. Another glance between each of us. It seemed to make sense, and Jerry seemed genuine. And so it went; Jerry not only took us all the way into Silver City to get a new tire but allowed us to join him and his partner Mary for dinner, and put us up for the night at his house, located on highway 180 about 12 miles west of Silver City. How humbling. Such generosity I hadn't experienced. Ever. And Jerry was a lovely man, so humble and spiritual, so ready to listen to us and our laments.

After dropping us back at our stash site the next day, we cycled 21 miles to Bighorn campground at Glenwood. Both this evening, when we met a couple from Victoria, BC and a motorcyclist from Tuscon, Arizona, and the next day when we met locals at a Saturday farmers market, we were hit with how we seemed to be meeting so many nice people on this stretch of road. Not to say people weren't friendly earlier in the trip, it was more the sheer number of people we were meeting on this particular stretch of road. And it wouldn't end here; after taking in a local site called the CatWalk, an elevated walkway that takes you through a picturesque canyon just northeast of Glenwood, we made our way to Buckhorn for the night. The very next day, whilst having a coffee at a service station about 7 miles south of Glenwood at Cliff, we met Patrick, who was cycling back to Silver City. He was part of a local group of cyclists that had also spent the night in Glenwood as part of a weekend trip from Silver City. After chatting for about 10 minutes Patrick, who had only recently completed a solo bike trip from Silver City to his former home town in New York State (in just 41 days), offered for us to stay with him and his wife rather than the motel we had planned to bed down at. We accepted, and suffice to say, much like Jerry and Mary, Patrick and his wife Eileen, Irish Americans, treated us royally. We pretty much talked for two days straight, about anything from cycling through to Patrick's immense knowledge of the American Civil War. And in amongst this was an amazing fiddling performance by Eileen, the sounds of distant Ireland resonating sublimely through their adobe home.

We stayed with Patrick and Eileen for two days, two absolutely wonderful days. From Silver City was cycled up and down the cavernous bumps of highway 180 east to the junction with highway 152; from there it was up steeply past one of the oldest (copper) mines in the US at Santa Rita, an open pit monolith as big as anything we saw in Butte, Montana. Not long after we enjoyed a five or six mile descent into the Mimbres (Spanish for willow) Valley before recommencing what ended up being a grueling ascent to Emory Pass. For 15 miles we battled hairpin after hairpin, hoping that each one would be the last. It wouldn't, and it was only at 5.45pm that we finally crested the 8200ft summit, 2200ft above Silver City's elevation. The view to the east was immense; our view not only took in the surrounding mountains of the Gila Forest but also the distant Rio Grande valley...the scope and diversity of what we were seeing was astounding. Probably one the top three views on the entire trip. And the descent into Hillsboro was exhilarating, if not a tad scary on some of the turns as the wind pushed us this way and that, sometimes a bit too close to the edge of the pavement (and the canyon below). Just as the sun was setting, and about eight miles from our destination of Hillsboro, Alia had her very first flat tire of the entire trip. We laughed. Just wish it wasn't now, but then again I've said that on each of the ten times I had a flat. Always have to be somewhere by sometime.

We rode the final eight miles in darkness along a very quiet highway; no drama, and quite surreal in some ways, seeing the vague outlines of mesas and canyons as we glided by the light of our headlamps. The day saw us ride a solid 57 miles, enough to give us a deep sleep at the RV park in Hillsboro, an old gold town that was the subject of numerous Apache raids in the late 1800s. As isolated as we felt at times on this trip, in no way could it be compared to the early settlers in this part of the country, scratching out a living in the dry and dusty environs all the while trying to fend off attacks from marauding Apaches.

Our next day was a monster. After a three mile climb out of Hillsboro we glided down into the Rio Grande valley, entering just south of the wonderfully named town of Truth or Consequences. Just as an aside, the original name of this town was the rather uninspiring Hot Spring. According the local Chamber of Commerce website, the name was changed in response to an offer by a 1950s radio program named Truth or Consequences. The offer was simple - would any town change their name to help show how much a town enjoyed the radio program, now in its 10th year on air? The town, which was struggling to attract tourists, took up the challenge, and after a town vote in which 1294 to 295 residents voted yes, the name was changed. One of the weirder ways to develop a town name. But it caught my eye, so I suppose it works.

We continued south through a rich agricultural wonderland along the edges of the river, a benign topography of largely flat or downhill pavement of highway 185 adjacent to chili, cotton and pecan tree farms...on and on we went. We were making such good time that we arrived at our predesignated destination of Radium Springs by 5.30pm (after departing at our usual late time of 10.45am). A short chat, which brought up the lure of a shower and bed of a Las Cruces motel room, some 15 miles to the south, helped make a quick decision. We would push on. And so we did, at 14 miles an hour. We made the motel just before 7pm, some 77 miles (125 kms) from Hillsboro, our longest day of the entire trip by far. Felt good.

We enjoyed a sleep-in the next day, and whilst winds from the east gusting up to 20 miles per hour made life tad sour, we made it into El Paso, our final destination on this leg, by mid afternoon. El Paso wasn't a pleasant place to ride into, largely because I hadn't noted the best cycle route in. Instead we rode in along Highway 20, a 6-lane road that was very busy at the time we entered the city. We ended up riding along the sidewalk, which luckily was quite wide and continuous (as you discover in the US, many sidewalks just end arbitrarily, usually at the most inopportune spots along a road - i.e. the busiest spots).

So, now for the stats. Our total distance travelled to this point, including the Vancouver Island and Skeena River sections, was 3484 miles, or 5574.4 kms. The total number of riding days (ie. excluding rest days) was 87, or almost three solid months that our butts spent in the saddle. Ouch. Quite the ride, and one which took us through a roller coaster of emotions. Mostly good, and certainly enlightening to the extreme. I lost five kilograms, down from 86 to 81kgs (178 pounds), and two sizes, down from a 36 to 34 inch waist (as I discovered when buying a suit in Albuquerque). This whilst still having a beer or three every few days. I'll have to keep cycling when I get home, I like this flattish stomach thing.

Alia has replaced any weight loss with sheer muscle - did you see her calves during the wedding ceremony?!? Her father thinks that's why most people were crying during the ceremony - sheer astonishment at her beautifully shaped legs.

Yet the drama hasn't stopped in El Paso. On the Friday night just gone, whilst eating popcorn I chipped off a rather large part of my second molar, enough to expose the root. Ouch. I couldn't even finish the beer I was drinking, the pain was that intense. After searching for a local dentist (and wondering how much a US dentist would charge considering we only have insurance for AUD$500 for emergency dental), I found most weren't open on the weekend (nor on Fridays - gees, the golfing must be good here). Whilst conducting these searches on the Net, up came various websites promoting qualified dentists in the Mexican city of Juarez. Yes, that Juarez, the city with over 2000 drug-related murders each year, the city which sits adjacent to El Paso that we were planning to avoid like the plague. After reading quite a few independent blogs, I came up with a few seemingly reliable dental clinics in Juarez, each of which came and picked you up from your El Paso motel/hotel, took you to the clinic, and then returned you to your accommodation. All for dental prices that were a third charged by US (or even Canadian/Australian) dentists.

It's a thriving industry here (well, not so busy now as our driver pointed out - they once collected 100 people per day from El Paso, now it's 10 or so) simply due to the vast number of US citizens who can't afford health insurance - one lady who needed 5 crowns and three root canals was quoted $15000 in Atlanta; she paid around $4000 in Juarez, and was happy with the work (I accept that you can't really verify many of these claims but as best we could, we went to blogs that had no link to the dentists themselves).

So, off we went. Most dental clinics are located directly next to the border crossing, so you are basically only seeing a few streets in Juarez before you arrive. We were greeted by about three people at once, one of which explained each part of the process to me as it was being done (in clear English). I ended up needing a root canal and crown; I have to say that, at this stage, all seems good. The root canal was painless (well, after seven needles, what would you expect - part of me was waiting for a bottle of tequila and a blindfold) and, two days later, still painless. Today (Monday) sees me going back for the permanent porcelain crown (I have a temp in now), so assuming all goes well, both now and in the coming weeks, it may be something I recommend to others. Total cost was US$495, including all Xrays (three to date) and taxes. Alia's mother thinks it would cost at least three times that in Sydney.

But, no, I haven't told my mother about this incident as yet...

Again, not something I would want to do again, and only time will tell if the dental work lasts. Suffice to say, the message from this blog is anything that goes POP is to be avoided, whether that be tires with flimsy sidewalls or the corn you put in the microwave. A poor joke I know but someone challenged me to somehow link the two incidents. There you go.

I will continue to write on this blog as we commence our ride from Austin, Texas to San Antonio, and from New Orleans to Pensacola. We board a train to Austin this Thursday morning. Until I write again, take care, and thanks for taking an interest in our trip. It's appreciated.