Surly Bikes
Sometimes you’ve gotta just grab the bike and go. No plan. No route. No agenda other than to pedal and see where the wind takes you. Here in Southern New Mexico, just a long ride from Hatch, the chile capital of the world (their claim), the wind can be a fair force to overcome. A few Saturdays ago, I awoke to a morning of poofy-ass clouds, no wind and quite pleasant temps. Time to grab the Grappler and roll.
To Nowhere and Beyond
I’m usually more of a planner than this, but the Grappler’s “Let it Rip” mentality had me throw my usual ridewithGPS scouring out the window. Riding in these parts is a bit of everything, but the circulatory system of the region is the irrigation ditches. Not only do they provide dirt minutes from downtown and residential neighborhoods, but they are an endless maze of connections and variable conditions. Think rutted dirt, washboard, eroded sand — and not just crushed gravel, but crushed pecan shells.
The Grappler doesn’t care. First, I investigated the under-construction rec path — clearly not good to go quite yet.
Then it was north along the ditch superhighway to check on the figs overhanging in public space — certainly fair game. There were some nice contrasting purples of that deep fig and the Grappler’s new coat of Dust Bunny Purple. Fields of leafy greens were followed by a nice long stretch of pecan orchard just beginning to give the faintest hints of autumnal yellow. Turning south took me across the gleaming red ditch bridge and here the aforementioned wind decided to pick up. The cloud cover had also thickened and the Organ Mountains to the east were wrapped in spooky grey.
I pedaled west, the Grappler’s supple frame smoothing out the roughest of the ditches so far. As I rolled past the roast-y aroma of a field of red chiles left out to dry, I paused, a bit startled. We don’t really get snow down here, not much anyway, and certainly not on an afternoon with lows only down to the mid-50s. And still, a few fields down were entirely covered in white. I knew what it wasn’t, but if you’ve never stumbled upon a field of cotton before, perfectly white and gently billowing in the breeze, it’s an ethereal sight. Stalks of miniature clouds mirroring the fluff-fest up above.
A Sight to Behold
All this agriculture in the Chihuahuan desert? Strange, yes, but the Rio Grande runs along this west side of town. Though it doesn’t flow year-round due to the upstream dams and complicated water rights policies, it still enables all this growth. The huge cottonwoods along its banks put on a show of bright sunny yellow leaves.
Continuing south brought me back closer to maintained infrastructure and the paved rec path along the Rio. The Grappler, however, chooses dirt. Always. Every time. As a frequent drop bar/gravel bike rider, the pavement here would normally be a welcome respite from the bouncing or exertion from the chunky ditches, loose gravel and wheel-sucking sand. The Grappler eats it all up leaving me feeling fresh and confident to take on more.
So, I gave it more and we continued on, finally succumbing to pavement when the dirt options petered out. We ventured long enough to catch a few rain drops from the gathering clouds(another rare desert treat) before finally heading back home having enjoyed the full rainbow on a nice Saturday ramble.