Hammond enjoyed the mountain air.
You ever hit a road where the desire to rip up the mountain fades away and next thing you know you are in top gear hearing the rev's turn over at a snails pace. Just lugging along and with every chug you are propelled another few yards of tarmac. This was that road. The weather was cool, the clouds were threatening rain, but I thought, "that might not be so bad..." There were no steel cages in front or behind me on the road. It was all mine and I wanted to savor it.
Road in front with two buddies in back. Out of the heat... Good.
I've ridden this road once the other direction. See earlier blog post. Somehow on this day, with this weather, with this direction, it was better. Just better.
If a Harley growels a Triumph spits fire crackers. With the RPM's low enough it sounds like every stroke is a cherry bomb pushing you down the road.
Enjoy the view, just don't stare too long timtim, the road ahead needs you.
Mmmmm, water...
the eyes...
Remind me to put that copper ceiling in my garage.
Getting into native territory. Elevations decreasing. Still cool.
The red rock is a different red than Sedona. More blood red.
Part 2:
So after my buddies had to head home for a 400 mile ride Sunday I decided I'd do about a fifth of that on my bicycle. Solidarity and all that.
I road down to the little village of Corrales. This is an area I would be happy to live. Lots of old cars, trucks and motorcycles. Good priorities.
There is a bike path along the Rio Grande so I just road it until it ended.
The new scoot. Titanium. WIZ BANG WOW!
One of my favorite parts of bikes. They take you where no one else will go. Further down the path than anyone will jog and where they won't allow motorized vehicles. Where the graffiti and junk yards live.
As I road back home along Route 66/Central I saw a medical helicopter landing at the hospital. It's odd to see a heli pad with no fence, no barrier, no nothing. A slightly raised up grassy knoll. Hell, there is a bus stop and some meth heads hanging out about 15 feet from the rotors. I like this reckless abandon. One day I might just walk up and shake the pilots hand. Because I can!
Bye bye.
#1 dive bar and place to get a stabbin. Sadly closed.
I dig how the oldest part of the building out of rock blends into the art.
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The kids like going out on route 66.
This underpass will trip you out or make you throw up at night. Depending on your trip.
Tasteful mods except for the yellow. If I ever want to blow money on Hammond I'll do the seat, gators and blinkers.
The Albuquerque Press Club. Taking D here. It's been here a LONG time. It sits tucked behind some 400 year old trees on the one random hill near down town.
AMF. Once a shame, now a badge for the most daring and adventurous. Will you make it home?
Tractor Brewing Co.
Jon, Mike and I found this place and decided to go in for dinner... Except. They don't serve any food. Just beer. It's a true brewery that just happens to have enough seating for a large restaurant. So, everyone orders pizzas or hits up one of the several food trucks out front. Drinking beer, watching pizza delivery guys show up trying to find their patron and eating green chile cheeseburgers from a food truck.
I can't remember how the beer was, but the experience was memorable.
Bad moon rising. Time to hit the hay. Don't wake up dead friends.
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