The “good” news is, beginning July 1 cyclists in New Mexico can enjoy the infamous “Idaho Stop,” which means they can treat red lights as stop signs and stop signs as yields.
The bad news is, they may not be able to see oncoming motor vehicles through the dust storms.
Just another way to get “dusted” in The Duck! City.
“Is this how you’re spending your retirement money?” asks my old velo-comrade Charles Pelkey. “Check the sponsor at the bottom of the sign. Bwah ha ha ha.”
Apparently it’s a billboard in Michigan, though it looks like a Photoshop/A.I. kind of thing to me. Wasn’t my doing. Hmm, lemme think here … who do we know in Michigan?
The annual birthday ride (in kilometers) is done and dusted. And on my actual birthday for a change, too.
I only needed 44.1 miles for 71km, but actually covered 45.3 (72.9km), so I have a few pedal strokes in the bank for next year.
My plan was to zip down to the bosque and log as many flat miles as I could stand before turning around for the long climb back to the foothills.
As I rolled out, the air down in the valley looked filthy, and I considered bailing, but then thought, “Nawwwwwwwww,” and soldiered on.
And I was glad I did. I’ve been caught in a loop of Groundhog Rides — basically the same 20-milers over and over and over again — and this was a refreshing change of pace.
There was a slight headwind as I rolled south on the lightly greened Paseo del Bosque trail to I-40, where I hung a right to snap a shot of the Rio Grande from the Gail Ryba bike bridge. More like the Rio Not-So-Grande. Too thick to drink, too thin for swimming.
Pic in hand, I pulled a U and enjoyed a tailwind to the Paseo del Norte trail, then took the usual route back to the rancho, along Bear Canyon-Osuna, up and over I-25, past the golf course and thence to Tramway via Manitoba, and home again home again, jiggity-jig.
Well, that’s not entirely accurate. I had to head south on Tramway to Rover and pull another U to collect enough mileage (kilometerage?) to make the nut.
And then I ate everything in the house and took a shower because hey: It was my birthday. I could do whatever I wanted.
Not everything sucks.
Case in point: I spent a couple hours on the ol’ bikey bike yesterday. And while the high temperature did not break the record of 83°, set in 2012, I found the observed high of 78° downright pleasant for the tail-end of March. Riding in shorts and short sleeves I was. Even had to break out the SPF 50 and the Pearl Izumi sun sleeves.
La Cueva Picnic Site has yet to open for the season. Being something of a scofflaw, I’ve been known to circumvent the barrier and ride the steep mile to the top anyway. But yesterday I gave it a miss. Still managed to bank 1,600 feet of vertical. So, winning, etc.
La Cueva is a reminder that the government is not always the problem. Listed in New Mexico’s Registry of Historic Places, it was the work of the Civilian Conservation Corps, part of FDR’s New Deal. According to the U.S. Forest Service:
There are stone picnic tables and structures built by master stoneworkers during the 1930s to blend seamlessly into the existing landscape. You will soon discover a rock pavilion that is hidden by the trees, plus other small structures sprinkled throughout the site. Keep your eyes open for picnic tables, vault toilets and fireplaces that are tucked away in nooks and crannies, throughout this site.
The pavilion, picnic tables, fireplaces, and toilets remain. But the road is in poor repair, which may be due to a lack of funds or part of a plan to keep vehicular speeds low. I know I tend to mind my manners on the descent. Shredding the gnar is one thing; shredding yourself is a whole other deal. Especially if the barrier’s down and the ambulance can’t get to you before you bleed out.
Remember La Cueva Picnic Area and the CCC whenever some fathead quotes that overdone ham Ronnie Reagan to you: “Government is not the solution to our problem, government is the problem.”
Even a blind pig finds an acorn. But it generally takes him a while. Forty-four years later Ronnie’s right on the money.
“Hey, Porgie, did you remember to invite the journalist to our top-secret War Plan chat group on Signal?”
The 101st Fighting Clowns (2025 edition) sound like a cross between Adderalled preteen gamers and your Pee-Paw who never learned not to hit “Reply All” on an email before talking shit on someone in the family.
We’re gonna need a bigger bus for all these bozos.
Enjoy the entire album here. That’s Jeff “Skunk” Baxter on guitar.
Mad Blog Media 