The main reason I ride a bicycle is to get where I want to go. Sometimes I get an idea of places to go from someone else’s rides. John Fleck, a UNM professor and journalist with an emphasis on water, posted a ride on Strava with pictures of these cool murals depicting scenes from Albuquerque’s Bosque with colorful flora and fauna. It looked beautiful and I wanted to see it.
John posted a picture of the Pacific Avenue street sign on his ride, but I couldn’t make out the cross street. So the first time I ended up looking for these murals I rode up and down the wrong section of Pacific. I was on the West side of the railroad tracks. It turns out the murals are by the Tortuga Art Gallery on the east side of the tracks. I found it on my second try.
Standing there in September light, I marveled at this mural! The street became a theatre for this wrap-around art work transforming an ordinary building into a vibrant bio-scape. It must always look different in the changing light. Even though I only found what was already there, it gave me a sense of discovery and hope. Thank goodness there are artists working in this world!
While pedaling down Edith away from this mural a kid on his porch gave me a big wave and I waved back. It’s amazing how the bicycle creates a sense of adventure and connection that is so accessible and easy to enjoy, right out our front door. I took the Bosque Trail northward and the long way home, paying closer attention to the ordinary beauty all around me.
Humanity has been sleeping –and still sleeps– lulled within the narrowly confining joys of its closed loves.
–Pierre Teilhard de Chardin
I love exploring Albuquerque’s Open Space on urban trails. Our trails put me in touch with the healing powers of nature. The trails are often times small, and that can bring trail users into close proximity. That gives us opportunities to contribute to well-being in a neighborly way.
The best kind of trail in my opinion is singletrack. This is even more challenging to share than a small two-lane road, where a person may take up a whole lane, but there is still another lane to pass providing you can see it is clear of oncoming traffic for the necessary distance. When you meet another person on singletrack, you have to negotiate a safe pass, because by definition there is only room for one line of traffic. This always requires communication, patience, awareness of and respect for the well-being of others, and restraint by the speedier users.
One day on a singletrack trail in High Desert, I got stuck behind a couple walking and talking. They were going in the same direction I was. They had two dogs off the leash. I said hello and that there was a bicycle behind them. They didn’t hear me or see me. I kept a safe distance behind them and waited until there was a pause in their conversation, and used a louder voice to try saying hello again. On the third or fourth try they heard me. I stopped and waited as they gathered their dogs and attached the leashes to the collars. They found a safe place to move aside and when they were set they waved me on. We exchanged smiles and greetings with remarks on how beautiful the day was outside. It felt so good to share pleasantries. By taking time I made new friends. I felt like my patience paid off, not only in waiting for them, but the feeling I got inside from negotiating a safe, friendly pass contributed to my own well-being.
Our situational awareness as travelers takes into consideration the well-being of others. It is not just about going somewhere, it is about being with people in places and safeguarding dignity. In our travel culture I sometimes see an atmosphere of incessant rushing. And in traffic engineering, there are metrics such as travel speed and throughput that stress industrial measures that can overshadow human needs such as community, enjoyment and quality. The trails are a good place to get back in touch with ourselves and forge those vital connections once again. It takes discipline, but when we focus our attention there, good things happen.
In Colorado Springs, the Garden of the Gods offers trail opportunities for exploring the land
An important mentor of mine for teaching youth cycling told me that kids don’t get “yield”. It is kind of a complex word. He found that it works better to teach kids to “give it up” when they see other people on the trail, at junctions, or crosswalks. This works well, being present to the needs of others. This also includes horses, which are common on New Mexico trails. In that sense, the rules for urban trails teach us to give it up and be present to all of life in nature. By doing this, we experience a fuller measure of nature’s healing powers right here on home trails.
Keep at a tangent.
When they make the circle wide, it’s time to swim
Out on your own and fill the element
with signatures on your own frequency.
Seamus Heaney, Station Island
Mai’s Fall break and the recent cold spell made for perfect timing to walk in the Manzano Mountains, sampling the turning colors. Prime color season draws decent sized crowds to these remote mountains, but part of the joy was seeing other people excited by the experience of walking out in the wild, eyes wide open. Being in the presence of splendid nature on such intimate terms imbued everyone with good manners. The forest was a picture of health.
During our walk we encountered three different groups on horses. I was delighted to see such beautiful animals on the trail, especially since this is probably the busiest time of year and horses are shy. But the horses were happy too. We saw one party being trailered up for the ride home. The woman walked into the trailer and gently called who wants to come. The horses with their shining brown hair followed her like dogs, heads bobbing. Our favorite group included a donkey, who seemed to be smiling, content from the open air walk with his herd.
We packed our lunch and mid-hike we stopped on a hillside angled Southeast and sat on rocks facing the sun. We could see the veins of color shooting up 4th of July Canyon, which we had just walked through, and we admired the speckles of color further up on the high ridges of the mountainside. The habitat changed as we emerged from the canyon, which was filled with tall trees with long roots twisting down, tapping the ground water. The sun exposed hillsides were dominated by alligator junipers, piñon pine, yucca and had more open vistas. The fragrance of sun, rock, soil and forest detritus was absolutely sublime. Lunch never tasted so good.
By the time we finished later in the afternoon we were hungry again and our legs were tired. We went to the Manzano Mountain Retreat down the road and stocked up on fresh apples. The Spanish settlers brought apple seeds with them centuries ago. This luscious fruit that originated in the Caucus Mountains of Central Asia still grows well here and takes on the unique character of these mountains. They also sell Apple Cider and we got that too. We are still eating these delicious apples and baking pies to fuel our next walk into the glorious wild.
“What is it that awakens in my soul when I walk in the desert, when I catch the scent of rain, when I see the sun and moon rise and set on all the colors of the earth, when I approach the heart of wilderness? What is it that stirs within me when I enter upon sacred ground? For indeed something does move and enliven me in my spirit, something that defines my very being in the world. I realize my humanity in proportion as I perceive my reflection in the landscape that enfolds me.” –N. Scott Momaday, Testimony, 1996.
Following Mai up the Spruce Spring trail in the Manzanos
We’ve had a good series of adventures since I last wrote. I’ve been to the Iron Horse Bicycling Classic in Durango, and enjoyed bike rides and walks with Mai in sweet places. So far as figuring out where home is, I think that is a trick question. I feel at home everywhere I am.
Mai cycling near Lemon Reservoir
Feeling at home is a matter of paying attention. When we tune in we sense it. In Julia Cameron’s book The Artist’s Way, she says “the reward for attention is always healing.”
Following my teammate around the Sandia Mountains
roses in front of the Hillerman Library
A cactus flowering on top of the Manzano Mountains!
Cameron goes on to say “your own healing is the greatest message of hope for others.” This seems to me true. And it a whole lot easier than trying to fix problems we don’t control.
Enjoying a slow roll up the mountain on the back road tucked away behind Placitas
Cooling off after the Ironhorse in Silverton
Hidden waters in the canyons of the San Juan Mountains
I enjoyed being in Durango, but it was also nice coming back to Albuquerque. There is a lot of nature in this place, and we do well to experience it, to go with the flow. It is ironic that people need nature to recharge and recover, but sometimes the way we build up the environment covers up this healing power. It seems like where we need that the most is where all the people are (or most people, and now across the world, over 50% of people live in cities, and that proportion is growing). Sometimes I feel alienated from humaneness in parts of the city, and that causes pain. Julia Cameron wrote “pain is what it took to teach me to pay attention”. That is an important lesson. Building places, working with nature, so that we feel connected to all of life feels a whole lot better, and it’s worth the effort. When people feel a sense of adventure in routine activities, enjoying simple things like a walk or bike ride, we are living well.
On most road rides I meet people
Sometimes the beauty in the mountains helps us get back on the right path and reminds us life is an adventure
“The office of the scholar is to cheer, to raise, and to guide men by showing them facts amidst appearances. He plies the slow, unhonored, and unpaid task of observation”. –Ralph Waldo Emerson, American Scholar
When the Sandhill Cranes start circulating high in the New Mexico sky in March, it’s a sign they are beginning their journey northward to their summer grounds in the Northern Rockies. We decided to follow them to one of their stopover points where they rest and feed along the way, in the San Luis Valley, where New Mexico meets Colorado. This song reminds me a little bit of their journey, all the unknowns, as well as how our own trip through life seems sometimes.
On the way there just past San Antonio Mountain on highway 285 we saw Pronghorn (Mai’s photo above). We rolled into the San Luis Valley in late afternoon and took the back roads towards Monte Vista. Amish buggies spooled by, drivers guiding the horses with reins. We arrived at the National Wildlife Refuge and explored. At dusk we were by the barn near the entrance to the loop road, and I heard an owl hooting close by. I couldn’t see it, but I kept walking towards the sound. I found myself at the base of a power pole with a lamp on top. The next hoot was right over me, and I looked up past the light and there was the owl, perched on the poletop. He turned his head directly towards me with an intensity fired by the current of the universal being flowing right through him. I felt like I was nothing but a distraction. Soon after another owl hooted from far away, and the owl above me took off towards those sounds. It was the beginning of his shift. He was wired. It was like me at the start of a bikeride.
The refuge stewards wetlands for the birds to rest at night. During the day these flying dinosaurs roam the vast San Luis Valley picking up bits of food from cuttings left in the farmers’ fields, and other things Cranes like to eat. We spent two days and nights in the high valley with the wildlife, making sure we were at the refuge during the most active times for animals, at sunset and sunrise. Just the sheer vastness of space and clarity of air opens your senses and refreshes your mind. It’s a special place I’ve described in more detail in previous writings.
The lifeblood of the valley and every place is the water. If Cormac McCarthy’s epic Western novel, Blood Meridian, covers how not to open up the landscape–in my reading of the novel, the cycle of violence is so complete it comes round to annihilate the perpetrators of violence themselves–the Crane migration through the San Luis Valley tells of a better way. They follow the life meridian, water and the abundance it creates, and nurture themselves on the way. The Rio Grande starts up in the mountain chains above the valley and threads its way down through New Mexico, weaving together Mexico and Texas, flowing into the ocean in the Gulf of Mexico.
It is cold up there in Colorado, but it was so beautiful, Mai and I didn’t mind. With the high altitude–the valley floor is over 2000 meters above sea level, and the mountains are twice as high–the sun is also powerful, and hits your skin with great intensity. But it takes a while to warm up from the cold, vacuous nights! Because of these harsh conditions, and geographic isolation, not that many people live there, and the night sky is premium. I took a walk early one morning around the town of Monte Vista where we were staying to check on the stars, and the milky way and all the rest of the cosmos are still sprent across the blackness, envoys of beauty.
On our third day there I took a little bike ride before we headed out to follow the river back home. I pedaled the farm roads that meander between the fields. Nature is so powerful there, the water gushing, it invigorated my heart and mind. Every day we have an opportunity to begin again, and it’s never too late to remember the old ways of navigating life on earth, and integrate them with all the information we observe with our new ways of seeing and communicating with each other. Here in the San Luis Valley the snow keeps falling, the river is replenished, and each day nature instructs us. When I listen I hear it, life emerging. The talk of the Cranes reminds me of that, as they celebrate each day living their life, following the way.
I swing my right leg over the saddle, guide my shoe cleat into the pedal, and hear the affirmative click of the engagement reverberating through the quiet morning air. I hold onto the handlebars and push on the pedal. As I start rolling forward towards the daylight streaming in over the eastern mountains, I feel something like laughter bubbling up on the inside. I’m headlong for adventure. I’m off on a bike ride.
I feel the air current flowing over my wintry silhouette. As my breathing naturally synchs with the circular motion of my legs, my consciousness moves from my head into my heart. My heart is now guiding me and I think of the mantra chanted at the green tea ceremony in Santa Fe. Open your heart. Open your heart. And there I am in the moment living a scene maybe no one sees, swooping through the currents of chilly winter air, the life inside of me shining out on this quaint street. All seems quiet and mundane, just me and the bike rolling.
Bicycling on the campus of New Mexico’s flagship university in Albuquerque, art catches my eye
I didn’t intend it this way, but so far I’ve spent a lot of my life on the road. Much of it moving so fast, boxed in behind windows, scenes flying by on a scale exceeding my human senses. The bicycle has helped me relax more and enjoy being in the moment. And much like William Safford’s poem Maybe Alone On My Bike suggests, on the bicycle, rider and poet become one.
my teammate Eli gliding up the mountain in Utah’s Crusher in the Tushars
When climbing mountains, we experience a suffering that is cathartic and brings us closer to an experience of ecstasy. On grinds up long grades we sometimes feel bogged down. Then we rise up out of the saddle, and call down to the engine room for more. Sometimes we find something inside ourselves we didn’t know we had before. Climbing mountains can be purifying in a way, as we learn to let go of negative emotions and overcome our self doubt. When I am suffering on a mountain climb I focus my mind on a singular thought: Just keep going, keep my motor spooling, my chain connecting my drive to the wheel and to the ground.
Horses we see in Placitas remind us to be free
The bicycle shifts the normal feeling of separation we feel with motorized travel to a sensation that we are more a part of the landscape. Cyclists are insiders looking out. We meet nature on its own terms, with our own nature driving us forward. Cycling connects us with life’s splendor.
On a group ride in Gutierrez Canyon in the East Mountains, which used to be a dirt road
It’s not that bicycling is the only way. Technology has widened our perspective. We can be immersed in the physical world, such as when we swim. We can walk or bike and move at human scale over the earth’s surface. Traveling in cars gives us the ability to see contrast at the landscape scale, big changes from river valleys, plains and mountains, which we traverse more easily and swiftly. Air travel gives us a kind of patchwork quilt perspective. Space travel has given us a picture of Earth’s uniqueness in the Universe. These five perspectives are almost like a five storied pagoda. But as Wendell Berry wrote, “we cannot live in machines”. When I pedal my bicycle the chuckle of the chain tells me this is a happy median to be in. The story of the bicycle is a machine metaphor I can live with, because we are the drivers. I marvel at our ride.
Congratulations to the Semper Porro team for their teamwork in Valley of the Sun 2019. Poetry in motion!
When people come together on bike rides, we have an entirely different experience of the city
Sometimes bicycling is more fun than you would imagine possible
Wendell Berry’s quote is from his excellent The Unsettling of America: Culture and Agriculture, “The Use of Energy” chapter. Full quote: “The catch is that we cannot live in machines. We can only live in the world, in life. To live, our contact with the sources of life must remain direct: we must eat, drink, breathe, move, mate, etc. When we let machines and machine skills obscure the values that represent these fundamental dependences, then we inevitably damage the world; we diminish life. We begin to ‘prosper’ at the cost of a fundamental degradation.”
A professor who teaches literature introduced me to Safford and helped me engage with art. “…we do not use up the richness of our favorite texts, but rather interpret them more deeply with each encounter.” –Scott Slovic, “Literature.” Routledge Handbook of Religion and Ecology. Eds. Willis Jenkins, Mary Evelyn Tucker, and John Grim. New York: Routledge, 2017. p. 355-362.
Mai and I started our year off right, making our first trip together in 2019 to the Bosque del Apache. I hear the doves singing right outside my window at the moment, but at this National Wildlife Refuge nature is amazingly dense. You sense the fabric of life holding the world together. I hope you enjoy these photos. I’ve added a few words to guide you. And if you wish to listen, Andrew York’s song Centerpeace below is a beautiful companion. He’s interviewed in this video after he plays the song, and York says about his inpsiration: “Everything…Nature, primarily, seeing the patterns, and order, and beauty in nature, the organic quality the natural world has to offer, helps me to form my music…”
Photographers awaiting sunrise. Wildlife photography teaches patience, taking our time
When the Snow Geese decide to circulate, it is a an explosion of noise and color, uplifting for our hearts and minds
After flying out of the their roosts in the morning, birds graze together in the fields
Since moving to Albuquerque in 2014, we’ve been exploring the birds and their habitat. For this trip we did an overnighter. Saturday we watched the sunset and transition from day to night. We had a late dinner in Socorro, and spent the night at Days Inn. We awoke at 4am the next day and left before sunrise to see the birds awakening. It was gorgeous.
Synching up with nature is really tuning in to our own rhythms. After it was almost totally dark, Mai spotted this owl in the top of the tree. We stopped to watch. Another owl soared across the sky and joined the first owl on the tree top. What fliers! The hooting was glorious.
The next day we took a drive around the refuge after the morning flyout. We had planned on leaving after sunrise, but time flew by and we spent the whole morning there, then ate lunch at the San Antonio Crane restaurant. Completely full, we changed our plans, canceling our trip to the hot springs. We are delighted to be feeling more at home in New Mexico, and deepening our understanding of where we live. My, how nature surprises us if we are open to all it.
We saw tons of wildlife, including a cute pair of Road Runners, our State bird
Last time we saw Javelina was down at Big Bend camping along the Rio Grande. We saw them here again
Talking to fellow wildlife watchers, we learned more about being observant. There are many trails there to walk and explore. We can’t wait to go back and discover more.
Check out Sansai Studio’s video of Snow Geese circulating:
Whilst the abstract question occupies your intellect, nature brings it in the concrete to be solved by your hands. –Ralph Waldo Emerson, “Nature”
As the season comes around to Fall again, I reflect on what this year has brought and may bring. I’ve learned a few things, most importantly that New Mexico is a beautiful place to ride. I knew it was, but after much practice, I find a true understanding deepening. Cycling activates our care, for ourselves, the earth, and each other. It opens our senses to the world. Our hearts beat stronger. Our lungs fill with vital air and oxygen. We relax and feel more at home. Cycling fits with our times, grows roots and makes our families happy. I am grateful for cycling.
An action is the perfection and publication of a thought. –RW Emerson, “Nature”
If we live truly, we shall see truly. –RW Emerson, “Self Reliance”
the ancient precept, ‘know thyself,’ and the modern precept, ‘study nature,’ become at last one maxim. RW Emerson, “American Scholar”
Could a greater miracle take place than for us to look through each other’s eyes for an instant? —Henry David Thoreau
People bicycling are like family. Cycling has an amazingly broad and diverse impact throughout our communities. But I still get surprised when I meet new cyclists and experience how the world of cycling is expanding. Cycling keeps branching out and bridging gaps. When I picked up the September/October 2018 issue of Bicycling magazine, I was captivated by the story on NASCAR driver Jimmie Johnson and his love for bicycling, and how that love is shared by so many in motorsports.
Joe Gibbs Racing mechanic Sean Kerlin is a cycling enthusiast. photo from bicycling.com
I don’t care who you are…it [cycling] is just a great break in the craziness of life. –Jimmie Johnson
Johnson is one of the great drivers of all time, and he’s also cultivated a passion for cycling. He uses it for many of the reasons we all do. Cycling has helped him listen to his body and learn about its needs (which helps him in the race car when he is driving). Cycling helps him enjoy his travels more. Johnson gets to explore the places he goes in depth and detail by pedaling, and meets lots of interesting people. And then there’s the intangibles. Cycling just makes for a better day. I bet cycling helps him practice hand, feet and eye coordination too, honing skills.
I’m following Jimmie Johnson on Strava now, and enjoy seeing his almost daily rides. He has 7423 followers on Strava as of this writing, and posts some awesome pictures of the places he rides and people he rides with, including his wife. Cycling makes life more beautiful.
I’m a driving enthusiast, but didn’t grow up a NASCAR fan. So for me, Johnson’s cycling is a way into NASCAR traditions and culture. I found out they are not so different than what I am used to. They have a competitive drive that fosters innovation, and they care about the broader world, the environment and all people. The NASCAR Green program works to minimize NASCAR’ environmental impact and preserve the natural environment and foster sustainability.
No wonder so many of the drivers, mechanics, and staff in NASCAR have joined with cycling culture! It delivers a balanced approach and real sense of mechanical efficiency, ergonomics and light impact. Maybe when we ride a bike we are not as alone as we may think.
An action is the perfection and publication of thought. A right action seems to fill the eye, and to be related to all nature. —Ralph Waldo Emerson, “Nature”
The bike brings people together. When we see people cycling we have an automatic connection. We have a technology that helps us calm our minds, deepen our engagement with our bodies and the planet, and expands our sense of the other, making the world more familiar.
I like this poem by William Safford, called “Maybe Alone on My Bike”. There’s an analysis in the Literature chapter of this Routledge Handbook that makes me think about the potential of the bicycle. So much stored energy! It’s almost like cycling tames ourselves and opens us up to a conversation with the landscape. We sense a greater connection to the world around us.
I’ve blogged about the manifold applications of cycling over the years. Here are a few examples of the positive impacts cycling imparts on individual lives, our families, our imaginations of what is possible. Out of many, cycling makes us one again. Riding a bike more and sharing the experience with others is a goal that creates the kind of world we want to live in.
Walk on air against your better judgement. –Seamus Heaney, “The Gravel Walks”
In the last year I’ve had the pleasure of traveling in New Mexico, sometimes alone, sometimes with friends, sometimes with my wife Mai, snapping pictures. Sometimes in a car, sometimes by bike, always on foot at some point in every journey. Taking pictures is a balancing act between being fully present in the moment and framing a visual instant to realize a deeper meaning. Although pictures just show surfaces somehow they can fuel our imaginations and help the world become incorporated into our being. As Cormac McCarthy notes in his return to the Kekulé problem, “the world has a great deal to tell us while we have nothing at all to tell it.”
At La Cueva Farm near Mora, New Mexico we picked raspberries last September. I’m ready to go again. A big monsoon storm erupted and we took shelter in their Cafe, eating ice cream.
We took the raspberries back to our campsite at Morphy Lake and ate them over oatmeal for breakfast the next day, like two bears anticipating a long winter hibernation.
It was nice to pluck berries off the plants and feel the stems gently letting go of the ripe ones!
Morphy Lake was low on water, but still beautiful. The rumbling storms at night were powerful!
Looking north from the Manzano Mountains out into the Albuquerque Basin. Space & solitude.
Cycling off of old route 66 West of Albuquerque, horses galloped across the road and hilltops
This hotel is new in Albuquerque and links together what really matters in New Mexico. Albuquerque is such an interesting city to ride in, in part because it is a city of open spaces, distinct cultural heritage, wonderful local flavors, reflective of the rural character of this State.
The landscaping is still new on the skirts of the building, but is growing up
Bikes make everything look better. You can feel the energy rolling
We camped in the Gila National Forest and I went on morning rides. The roads there seem like they’re made for cycling, & the region hosts the Tour of the Gila, a world famous cycling event.
Camping on the north end of Elephant Butte reservoir we were delighted by wintering Sandhill Cranes and surprising iterations of New Mexico’s mesmerizing atmospherics.
We visited Alpacas on Victory Ranch near Mora
Contrasts in New Mexico are sharp, between wet and dry, hot and cold, even daily temperatures fluctuate widely. Everybody comes together to be fire wise and protect NM
We are not the only ones looking at New Mexico through the lens of photography! Outdoor recreation is an emerging opportunity to bring people and nature together more sustainably.
Being here and being healthy is a grand adventure. Fun!