Day One

As I drive to Gallup for provisions before I head up to campground, I feel pretty green at this. "This," is the life of summer: making it up as I go along, spending most of my days outside, living on less comfort and more exposure to sun and rain.

So, what does a sixty-one-year-old man think about when he finds himself free from the responsibilities of gainful work and house-holding? Mostly, this one considers his shortcomings; he broods on regrets, on paths not taken, work left undone.

But then, my love of being out from under a roof kicks in, and I remember what is was like to delight in just rolling along through the trees, under the sun, in the wind. The feeling of being dead, the paralysis that has taken over my body, and the dull ache of not having done what I set out to do fades.

I see that I have a chair, food, stove, and primitive shelter, and I am grateful.

The first thing I do is set out on a trail I don't know and get lost. I am in the Zuni Mountains above Gallup. They are a big range, forty miles by sixty in the shape a big football. The Continental Divide Trail runs through here. The forest is immense and has hundreds of miles of trails and fire roads. There are mountain lions and bears up here. You can get lost for days. I decided to follow a trail that climbs out of Milk Ranch Canyon. It starts about five miles from my campsite, and I rode down the narrow highway between McGaffey and Fort Wingate to get there. Descending the road meant climbing back to camp.

I didn't know what I was getting into. I had about an hour's worth of water, no food, no rain jacket, no spare tube, no map, no phone, and I had no idea where the trail would end up, though I hoped it would lead back toward the campground.

I went, partly out of impulse, partly out of a need to cut the cord tying me to too much ennui, and partly out a need to attend mindfully to what is happening right here in front of me.

Twisty, packed single-track mixed with rocky outcrops and naked limestone stream beds made for some serious grist, which I had to grind up as I turned my attention to here and now in order to enjoy, and to keep from crashing or flying over the bars.

Up here, no one knew where I was and no one would know for at least a few days. I was incommunicado and out of touch. There was not one person who could have predicted I might take this trail, a trail which is not on any maps or in any of my plans.

Perfect, in other words.

Dark gray clouds began to blow over and a little rain fell. After two-and-a-half hours of hard climbing, I wondered if I should turn around. I had enough reserves of energy stored in my body to ride for several more hours, even though I had no food, but I was running on fumes in terms of water. The climbing forced me to stop, lean over the bars, and gasp for breath. I made a promise to myself to prepare better for the next foray into unknown territory.

Just as I was getting concerned, after almost four hours and sixteen miles of hard riding, the trail dumped out into one that I knew. I was only about four miles from water, food, a chair and cold beer.

Not bad for a first day.