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September 13, 2007
It Wasn't Really Funny
I went for another ride with my workpal. She rides an 883 Sportster, which she bought as a first bike last year. We decided to ride the Jemez Loop, through the Pueblo, through Jemez Springs, past the hot springs and Soda Falls, along the Valles Caldera, and through a bit of Sandia National Labs and Bandelier National Monument.
There are some excellent twisties up there, especially in the portion where it was raining last time I rode there. The best part is between NM 126 and the NM 4 / NM 501 split; this is past the Valles Caldera and a small portion of Bandelier. At the end of the twisties are two rather severe hairpin turns. My friend and erstwhile riding companion Kent always used the 2x rule: Where the sign has the curve sign and a recommended speed, double it for a safe entry speed. My exception to this rule is when the sign says 15 or less. There is no way I am going to enter that turn at 30.
On the stretch from Jemez Springs to NM 126, someone with long blond hair trailing from under their helmet was keeping up with me in the twisties, never passing though I gave them plenty of lane and reduced my speed so they could do so.
I pulled over at NM 126 and let my friend pull up on her Harley. I explained to her that the next segment was a LOT of fun. I might pass a few cars along the way, and she should feel no obligation to keep up with me or anyone else. Sure enough, I passed several cars and a group of motorcyclists. One of the bikes was a light green BMW with saddlebags. The fellow on the BMW decided to carve up some twisties with me. As with the blond on the suzuyaka before, I gave them plenty of room and time to pass with no luck. Anyway, each time I had time to check my mirrors, the BMW's headlight was there.
As I mentioned above, there are several hairpins toward the intersection with NM 501. Once I navigated my way through them, I came to a stop at the bottom of the hill, where NM 4 continues east and NM 501 goes to Los Alamos. The gravel shoulder did not allow me to put the bike on the stand so I straddled the 851. A few minutes later, a car pulls over and the driver says "You were riding with that BMW back there, right?" I responded that I was not, and that he just happened to be riding behind me. "Oh, well, he wiped out back at the top of the hill." I considered going back to see if he was OK, but then another car came by. "Weren't you riding with that BMW? He took a spill back up the road."
A few cars later, my friend arrived. I asked her if she had seen the BMW. "Yeah, his bike was off to the side of the road and he was crouching in the bushes. I thought he might be picking berries." "Was it at the hairpin turns coming down the hill?" I asked. "Naw, it was way up at the top of the hill. I thought his bike was pointing in a weird direction."
There were some people with whom I would ride in California, they would consistently either crash or have a mechanical failure on the ride. Never a fun experience to ride back up the road and find a compatriot's bike down and a friend in need of a lift (or —worse—an ambulance) back to town. But from all accounts the fellow seemed OK. I hope that he was either stretching his back or picking up the contents from his saddlebags from the roadway and shoulder.