The sign said DEAD BIKER PASS.
Elevation 7,043 feet.
Very welcoming. Great branding. Exactly what you want to see while riding a bicycle through the mountains.
New Mexico has been my favorite part of the trip so far. It is beautiful, weird, difficult, and apparently willing to name a mountain pass after your possible outcome.
Day 9 was cycling plus New Mexico, which was enough for the update. We stopped around Meow Wolf and got the full change of scenery. The desert had opened into cities, mountains, art, color, and roads that looked nothing like the long flat line we had been following.
I spend a lot of time thinking about products and experiences. Meow Wolf is one of those places that reminds you how boring most things are allowed to become. Somebody looked at an empty room and did not ask how to make it tasteful. They asked how far they could push it before the room became another world.
That is usually the more interesting question.
Day 10 was Santa Fe and Ojo Caliente. Spa day, sort of. We were still moving every day, but recovery had become part of the work rather than something we did after the trip.
I posted a quote about combining cycling and New Mexico and attributed it to “probably Oppenheimer.” It was not Oppenheimer. It was me making a dumb joke while tired.
The point stands.
Recovery on a ride like this is not glamorous. Eat. Drink. Get out of wet or dirty clothes. Check the bikes. Put your feet up. Try to sleep. Then do the same thing again tomorrow. A hot spring is a very nice upgrade to that system.
The equipment list had recovery supplies, layers, food, tools, and all the things we thought might help. By Day 10, the most useful skill was paying attention. A small sore spot can become a big problem. A strange noise can become a broken part. Not eating enough at dinner becomes tomorrow morning's mistake.
Day 11 took us through Taos and into the Rockies. The road got bigger. The riders got smaller. We had left the California heat, but high elevation brings its own version of the same argument: the environment does not care what your plan says.
Climbing at altitude is extremely honest. There is no coasting through it. You either keep turning the pedals or you stop.
Day 12 reached Cimarron and the plains. The post included cowboys, gunslingers, and “20% cow cake,” which made complete sense at the time and probably never will again. That is fine. Not every road joke needs to survive contact with normal life.
The trip has started to develop its own language. A place, a bad road, a gas-station food item, a mechanical issue, or something yelled between riders becomes the whole story for the day. Then we move on and the joke comes with us.
Dead Biker Pass is hard to beat because the joke was already printed on the sign.
We stopped. We took the photo. Nobody died. Then we kept riding through New Mexico.
Strong trip so far.