“We gonna rock down to Electric Avenue / And then we’ll take it higher” — Eddy
We are in Grants, NM. It’s a plural, owing to the three Grant brothers—Angus, John, and Lewis—who were granted the rights to build a section of the Atlantic & Pacific Railroad through the area.
With apologies to Eddy Grant, I did not see any streets named “Electric Avenue” (although I suppose a casino floor could qualify); we definitely took it higher (1,114ft net elevation gain).
This morning began with a good-sized breakfast burrito, an oatmeal-raisin cookie, and a cup of coffee at the casino snack bar, where we were among several other diners who were not planning to get on bikes and ride 60 miles today… although they were planning to spend most of their day sitting down. (NM casinos are apparently slots-only, which makes the fact that these folks are traveling to stay in a casino hotel and getting up at 7:00a to play slot machines even more depressing. Jay Leno will be appearing at the Route 66 Casino in August; let that sink in.)
Our route today put us onto I-40 almost immediately after leaving the hotel, and we spent 20 or so miles riding on the wide and generally smooth shoulder while 18-wheelers, pickup trucks, and assorted cars went past us at >80 mph. (The posted speed limit is 75, so I would guess that most cars and trucks were going 84.) The time went by quickly, if monotonously, and that would be our only stretch of riding on the interstate. (It was also where I occupied my time by trying to come up with the names of people, both real and fictional, with the “Grant” surname.)
Once we left the interstate, we got more hills and valleys, and more hills than valleys, but it was also much more scenic than the I-40 right-of-way. This is a genuinely different terrain and topography than we’ve encountered so far on this trip, and it was a constant, pleasant reminder of how far we’d come. I don’t think I’d enjoy living full-time in a xeriscape, but there’s a real beauty, even grandeur, to it.
Today’s ride was altogether pleasant: the hills and winds were totally manageable as we entered a completely different part of Route 66. We even had a significant stretch on a very nice rail-trail that a motorist told us about when we were stopped for a break in Laguna. The only consistent down-note was Jon’s bike. The front brake disc is rubbing, and the rear derailleur keeps deciding to shift gears without being told to. He’s tinkering with it this evening.
Tomorrow, we head to Gallup… and cross the Continental Divide along the way. We’re also looking at the weather map and crossing our fingers that the current forecast holds. There appears to be a curveball coming, and it could be high and hanging.
Rideworthy 