Date: Sat, 15 Feb 1997 22:58:17 -0500
To:heublein@bellsouth.net, cal@gsbs.uchicago.edu, Danielle_Fuchs@peoplesoft.com,
ecb5u@virginia.edu, homunculus@mindspring.com, Rich_Fuchs@peoplesoft.com,
SNAFU@CC.MUSIC.UGA.EDU, smw4s@virginia.edu, ryssa@virginia.edu, geof@neuron.nrl.navy.mil,
joeboy@VNET.IBM.COM, cbw2c@virginia.edu, weishaupt@aol.com, WeilacherG@lynx.aon.af.mil,
brs@s-1.com, fife@s-1.com, abhijit@s-1.com
From:fuchs@med.stanford.edu (Michael Fuchs)
Subject:Day 4

Fuchs Overland Dispatch, Day 4
Dateline: Santa Fe, NM
2.15.97

I've learned how to spell Albuquerque.

I've also figured out why I don't get tired on the road. It's due to the
Pitely Theory of Bed Differentiation: It turns out, that when you sleep in
the same bed all the time, you get very comfortable in it--consequently,
you tend to plunge right into deep sleep, to a great extent glossing right
over alpha sleep (where dreaming happens). However, when you sleep in new
and different beds, you're not as comfortable, so you linger in alpha, and
dream more. [Proof of the fact that dreaming is why we sleep altogether,
and is what keeps us sane, is outside the scope of this document.]

Got an early start out--I decided I would try to drive to Santa Fe (by
noon or so), and do my big bike ride in the afternoon. I'd have about 6
hours of light, with luck, and I could check out and proceed onward the
very next day. For numerous reasons, I've realized that getting into my
new home ahead of schedule will have some advantages. (This is
counterbalanced, of course, by the fact that I will not soon have the
opportunity to drive cross-country again.) As I pulled out, the distance
to Albuquerque (which is roughly the same as the distance to Santa Fe,
which is to the north) was 160-some miles. The speed limit was 75. Cool: 2
hours, tops. That was when the truck stopped cooperating.

The Long Stretches

I started having difficulty maintaining my excessive speed. I'm used to
slowing down a bit on hills, but this was getting frustrating. I was
having trouble maintaining 75. I was slowing to 60 on hills. And it was
getting worse. I had a couple of hypotheses to explain this. 1) I'm really
climbing steadily, and it's not that apparent. What looks flat is really a
slight upgrade. 2) I'm at a higher absolute altitude now, and in the
thinner air, the carbeurator is not adjusted to an ideal fuel/air mixture.
(2, obviously, was not incompatible with 1.) 3) My truck is going to hell.

As my progress slowed, and I was having difficulty maintaining 60 mph on
level ground, and doing 45 up hills, I started to fear hypothesis 3.
"Great, just what I need. Mechanical catastrophe." I saw a sign for the
backwater of San Ignacio, and exited on the odd chance they had a
mechanic. In my mind, I saw the curve of my performance degradation, and
if it continued, I would be stopped dead in about 35 minutes. I didn't
want to wait for that, so decided to be proactive. To get to San Ignacio,
I had to follow a service road that paralleled Interstate 40, going west.
I followed it for some distance (the same direction I'd been going, 30
feet off to the side). After a few miles, the town was not forthcoming,
and I figured they probably didn't have a damned mechanic anyway.
Frustrated, I turned the truck around. As long as I was stopping, I
figured I would check a few things--such as the parking brake, pop the
hood and look at the carbeurator, etc.. As I stepped from the truck, the
wind almost knocked me over. It was moving 25-35 mph and was blasting (you
guessed it) due East. "Mmm," thought I, "this might be relevent."

I was definitely wearing my Robert Pirsig hat by this point.

To test my hypothesis that my slow progress was due to nothing more than a
ferocious headwind, I headed east back up the service road. Sure enough, I
was accelerating to 75 mph *up* hills. Thank God. Only problem was, I soon
had to start travelling west again. Solution? I found a pair of semi
trucks, and began drafting. That is (for non-cyclists in the audience), I
crawled up on the bumper of the rear truck and sat in his wake. On a
bicycle, you can get about a 1/3 decrease in overall resistance (that is,
you can go 1/3 faster, or peddle 1/3 less strenuously) by effective
drafting. I was getting at least that much boost sitting behind this
truck. We weren't tearing up the asphalt or anything, but this guy's truck
had more power than mine, so I was making more reasonable progress than on
my own. Eventually, I honked my thanks, and headed north off of 40 toward
Santa Fe. (Then, the wind was largely a crosswind, and didn't slow me down
too much.)

I followed the longest, straightest road I've ever seen toward a
snow-covered mountain. I was clearly chasing Thelma & Louise. I was going
so fast, I even needed to put the radar detector back up (which would have
been totally pointless before). As I fiddled with it, I started to drift
into the other lane, and I saw an oncoming car. Sure enough, it was one of
those tricked out police desert pursuit vehicles. And I was going 80 (in a
65) in the wrong lane--putting up my radar dectector. Miraculously, they
didn't give pursuit.

FM 98, 'Radio Free Santa Fe' played "Always Look On The Bright Side of
Life" from Monty Python's _Life of Brian_.

The Santa Fe Visitors Bureau directed me to a bike shop, and the folks there
gave me a couple of routes to ride (and sold me a CamelBak water backpack,
because you can't really carry enough water in these parts). I checked in
(I'm staying at a Budget Inn, which, ironically, is twice as expensive and
three times as nice as my previous accomodations), geared up, and headed
into the mountains, following "the Arroyo." I now know that "arroyo" means
dry riverbed filled with snow, mud, and deep sand. I headed up into the
mountains, and gained a little altitude, snapped a picture [cue picture],
and coasted back. I saw St. John's College (the sister school to the one
on the east coast), and talked to a few undergrads there. I rode back
through town. Then I showered, dressed, and walked back into town.

In the Mountains NW of Santa Fe; That's the Moon Over My Left Shoulder, Where the Terrain Couldn't Be a Whole Lot Rougher

Santa Fe is the Anti-Amarillo (it is lively). Their 2 industries seem to
be tourism, and art. Happily, both are done fairly tastefully. Also, they
are not unrelated, as the art is preponderantly sold to the tourists. The
architecture is very very southwestern, and there are hundreds of
establishments selling things, and I saw the San Miguel Chapel (oldest
church on the continent, 1604). I wandered around, and bought a surprise
gift for Liz, and got some advice from the woman who sold it to me on
where to go drink beer later. As it happens, I suspect I've been steered
to a lesbian bar, judging from the woman and the name of the establishment
("Cowgirls").

The New Mexico Capitol Building

In the Main Square

Miles Travelled Today: 177.1
Total Miles Travelled: 1445.4

Tomorrow: A drive (yes, a drive) to Los Alamos and some Pueblo ruins, then
out through Albuquerque, and on to the Grand Canyon. Day after, I ride the
Canyon.


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