Radar at Twin Spruce Campsite
Twelve Days in September
by Richard Bennett
The odometer slowly rolled over to 50,000 miles. The event was significant enough
for me to take note of my location: Sudderth Drive, the main street if Ruidoso, New
Mexico. Using the C.B. radio, I announced the milestone to my riding companions, Bruce
Phefferkorn, Rod "Radar" Vandiver and Rod Purcell. My 95th Anniversary model Harley had reliably taken me to another destination.
We were in town to experience the 2005 Golden Aspen Motorcycle Rally. This event was previously called “Aspencade” until Honda copywrited the name. Now we ride on Aspencades and ride to the Golden Aspen Rally.
Seeking a 2005 destination for our annual ride, we hit upon the Golden Aspen Rally. Despite the multi-year history of the event, it was not heavily advertised. A little research inspired us to reserve tent sites at the Twin Spruce Campground on the perimeter of town, and attend the Rally.
The First Thing You Know
We were known as the “California Cops” at Twin Spruce. Our tents were set up on the grass just outside the main building, where everyone in the campground eventually visited. The owners, Kay and “Stumpy” Durden were happy to have us there, and told everyone about us. That resulted in several drop-in visitors during our stay; most of them were a pleasure, a couple tried our patience. Such is the lot of nomadic bikers in an R.V. campground.
Rod Purcell was joining Bruce, “Radar” and me for the first time. Rod is a veteran of thousands of motorcycle miles, but had never done a camping trip. He invested in camping gear and a C.B. radio and made it to the starting point with everything tied on his Harley. Radar had gone ahead to visit family in Kansas, and would meet us in Ruidoso.
The two-day ride across the desert was unremarkable; an over-night stop-over in Tucson, then on to Ruidoso, where we arrived in the afternoon of the second day. Radar was already there. We chose our tent sites with care, with snorers on the perimeter to scare off the bears. We never saw a bear, thanks in part to Rod Purcell.
Bruce, Rod & Radar at Ruidoso Downs
Golden Aspen Rally
This was billed as the 2005 AMA National Road Riding Convention 36th Annual Ruidoso Motorcycle Rally. A five-day event, it is filled with such highlights as a Trade Show, Bike Judging, Special Awards, Field Events, a Concert and a Nite Light Parade. For us, it was the first stop in a 4,000 mile adventure, so we packed everything into three days.
We visited the trade show, which was set up at Ruidoso Downs Sports Theatre Complex. This is primarily a horse racing venue that was transformed into a trade show area by covering the dirt arena with indoor/outdoor carpeting. There was a passel of vendors selling all manner of motorcycle related items. We visited them all. At lunch time, we made our way to the food vendor area, where we found a variety of fast food and abundant flies. No temporary modifications could overcome the fact that this was a horse venue.
After lunch, our group drifted apart, with me staying behind for an oil change and new rear tire. Barnett H-D had one (!) mechanic on site to handle all the service requests. I was number four in line, so I was the last of our group to return to the campground.
After dinner we rode to old Ruidoso to stake out a viewing spot for the “Nite Light” parade. I have attended other rallies where this was the big event; scores of motorcycles with creative lighting cruising by at night. So we had our expectations this would be the same.
We parked near a bus bench, planning to use that and the curb for seating. Before we could settle in, a local merchant came over to us and offered four chairs from his shop. We gladly accepted, and placed our chairs for the best viewing. Hundreds of motorcycles were cruising the boulevard in advance of the parade. Cruise night in Ruidoso; I love it.
Eventually we heard sirens in the distance, a sure sign that police were escorting the parade in our direction. Cameras at the ready, we began filming the action. In less than two minutes the dozen or so motorcycles had passed, leaving us sorely disappointed at the brevity of the “parade”.
In fairness, I should mention we left town before the Rally was in full swing. Events planned for Friday, Saturday and Sunday were missed in order for us to get down the road to our other adventures.
Richard and Radar in Capitan, New Mexico
Bruce owes me a Bear
We took the opportunity to tour the Ruidoso area on our first full day there. One of the trips we took was to the Smokey Bear Museum in Capitan, New Mexico. Located at the intersection of highways 380 and 48, the Smokey Bear Museum chronicles the discovery of an orphaned bear cub, found in June, 1950 after a forest fire swept through the area. The cub was named “Smokey”, and became the symbol of fire prevention for 25 years. When the original Smokey went to the forest in the sky, a second “Smokey” cub took his place. We paid our respects to Smokey’s grave, which is located just outside the museum building.
Later in our trip, we camped in Tuolumne Meadows in Yosemite National Park. Our group now consisted of me, Bruce and Radar. Rod Purcell left for home after lunch with us in Albuquerque, New Mexico. We were advised by Park Rangers that bears had been seen often in camp, and we were told to secure inviting items in metal “bear boxes”. Fellow campers told of seeing one or more bears the day before. I was hopeful we would see a real bear, up close and personal.
When we turned in for the night, I set my camera and flashlight out within easy reach. My plan was to see a bear, and hopefully photograph it. I was eager for the opportunity. At dawn, I lingered in my warm sleeping bag; I was reluctant to face the 28 degree morning.
Just before 7am, Bruce was outside my tent, and said he had just seen a bear. He told me that it had been a few feet away, just across the road. He watched it for a couple of minutes before it headed into the woods. He didn’t call to me because he didn’t want to “spook” the bear, and waited until it was gone to say anything. We never had another chance to see a bear on the trip
Lincoln County
The history of Lincoln County, New Mexico has inspired books and movies. The “Lincoln County Wars” and the participation by Billy the Kid Bonny were depicted in the movie “Young Guns”. Being at the Lincoln County Courthouse where Billy killed Deputies James Bell and Robert Ollinger on April 28, 1881 and made his last escape brought history into perspective. This wasn’t a movie set, this was the real thing.
By paying a small fee, we were able to tour the courthouse, which has been left almost entirely in the original condition. Actual weapons used and owned by Billy the Kid were on display, along with a bullet hole that was left after Billy shot James Bell.
You may remember the scenario from the movie: Billy asked Deputy Bell to take him to the outhouse. Billy obtained a pistol from the outhouse, and shot Deputy Bell as they returned to the Courthouse. The bullet hole has been preserved at the stairs landing. Billy then grabbed Deputy Ollingers’ own 10 gauge shotgun and waited at the upstairs window. When Ollinger approached the building, Billy fired both barrels of the shotgun and killed Ollinger instantly.
Billy made his escape, and was killed by Pat Garret at old Fort Sumner three months later.
Courthouse today
(September, 2005)
A Fork In The Road
On Friday, September 16th the four of us left Ruidoso on highway 37, going north to highway 380. From there it was west to Interstate 25, which took us to Albuquerque. We arrived at lunch time, and made our way to Old Town Albuquerque. The area has a quaint town square, with shops and restaurants around the perimeter. Rod Purcell was leaving our group and heading home on Interstate 40, while the rest of us would continue north to Colorado.
Rod treated us to lunch, and we posed for one last group photo before saying our “good byes”. We later heard from Rod that he experienced minor mechanical trouble with his shifter, but otherwise made it home safely. We were not so lucky
Radar, Bruce Rod, Richard
The "California Cops"
Chrome Don’t Get You Home
Our remaining trio arrived in Durango just before dark. Bruce made arrangements for us to stay in a classy hotel, just a few blocks from downtown. As luck would have it, the room included a hosted bar, which was about to close.
We collected two drinks apiece and sat by the indoor pool where we enjoyed the libation. We relaxed until dinner time, and then walked to town for a fine meal.
The next day we did some shopping before heading out of town. Next on our agenda was a ride on Colorado highway 550, one of the most beautiful roads in America.
Highway 550 runs between New Mexico and Montrose, Colorado. It follows along side the Durango to Silverton Railroad tracks, then winds through mountains and valleys. On this day the skies were clear and the air was crisp. After cresting at Coal Bank Pass, elevation 10,640 feet, we dropped down into Silverton.
We stopped for lunch in Silverton, and did a walk-about. The Durango to Silverton train could be heard as it pulled into town, and soon the passengers filled the sidewalks. We did some shopping, sight-seeing and the usual tourist things before heading for Ouray, Colorado.
By evening we were in Grand Junction and looking for a campground. We stayed in a new State Park in Fruita, Colorado, pitching our tents beside a quiet lake. A full moon illuminated the lake all night long, making the evening campfire chat more enjoyable. In the morning we were awakened by a couple of passing freight trains, and we knew it was time to move on.
On Interstate 70 in Utah there is a well known stretch of roadway that is 110 miles between services. It runs from Green River to Salina, Utah. While the rugged scenery is wonderful to look at, signs warn of the absence of “services”. We stopped at Green River and filled our tanks for the lonely stretch.
It was Bruce’s turn at leading the group, and we were well into the sparse area when his engine quit running. (Mechanical problem number 1) He coasted to the side of the road, where we tried to find and fix the problem. Replacing the blown fuse only resulted in another blown fuse. We couldn’t fix it ourselves, and needed a truck. There was no cell phone service anywhere along the road. When the signs said “no services” they meant no services. We had to ride out.
I unloaded the camping gear from my motorcycle, and put Bruce on the back. We rode 52 miles to Salina, Utah to find the nearest telephone. Even the rest stop we passed had no telephone. Bruce made arrangements for a truck to meet us at highway marker 104, and we rode 52 miles back to the motorcycles.
At 4pm the truck arrived, and the driver told us the nearest Harley Dealer was 150 miles away. We had no choice but to load up the motorcycle and follow the truck to Orem, Utah. Rod and I enjoyed the ride through the countryside, while Bruce rode in the truck listening to the life story of the driver and his wife.
We reached Orem after dark, and unloaded the crippled Harley at the back door of Monarch Harley Davidson. We found a motel for the night, and then returned the next morning. As luck would have it, there was a Honda dealer next door, coincidentally owned by the same people who owned the Harley shop. Rod had his Honda serviced there while Bruce’s motorcycle was being repaired. They were both finished at the same time, and we charted our next destination.
Having lost a day of travel, we vectored to Mesquite, Nevada, where we found an affordable room at the Virgin River Casino. The next morning we were packed and on the road at dawn. We could see dark, threatening skies ahead and knew we might get wet. We donned our rain suits, and kept them on all day long, riding in and out of rain storms until we cried “uncle” and stopped for the night in Ridgecrest, California.
We spent the next night in Yosemite, and in the morning Rod couldn’t start his Honda. (Mechanical problem number 2) At first we thought the 9,000 foot elevation was the cause, but later determined it was an electrical problem. A sympathetic camper gave Rod a jump from his battery and we finally got the Honda running. We rode to Yosemite Valley for showers and a meal, and the Honda seemed to be working OK again.
After lunch we headed for the California coast. We planned to spend the night in a Big Sur campground that Bruce and I visited last year. We were about seven miles from Big Sur and the evening was growing dark. Suddenly my speedometer quit working. No speed, no odometer, no trip meter. (Mechanical problem number 3)
We arrived at Julia Fifer Burns State Park and registered in after dark. If you have never been to this park during the night time, let me assure you that it is dark. Large, mature trees block out the sky, and when you turn off your lights, it is like being in a cave. It was under these conditions that we set up our tents; partly by motorcycle headlight and partly by feel.
At dawn we were packed and ready to depart. We decided to visit Warren’s Harley Davidson in Salinas to get a new speedometer cable for my motorcycle before heading south. We arrived there just after the 9am opening time, and were disappointed that they didn’t have a replacement cable. While the parts man tried to cobble together a replacement cable from various models, the repairman disassembled my bike. At first the fix seemed easy; replace the cable and send us on our way. Then the repairman said the drive gears were defective, and they didn’t have those in stock. He reassembled the fairing, and I was left to ride without a speedo.
With Bruce leading, we started south on highway 101 out of Salinas. Before we reached Soledad, I noticed my turn signals were malfunctioning. Within a few miles they quit working all together. (Mechanical problem number 4) Well, the engine was still running, so we continued south.
Seven miles north of Paso Robles, Bruce announced on the C.B. that his engine stopped running. He thought it was the same problem as before. He coasted to the side of the road again. (Mechanical problem number 5) At least this time we had cell phone service, and the nearest Harley Dealer was less than 20 miles away.
We ended up at Gary Bang’s Harley Davidson in Atascadero, California. If you ever heard of Gary Bang (and who hasn’t?) you would find the real person fascinating. Gary and a friend went into the motorcycle repair business in the early 1960’s. They built their business from a small shop to after-market accessories and into a Harley Davidson franchise. They have a brand new building, with enlarged photos of Gary, his friends and family from throughout the years. He appears a little differently in each photo, having lived through the Hippie years, the Yuppie era and into his comfortable mature years.
Gary gave Bruce’s motorcycle his personal attention, and assigned his best mechanic to fix the problem once and for all. It took a couple of hours, but the problem was traced to a faulty fuel pump, which was replaced. We were done by 6pm and ready to ride a little farther down the road when Rod couldn’t start his Honda. (Mechanical problem number 6) We ended up in a Motel 6 until the next morning.
With the help of Gary Bang’s mechanic, Rod was able to find the electrical problem and get his Honda running again by 10am on the final day of our trip. We vowed that we would be home today, even if we had to rent a truck and haul the bikes back. That wasn’t necessary
Mechanical Problem Number 5
Our trip this year was the sixth annual motorcycle adventure for Bruce and me. Rod Vandiver joins us when he can, and Rod Purcell was adventurous enough to give it a try this year, at least for part of the way.
Of all the previous trips, this one is distinctive for the number of mechanical problems we had to resolve. In a way, there was a positive side to the mechanical problems. Here are some of the things we learned.
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All Harley Davidson dealerships are not created equally. The best service was given by Gary Bang in Atascadero; the next best service was from Monarch in Orem, Utah. The worst was Warren’s in Salinas, where they didn’t have basic parts and made things worse by disconnecting my turn signals in the process of “diagnosis”.
All in all, these twelve days in September have given us plenty to talk about for the next year. Then we will venture out again.
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