I rode my motorcycle to El Paso and back over the weekend; east on Friday, west on Sunday, racking up just over 700 miles. Interstate all the way, smooth, almost boring. If you’ve taken I-10 across southern New Mexico and Arizona, you know it’s all open desert . . . fly-over country, as they say.
I rode to El Paso with three friends. The occasion was a Hash House Harrier event hosted by the club there. I try not to write about hashing here at Paul’s Thing, since I have a separate blog for that, but I’ll open the door a bit, just this once.
People who have heard of hashing but are not hashers themselves often associate hashing with excessive drinking. I won’t argue the point; most hashers do drink, there’s beer after every trail, and too many hashers and hashing groups take the drinking aspect of hashing to extremes. But I myself quit drinking almost three years ago and still hash, so I can say it’s not all about the drinking . . . it’s also about the trail and the shared camaraderie of finishing a challenging course, and since I quit drinking I’ve discovered many like-minded friends in the hash.
In the world of the Hash House Harriers, there are alcohol-centric groups and trail-centric groups, and I try to find the latter. I failed this weekend; the event I attended was pretty much a three-day kegger, and apart from an interesting hike through downtown El Paso (and a really cool T shirt) I got nothing out of the experience. I could not have been more of an outsider; all weekend I felt as if I didn’t belong. Not their fault; I was out of step and never should have gone.
Here in Tucson, I hash with two trail-centric groups. Few members drink and none drink excessively. But groups like these are becoming the exception, I’m afraid, and I find myself slowly falling away from hashing. Kicking and screaming all the way, but falling nonetheless.
Back to the motorcycle trip:
When we got on our bikes at the Triple T Truck Stop in Tucson Friday morning, no one seemed willing to take the lead, so I pulled in front and opened the throttle. Most motorcyclists, for all their bad-boy looks and attitude, shy away from leading group rides and would rather be part of the pack. Personally I’d much rather be out front, not because I’m a bad boy or anything, but because group riding is a little bit like flying formation, and I spent a good hunk of my flying career leading two- and four-ship formations. But there’s another, more immediate reason: leading means I can engage the cruise control and hold a steady speed . . . you ride behind other people, they’re constantly slowing down and speeding up.
So I set the cruise at 80 and didn’t stop until we got to Lordsburg, New Mexico, and only then because I was down to a quarter of a tank and had to pee. Turned out I almost ran one of my buddies out of fuel, and he coasted in on fumes . . . I should have talked with everyone before we left to find out which of us had the smallest tank! We made one more fuel stop in Las Cruces (we had one guy on a BMW R1200GS Adventure who never needed to stop at all and was just humoring the rest of us . . . Santa, if you’re listening, I really really want one of those things).
After two nights and a day of hashing in El Paso, I rode home solo on Sunday. Crossing back into Arizona I got a touch of get-home-itis and opened it up to 90; somewhere between Benson and Tucson, when I thought no one was looking, I ran it up to 100 just to say I’d done it. I beat El Niño home; the sky was clouding up as I approached Arizona but the rain and high winds hadn’t arrived yet. My friends are riding home today, Monday; I called this morning to wish them a safe ride, and I hope they manage to stay relatively dry.
So . . . this was my first trip on a brand new set of tires, and the bike ran like a top the entire time. The only thing to break, as a matter of fact, was my hand-held GPS, which I have mounted on my right handlebar, and which I use to monitor speed. For some reason, it won’t pick up the GPS satellite signal, and I think it’s time to throw it away and buy a new one. Nothing like a GPS for accurate speed, after all. Oh, and I lost a favorite skullcap, which flew off my head the one time all weekend I rode without a helmet. Serves me right.
Apart from finding myself falling away from hashing, it was a great weekend, for sure a great motorcycle ride. More of this (motorcycle riding), please, and soon!