Sandstorm

From Texas I entered New Mexico, although I didn't think there was anything wrong with the old one. I visited Carlsbad Caverns National Park, Roswell, and Santa Fe. In the latter, I visited Meow Wolf, which I can only describe as an escape room on bath salts.

We all know that New Mexico is famous for extraterrestrial encounters and other strange phenomena. I'm not a conspiracy theorist - I think sometimes people's heads just explode - but near four corners, things got fucky indeed. As the wind picked up and choked the sky with dust, I began receiving shocks from the static in the air and Hobbes' instrument cluster went wild. Tumbleweeds the size of extremely large tumbleweeds careened across the road. I parked the bike and took refuge inside a restaurant, where the waitress said she'd never seen anything like this 'round these parts. Outside, Hobbes was blown over. I was not about to be marooned in Farmington, NM, so I stood the bike up, got back in the saddle, and set out for Utah.

Riding through the wind, sand, and static was manageable, until the car in front of me suddenly vanished. My headset crackled as the gale reached a crescendo, and the dashboard went haywire. I stopped, killed the engine, and struggled to keep the bike upright as the howling, abrasive wind bore down on me. Fortunately the semi behind me had seen this, slowed down, and escorted me through the thick of it. Once on the other side, I was ready to tap out. My visor was stuck, many of my controls were jammed, and my teeth were gritty. Utah could wait. I searched Bunk-a-Biker and found GoodADV nearby in Colorado. I asked to camp in his yard, but he said that would be crazy in this storm, and let me stay in his airstream instead. Better to be blown away by the kindness of strangers than the wind.