Go West Young Man!

32 Days and 5,536 Miles On My Vintage Motorcycle

Boozed up sleep must be restful, because Steven was packed and long gone when I moaned and grunted my way out of my sweltering tent. Due east lay the Organ Mountain range. As I sped up the carefully carved mountain road I got my first glimpse of the White Sands Missile Range, testing site of the worlds first atomic bomb. Approaching the base I was advised not to photograph the range and asked to prove my citizenship. My puny bike sat humbly in the parking lot as I perused a field of gutted rockets and decommissioned symbols of our military might.

And then there are the white sands. Have you ever felt out of place at a party? Well try feeling out of place on the planet and you can probably imagine how the White Sands National Monument would feel. Where the hell did 11 miles of fine, pure white sand come from out here? I'll spare you my fury about our government appropriating something like this for military use and just say I'm thankful to have been able to ride my dying motorcycle barefoot through the towering, blinding white dunes. As someone who's Xanadu would be an acre and shack on the dark side of the Moon I can tell you White Sands is a serene, cleansing place.


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