The morning came, and I woke up incredibly ecstatic. It felt real. I had really accomplished something. The sun rose and shone over the bluffs on the edge of town. The campground was abuzz with activity. Many people were brewing coffee and making breakfast on their little camp stoves while I deconstructed my tent and packed everything up. A chill had come through in the night, making my bike hard to start. After many kicks, the engine slowly tumbled over and sparked to life. I was back on the road after a quick fill-up, a cliff bar, and some Gatorade.

I hadn’t had any service since the turn off to Moab. No one knew where I was except me. That sounds terrifying, but it was freeing. I was now completely on my own. It had been more than 12 hours since I was able to text anyone where I was at. After heading two hours south, at my next fuel stop, I was able to get reception, and my phone blew up with notifications. I had to take a break to tell everyone what was going on. I had not really thought much of it the night before. It was better to keep in touch, so no one worried. With that behind me, I set off through the vast and varying landscapes of the South West headed for Albuquerque, New Mexico.

The scenery was reminiscent of all those old western movies. The bluffs, the flat, brush-filled valleys. This was where real-life westerns took place. I just imagined all the cowboys, stage coaches, and Native Americans that came through and lived here. The sun was out, and it was warm. I relaxed and shot down the road, soaking up the sun.

I soon found the San Juan River, in the heart of the Navajo Nation, and turned to follow it east. The water looked muddy, just like in all those westerns, but it was low and seemed almost dried up. I stopped often to take in the small reservation towns. Every single person I came across was incredibly nice. People asked about my tri,p and I would tell them. After a short lunch of Cliff bars and Gatorade, I headed back onto the road.

‘WELCOME TO COLORADO‘ Soon came into view. Just clipping the southwest corner of the state, I would soon go into New Mexico, then Arizona, and back into New Mexico. Passing the four corners monument, I decided not to stop and check it out. Six years ago, on a road trip down here with my family, we came to see the four corners where all four states meet. When we got here, we found the gate locked and a sign saying the monument was closed. We had no idea why, so we and the other out of luck tourists went on our merry way. Since that happened, I felt like it would be a disgrace for me to visit. It had become such a joke in our family that day that I felt like I should never go see the four corners. Also, it is not even correct. It’s off by many yards. So when you lie on the monument to be in four states, you’re really just in New Mexico. The memory of my previous road trip was worth more to me than the novelty of the site. I sped past it with a quick glance and headed into Arizona.

Teec Nos Pos came into view, and I filled up my tank to the brim. There were so few towns and such low-quality gas in the smaller towns that I was getting gas whenever I could, not knowing where the next stop would be. My worst nightmare was running out of gas out here. There was nothing. It was barren. I had a spare gallon of gas in a gas can in my gear just in case. The day wore on and miles seemed longer while time seemed faster. I went this way to avoid snow in Colorado, and when the road started to climb again, I got worried. The temperature seemed to drop again. The sun stayed out, and the skies were clear.

My motorcycle rumbled through reservation after reservation. Some names I recognized, others I never heard of. I was learning about our country and the native people. They’re cultures showed in every town I went through. After what seemed like hours, I finally found myself in Shiprock, NM. It was the biggest town since I left Moab. It was about 1pm and I was eager to get back on the road, so I quickly topped off the tank once more and headed off. Now my GPS on my phone decided to take me a back way to the main highway to Albuquerque. It took me out of town and then down a road called ‘Indian Service Route 36’. My first thought was ‘Wow, they must not use this road very much to not even give it a normal name’. I blindly followed the instructions being barked in my ear. Not soon after pulling onto Indian Service Route 36, I noticed a yellow Ford F150 Lightning sitting 10 yards down a dirt road just off the paved road I was on. I flew by him, and I looked in my mirror, noticing him pull out behind me. He started following me down the road. I thought nothing of it, really, until I noticed that when I slowed or sped up, no ground was gained or lost. He was matching my speed from 150 yards back. Then a silver Suburban went by me, going the other direction, and passed the yellow Ford behind me. I checked my mirror and saw it flip around and pull in behind the Ford. These weren’t police cars or any official vehicle. My head immediately went to horrible thoughts of robbery. It was the perfect place to do it. I imagined it was a modern-day stage coach robbery that happened many times throughout the history of this area. The road started to get curvy and hilly. Perfect. I fired through the curves and over the hills as to get out of sight of the two cars behind me. After several minutes of intense riding, I turned down a dirt road and parked behind an old oil derrick. I waited about 10 minutes, and no one went by. The coast was clear. I didn’t know if I was being chased, but I didn’t want to find out. Being on a motorcycle, you’re very vulnerable. They saw all the gear I had loaded up. Maybe they wanted it. Maybe it was a coincidence. I am just glad I didn’t find out.

The route quickly got me to the highway to Albuquerque. The sun was lowering itself in the sky. I let out a yelp of excitement when I saw a sign reading ‘CONTINENTAL DIVIDE- 9000 ft, Elev.‘ It was unexpected. It had made the progress feel real but unreal at the same time. I had been so in the moment that nothing was stressing me out. The winds in Idaho and the rain of Salt Lake City never bothered me. I was in the moment and enjoying myself. I was taking delight in even the bad things that were happening.

After more seemingly endless miles, I entered the outskirts of Albuquerque. It was rush hour. Cars were everywhere as I worked my way through town to the Interstate to get to my campground. I grabbed some food on my way there and finally found it. I hadn’t set up a reservation because I had no signal on my phone the night before. I just assumed it’s October, it won’t be full. I was dead wrong. They were packed. I was lost in a city I had never been to with nowhere to go. The sun was setting, and it was getting late. An idea popped into my head. Hotel. I searched my phone in the parking lot of the full campground and found a cheap hotel in Albuquerque on Priceline. I was ecstatic to stay in a hotel. I’d have a bed, a shower, and a TV. I zipped down the interstate and through the traffic to my hotel. After checking in, I settled down and ate dinner in the comfort of a hotel room that was bigger than the apartment I had back in Portland.

I was having so much fun. I was over 1000 miles from where I started. Enjoying every second. Nothing was getting me down. My bike was running perfectly, and the roads were amazing. I never had any troubles, no terrible drivers, it was all going smoothly. I planned my sightseeing stops the next day when I discovered that my hotel was right next to the filming location for Breaking Bad. I could see it from my hotel room, and it energized me. I slept more comfortably that night after the rock-hard ground of Moab the night before. I had a real dinner for the first time since Boise. More importantly, I was having fun.