Level is a Relative Term

Level is a relative term in New Mexico

Last weekend I had an opportunity to travel up- both in a northerly direction and in terms of elevation to Albuquerque and Valle Grande Caldera, New Mexico to do some trail and mountain biking with my sister Kirsten. In the process I learned the true meaning of the term level, at least as it applies to biking in the Albuquerque and in particular, to the Valle Grande Caldera.


Biking in Albquerque

Our warm up bike ride was 16 miles along the Bosque Redondo trail, a bike trail which traverses most of the length of the city from the west side, running north and south along the Rio Grande. This is a trail which my sister utilizes daily to and from her work as an assistant DA in the courthouse offices in downtown Albuquerque. She took pity on me however and instead of coasting down out of the northeast foothills of the Sandia Mountains where she lives and then having to face the climb back up on the way home, we started from a trail head parking and staging area located half way between downtown and Bernallio.

The trail itself was mostly level, with only an occasional dip into a tunnel underpass or up and over a couple of overpasses for the freeways and highways running east west. I was relieved to have this much of a break in at 5000 feet to adjust to the altitude. The path is on a raised berm between the edge of residential areas and the flood plain of the Rio Grande. We rode south for about eight miles passing the back of some large and plush residences including one which had paddocks housing a camel, cape buffalo, ostriches, llamas and or alpacas, donkeys/zebras, horses and something in the distance which looked brown and lumpy enough to be real bison, which left me scratching my head and wondering. We were frequently passed by other bikers since we were poking along enjoying the summer smells and chatting.

Albuquerque is in the process of putting in a rapid rail system called the “rail runner” to connect the suburbs north and south to the center of the city. The trains are all decorated with cheerful red and yellow road runners and come complete with a road runner beep warning system for when the doors are opening and closing. The completed parts of the system, with parking and shuttle busses to and from major bus routes is being initiated this summer and riding it was free so we detoured over to one of the rail stops waited for the train. When it arrived we clambered on board with our bikes and rode the train up to the northern most extension of the system at Bernallio. Eventually the city planners hope to run the rail runner entirely up to Santa Fe 60 miles to the north.

The ride was smooth and rapid, reaching 75 mph in between stops. Since we had brought our bikes on board we stayed aboard the train when it turned around and rode it back to the main train station in downtown Albuquerque.

Here the old Hotel Alhambra, a turn of the century Spanish Moorish edifice has been updated and restored to serve as the terminal for Amtrak and the Rail Runner. Next door the old Greyhound bus terminal has been rescued from dissolution and restored in the same updated New Mexico Spanish Colonial Moorish style.

From the train terminal we rode about 3 miles through downtown back to the Bosque Redondo trail and followed it back past the Zoo, Botanical Gardens and Tingley Beach, a water recreation area which is being expanded and improved. In addition to fishing, paddle boating ,sun bathing and picnicking they will eventually also have swimming in the various fresh water lakes which are being developed in the Bosque Redondo preserve, the belt of cotton woods, fields and flood plains which form the greater area of the Rio Grande as it flows through the valley.

On the 10 mile ride backed we stopped several time to watch actual road runners poking along in the low brush and planted areas along the trail. Apparently oblivious, or used to the approach of bikes, they would continue with their activities until we were almost even with them and then take off in a sudden their characteristic jerky erratic run which usually ended up with us playing a sort of dodge tag with them until they were safely out of danger of our bikes. We also saw several corn and garter snakes taking advantage of the black top path to snooze, lizards, insects, butterflies and native wild flowers still blooming after the summer monsoon season. When we returned to our starting point, we detoured across the river so that we could observe the water running blood red with clay washed down from storms up north. Set as it is among thick cottonwoods and willows in full summer green, the color was amazing. Coming back across the river there was an excellent full panoramic view of the city spread across the foothills of the Sandi above us.

The biggest problem for me was the sudden change from Houston’s sea level to Albuquerque’s 5000 plus feet, but after relatively short break in period during which I passed time wondering whether I was foolish or crazy I got a breathing rhythm going which helped a lot, along with the realization that instead of my trusty one and a half gear bike, I was actually riding a real road bike with gears which I could use to accommodate my pace and breathing. What a nice surprise!!! Another surprise was a mango chile popsicle at Tingley beach. I know it sounds bizarre, but I am always willing to try a new food. I was pleased with the zesty slightly spicy taste which was just what I needed to supply a quick energy fix and stir up my dry and gasping salivary glands.

In hindsight, I can honestly say that this 16 mile circuit was indeed level in the true sense of the word. In that it inclined or declined relatively little, not much more than 20 or thirty feet on the overpasses and less than that on the underpasses. Boy, was the new relative definition of level as applied by the volunteers at the Valle Caldera a whole different concept.

Riding in the Caldera

The major reason for the weekend however, was to drive up to Los Alamos and do a mountain bike ride in the Valle Grande Caldera. This area, originally a large private land grant and cattle ranch, and then definitely out of bounds because of it’s proximity to the south west security gate of Los Alamos during WWII and the period there after, was recently granted to the National wilderness and preserve system and is now run by the Federal Government. The cattle ranch still remains in the southern portion of the caldera and retains grazing rights for the main caldera, but other than the federal and farm vehicles, the 60 mile diameter caldera area is closed to wheeled vehicles, and has very limited and restricted access as they restore the valley to an undeveloped low impact wilderness area.

This was as much a trip of nostalgia for both my sister and I as it was an opportunity to see an area formerly forbidden to us in our childhood as we spent two nights in Los Alamos, touring childhood haunts, remarking on changes and basically reconnecting with the northern NM mountain atmosphere.

Some geological and historical background


As the information sign at the head of the caldera indicates, the original explosion, over one million years ago, was huge, 500 times as great as Mount St. Helens. In fact the resulting lava flows from the main volcano and smaller cones that created the caldera form the mesa lands that run on the west side of the Rio Grand Valley from just north of Taos, 60 miles north of Los Alamos, past Santa Fe, 30 miles to the south and on south to beyond Albuqeurque, 60 miles, further south. The lava flow spread and equal distance to the east into portions of Arizona and west to the Sangre de Cristo branch of the Rocky Mountains 40 miles to the west. Over the centuries, the Rio Grande cut out several large central valleys interspersed with deep gorges that run from Albuquerque north until just south of Taos, where it enters the “Grand Canyon of the Rio Grande” and runs into southern Colorado.

Since the ride started at 8AM we were up and driving through the Jemez mountains above Los Alamos and Bandolier early enough in the morning to see a few grazing mule deer as we drove up to the staging area at an 8000 foot elevation at the lower southern portion of the caldera. The water meadows that make up the majority of the caldera valley floor were gently steaming off in the early morning sun and although much of the valley was still in shadow from the surrounding peaks, the sky above was the typical New Mexico blue with light and fluffy fair weather clouds.

We unloaded and signed in with the ride monitors to get our maps and informational folders. Since they had had rain the previous day, several of the logging and clay and gravel ranch access roads were closed off, much to my relief ,as these were primarily located on the periphery of the caldera valley and were according to the guides, “not really very level.” We were also told, very firmly, that we had to sign back in as we returned as the volunteers and ranch people had go out and find about a dozen riders in the dark the previous day. They had become bogged down in the mud on the closed roads and were slowly wading thru the mud to the staging area when found. Needless to say no one, riders or rescuers or horses involved were amused. I found out later that this "not really very level" was the common euphemism which indicated an elevation change of 1500-3000 feet over two or three miles.

Assured that the 17 mile “Sunday Ride Road” ride to the midway turnaround at the other side of the valley that we opted for was “level”, we started bravely off. This, alas was when we discovered that the guides interpretation of level was relative, meaning that it all eventually evened out at zero!

Our first shock was as we started out across the valley to the ranch buildings on the central road which would form the main road for our ride. “Just a slight climb”, was actually 1000 feet over 3 miles. After about three minutes of riding, muscle and oxygen shock set in and I began to frantically down shift. It was particularly discouraging when after about a mile I noticed, as I leaned forward to put all those 75 pound free weight training squats into use to notice that I had had to down shift to the lowest gear both front and back to get over a cattle guard. At this point I took the first of many breathing breaks and started contemplating the wisdom of the entire endeavor. I was only slightly reassured when I noticed that Kris, acclimated to Albuquerque’s elevation of 5,000 feet, was gasping as well.

This was the start of the typical biking rhythm of the day began. The cycle consisted of feeling ok for 30-45 seconds, having the oxygen deprivation kick in and all the muscles recoil in shock for about 30 seconds followed by about 15 seconds of “I can do this” followed by 5-10 minutes of “oh my god, why am I doing this? " which was then followed by a tumbling dismount from the bike and heavy gasping for air. The cycle was repeated throughout the day and averaged about 3 miles in length.

We were extremely relieved when we reached to ranch buildings still breathing, although gasping and wheezing. Relieved because it seemed that the road apparently ran level for a space. We turned north on the main road running the length of valley and started off again only to discover that what had looked like a level road apparently wasn’t really level as we ended up down shifting and pedaling hard, both on the “level” portions as well as the apparent "down hill" portions. It was sort of like those strange mystery houses in amusement parks where the water flows uphill.

At the first water stop, we stopped, and when we could breath without gasping and panting, gulped water, downed banana and orange pieces and consulted our map. The very helpful volunteer assured us that the next 2 ½ miles to the History Grove, a stand of 500 year old growth timber and the next water stop was an easy ride with “just a little bit of a climb” on the final approach to the grove.

We tottered back onto our bikes and started off, and at about 6 miles, for the first time were actually able to coast a bit and otherwise get by with some occasional light pedaling as we covered the first couple of miles to the grove. The “just a little bit of a climb” tuned out to be a nearly vertical ascent up a deeply rutted road with a nice 90 degree bend half way along. By mutual and unspoken agreement, we got off and walked up the hill, pacing slowly and gathering wits and oxygen. When we reached to top and the grove, the trees were beautiful but alas so deeply in shadow from the peaks around and their own fellows that photographs were not possible. We agreed to stop on the way back for a photo option.

At the next water, nutrition stop we agreed that we would push on to at least the next water stop at Abrigo turn off located off at 10 or so miles out from the start. We would go slowly, stopping when and as needed to breath and rest and then take a look at our time, consult with the volunteers and consider whether or not we could make the last 6 or so miles to the route turn around with at least as much time or more to return before the final 4 pm sweep. Having made the decision to persevere must have affected our breathing, or perhaps we were becoming acclimated. At any rate, the next portion of the ride, skirting the edge of the huge central meadow in the scattered shade of large pines, was relative easy and almost pleasant. The hills seemed gentler and less daunting and I was actually able to look around and enjoy the scenery for the first time instead of riding collapsed over the handle bars with tunnel vision focused on the road, gasping for air and questioning my mental sanity.

The meadow was rampant with grass, wild flowers, grass hoppers and an occasional butterfly. We passed the corpses of a couple of small garter/grass snakes, run over by passing ranch trucks or perhaps careless riders, and were passed by various packs of younger 20 something bikers along with a few older more seasoned veterans, and sighted quite a few chipmunks skittering away from our approach. We passed some springs and streams running out of the various mountain canyons, and several old bunk houses for the ranch. In general, we had a lovely Sunday type ride of the type promised by the volunteers.

In our innocence and optimism at the staging area we had discussed the possibility of doing the Abrigo route, a 7 mile circle of Abrigo peak about half way up its slope along an old logging road and various horse trails. When we reached the water stop at the Abrigo turnoff, we questioned the volunteer about the relative levelness of this route. We were not overwhelmingly reassured to hear that there was just “ a bit” of a 1000 foot climb in the first mile and then after that, the route was level although the logging roads were "not very well groomed" and "quite thick with pine duff." The horse trails were unanimously described as "quite rought and especially slick if it rains." I could see us bogging down in mud or sliding off the mountain through the ascent and descent. We opted out of doing the Abrigo route and continued on, sticking to the plan to get to the “Sunday Ride” turn around point and then return.

At this point I had either lost track of or ceased to care about our mileage as had Kris. The ride was mostly smooth, with a few small ups and downs hidden in a slow gradual climb. We had stopped to loan a couple our air pump so that they could blow up a flat tire and had made an agreement to pick it up at the turn around point or as we passed them on the way back. The Jemez mountains on the north end of the valley started to look closer and when we looked back we could not longer see the staging point over the several lower peaks we had either gone around or over. At the next water stop, we looked at the time and asked how much further the turn around point was. We were both surprised and relieved to hear that we were already there!

We took a major crump of down time, chatted with the volunteer who pointed out the head waters of the San Antonio and Jaramillo river in the meadows around us. She also gave us a brief lesson on how to deal with thunderstorms and rain in the mountains which was basically, “cover up and ride as far as you can in the rain, but if you see lightening, abandon your bike, move away from it as far as possible and hit the ground, preferably not under a tree.” In view of the consistent difficulties with the concept of level, this brief instruction was somewhat less than reassuringto us.

This discussion was occasioned by the increasing cloudiness and an occasional distant rumble. We reclaimed the pump from the couple who had borrowed it as they rode up, refilled our water and headed back along the road, planning to stop in about five miles for lunch and a major rest. I was gratified to see that in spite of the hyper ventilation and exhaustion of the first 16 miles we had actually averaged almost 5 miles per hour. That’s a lot slower than my standard flat paved road Houston rate of 14-16 mph, but I figured that considering how often we had stopped, or dismounted and stumbled up hills, anything faster than a snail’s pace was an achievement.

Our late lunch stop was in the curve of the road on a fallen stump looking out over the eastern extension of the caldera and tracing the course of Jaramillo creek/river as it headed south east between the hills and watching the storm clouds pile up over the valley. Peanut butter, carrots, celery, oranges, trail mix and jelly belly energy beans were consumed as the first big rain drops arrived on cool gusts of wind sweeping up over the mountains on the north.

The ride back was a mixture of grim determination and slippery thrills as we trundled up hill and down however we could. The clay beneath the gravel on the road became very slick and I had several thrilling moments of having no control over my speed as the brakes slipped against the wet tires and the back of the bike wagged behind me like a friendly dog’s tail. The rain came in bursts and squalls and by the fourth or fifth bout, my gloves were soaked and squelching as were my shoes and the drainage from my bike helmet at found a central trail down the back of my neck, under the collar of my rain jacket and straight down my spine. It was cold thrill at best. Because my dark glasses had steamed up so badly as to make vision impossible I was riding somewhat blind as I had forgotten to tuck my regular glasses into the bike bag.

Much of the return trip was an impressionistic mélange seen through a continually dripping fringe of rain from my helmet and half squinted eyes stinging with the sweat being washed into them from my head. We dismounted at the grove of old forest to contemplate the trees again, but it was far to dark and gloomy so we forged on to the staging point. The last 3 miles with their elevation change which had seemed so cruel and maliciously thought out in the morning were suddenly a boon as we coasted back down triumphantly into the registration area muddy but unbowed. Kris and I were giddy with success. When I caught a look at the streak of cast off mud up Kris’s legs and back and realized that all the other riders in the area, myself included were walking around bowlegged from muscle exhaustion and in wet and soggy mudstained pants and undergarments I realized how odd I must look as well, peering myopically around and blowing water off the tip of my nose. Somehow this image was the perfect ending to the ride.