The sun has just slipped below the horizon. Jumping the gun, the crescent moon is already up in the western sky- not putting in much of a performance today it would appear.
The firewood is piled up and ready to go, sorted according to size.
It will be cold again soon. Very cold.
Before that though I have a chance to record my experiences for the first time in a while.
The day of crossing the big pass got off to a shaky start. Getting the news about my job set me back an hour and I didn't end up leaving until 10 am. With 48 miles and over 4000ft of climbing I was going to be cutting it fine to get over the pass that day.
Leaving Silver City I discovered where they keep all the fast food stores: on the road out of town. I guess it would have been too much to believe they had truly kept them at bay. The fact remains downtown Silver City has lovely locally owned and run feel to it not that common in America, in my limited experience.
I climbed from 6000ft to 7000ft, passing the Santa Clara open-cast copper mines. They are the deepest in the US. You could fit several of the biggest slate quarries back home inside that hole. That's big.
Unlike the Dinorwig slate quarries however, which have a certain beauty to them if your mind is open to it, this mine is an ugly sight to behold. It has neat and geometric appearance, the product of the systematic destruction of a perfectly good mountain on an enormous scale.
Annoyingly the route now descended to 5000ft, making the top of the pass at 8,228ft seem like a big ask.
The river valleys in South East New Mexico remind me of the fictional Hazard County from 'The Dukes of Hazard'. There is grassland with plenty of deciduous trees about. Creeks and ditches are lined with Cotton Woods and Willows, bare in their winter plumage. Old oaks stand proud at the side of the road.
There are single storey wooden houses tucked away in copses on roadside the farmsteads. Outside lie battered old pick up trucks and caravans in various states of disrepair. Fortunately Bo and Luke Duke have not come roaring around the bends in the General Lee. Unfortunately Miss Daisy Duke is conspicuous by her absence too although I think I may have seen Uncle Jesse going the other way a few times!
The cycling has actually been very liberating here in New Mexico, the roads have been quiet and small. True back roads taking me through the peaceful countryside. Every time I pass a car we wave to each other, in recognition of another fellow human.
I have not felt the need to wear my high-vis vest once and only a couple of time has the helmet come out. More often my 'Indiana Jones' felt hat is called for, to give me protection from the sun.
Dr Jones knew a thing or two. It is a fine example of a hat - keeping off the sun, the rain and can even keeping you warm. You can squash it in your bag and it just goes right back into shape. Brilliant.
It has been all over the world with me and it seems very much at home in this land where every man has a useful hat.
Despite its many talents, the felt hat is not really ideal for cycling. It's wide brim has a habit of catching the breeze unexpectedly. I have learnt that if I engage the biggest ring on my front set of gears, it means I'm exceeding 15 mph and the hat is coming off one way or another!
This leads to a hilarious situation when riding those rollercoaster undulating dips in the road: wearing my hat I grind up the hills puffing and panting. Then I de-hat at the top and I whizz down the other side with it scrunched up in my teeth, ready to be redeployed when the momentum inevitably runs out.
Ah well at least on the long uphills, where I never exceed 10 mph, the felt hat is very useful protection, as it is at lunch stops.
Thankfully climbing up out of the valley a second time wasn't too arduous. However the landscape was nothing new: grassland, hills, junipers bushes etc. I was beginning to think it was a bit of a bore having to climb over 8,000ft of grassy hills with the occasional tree.
With nothing else to think about, my mind began to wonder back to my troubles and my worries away from this ride.
7,000ft came again. Then the road went down to 6,500 again, I was very annoyed this time. It was getting late and I had to get to the summit and down 9 miles of very steep zig-zags on the other side. I wanted to do that in the daylight thanks very much.
I got a flat tyre, it took ½ an hour to fix, it was 15.30.
Back to 7,000ft once more, the trees had now fully taken over from grass. I had to admit the views down into the pine clad valleys in all directions were rather nice even if the top was nowhere to be seen.
Pushing on and up very steeply at practically walking pace I passed a rise with a particularly fine view of snowy hillsides to the south. When the road dropped back to 7000ft again my patience was really starting to wear thin.
'Just take me to the bloody top', I grumbled, to whom I'm not sure.
Then out of the blue the road entered a charming flatter section. A little gorge with 20m tall rock walls on either side. The empty road twisted and turned following the path of a tiny river 10m below me. The crumbly grey schist cliffs blocked out the sun and I could see patches of frozen water in the stream.
There was something secret and magical about being in this dark, cold canyon. For a few miles the riding was easy and I had time to look about into all the little corners of the forest close by. Snow appeared at the roadside, in little patches at first. Like a big kid I stopped to take a photo of the bike in the snow.
There was black ice on the road to avoid too. I had to pay attention, taking care not to get too engrossed in the atmosphere. What with one thing and another it was pleasantly distracting.
Absorbed in it all I could tell I was smiling, my worries seemed a million miles away. New Mexico dubs itself 'Land of Enchantment' on it's tourist information signs, I was beginning to see why.
The canyon came to an end but to my delight the special ambiance remained in the forest. I followed the river valley back and forth slowly rising closer to the top without much noticing the effort. Soon enough there was snow on the ground amongst the trees.
It was 16.30 and I was still only at 7,500ft. It as getting colder and going to get dark in an hour. I willed the pass to come and as if in answer to my thoughts the road got considerably steeper.
It began to feel like the bike had got a lot heavier. I stopped to check the brakes weren't stuck on. They weren't, nor were the tyres flat. I was very odd, I was finding it very hard going. As 8,000ft arrived I had a shortness of breath that I never get when riding.
I am blessed with a natural ability to walk and ride up hills forever. I don't know why I just can. I never have to stop on the road. I just go slow and keep going indefinitely.
It was all very odd.
After my second enforced stop I noticed a slight pain in my chest, almost like indigestion....... and.... maybe a bit of a headache?
Finally I put two and two together. I was suffering from the altitude, for the first time in my life. I was surprised because I'm sure I've worked at higher altitudes than this before without problems.
I knew I wasn't in danger. My symptoms were mild, but I did need to get over the top and lose some height. Either that or go back down the way I'd just come up. I couldn't just wait for a while and adapt (as you sometimes can), because it was about to go dark and it was bloody freezing!
There was no contest with only 228 vertical ft to go I was going over the top. In the end I had to walk my bike the last few feet to the summit. The bent forward riding posture seemed to reduce my lung capacity. In the end, one way or another, I got up there.
The views were amazing. It was a 180 degree panorama of snow, forest and mountains all around, now in the shade as night drew in. Below were dry hills, grasslands and rock escarpments still lit up by the last of sun.
It was 17.00.
I couldn't hang around. I had to get down. A 1400Ft descent over 9 miles of steep switchbacks with precipitous drops awaited me. I needed to do it in the day light. Otherwise I'd have trouble avoiding the patches of ice on the road waiting to send me flying over the edge.
I wasn't breathing all that well either and even simple things seemed a lot more difficult then normal.
I put my helmet on, and my winter gloves, and off I went: quickly but carefully and with full concentration. I feathered the brakes and banked into the corners like racing motorcyclist. It was exhilarating to have to remain so totally focused at the end of such a demanding day.
Within 10 minutes I was below the snowline again and thanks to the windchill I could no longer feel my feet.
At 17.30 I arrived at the state forest campsite. I had just enough time tie up my hammock before being plunged into darkness.
My breathing was back to normal, unsurprisingly. Even with severe symptoms descending 1000ft and waiting is often enough to alleviate the problems I'm told.
Simple tasks still seemed much more difficult than normal though, I put it down to tiredness,dehydration and the cold. I cooked and ate dinner; drank a pint of hot tea; put the food in the bear box and went straight to bed- wearing all the clothes I have with me.
Quite a day really: lost my job; rode 48 miles, climbed 4,112ft; found a magical canyon and enchanted forest; got AMS; and slept in a hammock in the woods at over 2000m.
Today's 71 mile mission seemed tame by comparison.
I have decided to carry on with the ride. I will try to apply for work on rest days and only come home for an interview.
This is a once in a lifetime experience. You never know how long that lifetime is. I'll ride on in Simon's honour.
My hands are cold now. I'm going to light that fire.
Tomorrow I ride to Texas. Yee Ha!!!
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