After a yummy French toast breakfast I left to ride the highly touted Dale Ball Outer Limits. Mme Awesome wanted to explore the local shops and galleries so she stayed.

Many trees made for poor visibility and, combined with all the hikers, it was slow going. Lastly, I saw that some of the places I stopped to gasp for a breath were over 7800 feet; I’m not even going to mention my EPO fantasies. The plentiful trees also made for tight passages; I actually shouldered one. Not recommended. Perhaps if I could have seen ahead more it would have been fun. Frankly I was wondering who voted so positively on this route.

For a bit I biked with a guy from Flagstaff. He seemed to be loving it and there it is: different strokes for different folks.

I also chatted with one of the hikers. When I asked if he had a hyperbaric chamber, he told me my need could be met in town. Also, apparently, there is an oxygen bar. We parted and I rapidly resumed my panting ways.

Finally and thankfully the ride was over and I drove back to Madrid. Heads up it is pronounced using these sounds: rid of your mad. Accent on the first syllable.

After reconnecting, we walked through some of the town. My favorite stops were at the marvelous Shugarman’s Little Chocolate Shop, where, right before your eyes, the confectioner is concocting unexpected and palette pleasing creations. Plus unlimited samples. We carried home a bag of lavender chocolate, pecan cranberry key lime chocolate, cashew chili Black Sea salt chocolate, Vermont maple pecan chocolate and candied ginger lime chocolate.

Inside Shugarman’s.

We also stopped at the Indigo Gallery. The tranquil paintings and sculptures of bighorn sheep were simply heart warming.

The gallery owner told us there are about 300 genuine Madrid residents and they’ve worked to keep it safe from overdevelopment. As I see it, from spawning another Sedona. How? By making it exceptionally difficult (did she really say impossible?) to add a toilet to undeveloped land.

Lovely art.

The last stop was for dinner. While we shared a gynormous plate of ribs, we could see real people across the little street dancing to live country music.

All in all, super sweet.

It is self evident that New Mexico does not have a mandatory helmet law for motorcyclists. I haven’t yet seen a mountain biker helmetless. Most of the motorcyclists like to wave to each other while riding too. The helmeted one I happened to follow on my way back was an exception, however; I noticed many of the waving bikers looking back to verify they were indeed stiffed.