I may have been joyriding a little too joyfully. I blame the vast New Mexican desert. But when an unmarked right-hand curve jumped out from behind a big yucca, eyes widened, and knuckles whitened. Worse, I discovered it was a decreasing radius, and I began to have visions of some unplanned off-roading. It was a welcome relief, therefore, to feel the swift pulsing of the Nissin ABS brakes, and as I came to rest on the far shoulder, the clenching of calipers (and colon) began to ease. So far, I had been delighted by my long-term test ride of the new Suzuki V-Strom 800DE, but at this moment, I was deeply indebted.
Aiming for Tucumcari, I calmed myself by focusing on the tawny bunchgrass as it turned to stunted creosote bushes, and the distant mesas creeping ever closer. In the mellow light of late afternoon, and with a post-brake-test sigh, I rolled up to the Blue Swallow Motel with its pink and blue neon sign, a classic Buick parked in front, and a garage attached to every room. This was one of the best-known and most authentic accommodations on Route 66. And I enjoyed a quiet evening with other travellers, all of us sitting outside in the courtyard under the neon and
