I write you from the comfort of a Budget Inn on Main St. in Roswell, NM. It is a nice place, with mini fridge, microwave, odd counters and mirrors--it is home for tonight. Tonight can be described as 2:45 am and I am fried, frantic, and frazzled--alliteration cannot do justice to the events at hand. However, I shall start from the beginning and work my way to the mêlée of sound and presence that has lead me here.
Back in Cuba, NM: Awoken by Marissa's alarm at 7am, we both fell asleep until 8. At that time, Chops, Flow, and I hit the highway for a morning stroll. We walked briskly and stopped for morning constitutionals on the side of the road. It brought me subtle joy to watch Chops belabor his morning ritual, as he attempted to push the bristles of my toothbrush out his Lower G.I. He decided to snack on things while Marissa and I headed to dinner the night before. In any event, after a quick round of chasing crickets and a pit stop at the Quick Stop to pick up a new toothbrush, we were back at the Hotel and packing.
We hit the road nice and early and made our way to Santa Fe. The road was majestic and colorful; mountainous and sprawling; dry and wet; it was a blast. We floated down the highway in a complete Zen-like state. There truly is something to seeing new countryside that can take the angst out of being car ridden for hours. We stopped briefly at a lake and hiked around some cliffs. Content with our inspection, we saddled back up, flipped the A/C to cold and roared forward. Marissa dropped face melting knowledge on the state of our food industry. She dissected the corruptions of subsidized corn and its insidious infiltration into all we eat (check your C14 levels). She called out the profit driven scandals of Mansanto and all the good work they do in the name of the all mighty dollar. It was intriguing to listen to a soul who chooses to not blindly eat meat, and actually has a reason for intelligently doing so. It was a great way to find our way to Santa Fe.
Santa Fe is an adobe lovers wet dream. Santa Fe is brown, beige, mauve, ivory, and burnt umber crimson. Santa Fe is a sweet little high altitude escape.
Once again, the iphone guides us where Constance can't--we find an outdoor patio breakfast place. We saunter up, pups in hand and find a table outside. I settle the dogs as Marissa puts in the order for two large orange juices and two breakfast burritos. As I wait, an older gentleman resting in the shade, flanked by his walking stick and his elderly K9, enquires about Chops' background. I respond with the usual, "Oh, a little Irish Wolfhound and Great Pyrenees--I don't know, he is a pound puppy". The old man strokes his beard and I notice the slight wisps of grey that spray out from his hat--they remind me of duck feathers for some reason. We begin to continue to chat. He tells me about his dog standing down a bear. He asks me about where we are heading and where we are from. Turns out he walked from Santa Cruz to Monterey back in the 60's. He says it’s a beautiful coast, but he likes it here better. Yada yada yada, Marissa returns with the OJ and our order is on its way. A quick note about the OJ: a large, came in a full sized Coca-Cola glass. This is the first time in the history of my life that I have received more than a tiddlywink portion of juice...it was a good omen.
After breakfast,ca breakfast where the dogs were nothing short of statuesque perfection, we headed to the Capital Building (the only round capital building in the nation). We got there. We saw, and we walked away down some side streets.
The downtown area of Santa Fe is another tourist hub, just like Pacific Ave in Santa Cruz or Hollywood and Highland in Los Angeles. We were tourists, but who cared it was nice to walk for awhile. We let the dogs dip into a creek and then pressed on into the fray. We happened upon an arts market, but no dogs allowed. I hung back in the shade as Marissa continued on to explore. In retrospect I should have put out a tip jar. Given the constant flow of out of towners, the dogs and I became a street side attraction. Chops, with his oafish whiteness, and Flow, with her feral facial structure, were a goddamn hit! We were pulling a bigger crowd than the filthy hippy across the way playing very nice blues riffs. We had babies, and ladies, and grannies, and everyone in between, fawning over the two majestic beasts that lay silently on the sidewalk. One attractive young gal (unfortunately with her boyfriend) asked to take a picture with Chops. A very fun series of interactions played out as I waited for Marissa to return.
After a short walk back to our car, Marissa and I hit the Whole foods for tasty num nums, and then off to Best Buy for a Camera and Cable. Marissa tended to the animals while I went inside to scope the scene. I had about four different young gentlemen refer to me as “Boss”--apparently this “Dude” substitute has made a resurgence in New Mexico. In case you ever find your way down here, and you want to fit in, there is your heads up. Long story short, I took way too long to find what we needed, and if Marissa had been there to troubleshoot my dilemmas, we would have been in and out in 15 minutes...so it goes.
Marissa and I got a 21st Century burst of creativity for the next leg of our journey to Roswell: Her iphone needed to be charged, so we plugged it into my Macbook which had charged the previous night, we then plugged in my external harddrive, containing all my music files. We then, opened up iTunes and rocked a mix of music. We rocked that setup for at least 3 and 1/2 hours. We ran from Beck and the Beta Band to Al Green and Sage Francis. It was an eclectic mix for an eclectic landscape.
In the plains outside of Santa Fe, we got another opportunity to watch a rainstorm take shape on far off plots of land. So powerful were these storms, that the thunderbolts were snapping and cracking the sky with a fierce repetition. Collectively we must have snapped close to 50 pictures before Marissa caught not only a magnificent bolt of electrical current, but a bolt erupting in front of a rainbow. It was a triumph.
We stopped at a rest stop with 45 miles to go. I recently heard that Califnornia shut all of its rest stops to combat budget issues. Based on this roadside stop, New Mexico's infrastructure must be alive and well. There were immaculate bathroom facilities, sweet little grass fields, and a great view of farmland. Aside from the "Caution Rattlesnakes" sign, it was a perfect slice of heaven.
We pressed forth. My computer died, Marissa put in her iphone for some more tunes, and we bobbed and weaved down the asphalt teleport.
Arriving in Roswell was a relief. Much larger than anticipated (that's what she said), we rolled down Main St. We looked for all things Alien. Their streetlights are alien heads. A few billboards claiming to hold the true history of the crash, and some other odd alien placements, helped to round off the kitschy vibe. In all honesty there are more national chain stores in this town. It was hard to find a store claiming to have the truth or show you the truth. The aliens seem to be loosing their grip on the psyche of the do gooders in this town.
We road the entire strip, and then decided we should go camp it tonight. Marissa and I decided that we would alternate nights of hotel sleeping and camping, in an effort to cut costs of travel. After a quick stop at Albertson’s for dinner makings, we decided to drive 12 miles out of town to The Bottomless Lakes. The lakes are only 90 ft deep, but when the brain surgeons of the wild west found them back in the 1800's, they reeled down their cattle rope to investigate their new find, and never found bottom. In their minds, the lakes were bottomless, and for me, they might as well be.
We arrived after dark. We found the visitor center and paid our $10 entrance fee. We scoured the campsites for an open lot, but nothing could be found. We pulled into another campers plot, and they directed us to a place up the road. I was beginning to get the fear. The fears initial stages are always symptomatic of angst and annoyance.
We found our spot and unloaded our gear. Marissa made quick work of the tent, and I made a blunder of the stove. Too cocky this time to read the instructions as I went along, I wound up not pumping the fuel and the fire was sporadic and lame...a small tear began to form. Marissa chopped apples to try and save the positive vibe we had fostered through our day. I was less willing to leave my funk, for it did not feel good.
Sitting next to the bottomless lake afforded many wildlife opportunities, with the largest number being comprised of mosquitoes. Oh the joy of embracing blood suckers. Nothing was going smoothly. Yuck! I was beginning to fall into a foul mood, which is a first for this trip. As the high pitched buzzing swirled around us, we chowed down our dinner and made things ready for bed.
The dogs had been lying on the cool concrete floor, but I have read that when camping, leaving your dogs outside at night can be a dangerous choice. That being said, I decided to put them in the car, and leave the windows almost all down. The car was infinitely hotter, but I figured the dogs would be fine.
I hopped into the tent fully clothed in long pants, a long sleeved shirt, and socks--all of which were soaked in DEET and citronella. I blew up my Thermarest and left my sleeping bag in its bag, I was prepared for an uncomfortable night. Marissa and I made awkward small talk, both sensing each other’s tense emotions. We turned out the lights and began our odyssey.
Almost immediately after lights out, Chops began to bark. A whistle or two did not grab his attention and quiet him down. Feeling fairly restless I got out of the tent and went to the car. I hopped in my familiar spot, the driver seat, and sat there to quiet him down. As I sat in the odd grey and blue evening, the dogs panted with great vigor. I realized then that if I slept in the car, they would not bark, but if I slept in the car, all of the windows would remain open, and in this would leave me horribly exposed to my greatest agitator, the mosquito. Oh well, the hell with it, another layer of bug spray and a towel over my face, and I was ready to go. I politely told Marissa that I was staying in the car; her tone sounded less than excited. I was beginning to fear that we were heading to an odd emotional blowout.
I hopped in the car and sat oddly awake. Flow sat in the front passenger seat and continued to pant with her head out the window. Meanwhile Chops' panting had taken on such a cadence that he was rocking my seat with his heaving chest--this could not last the night. I hopped out into the night, and soaked a towel for Chops' neck. I put it around his collar and got back in the car. After another 20 minutes, the panting had not stopped, and I decided to move outside. At this point, the car was no real protection from the mosquito super highway we found ourselves immersed in.
I tied the dogs to a pole and they both sprawled out on the concrete. After about 10 minutes their panting slowed, and my nerves settled just long enough to fixate on the next unsettling fact: The mosquito population was getting frantic and frenetic.
As I sat wide eyed watching a far off lightening storm, which might I ad, for all of its ferocity NEVER made one peep of thunder (Roswell was beginning to feel strange), I could not separate myself from the gnarly noise of bugs constantly stopping to check my skin for blood. Mosquitoes carry that high pitch dentist drill with them like a sickening battle cry. I began to pace in the dark. The dogs sat quietly, and I wished that Marissa would pop out of the tent and say, "Let's get out of here!" Instead she tossed and turned, I could hear her, and I paced and pondered.
I sat at a bench; I leaned face first on to the hood of my car; I walked around and rolled the car windows up; I kneeled down to pet Chops. Then, all of a sudden, the wind picked up, and I clued into a noise off in the not so distant distance. It was a slow hollow chuckle of a noise. It came and went, and then came and went. It was as if the wind was causing this great beast to growl and crackle. After about 5 minutes of distracting myself with this noise, I realized it was a lost piece of trash scraping the dessert rocks with each passing zephyr--back to my obsession with the bugs.
I paced more and more and became fixated on how to leave. The buzzing began to reach a fever's pitch and I started to swat violently around me. There was no escaping this madness, the fear of another 6 hours until day break began to send me into a violent spiral of insanity. I whirled about in the night air, shimmying and snapping away from the onslaught. When I noticed that the two dogs, who had been comfortably sleeping on the cool concrete, were now biting at the air and their own skin, I realized that these little winged bastards had kicked it up a notch and were now wing deep in bloodlust. Off in the distance something killed something else, and the noises ran through the canyon. ENOUGH!
I ran to Gorlick's tent and called her name in increasing decibel levels until she responded, "Hey Marissa, I'm getting out of here". She was in a daze, exhausted from her own battles with heat, odd noises, and bugs. "Marissa, I can't do this anymore, the mosquitoes are incessant, and now they are eating biting the dogs. I can't keep them in the car, because it is too hot. I am miserable and I need to leave." I waited for a response, and I anticipated this would be the beginning of a great void between the two of us. This request to leave was going to a annoying request and affirm my meager status in her eyes. Marissa chimed back, "I was just about to text you and say the same thing, LET'S GO!"
We threw the food and cooking utensils in the back. We quickly took out the tent poles, left all bags and pads in the tent, rolled it up in a giant mess and shoved in the read of the car. When I turned on the lights, there were millions of mosquitoes dancing in the heat of the night. We fired my engine and tore the fuck out of there (I apologize for the vulgarity, but this situation requires such a word). We flew down the 12 miles stretch out of the park. Initially we left the windows open in an attempt to blow all winged travelers out of the car. Eventually we shut the window and cranked the A/C.
On the dark road back to Roswell proper, Marissa and I laughed in excitement at the choice we had just made. It was 2 am and we were giddy. "We are never going to do this again. We cannot fight the Chi of the moment. We knew it didn't feel right! We must listen to the vibe," I metaphysically protested, as we hurled down the lonesome highway. "Yes! Yes," Marissa continued, "I am so happy that we are out of there. I don't care if we don't camp for the rest of the trip. That was so awful and I am so happy now."
The lightening lit up our faces as we shared a few rejoicing laughs and sped into town. Some poor soul sat pulled over about a mile from Main St. Undoubtedly his lat night (morning) was ending poorly, unlike ours.
So there it is. The first true trial and tribulation handled with grace and a retrospective realization, that this trip is not about suffering, but rather conquering all obstacles with a tenacious passion for life. Last night we chose life, and to choose life, you must live life, and if you live life, you love life.
I love life.
P.S. First, I can’t bring myself to fully check this entry for typos, so I apologize. Second, a photo post will happen later today. We have much to share, and undoubtedly we will be in a hotel to night that carries WiFi.
Blessings.
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