The sound of hens squawking comes from the backyard.
CC likes her critters.
And her cowboy hot tub.
A cattle tank with a fire pit underneath.
Pam calls it the missionary stew pot.
Naked white people in a big pot of hot water.
You get the picture.
It ain’t necessarily a pretty one.
Cool and clear morning. Sun feels good on my skin.
6 ft of titanium rods just below the skin get cold, hurt my bones.
Like they don’t hurt enough already.
Talon meets me at the carport. I see a huge pile of gear on the floor of the living room.
Looks like they’re packed and ready.
Talon frowns at the van and scratches his head. “Do you really think we need Lisa’s carrier?”
I pop the back hatch. Earlier, I folded down the largest of the rear seats. I don’t have that much stuff. I eye his gear, the van, his gear, the van.
“Nope,” I say. “We can get it all inside.”
Talon manages to take the carrier off by himself.
We load the gear.
The girls are excited.
We hit the road at 815.
Not bad. According to God-oogle, we should be at McKinney Falls by 9 Central Time.
We hit San Antonio, NM, 10 miles south of Socorro, and exit I 25 onto US 380. We pass 2 of the most famous burger joints in the nation, The Owl Bar and Manny’s Buckhorn Tavern. Want a world-famous green chile cheeseburger?
The two bars are across the street from each other.
My vote goes to Manny’s, but it depends on to whom you talk.
Just as we’re crossing the Rio Grande a half-mile further east, my phone rings.
Pam.
“You forgot to give me back my EBT card.”
Damn.
I always forget something.
Like concert tickets.
But that’s another story.
The one about my first date with Keli and her desire to burn every cowboy hat in a C&W saloon.
With Blackberry Smoke playing.
Freaking Keli.
\,,/ all the way!
So we drove back to Socorro.
Left again at 908.
Moved our arrival time to 945 pm.
The drive across White Sands Missile Range is one of my favorites. Mile after mile of straight roads, past the Quebradas Badlands, past the ghost-haunted coal mines of dead Carthage.
Past the Stallion Site and the turn off to the Trinity site, where the first a-bomb was tested less than 30 miles away. Past the sun-dappled, pine-covered Sierras de los Pinos, Cerro Fra Cristobal, Tres Tetonitas, Sierra de Oscuras.
The 12,000 ft massif of Sierra Blanca becomes visible, the upper 3000 ft already covered in snow.
We drop down into the Valley of Fires, a badland, composed of cracked black basalt from a volcano that erupted 6000 years ago.
Miles and miles of it in the Tularosa Basin.
Talon does a lot of groundwater studies in this area.
Doc Talon.
Hydro-geologist.
The water doc.
Got his PhD in Environmental Engineering at the U of Belfast.
Only took him 25 years.
Mighty proud of him.
Yucca and chamisa are about the only shrubs that grow in this rugged country.
Scattered Buffalo grass.
Prickly pear and cholla cacti everywhere.
Basalt can eat up a pair of boots in 30 minutes.
I used to work out here a lot, too.
I’m also a geo-dude.
Seen black and neon green diamondback rattlers as big around as my arm out here.
Rip the muffler right off your car if you hit one.
The imp snickers in my ear.
“Shut up!” I say. “You made me hit it.”
We start up into the Sacramento Mountains, up over Capitan Peak, an incredible chunk of rock rising 2500 ft up from the valley floor like its namesake in California.
The village of Capitan marks our descent into the Hondo valley.
Billy the Kid country.
Lincoln County.
Beautiful.
Thirty minutes pass.
Out of the mountains now.
Roswell is next.
If you want the real Roswell story, just ask me.
There ain’t no stinking aliens, folks.
We stop to get gas.
Talon takes over driving.
We still have at least 8 hours to go.
And my ass hurts.
My legs are stiff.
Talon drives like I do, sets the cruise for 80 and off we jet.
New Mexico east of the Pecos.
High Plains.
Flat except for low, juniper and mesquite clad limestone ridges.
Might as well be west Texas, ‘cause that’s what it looks like.
A whole lotta nuttin’.
We pull off at Apache Sands for a quick bite of lunch.
Two breakfast bars, a banana, a yogurt, a Mtn Dew.
15 minutes tops, then we’re off again.
Some oil wells when we actually hit Texas, then fields of them.
Gigantic wind turbine generators line the ridges on both sides of the road.
For many miles.
Must be some serious subsidy money at work here.
Then cotton fields.
Endless cotton fields.
Alabama never planted a tenth this much cotton.
No towns.
Just scattered co-ops and storage tanks.
We’re making good time.
The girls watch a movie over and over. Cynthia has been and is grading papers. The accountability reports. The standardized testing prep. The pressure from parents for instant access to grades and progress reports.
Teaching sucks in America.
Talon’s GPS app tells us when to turn and where to go.
Helpful, but does nobody use a map anymore?
Can you even buy a map?
We stop in Big Springs.
The last stretch.
Cynthia informs us that the park closes at 10. The gate is locked after.
Google says we’ll be there at 949.
Really close.
If the gatekeeper leaves 15 minutes early...
We pull up to the gate at exactly 949.
Kinda creepy.
But seems like a pleasant, quiet sort of place.
Right up my alley.
Aunt Bee is manning the gate.
Seriously.
Nice lady.
Gets us as close to the bathhouse as possible.
Talon and his crew are veteran campers.
They unload and set up in about 15 minutes.
I blow up my air mattress in 5.
It’s 1030.
Cynthia and the girls go to bed.
Talon and I drink a beer and wonder what tomorrow will be like.
“What time do you think we should get up?” he asks me. “I want to be there by 7 if possible so we can practice.”
I think about it for a minute. “530. It’s only a 20 minute drive and we don’t have to cook anything for breakfast.”
“Cool. See you in the morning.”
11 pm.
Not bad.
I won’t sleep more than 6 hours anyway.
All in all, I feel pretty good.
I drove 4 hrs. Talon drove 8.
The girls were little angels.
The imp has been quiet all day.
I don’t know if that’s good or bad.
But I’m ready to chunk some steel!
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