Ruidoso, NM

Well, it happens to the best and bravest of us, getting spooked that is. I had found a nice little Forest Service road meandering for several miles before topping out among pines and scrub brush. I pulled off into some trees and washed down some cold chicken with chocolate milk. I got nestled into my bunk with a mediocre book and as I read, half-remembered stories began festering in my brain.

The stories involved isolated campers in southern New Mexico and illegal immigrants. Desperate people in desperate situations, all that sort of dramatic stuff. Every little creak and snick became a band of evil sweaty men with daggers clutched between their teeth. Once the thoughts began I made it about 10 minutes before crawling up to my captains chair and easing on down the road.

So here I sit, in a darkened corner of the Ruidoso Best Western parking lot, typing away and hoping to pass the night here without being rousted by motel staff or killed by hispanic pirates.

Tatum, NM

I have a neighbor tonight, a man by the improbable name of T.A. Knight. Maybe he’s a rock star or a superhero disguised as an 80-year-old widower with a small dog named Poe. He’s traveling in a dually pick-up truck with a good-sized fifth wheel in tow. When we compared our traveler pedigrees he came out on top by roughly 18 years and 10 months, oh well.

He arrived at the Randolph Rampy City Park a few minutes after me and the welcome committee arrived a few minutes after that. She drove a white Crown Victoria that (judging by the spotlight mounted adjacent to the windshield) had served time as a police car.

She said “Welcome to Tatum” in a slightly formal and practiced way and asked where we were from. After feigning interest she got on to the real reason for her stopping.

“There’s a dance tonight and you are invited, it’s at the middle school and it’s just four dollars to get in and we have a live country and western band and oh my, you should hear them, they are so good, the doors open at 6 and the dance starts at 7.”

I was amazed that a women of her advanced age and with a handicapped tag hanging from her mirror could produce such a stream of words with nary a pause for breath. I quickly realized she was waiting for some sort of commitment on my and T.A.’s part.

Well, I said, I’m gonna make some dinner and see how I feel. Where’s the school at?

She told us (as if one actually needs directions in a town of this size) and my neighbor thanked her for the invitation and off she went. T.A. and I chatted a few minutes longer and he mentioned that he was planning on early to bed and early to rise in order to avoid driving into a predicted strong wind.

By now the sun had set and while I hadn’t decided whether or not I would attend the dance, I figured I should get cleaned up in case the fancy struck me. Getting cleaned up is no easy feat in a city park where the bathroom is locked and the temperature took a dive when the sun did. I snuck over to the most private side of the beast and conducted a bucket bath. This involves a tub of hot soapy water, a thermos full of more hot water, several minutes of partial (yet substantial) undress, and the ability to maintain muscle control during the onset of hypothermia.

Next I warmed myself around a propane stove with a mouthful of prevention (prevention is this wonderful brown liquid that comes from Scotland). When the time came I hunted down the school and mentally prepared myself for whatever may come. It was then that I saw through the windows that not a single attendee of the dance appeared to be a day less than a hundred and forty years old. After about 17 seconds of thought I decided that I should probably get to bed early too.

Paducah, TX

It’s cold here. Leaving Kansas I drove south for a long time trying to get warm and apparently I failed. There are parts of Texas that stay relatively warm, even in December, but Paducah isn’t one. I imagine I could head down towards Galveston and find a mere tolerable chill, but I won’t.

I’m staying in Matador Wildlife Management Area, and I’m not supposed to be. At the self-check-in station there was a sign stating that the campsites were for quail hunters only, but I have chosen to disregard that sign. I figure there is every chance that tomorrow I may be unable to swerve in time and may accidentally run over a quail. While that’s not exactly “hunting”, the result would be the same… a dead quail. That would be the important thing, right? I would have rid the world of one more dangerous critter deserving of death. And, like hunters, I would have done it with a whole lot of modern technology against a decidedly un-modern foe.

Medicine Lodge, KS

The trip back from Florida was faster and thus, a little less interesting than the trip down. Having a purpose (moving my niece back to Erie) changed the flavor of the traveling, but I had a good time nonetheless, despite the efforts of an annoying little twit (her roommate) throwing a bossy little temper tantrum (beware the carpet police!). We got back Monday afternoon and by Tuesday afternoon the beast was unloaded, reassembled and headed south. I must say, it was strange to look in the mirrors and not see a little white car tucked in behind me.

There has been an addition to the trip, a plucky little bonsai picked up at a roadside stand in Alabama. I haven’t given her a name yet, but I will be taking suggestions. It could be a contest, whoever suggests the winning name wins a… well, nothing actually, this trip is slowly making me broke.

The goal now will be to make my way southwest and eventually Phoenix. Sometime before then I will be stopping for a few days to read/think/relax.

PS I feel like the sunset photos are sort of a copout, I mean, its just too easy to get a dramatic shot, however, this one was a little more special. I was driving towards (into?) the sunset and got to really study how the day decayed into some of the most intense crimsons before giving way to night.