LAS CRUCES TO ROSWELL
The
next morning promised wonderful things as I headed east in the cool dawn
air. White Sands, New Mexico was just down the road so it became my next stop. I
arrived just as the ranger was opening up his hut for the day. I'd been to this
place as a pup and was looking forward to seeing it again. I drove into the park
expecting it to be familiar, but realized I had no recollection of being there
before. I’d seen the pictures from my childhood; this chubby kid sitting on the
dunes torturing beetles, but it seemed like it never happened. Lost images in a
brain gone terribly bad.
Finding a remote turnoff, I got out and walked around
for—what I thought—would be a quick hike. Here lies a lesson; it’s real easy to get lost in the dunes. I hiked out for a bit to look around and take
some pictures. The next thing I knew, I had absolutely no idea where I was. I hadn’t
gone that far, but I might as well have been on Mars. The wind was blowing, and
it covered up my footsteps; my bread crumbs back to safety. I walked in circles
for awhile—completely lost, and started to get a little nervous. And thirsty.
I took a break and sat down on top of one of
the larger dunes. It was starting to get pretty windy, and I felt like I was
being sand-blasted during the bigger gusts. My boyhood flight instructor, M. K.
"Bart" Bartholomew mysteriously popped into my head. I sat there and listened to
his ghost admonish me for not establishing my cardinal directions from the
start. I knew better than this...one always figures out north, south, east and
west as a first task. Here I was though, clueless. I had a general sense of
direction, but it became uncomfortably clear that an error of 200 feet or so
could put me just one dune over from safety.
I finally stumbled upon the Jeep completely by accident. There was no
one else around, and I sat there for a minute and thought about all of the
“what if” scenarios that could have played out if I hadn’t taken a random turn.
“Not doing that again” I thought as I gulped down tepid water in
the safety of the mighty Jeepster. I enjoyed it--"castaway" adventure
notwithstanding. The act of hanging out in that expanse of white was sobering.
Sitting there looking out at all that
desert, I wondered
what my pioneer ancestors thought when they first gazed over that gypsum sea. I’m guessing they
were thinking, “Aw, crap! We’ve gotta cross this?” So much for
being a settler.
I left White Sands and cont
inued
heading east. Along the way I saw this guy on a bicycle carrying his dog. He had
his canine pal draped over
his lap and was pedaling down the highway against a stiff headwind. That dog was
big, and the guy looked like he was pushing the pedals hard to keep moving
forward. I had no idea where he was going; I'd left nowhere, and there was nowhere
ahead of me. Considering how much I whine back home about having to walk all the
way downstairs in the morning and let Shasta out, I had to admire this guy.
I don't know if I could carry my dog like that. I hope the guy and his dog made it to
where they were going.
I continued eastward, winding
my way through the middle of that funny rectangular state. In Hondo,
I passed a sign that said "WARNING - WEEKDAY BLASTING". Gulp. Um, BLASTING?
Where? If the nature of said pyrotechnics justified a warning, how do I avoid
it? "Will the State of New Mexico be issuing me a flak vest, helmet, and safety
glasses at some designated point ahead?" I wondered. I involuntarily hunkered
down through that stretch of road and kept waiting for explosions. I never saw
or heard anything. Maybe it was just somebody kidding
around.
Where I come from, there's a
lot of "FALLING ROCK" signs around areas where...well...where there's the
possibility of rocks falling on the road. That's pretty much the language on the
sign. It's clear, concise, and conveys the message in two words and three
syllables. I came across a New Mexico equivalent to that, and it triggered a
highway philosophical session:
I was--once again--out in
no-mans-land and passed a sign that read; "POSSIBILITY OF FALLING ROCKS MAY
EXIST". "Whoa" I thought. Yes, it did exist. In a larger sense it was almost
certain that rocks were falling somewhere. Continuing on, I postulated that the
possibility of floating rocks certainly existed too. Perhaps cows, or
large chrome-plated ducks might be falling or floating somewhere as well. All
things considered, the possibilities were endless. I don't know...it's kind of
silly, but I thought about that sign a lot. I would like to have thanked
its maker for the mental images and notions it created that day.
Coasting into Roswell, New Mexico, I decided I'd seen enough asphalt for the
day. I didn't feel like setting up the tent, so I copped out and got a motel.
With my afternoon free, I set out to see what the town had to offer.
I ended up at the “International
UFO Museum and Research Center” (No "domestic" UFO Museums for this
junior moon ranger). Something told me that if I was going to be in Roswell,
then the UFO museum was in my future. I parked down the block from the building
and waited until there was no passing traffic. I walked in front of the place,
looked both ways, and darted inside without being seen. The exercise cracked me
up. I had the same feelings walking in there that I
used to have as a kid when I’d sneak into adult movie theatres with my friends.
It was that feeling of, “Oh boy…I hope nobody sees me going in here!!” I
can’t say why I felt that way, I just felt like a leak heading in.
I walked around and looked at the displays inside--the various items from other
worlds arranged courtesy of the
museum curators; the dedicated UFO
"X-Files" types inside. I've never decided if I believe in their existence
(UFO's, not the museum curators) but I've always wanted to. I think the world
would be a more together place if we knew someone else was out there. I
didn't walk out the doors with a firm conviction that they did exist (again, the
UFO's, not the curators), but their (the curators this time) conviction and
dedication to the possibility made me wish for it to be so. I hope they get
their wish.
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