DAY 13

Kids,

It's been almost a week since I last updated you on my travels. If this gets too long, I'll send the rest at a later time.

Tombstone, AZ, is 25 miles south of Benson. Nicknamed "The Town Too Tough To Die," it's a hot, dusty place that the phrase "out in the middle of nowhere" was created for.

I spent some time at the City Hall Museum and the Boot Hill Cemetary. I never fully realized before how incredibly hard and cruel and difficult and...well...unfair life could be at the end of the last century. One of the more prominent headstones in Boot Hill reads: "We hanged him/We were wrong/ He was innocent/Now he's gone." The story (I asked about it later) goes that this man naively bought a stolen horse, was found with the horse, and (now
don't get ahead of me) was hanged for the crime.

Boot Hill is full of people who were accidently shot, or fell down a mine shaft, or killed arguing over a poker game or the color of a shirt (true!).

The stagecoach from Tucson to Tombstone used to take 17 hours, on dusty trails that would throw up great choking clouds of alkili dust. One passenger wrote that he was grateful for the times he had to exit the coach (to give the horses a rest) and got to "relax" by walking (his words).

The state flag of New Mexico, like Arizona's, is also a representation of the sun, this time done in a quasi-Native American way. Red circle on a yellow background, with red beams shooting out in four directions.

Again, the clues were there. So WHY did I decide to do this trip in a car WITHOUT air-conditioning?

I have no effin' idea.

The main attractions of New Mexico seem to be that 1) you can drive as fast as you want and 2) fireworks can be bought 365 days a year. Not much else to do in this state, really (if you're not hunting UFOs, that is).

New Mexico is also the only place I've ever been where businesses actually post: "FIREARMS ARE PROHIBITED INSIDE." Firearms? Like guns? You actually have to
GIVE NOTICE that guns are not allowed in your store?? Hmmm...Ignorant guy from CA has his eyes opened a bit.

White Sands National Monument is aptly named. Sure, the sculptured dunes are really pretty, but....it's sand. It's just a bunch of white sand. After a few minutes of "...no, not that white sand dune--the white sand dune behind and to the left of that white sand dune I showed you a while ago..." I was ready to split. I mean, I'm all for preserving the natural environments and all, but...it's sand. We've got tons of this shit in Malibu.

Cheapest gas so far: $1.40 a gallon. Just thought you'd like to know.

I sometimes forget that people go to church on Sundays. Last Sunday I passed many many restaurants that were closed. The one place I found that was open had a huge lighted sign (like a small movie marquee with the movable letters) that read: "HE WHO SOWS INIQUITY WILL REAP SORROW." Naturally I pulled in.

It is not hyperbole to state that every single male in that restaurant (excepting the employees) were wearing their Sunday-Go-To-Church best. Dress shirts, ties, polyester slacks, shellacked hair. The women were all in peach or rose J.C.Penney smart casual dresses. A few chiffon-accented numbers.

These were all church-going, God-fearing folk.

And I a bearded, earringed dude from Cali wearing shorts, sandals, and (I kid thee not) a tie-dyed t-shirt.

Gee, do you think anybody noticed me walking in?

On the way into Roswell, you climb way way up into the Capitan Mountains and you suddenly realize that you are surrounded by trees. The desert has been magically spirited away and in its place are towering majestic trees.

Trees? In New Mexico? Moooooo...(NoCal joke)

You also notice that...well...the sky ain't so blue no more...kind of grey and heavy and--HEY! Was that a bolt of LIGHTNING just now?!? What the---?

Rain. Lots and lots of it.

30 minutes later, I'm out of the mountains, the rain has stopped, and I'm heading for...

"Roswell--The Musical!" the banner says. Oh, MAN! What a concept! I have GOT to go and see--wait. "Thursday, Friday, Saturday evenings only"??? And today is Sunday.

Damn.

And on that note, I will bid you a fond farewell. I'll bring y'all up to date by tomorrow, where I'll tell you about:

--the knock on my motel room door at midnight...

--the homosexual yellowjacket...

--toilets 750 feet underground...

...and much more!

Peace,

Mike