New Mexico

I’d been pushing it with driving long days since Chicago. When I woke up in the Motel 6 in Bernalillo, New Mexico, I was only about four hours from my destination of Duncan, AZ. I ate half an avocado and a few bites of yogurt, as I do every morning, loaded my stuff out to the car, got an iced coffee at a Starbucks near the hotel, and headed south. I was meeting a friend in Duncan and I knew she was working until at least 5pm, so I took my time and stopped everywhere I wanted to stop on the way.

I blew through Albuquerque, gunning it through the desert on Highway 25 until I felt super hot and needed gas. I stopped in Truth or Consequences, my favorite town name ever and very appropriate for everything I was contemplating as I drove.

I filled up, put on more sun block, put on my white long-sleeved driving shirt to avoid my left arm burning off, grabbed a cold iced tea and a box of salad greens from the cooler and got back on the road. I turned off on a smaller road, highway 70, which took me through Hatch, New Mexico, ‘chile pepper capital of the world.’

I stopped at a roadside store selling these items.

I wanted to buy this stag, so it can hang out with my metal javelina someday, but it didn’t seem practical under the circumstances.

I always love a good ceramic cock. Or two.

I explored the town, getting out of the car and looking at the landmarks and vegetation, cool signs for chile vendors, the main drag mostly devoid of other people.

I stopped at this quirky place and had unremarkable, but thoroughly enjoyed barbeque pork ribs. It was air-conditioned, the woman at the counter was cool, and they were playing ‘Runnin with the Devil’ while I ate. I was so happy.

The blue stripe on Ronald’s torso is a bumper sticker that reads, ‘beep if you like our meat.’

This guy greets you when you exit the bathrooms.

Sated and full of ribs, I drove on through the desert, hoping to find some decent coffee somewhere. My stomach was happy, but my brain was melting. Have I mentioned that it was hot in the southwest in June with no AC? Maybe two hours north of the Mexican border? I’m sure I haven’t even mentioned it once. Cuz I’m not a whiner. Or something.

I drove into a town called Deming, hoping to find a Starbucks or some other reliably drinkable chain alternative. I parked on the main drag outside this Christian bookstore with an espresso bar. I got out and walked around, hoping to find something other than an espresso bar in a tacky looking Christian bookstore. There was no way that coffee was going to be good.

I walked around the town, my iphone gps leading me to a coffee house that didn’t exist. There may as well have been tumbleweed blowing through the dusty, mostly empty streets. The wide open streets and landscapes of the southwest can take a minute to get used to when you’ve spent a lot of time in densely populated eastern cities, surrounded by dark bricks. I decided I’d just explore a few more blocks of the town and then settle for something from the Christian bookstore.

I saw this faded Jack Daniels logo painted on the side of a saloon.

For some reason I became obsessed with getting the perfect picture of the Deming GOP headquarters and AA Meeting room signs next to each other. I was not able to get a very good picture with my phone, but I’m adding it anyway. I find those elephants to be deceptively cute.

I made my way back to the Christian bookstore, avoiding entering stores that looked like they might have merchandise I would want to buy. I’ve done this for much of my trip and I’m still doing it, trying not to spend much of my limited funds on things I don’t need.

I really don’t know when I’ll have a regular job again, hopefully not for quite a while, but it’s kind of a bummer when not having insurance is always in the back of your mind. I see it in myself and in friends who also don’t have insurance. Well, we say, I’d love to go to the skate park and practice dropping into those bowls, but I don’t have insurance. Climb to the top of that tall ladder with a bucket of grout in one hand and a trowel in the other at 4:30am, shaky and on no sleep, at least an hour from the nearest clinic on a very bumpy dirt road? Ok, but slowly. Very slowly.

When I was younger, of course, I didn’t worry about getting hurt or dying that much. I spent much of my twenties wishing I was dead anyway and sometimes living in such a way as to fulfill that wish, so now that I’m all growed up and comfortable in my skin, I never forget how close I am to death. I don’t get morbid about it, I just try to stay aware that it could happen today, tomorrow, or fifty years from now. As far as I’m concerned, death is actually the only thing certain in my life. It’s the only promise the Universe makes to us when we are born. Everything in between is pretty much a crap shoot and up to us. This life is so short, even in the moments when it feels like it will never end, you know?

Anyway, I walked into the Christian bookstore and ordered an iced Americano from the sweetest teenage boy working the counter.

He and a couple of girls were hanging out, I got the feeling it was a family business and that at least one of the girls was probably his sister. I was the only customer in the store and I perused the merchandise as I waited for my drink. It was the best iced coffee/Americano I’ve ever had. Oh my god it was so good. I felt like such an assumptive asshole, having thought it probably wouldn’t be good. But it can be legitimately difficult to find really good coffee in small towns in the middle of nowhere.

When Tracy and I were driving our moving truck out to Rhode Island from California in 2001, we asked a cashier at a Target in Wyoming if there was a Starbucks around. Hey, every other chain seemed to be represented at that exit. This woman looked at us, did that slow smirk breaking into a trying-to-hold-back-a-laugh face, and then just leaned back and let go with a full-out guffaw, right from her belly. She laughed for a good little while, and then, as if it was still necessary, let us know there were no Starbucks anywhere within at least a hundred miles. Maybe Cheyenne, she said, still giggling snidely.

Yes, we are gay looking and fancy.

There were so many good t-shirts and wall hangings for sale at the Waymaker. I looked through everything as I sucked down my insanely delicious coffee.

My favorite were the biker themed shirts with religious slogans on them. This shirt, in particular, I had to hold myself back from buying.

Cooled off and caffeinated, I got back in the car. I was pretty close to Duncan at this point and I knew my friend JT wouldn’t be done working at the bakery she works at two days a week for about four more hours. I pulled over on the side of the highway and looked at the plants, rocks, black mountains looming in the distance, and defunct railroad bridges over dried up creek beds, built with their rough beams of dark, weathered wood.

A lotus grows in the mud?

And of course, more meat.

I love it.

I stopped to pee at a rest area where there was this sign.

As I was washing my hands, I started talking to a nice middle-aged woman. Apparently there was a huge fire raging near her house (and near the ranch I was heading towards). I hadn’t paid attention to the news since I’d been on the road, so this was new information for me. Her kids were grown up and lived in California. They’d been visiting her and she said she was driving them back to California and would stay with them since she didn’t have money for a hotel. We wished each other well. I hope the fire didn’t take her house.

Since I am obsessed with tree-lined entries and exits, I searched for some version of this as I approached Duncan, the first destination I’d be staying for longer than a day. The best I could do in these environs was this: