Today reminded me how truly lucky I am to partake in this incredible experience. The scenic drive through the Texas panhandle to Albuquerque, New Mexico–coupled with the different people I met along the way–exemplified the uniqueness and importance of my travels, as well as the charm of this country in which we live. So many kind hearted souls, so little time to get to know them all.
I started my day with breakfast at a nook I found in Lubbock, Texas. A three egg omelet with bacon, ham, sausage and cheese, a side of pancakes, two cups of tea and an order of “Freedom Fries” cost $5. Us-Route 84 through Anton, Littlefield, Sudan and Muleshoe was as empty as road as I’ve yet to traverse.
Just over the New Mexico border in a small town called Texico, I stopped at Ruby’s Antiques. It’s a two story building filled with fantastic relics. I bought two small gifts for my mother, who has been prodigiously supportive thus far (when she is not using my cell-phone as an electronic leash to ensure I’m not dead). I spoke with Ruby briefly. She’s an old, blue haired lady with too much makeup and a worn, wrinkled face. She wanted to sell me an old 1950’s Gretsch electric guitar for less than half of what she was asking, but I simply did not have the money. I spoke with her about the book, and she told she admired my courage and acumen. She expressed her pride because so many kids these days are “using dope and shooting drugs and cutting off the air to their brains in order to get off,” while I have a vision and an idea that I’m seeing through to completion. At the end of our talk, Ruby told me to please stop by again, someday.
I stopped at Joe’s Boots and Hats in Clovis, New Mexico. I bought myself a Stetson and I had myself a nice conversation with Joe’s nephew. He grew up in Austin and moved here a few months ago to help Joe run his store. He was young; early or mid 20’s. We talked about the city of Austin. He told me he had heard of Silkworm and the American Analog Set. He told me about biking up the east coast with his father. His favorite spots were West Virginia, Maine and Manhattan. He said that he and his father rode 50 miles around Manhattan, an impressive feat to be sure.
At Fort Sumner (for Mike McGoff), at the gravesite of Billy the Kid, I met a family of three. Sandoval was their surname. They were visiting from San Francisco, where the Sandoval family used to own a glass store at the bottom of Lombard Street. Now it’s a coffee house. Their grandfather, Isaac Sandoval, is buried in the same private cemetery as Billy the Kid. Isaac rests alongside Celentino and Victoria Sandoval. He used to courier mail between Roswell and the area now known as Fort Sumner. The granddaughters told me that the night before Billy the Kid was killed, he had dinner with Isaac at a nearby ranch. They’re all together in the same fenced in area, with two other Sandoval kin, a man named Maxwell, and four unmarked headstones that denote the resting places of unknown spirits.
Outside of Santa Rosa, New Mexico, the sky went from deep blue to infinitely black in a matter of moments. I saw a multitude of cars driving in the opposite direction, and wondered why I was the only car driving into the storm. The hardest, most torrential downpour I’ve ever experienced soon befell me. The wind swept sheets of rain slanted. Visibility was five feet at best. I tried to remain in the tracks left by cars in front of me, but my treads could not find dry pavement. Lightning lit up the sky and beat at the earth in what looked like repeated stabs; continued blows to the skull. You could see each bolt strike with immense force. God is afoot. Magic is alive. Alive is afoot. Magic never died.
THE STORM WITH JACKIE-O-MOTHERFUCKER
Coming through the mountains on the way to Albuquerque is like visiting another world. It’s ethereal. It’s all around you. This environment doesn’t seem exist anywhere I’ve seen in America. Each passing precipice invites you to jump out of the car, climb to the pinacle and look out over the whole desert. Small adobe houses with flat roofs line the base of the mountain chain. The way that the clouds float, the way that sky goes from white to deep blue is nearly impossible to render in words. I couldn’t photograph it because I did not want to remember it from behind a lens, I wanted to experience it. This was in Carnuel, New Mexico.
Albuquerque is a beautiful and vibrant small city. Everything is filled with color and pride. Blue, pink, red, white, turquoise. State flags fly high. I unpacked and walked to Old Town, which is filled with open-air marketplaces. Old Town is the epitome of the southwest: boutiques, galleries, handmade jewelry stands and Mexican restaurants. I walked Rio Grande to Romero. I stopped in every store that was open. I soaked in the art and culture. I walked down Santa Fe. I passed Old Town Plaza. I walked Central Ave. (Historic US-Route 66).
I decided to eat at a place called Ben Michael’s Restaurant. I was the only person there, and I ordered a plate of nachos and salsa with a margarita. Ben and his girlfriend were eating at the table next to me, and I started talking with her. She’s also trying to write a book, an adventure/mystery work of fiction set in New Orleans. We spoke about writing and about Albuquerque. For an hour we spoke of weather, American cities and travel. She told me about Oxford, Mississippi and I told her about New York. She told me about local weather patterns and I told her about prevailing attitudes of people in the different regions I’ve visited. She told me how she attended the University of Florida and met Ben while visiting Albuquerque.
Then the complimentary margaritas started, and the rest is very hazy. Writing right now is very hazy.
She left, and Ben Michael sat down next to me and we talked for over an hour about religion, politics, life in the west vs. life in the east, and how he built his restaurant with his bare hands. Every brick, he laid. He showed me a photo album documenting the process. We spoke about his parents and grandparents. I received a familial history lesson dating back to the 1500s when his family first settled here. He continually demanded of me, “Don’t let anyone dictate what you do in life. Follow your heart and your dreams.” He told me has seen god in the kindness of strangers. He believes we are all derived from the same source, and our goal is find our way back together as one race of humans. While it was the very definition of banal, meeting new folks and building a rapport with them adds weight to this project.
With the mountains outside my window in the east, with the sun setting over the horizon in the west–where the world is so flat it is a nice cliff to drop off–i send you all inebriated well wishes.
car music:
xiu xiu – la foret
johnny cash – live at folsom prison
nick cave and the bad seeds – murder ballads
leonard cohen – songs from a room
jackie-o-motherfucker – live on wfmu
iron and wine – our endless numbered days
pg six – well of memory
codeine – the white birch
