8-22-12 VERY SMALL ROCKS
You know that sort of magical moment of finally seeing, in daylight, someplace that you've only known in darkness? The picnic area outside of Loco Hills, NM could've been surrounded by cotton fields. It could've been surrounded by scrubby desert. For all I knew, it could've been surrounded by carefully manicured topiaries.
It was not.
When I poked my head up, at 7am, I saw a field of oil derricks, tanks, and gravel pads, as far as the eye could see in all directions. And directly to my left, across the fence from the picnic table, a sign warning of toxic fumes. Holding my breath, I said my goodbye's to the "Happy Villiage of Loco Hills", and made my way down US-82 towards White Sands National Monument.
The scene I had awakened to didn't end. "Navajo Oilfield Supply" and "Big Chief Energy Services"; I wonder if the "red man" of old would approve of the derricks, like so many drinking birds, sipping rotten-egg odors from 1000 foot straws.
Eventually the thirsty machines gave way to gentle hills, bathed in the drowsy perfume of cedar, pinon, and juniper. Apple orchards and gurgling streams...these hills looked out of place in the supposed "barren and unforgiving desert wasteland" of New Mexico. The terrain changed again, as I began the climb to Cloudcroft, a touristy ski town at 8,650 feet, looking down of the White Sands valley.
A precipitous 6% grade brought me down to Alamogordo, and brought the mercury up a good 40 degrees. White Sands, where we shoot movies and missiles! The national park sits squarely in the middle of the massive White Sands Missile Range, and is closed multiple times a week while the government blows stuff up overhead. It's pretty obvious why directors come to shoot films in the alien landscape of the Park. Dune after dune of gleaming gypsum sand, yielding scarce flora and fauna, extend beyond view. I didn't dare venture out of eye-shot of the parking area, for fear of getting turned around in the featureless dunes, and ending up like the bleached bovine skull I had seen on the way in.
With the hours ticking by and many miles yet to go, I emptied my shoes of the myriad would-be sandy souvenirs and pushed on through the Organ Mountains towards City of Rocks State Park. I had seen the little park on a few lists of "Natural Wonders of New Mexico" and it sat on a length of my route devoid of other attractions. In retrospect, I wish I could've timed it so I could've camped out there for a day or two. It's probably only a couple square miles, but every inch of it is bursting with rock formations, all of which you can scramble up, down, and through. It's like a giant stone playground with stunning views of the surrounding mountains.
As luck would have it, a billowing squall blew over just to the north while I was running around taking pictures. The storm was ferocious, and I stood there among the stones, the wind whipping us while lightning assailed the distant peaks. The grey-blue clouds moved off just enough to let the setting sun bathe the freshly soaked valley in golden light. I kept trying to leave, but the light just got better and better. Finally, when the yellow disk had fully retreated behind the hills, I drove away, quite satisfied.
As it turned out, I had waited exactly long enough to make the 30 mile trek to Silver City, my stop for the night. The fierce storm had just vacated my route, but continued to show itself, ominously, out of my passenger window. When it looked like I was about to drive headlong into the lightning bolts, the road would take a fortuitous turn, ever hugging the outskirts of the storm.
Silver City was dark and foreign, and in desperation I broke my cardinal roadtrip rule and went to McDonalds. Granted, it was just to use their wifi, but still... When no one came in proclaiming free and comfortable lodging for the night, I resigned myself to another night in the car. I opted for a secluded roadside over the harsh light of a Walmart parking lot, and found a good spot a couple miles south of Silver City. Satisfied and moderately comfortable, I curled up and went to sleep.
All of the sudden, it was 2am and I was looking out the window at the fuzzy outline of a flashlight-toting uniform.
"Sir, can we ask you a few questions?" said the uniform.
"Huh?"
"You're from Tennessee?"
"Yeah..."
"That's where you're coming from? Tennessee?"
"Uh...no."
"Where are you coming from, then?"
"Uh..." I stared for what felt like five minutes, trying to formulate an answer.
"Still asleep?" he asked, probably joking.
"Huh? Haha, must be..." All the names of cities and roads from the past two days were swirling in my groggy brain, saying, "Ooh! Ooh! Pick me!"
"Uh...somewhere on I-20." As the words left my mouth I wondered where they had come from, since I hadn't been on it since Fort Worth.
"You mean I-25? There's no I-20 in New Mexico."
"Uh..."
"You mean I-25?"
"Oh!" something clicked, "In Texas!" Also wrong. "Do I need to move or something?"
"No, you're OK, we just saw the car and wanted to check it out. Have a good night, sir."
I managed to sputter a thank you before the headlights turned away, and the crunch of the gravel was the last evidence of the curious fuzzy uniform. I put my head back down and left the incident behind; a strange dream, for all I know.
