December 12
Of red earth.
Today was mostly a day of
driving. Passed by the Crossroads Motel in Carrizozo, that old haunt of mine. The
phones don't dial out and you only get a towel if you walk down to the office
to pick it up. I always drink a glass
of wine whenever I stay there to kill any lurking bacteria and stay warm at the
same time. Drove out to the valley of the Fires to visit with a wise tree that
resides out there. Headed on towards
Albuquerque and then cut over on 44 through Bernarillo and on up to Neghezee.
Should have stopped in Cuba for the night but forgot just how tiny of a town
Neghezee is. Will jump off from here
either back tracking a little to head into Chaco or go on up to Mesa Verde or
on back to Canyon de Chelly. I am
unsure at this point. Will be covering more ground to hit these spots but am
hoping for some good weather. The skies
have certainly been beautiful. Many
luminously subdued clouds. The light is
truly divine.
A day of red earth and eroded
lands and canyons. Of mountains of
frozen lava and highways shared with no one.
"The Village of Willard
Welcomes You." Use extreme
caution; you are about to be overrun by exceedingly large and furry rodents.
My hair is in a state of
extreme misbehavior and my hairbrush has run away. I have put out an all points bulletin to no avail. The local police tell me that a hairbrush is
not considered a runaway until it has been missing for seventy-two hours. I wonder what will be the state of affairs
by then? Medusa perhaps? Shall I be incarcerated for making a public
nuisance? If you do not hear from me
again, remember to first check with the authorities in Farmington. I am sure that they will be able to point
you in the right direction.
December 13th
Out of eye - out of heart
Out of eye -- out of
heart. An Old Dutch saying that my taxi
driver in Amsterdam told me in the twee hours of morn while on my way to the
way to the airport. What did he see
that I wasn't telling him?
I am still at the Bates Motel
in Farmington and I am freezing my behind off.
I slept in my Patagonia "expedition weight" long underwear to
stay warm. I don't think that you would
officially classify this place as a dump, but it could certainly qualify for
seedy. This town is just full of bad
vibes and I'll be glad to head out this morning. Someone told me that they are expecting snow
for a couple of days here,
starting last night but it looks completely clear at least from my vantage
point. Honestly and truly, this place
is called the Encore Motel.
I do not understand where time
goes. How can it already be December
thirteenth? I am torn between the
instincts of a mother bear with respect to my exposed film and the desire to
continue on. For a couple of days
anyway, exploring wins out. And, I
still have some incense and green tea left.
These two things seem to be the essential touchstones that lend a sense
of continuity to the journey through sometimes-marginal territory.
This place actually has a
washing machine so I was able to get my pants really clean. They were just about to fall off of me and I
think that this will be the last trip for one pair that is evidencing holes in
far too many places. It is also sort of
a disarming tactic. But more on that
one later. I bought a couple of warmer
pairs of socks since I left my really warm ones at home and I seem destined to
keep walking in the snow for this journey.
I love the iron rich redness
of the New Mexican soil. It is one of
the wonders of the world for me. The
way that the winds and the water sculpt it into living shrines is magnificent. I took a cutoff through some beautiful
country to get here. I must have been
driving at a snails pace because cars just kept on passing me. I could walk through this country and still
not take it all in.
You know, my Ethiopian taxi
driver just popped into my head. He is
forever mine for the poetry that he gave me.
He told me that before he moved to California he didn't know that the
earth could reach so far into the sky until he saw the mountains in San Diego
almost touch the moon. What an
image. I have his exact words written down
somewhere. I wish I knew where to find
him.
So now I
think that I will crawl back into bed and wait for the sun to come up before I
head off. I am drinking some green tea
and have burned incense to try to make this room smell better if that is at all
possible. Will be glad to leave this
place.
December 14
Of Chaco Canyon and mystical questions. Why does the same dog always get to drive?
Can you answer this question
for me? Have you ever noticed that it
is always the same dog that gets to sit in the drivers seat while the owners
are out traipsing around? I am beginning
to wonder if it their very first stage of driver's training. It is reminding me of my first driving
trials out in the fields and on the backroads of Ohio. From there I graduated to silently rolling
the family car down our dead end street while my parents lay comatose in their
bed. Onward I sped with the family dog
on illicit errands of speed and early wanderlust. I am beginning to wonder if I should hide my keys at night and
check my odometer. Do you think that my
dogs are sneaking the car out when I am tucked away in my bed? I know that it couldn't be my teenager
because she, luckily for her, has her own car.
What is your opinion on this matter?
It being Sunday morning and
considering that I am extremely allergic to the Sunday morning radio services
of blasphemy, you know, those gospel
stations that all seem to have the same production staff. Anyway, in my esteemed opinion and infinite
wisdom, I put Brother Lou Reed on the CD player, crank up the volume, turn up
the heater, open up the windows and spread the word as I drive into Chaco
Canyon on what is a very chilly Sunday morning. My good deed for the day.
Hopefully, this will balance
out my bad deed for this morning. I
inadvertently left my frozen water containers for my ice chest in the motel
room after I had checked out. I was
going to just let the whole thing slide, but since I was dawdling around town
and ended up passing right by the motel, I decided to stop back in. Well, the office door was locked so I had to
ring the buzzer. It was probably around
8ish by then, maybe a little earlier.
This poor man staggers to the front. His hair is a jumble, his clothes
are disheveled and he is rubbing the sleep from his eyes. I explain that I need to get back into my
room, having left my only key in the room.
I tell him that I am in room 121 and he gives me the key. As I walk to the door of the room, I realize
that I was not in room 121 but room 105.
Room 21 had been my last room number and to further complicate matters
in my mind, I had fixated on your impression that I was in room 121 as opposed
to 21. Anyway, I had to go back to the
office and ring the bell again. He
staggered out a little faster this time though he was much less friendly. I explained that I had remembered the room
number incorrectly and he then asked for my name. I managed to remember that and upon so doing, he threw the key to
room 105 at me, right through the little transaction hole in the glass. I assured him that I wouldn't be troubling
him again. Believe me, there was no way
that I was going to get him out of bed again.
This was not a good thing to do to someone on a Sunday morning. So on I went, ice safely within the ice
chest, cooling my film.
Did you know that the Chaco Chipmunks
are a ferocious breed?
They traded
their tom toms and other percussive instruments for the favored gangster era
percussive sound of the Tommy gun.
Uncertain as to the outcome. No one has managed to survive an
encounter.
More on them later.
And why do squirrels always
seem to die on their backs with their hands clasped together? It brings to mind my nightly childhood
prayer: Now I lay me down to sleep. If
I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.
I arrived at Chaco, a place
that has held my attention more than once.
I found a few new things that I hadn't seen, but a sense of cliché was
overwhelming me. I knew exactly what
picture I wanted to take, not because I saw it in front of me, but because I
had taken it before. I believe that it
was Man Ray who said "To create is divine, to reproduce is
human." I was suddenly aware that
I was at my saturation point. The place
where I either give my eyes a couple of days off or I go on home. To continue in this state will only produce
the most pedestrian of images. Pictures
without a soul. I had intended to go
on. There were a few other destinations
that were calling my name. But what
with the impending holidays and my desire to protect my film that I had spent
days shooting, I headed home with the sun at my back. On my way back to the main road I had a most significant
encounter. Along the road, to my left
there was a traveling whirl of dust, a wild oryx or deer or some other animal
in an all out run along the ridge that paralleled the road. Being curious and cautious, I slowed down so
as not to run into the creature. As I
slowed down, I realized that the creature that was creating all of this hullabaloo
was a tire biter. Some resident canine
that has a vast territorial longing. He
took my reduction of speed as an indicator of my desire for hostile engagement
and proceeded to divert his course directly to my tires. I had placed him in further harm's way by
not allowing his efforts to prod me into a speedy retreat. Laughing and driving ever so carefully, I
managed to escape without him meeting the same end as poor, sweet Thumper.
I drove
back through the iron red hills of New Mexico and passed through Albuquerque
just after sunset. As I climbed the
hills out of town and headed back down Interstate 40 eastward, the red tail
lights before me shone like glowing red rivulets of mercury drawn along
parallel tracks.
I decided
on dropping in the back way via Highway 285 to avoid pursuit by the bandits
that I have encountered in the past on the Interstate 10 through El Paso. The highway had been significantly improved
since my last trip this way. For the
most part it was a wonderfully new divided highway. Always a plus when traveling at night through pitch black
country. I wanted to peel the roof off
of my car so that I could look at the stars as I drove. I witnessed an incredible shooting
star. Its trajectory paralleled the
earth for what seemed to be an eternity before it finally dropped downward into
the pull of gravity.
In
starlight darkness I drove through the small towns that dot the landscape of
New Mexico. I passed by the Zuni Motel
of Roswell, flashing neon light. I
thought of the sand dunes that still captured my mind and eye. Some of them are
moving twenty-five feet a year. They
must have been shifting under my feet.
And I wonder again, why do I want what I cannot have? Truly and irrevocably mine - I am. How will this all shift out? Hello goodbye, a lifetime suddenly seems
like a very short span of forever. Is
there any more?
December 15
Artesia, New Mexico. The final
resting place.
I am unable to have email
here. A minor phone complication. I stopped before I got too tired. This is by far the worst place that I have
stayed in. It shall remain nameless, even to you. My attraction to neon signage has finally failed me. The water stinks of rotten eggs because it
is full of sulfur and the sinks, tub and toilet are stained a yellowish
brown. I slept for a few hours and am
heading back on the road. The road
home, the road that goes back to where it is that I come from these days. The road that will end in Austin for this
journey anyway.
I seem to be in luck. All of the bad weather that I have been hearing
about has passed. The skies are clear and everything looks remarkably
monotone. Colors are pale and blend
into the pale blue sky. I see what
looks like an accident up ahead in the center divider. A plume of dust that signifies a car out of
control that has run off of the road.
Luckily, it turns out to be someone mowing the median. Again, I pass someone else mowing the
median. Not too long after this, on the
right hand side of the road, just over a small rise in a hill there is a much
more diminutive puff of dust, debris scattered everywhere and a car with a
smashed in roof that is resting on all four wheels. A rollover. The motor
home driving in front of me was the first to pull over. In the seconds it took for me to decide that
this was an actual accident, I was further removed from the scene. The residual fear of accidents past forced
me further away until conscience made me exit to find an access road and work
my way back to the scene. I managed to
find some state highway workers shooting the breeze in their pickup. I walked up carefully, afraid of scaring
someone into blowing me away as they sat it the middle of nowhere, hidden from
everyone. I informed them of the
accident and they spun out of there, gravel flying and hazard lights blipping. With no further abilities to add to the
overall scene that now had at least five other sets of vehicle occupants careening
to the rescue, I continued on my way.
I stopped
at a rest stop and walked into the bathroom.
I was completely unprepared for the brutality that was unleashed
within. A mother and a two year old
child were sharing the same bathroom stall.
Generations of lightly veiled rage, anger and abuse were piling up for a
torrential downpour onto the head of this, the next generation. With barbs of
suppressed hatred piercing every word she hissed, "Could you at least be
nice to me since today is my birthday?" In stockinged feet, the child stood
in silence. Patent leather shoes safely
in the window of the car, out of harms way.
Uprooted.
The miles are vanishing beneath my wheels so slowly
that I fear I will have to walk the rest of the way home. Leaving passed so quickly. Returning and all of the desire that entails
make this a very tedious journey indeed. I will be there soon and shall sort
things out and witness the beauty and the vision of this journey as it was
captured on my film. 
