New Mexico and to the 'Coast' and back. Winter 1999 trip, Part 6.

Jan. 26, 1999 - Today was the start of a two-day road trip that would take us around southwestern New Mexico.

We drove north into the Gila Wilderness to Lake Roberts and down the Mimbres Valley. Instead of closing the loop back to Silver we drove eastward up into the Black Range on a winding two-lane highway that appeared to be an old WPA project.

Higher we climbed, the forests of Ponderosa slowly replaced by firs as we reached Emory Pass.

At over 8200 feet Emory Pass was the highest point in my trip. Looking eastward one could gaze down from the Black Range to the Rio Grande valley and over to the Caballo Mountains on the other side of the valley some thirty miles away.

The pass was also the windiest part of my trip as well. I ditched my hat for fear it would blow off and sail down to the descending slope of trees below. We took a few snapshots and down we went eastward, plunging almost 3000 feet to the little town of Hillsboro that shared a little valley with apple orchards. We stopped there and walked about the two-block stretch of highway flanked with a few shops, a bar, a restaurant, and a hotel. We grabbed a beer at the bar and made some chitchat with the barkeep and made our adieus.

Continuing east would have put us near Truth or Consequences. We opted to head south and hit the highway to Hatch. Hatch—in the predominant chile growing region in the state—wasn't much to look at, nor could we find a bar. So we continued on to Las Cruces.

Las Cruces turned out to be even more disappointing. For a city of 70,000 that sported a state university we could find nothing for a campus town business district and practically nil for imbibery.

We settled upon a small Indian owned motel in the center of town and walked over to a bar we spotted.

The bar sported a walk-up liquor store. A year back this was a drive-up outlet, but then the New Mexico legislature passed a law banning drive-up liquor sales. So to skirt this technicality people would park in the lot, walk up to the window, buy their booze, and get back into the car and drive off. From what I'd seen here, and later in Deming, I'd say the law change hadn't fazed liquor sales much.

The crowd was a pleasant mix of cultures, ages, hues, and tongues. Pretty much working class with dirt poor to boot. We drank our beers and ordered more. On one of my piss breaks I surmised somebody making deals in the john, for drugs I don't know. Ain't my business. On another piss break I passed by a table where a couple of middle aged black women were seated. I made small conversation with one while the other lost herself to dancing with the jukebox.

On my return from the pisser I was asked matter-of-factly if I could buy them a couple of beers. I liked the attitude and obliged the request. Not a minute had passed when the woman I had conversed with spilled her bottle of beer. And lo, she did ask me for a replacement. Couldn't argue about that and so I bought her another. If the events of this interaction would have finished with that I would have had more fond memories of the place.

My beer-spilling friend moseyed up to the bar and struck up further conversation with me. She lamented over the recent loss of a granddaughter and the problems she was having and I consoled her and kept her gears oiled with more beer.

The 'dancing queen' had sidled up to Raul and asked him for a beer. He obliged, drank his beer, then indicated to me that we should leave. At this point I knew I was being fed a tearjerker, since the circumstances of her story kept mutating with each cigarette she lit. I parted from her as gentlemanly as possible, but it cost me a fiver when she asked for some dough to keep her going, and out the door we went.

I don't mind being plied for drinks. I just don't like being pegged for a sucker. And yes I was a sucker. But I only sucketh so much.

Jan. 27 - We drove south of Las Cruces hugging the Rio Grande. We skirted into a little sliver of Texas long enough to get directions and wolf down a very tasty breakfast. Eggs, tortillas, and green chiles. You don't get much better. And taters to boot!

We drove through the desert borderlands west of El Paso over to the border crossing at Palomas where we made a brief stop to score antibiotics and tortillas. We continued on westward on gravel through some gorgeous desert landscapes with the mountains of the New Mexican bootheel off to the west and views of even greater peaks far south in Mexico.

We turned northward onto a ranch road that took us up to near Deming. We got back on the main highway south of town and drove over to Rockhound State Park.

Rockhound sits on the western slopes of the Little Floridas. An RV park sits at the bottom of the slopes and rock collectors can scrounge about looking for geodes. Raul and I hiked along the slopes looking at the desert flora and the mountains above and Deming below.

We retired to Deming, found a hotel and fixed up some grub rolled in the tortillas we bought south of the border. ¡Muy bueno! After that we wandered over to a country bar for a few beers than back to the motel to watch a Muddy Waters tribute on public television.

Jan. 28 - Raul fixed up some breakfast then went back to Silver while I killed time loafing around town. After sunset I made my way to the depot not before scoring a couple of cheeseburgers at Burger King and a homeless dude scored a couple of bucks from me as I left the aforementioned fast-food joint.

The depot was out in the middle of a rail yard accessible only through a poorly lit, rundown neighborhood. Negotiating the darkness with my luggage in tow I made it to the depot, which was not Amtrak's but Union Pacific's. Several freights came through from the opposite direction, which was a pleasant distraction from the wait, but finally the train came and I boarded. Bolstered by the burgers I opted not to choke down dinner but instead retired to bed.

The moon was full that night and I recall how lovely the desert looked in the moonlight. It reminded me of snow. Outlines of inky black mountains were quite visible in the moonlit sky. I slept well.

Jan. 29 - Breakfast was not scheduled to be served this morning, but since the train was late we got fed anyway. Once again Amtrak didn't disappoint with the most important meal of the day, but once again my tablemates were upper class types who could do nothing but lament over their connection times. Since I had a ten-hour wait in Los Angeles, I didn't give a fuck.

Upon arrival into L.A. we were hustled off and down the long corridor that led to Union Station. I was quite impressed with the Mission-style architecture, and with the great open space of the main waiting area. In Chicago the old waiting area was even more immense but no longer the heart of the station. The L.A. station was quite the opposite. It was alive with activity.

I wandered out the front entrance and across the street to the old Spanish district. It was barely mid-morning and things weren’t bustling yet so I continued on my trek down to the grimier stretches of downtown L.A. In my walkabout I had gone about three quarters of a mile then went over a few blocks and came back towards the station. It was then when I stumbled upon the Grand Central Market.

Dozens of vendors peddled under the glow of neon, fluorescent and incandescent. Fruits, meats, spices, even booze. The cooking smells of a half-dozen different cultures filled the air. I relished it.

I got a little something to eat and ventured out the back and spotted a trolley station for a very unique train.

Angels Flight is an inclined rail that went up a bluff connecting this part of downtown to the financial district. The line consisted of two trolleys, interconnected, one coming up when the other came down. At the bottom you went through a turnstile, climbed the stairs inside the trolley, took a seat, and up you went. The operator worked out of a building at the top and you paid when you got off. And the whole thing worked in reverse the way down.

I got a kick out of it and rode it up and down a few times, and took some snapshots in and out of the trolley.

I moseyed back to the station and moped around there the rest of the day until it was time to leave.

My table companions for dinner aboard the Chief were a dramatic improvement over the travel snobs I’d been stuck with earlier. They were a married couple and he was a retired rail worker, possibly Amtrak, it’s hard to remember. We talked about all the good things of traveling by rail, no quibbling here over lateness and lost connections.

The dinner itself was a pleasant upswing from the retching horror of the vegetarian wrap. I had salad, a cheesy vegetable lasagna, and cheesecake sans berries. I was game for a glass of wine but stuck to tea when I found out the vino would be extra.

Jan. 30 - I ate breakfast coming into Flagstaff. Afterward I walked the train. I was in one of the coach cars and was exploring the lower level. Always one coach car in the consist will have a smoking lounge while other cars will have a small seating area for the handicapped and infirmed. I was in one of these cars.

I peered in and quickly bolted up the stairs when I recognized Gina the traveler from hell (actually New York, but that comes close) and her poor mother sitting in the front row. I didn’t want to be a spectator for that sideshow, again.

We picked up a guide who gave us a verbal tour of the Navajo lands in which through we traveled. There were some pretty awesome red rock bluffs and lava flows along this portion of the journey.

The train pulled into Albuquerque passing by the empty remnants of the great rail works of the Santa Fe, hinting back to the days when rail was king. As the train stopped I made a beeline to the burrito stand and scored some tasty grub.

Leaving Albuquerque the train was on time as it had been ever since departing Los Angeles. We were delayed at Apache Canyon waiting for the westbound train to come through. After that we continued onward into dusk at Raton. I watched a cheesy Leslie Nielsen movie in the lounge and retired early.

Jan. 31 - I woke up occasionally through the night, once in Dodge City and once going through Henderson. Before Lawrence I got up for good and tried out the shower facilities. The shower was small and the output was limited, not to mention to motion of the car. But I got out of it clean and ready to see old friends in Kansas City.

We pulled into K.C. a tad early and I awaited the arrival of my old gurus, Paul & Tami. I hadn’t seen them in ages so I was feeling awkward, but the re-acquaintance appeared to go smooth. Paul had done well for himself in his profession and they had a big brand new home out in the immaculately groomed suburb of Overland Park.

After a siesta, Paul—like a kid with a new toy—showed off the data wiring of the house and fiddled around with the DVD player. He had a DVD of Contact and we watched all the various permutations of the movie, in different languages, and with voice-over tracks of tech heads and Jodie Foster describing the scenes.

Paul and I worked on some Johnnie Walker Red, Tami and I watched the Super Bowl while Paul worked on the computer, and dinner was veggie burritos. Quite a relaxed day.

Feb. 1 - I am awakened in the wee hours to hitch a ride with Paul into town, where I take the bus home and he takes the plane to work.

And that was the trip.