The Skeeter Daddle Diaries

Must be Day 5, maybe 6. Hell, it might be same day as yesterday. We hit Las Cruces and headed north into the White Sands missile testing grounds, a vast stretch of wasteland the government is more than welcome to despoil any way it wants. Although … we did stop at White Sands National Monument to hike in the backcountry, an eerie undulating dunescape of blisteringly white fine sand, an immaculate Sahara with mountains in the distance where you trek across trail-less miles. It was sunny and it was warm. Okay, it was 57 degrees, but hey, a shirt was all we needed. Compared to eskimo parkas the first part of this trip.

A few hours later and we’re up in the mountains, Ruicondo, a ski village that needs no further description other than it sprawls everywhere, starts down at the highway with the usual motels, casinos and gas stations, then expands upward in all directions, covering Sierra Blanca with more lodging, restaurants, golf courses, ski shops, gear rental, galleries, yoga classes, aromatherapy salons, just about anything an upscale skier might want, like some spreading virus escaped from a bio-real estate office.

After a dinner at a Chinese joint (don’t ask) we’re back now in the fabulous Ruicondo Mountain Inn, apparently party central for the young crowd going to the casino to hear the legendary country folks singer … whose name not only eludes me, but rung no bells of recognition when I saw it on the casino electronic billboard.

Thought I’d try the hotel computer. Which was turned off but the nice night manager flipped a switch hidden in a lower cabinet and I attempted to log on. Only to get a message that this version of Windows 7 was an illegal copy and did I want to purchase a legitimate one? Now, this hotel isn’t the Hilton but it’s not Motel 5 and a half either. You might expect them to purchase Windows 10 and possibly a monitor not made by Mattell. Then again, judging by the icons loaded onto the screen, this was probably a thrift store purchase. Like I said earlier — and my nice night manager reiterated — nobody uses these contraptions anymore, not with personal devices everyone but me carries.

Message received. But trust me, none were outgoing.

We seem to have slowed down and come to a total STOP if not a complete rest. Just woke up and decided to stay here in Truth or Consequences another day, hike around the lakes, see what is what while the sun is shining and the days a bit warmer. The future forecast isn’t great. Texas was a fantasy. Last night we considered Arizona, maybe Tucson, but nothing looked warmer. We can’t escape the weather and that is the final Verdict.

Outside Albuquerque and Santa Fe the land looks scorched, mostly a sea of sagebrush and creosote bush with some scattered, stunted juniper and the occasional small bare tree with vicious spikes an inch or two long. The wind holds dominion under what must be an implacable sun in the summer. It’s a hostile land, nearly waterless. The Rio Grande we’ve followed since the gorge by Taos is nearly empty, wallowing to mud and Creekside grass, a small ribbon of life. Here in Truthy Consequence they’ve dammed it, created marinas and tourism, power and electricity, maybe the CCC thought a future Las Vegas, maybe they just liked dams back then, bring the desert to fruitfulness, some quasi-Biblical calling.

The inhabitants here seem poor, scratching out a hard scrabble existence. New Mexico, Land of Not So Enchanted Single Wides cooled by swamp coolers and air conditioners powered by mighty turbines. Fruitful, not so much. Thorny, more than likely.

An old buddy from the South End moved down to these rutted wastelands of America to escape the grief of another wife dying, to escape humanity itself, and holed up in his small motorhome in a failing RV park with his 10 cats and a hermit’s pessimism. In America you can find a place somewhere any lost soul can call Home, just drive long enough and far enough, it’ll find you.