Southwestern Trek 1.0

"Where a man first puts his feet will be his home forever"
Indian Proverb

Got back from Santa Fe the other day. It was a great trip, not necessarily financially the most rewarding ever, but definitely adequate in this time of economic contraction. And spiritually, emotionally, and physically quite rejuvenating. I had qualms about going on the heels of my heart attack but in reality I was just tilting at windmills and all was cool.

There is something about driving the open road in the southwest that clears my head. Put me in Hawaii for a couple weeks and I go dingy driving around and around the volcanic rock, but give me the southwest and an infinite horizon line and I am at peace. Once drove practically all the way back from Chaco Canyon on back dirt roads.

I left early morning, first of July, in a rented cargo van. I usually use a small box truck, but some porn company had evidently taken it to Las Vegas and never returned it. Would have to get the kooties out anyway. I rented a bigger truck but the seat wouldn't go back, my chin practically rested on the steering wheel and I knew that after 30 hours in it I would end up in traction so I settled on the van which turned out to be fine.

I gassed up for the first time near Barstow and the partial fill cost me eighty five bucks. That didn't hurt nearly as much as having to drive by Tommy's Burgers, my old chiliburger stop, since I have sworn off red meat post infarction. When you get into the Mojave it can be kind of bleak, maybe a good place to hideout and write a novel but not to necessarily make your full time residence. Saw some cool deconstructing signs and buildings to photograph on route 66 but by the time I figured it out I was past the exit and down the road. Maybe I can take the slow route when I go back next month. After 50 years I have finally figured out that wearing sunglasses not only cuts down on glare but you don't get as tired. I'm a slow learner, what can I say?

Drove through Amboy, Ludlow, Needles all the hit faves and then Seligman, Williams, through Flag, Winslow and the last gasp to Holbrook. Found a cheap hotel where I could watch the van at night but since I didn't have a weapon with me,if it had been stolen, would have just waved goodbye as it disappeared in the distance. Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't. Leslie had told me to buy another club for the steering wheel ( have about 5 others with lost keys) so I stopped at a Walmart in Navajo Land. Love going there feels like a foreign land, large squat women, long haired hubbies, all linking up to modern western convenience. I saw some real serious tattooed gangster thugs in the parking lot as well, which is also not totally unusual.

When I was young and handsome and cruising through the reservation, it was easy to resonate with the native girls but I am afraid that my 50's paunch has lost its aphrodisiac powers and charm. Stayed up half the night playing my old guitar on the bed.

Usually stop at Flying J or Petro. I wonder if other men have the same weird prescient feeling that they will open a toilet stall and just know there will be piss on the seat or worse? At times I just cant take it and will drive another hour out of pure disgust. The cashiers at these truckstops are their own breed - I could go on for an hour about the stereotype. Exit 9 to Parker, the hard bitten lady was sporting an awful shiner but for once I thought it inappropriate to pry with small talk.

My buddy Kerry told me to eat at an italian joint in Holbrook, and true to form, it sucked. Never, I mean never accept culinary advice from Kerry Vernon Johnson! I ate too much of the crappy bread, then felt guilty. Half of the tasteless salad. Off red meat for about one month. I have had a lot of people giving my unasked for diet advice lately and I would like to suggest publicly that you all kiss my ass. And I really enjoy it immensely when you put your hand on my stomach like you can hear the baby's heartbeat.

I left early the next day for Santa Fe - about a 5 hour drive. Pass the locales of Iyanbito, Querino, Coolidge, Twin Arrows, Dead River. This is where the trip gets really gorgeous. Also where I felt glad to be alone. Several people graciously offered to drive out with me but I really enjoy my solitude on the drive through the numerous buttes and washes.

The show was a blur and true to form. Located at the Museo at the Railyard, I watched my compatriots, some friends for the last 15 years or so, all show up and pile in like an old gypsy caravan or Dead concert. We go out to eat and tell some lies and drink good red wine. Made a bunch of small sale.

Lots of regular customers passed up the show this year- maybe because it started on the fourth and maybe because they didn't want to be tempted in this economy. I played it smart with a lot of cheaper items that sold early on opening night, a rarity for me. Bought some cool posters of Aretha and James Brown circa 1965 that had been found in a closet in San Antonio and that I am thinking of keeping.

I moved to New Mexico in 1963. My stepfather worked at White Sands Missile Base for 5 years. I was lucky. One of my greatest memories was the Gallup Ceremonial Pow Wow. Watched a blind Navajo Sandpainter in the middle of a mandala he constructed with perfect razor sharp lines. New Mexico was really different in those days. Gallup was largely unpaved. I will never forget seeing hundreds of people jump the freights that rolled through town at the same time. Dangling off the cars - some falling. some drunk. The trains would stretch forever and you could wait an eternity for one to pass by.


I remember glimpses of my stepfather saving a young man from a burning car one early morning while we were traveling a lonely road on the way to Alamogordo. Like a doors song. In those days, there were adobe ruins everywhere - time and entropy have reduced them to memory.

Read a great book on the trip - Ace in the Hole by Annie Proulx. As a chauvinist male, don't read a lot of women writers but she is outstanding. About Hog Farms in the panhandle. Enjoyed the fireworks from afar, the fourth of July is always my favorite day of the year. Got up every morning and walked to the La Fonda Hotel to get a bite and a New York Times. Ate trout every morning, something I always do there - along with a heaping dose of green chile! Stayed away from the sopapillas.

My wonderful partner Leslie flew in to help me with the show and the drive back. She is loved by all and it was nice to be with her. Weather was cooler than California with nice breezes and an occasional afternoon monsoon. Big gorgeous clouds like what we never get...

We rolled home pretty casually, stopping in one of my favorite towns, Flagstaff to walk around and shop for a couple hours. Learned that a Hopi Carver we used to know a little bit, Wallace, had just died.

Anyhow, that's my trip diary - good to be home a little richer, a little happier and going back in three weeks to do it all over again.

Vaya Con Dios,

Robert