Leaving the Gila, New Mexico

9/23/09 Wednesday
Though it got pretty cold last night, I stayed warm in the confines of my trailer. I curled up inside both sleeping bags. I’d had some sort of visitor during the night. I know that there were no more campground neighbors. I was sure this was an animal looking for food. It made a scurrying, scraping noise on the roof. It was poking around the water containers I kept up there. If there were any seeds that had dropped from the trees, it’s possible he was poking around those. He returned a couple of times during the night, and I heard the same sounds, but I never really figured out who he was. It was after dawn when I woke. It wasn’t late, but it was later than I usually woke. I’d made the curtains and hung them in the windows yesterday. I think that the early morning light that usually woke me didn’t get in until the sun had actually risen over the ridge. The curtains provided a little privacy, and kept the trailer a bit darker. I was thankful that my evening visitor wasn’t able to peep inside either.

Today marked 1 week I’d been at the same tent site at the Upper Gallinas campground in the Gila Wilderness. It was still early when I heard Ken’s bike go by. It was that low idling sound of a Japanese motorcycle, a Suzuki, quiet and well muffled. That was all I really needed to start thinking about heading down the road again and finding a new campground, or maybe another state to camp in. It had been a nice stay in New Mexico, but this really was turning into more of an extended visit, and if Ken was back to see if “his” campsite was available, I wondered to myself if it really wasn’t time to turn it over. I'd heard the bike pass by once, but not return. I started packing, loading the truck and the trailer in preparation for getting the motorcycle inside. I decided that the last thing to pack into the truck would be my guitar. I made a point of sitting down on the picnic table, with the truck fully packed, and playing one song. I'd gotten very familiar with a song written in long ago called, "Home Sweet Home". This wouldn’t be the last time I played that tune just before I pulled out of a campsite. I enjoy that sense of feeling at home. I had that feeling after getting settled into a campsite for a couple of nights. The feeling of being transient, or temporary goes away. There’s a feeling of order and properness. I feel connected, domestic. Also, loading up your things in preparation for travel can be exciting, it’s a closure to the present location, and I get a sense of transition, but if you’ve never gotten to stay long enough at one place so that you feel at home, then you don’t get the feeling of excitement about moving on. Dominant is the tedium and frustration of having to load up again way too soon. I had that feeling more than once.

As I pulled out of the campground, my mind drifted to the best direction to take. Was I to head North, South, East or West? With cold weather to the North and West, and with the lure of warmer temperatures in Arkansas, by process of elimination I decided to head East. I’d take my time given the 3 weeks before I was due to arrive in Connecticut for the high school reunion. But I didn’t know exactly how. Temperatures in Colorado were unusually low, as were temps in California, Oregon, and Washington. I had an old riding chum who’d just arrived in Nevada, and it occurred to me that I could head that way, but temperatures were also way too low there. So off to the East I went. New Mexico would be as far West as I would travel on my road trip. I knew that the higher mountains would only tax my towing situation pulling Ellie Mae along, and the cooler temps would tax my thin Florida blood, so I accepted the situation as it was and headed out of the mountains and down into Silver City. After replenishing supplies of food and water in Silver City, and taking a moment to prepare for travel, I had to turn around and came back by the camp to get back to I-25 and the trip North by Albuquerque to I 40.

On the trip north on I 25, I stopped at a small fuel and RV grocery store. I entered the store and began answering his questions about Ellie Mae. I told him the story about she having begun life as a tool shed, and about my having removed her doors and tipped over onto the trailer, how she'd been a perfect fit and simply needed to bolted down. He offered some help about how to avoid the traffic in Albuquerque to the north. He said that I should be sure to gas up at every opportunity. There would be no fuel on the back roads. When I got to the exit the grocery store owner suggested, though I’d passed several service stations along I 25, I found no gas at the exit. Obviously this was what the shop owner had in mind. Though I became frightened momentarily, I did my arithmetic and felt somewhat confident that I’d get at least to I 40 before running out. I'm sure if I'd taken his suggestion and gassed up at the earlier exits I would have avoided the issue. As it turned out, there was gas available on the way to I 40. I stopped for dinner and chatted with a waitress at a local restaurant. She told me about living in remote areas. I was in the New Mexico desert some 75 miles South of I 40 and 150 miles East of I 25. It was indeed desolate. The town had 2 service stations, 3 restaurants, and the one flashing yellow light. There was nothing but desert in 3 directions and mountains to the East. The mountains rose steeply in the distance. Several pictures are shown above. The waitress said that she went to once a month to shop for meats. She said she liked the remoteness. She’s bought property years ago for very cheap, and had realized large gains as she sold off portions of it. She’d lost most of her earnings, and had started a second family later in life, but enjoyed working the late shift at the restaurant. This was actually the restaurant that she owned at one time.