Smoke Gets In Your Eyes

Shiprock

Who would’ve thought you could go to Cuba to partake of New Mexican food? OK, that is Cuba, New Mexico, which I never did find out the correct pronunciation of. If it was Spanish influenced, it would be more like “Koo-ba” as opposed to how us Gringos might pronounce Cuba. Regardless, this was our first encounter with New Mexican cooking, at a surprisingly pleasant restaurant dubbed El Bruno. We had done the typical long haul, starting out at the Monument Valley, and had crossed from Arizona into New Mexico. We drove a bit out of the way, taking the highway about four miles south of Shiprock, so Andrea could get a close-up view of the legendary rock itself, made special mostly because it rises in solitary dignity above the surrounding high plains, instead of being part of a massif as one might see in Capitol Reef. Along the way we passed through Farmington, which clearly demarcated the differences between Arizona (and the Navajo Nation,) and New Mexico. The big retail push there seemed to involve the word “Adult,” and I realized that liquor laws in the state mimicked those of California, meaning that hard booze could be found just about anywhere, including Walgreen’s, quick-stop convenience stores, you name it. The economic engine is energy, with active pumps and wells in the formations around the city. The Chama River provides a bit of redemptive greenery, but mostly it’s a barren, plantless series of rolling folds in the land (see Andrea’s post about plants and the Navajo. Maybe they like it this way. Go figure.)

All this driving eventually brought us to Cuba, NM, and El Bruno. Our friend Elinor had alerted us to the fact that multiple fires were burning in New Mexico, and that perhaps we should apprise ourselves of the possible consequences to our travel plans. This proved to be prescient, as the fire in the Los Alamos area had completely closed our original path of travel through the Valle Grande (Valle Caldera,) crossing the amazing, huge meadow left by a massive blowout some tens of thousands of years ago. You can follow the saga of this area right here if you’re that kind of person: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Valles_Caldera

Smoke in Abiquiu Obliterates the Daylight

At any rate, thanks to the Las Conchas fire in the area, plans needed to be changed. Forest Service firefighters were coming and going from El Bruno, and let us know that our alternative route, via Abiquiu on New Mexico Route 96, was open, although all activities south of the highway (like camping, hunting, fishing) were shut down and prohibited. That didn’t affect us, although I am sure that hundreds if not thousands of intrepid campers and fisherpeople were devastated. So we headed north and then east to Abiquiu, passing the impressive and massive Abiquiu Dam and its resultant and eponymous lake, continuing to the town. We passed scenes along the Chama River that seemed familiar; of course! They were the inspirations for numerous Georgia O’Keefe compositions. In town the smoke trail of the fire descended upon us, turning the sky dark and ominous, and filling our nostrils and lungs with the smell of burning brush and wood. After a brief visit to Boyd’s general store, we pushed on, and after a short while outran the miasma of smoke. Daylight returned, and the air slowly cleared.

Pole-ish Car Washing Technique

Santa Fe has been a brief respite from our relentless push forward. It is hard to believe that the U.S. of A is so damn immense that even 32 days (with of course a few stops to enjoy the company of friends and family) is barely adequate to go back and forth. At least here we can compare the virtues of red and green chile sauces in multiple settings, until, upon dawning, we choose again to take to the highways and byways. And we can watch the battle against the fire from a respectable distance. I have taken this occasion to give the Versa what I call a Polish (as in the country) car wash, or what Andrea calls a whore’s bath. This consists of waiting until it starts to rain, and then running outside (in my bare feet) with the rain falling and thunder clapping, with a yellow microfiber rag, and wiping down the car, letting the rain do the rinse. Aside from being ecologically sound, this is also insane, and I am sure provided rich entertainment for any observers in our motel community. I also reached inside the door wells and trunk lids and cleaned away all signs of red rock dust, in case Mr. Hertz takes issue with our usage of his machinery at a later date. Tomorrow is all about a long haul across interstate highways, with two possible entertainments on the way: the Cadillac Ranch (tail-finned Cadillacs buried nose down in the Earth,) and the Country Barn in Amarillo, a meat place that serves unique steaks and burgers from a lean, South African breed of cattle that one family introduced in the area a while ago. Go figure. I will report in on this carnivore exercise, maybe as soon as tomorrow eve.

One humorous vignette from the local news last night: the Governor of New Mexico held a press conference, and said that if you watched the national news you would have the impression that the entire state of New Mexico was on fire, which he strongly denied. Y'all just c'mon down to our fine state and spend those tourist dollars. Then the news station in Albuquerque followed up with a map showing that there were about a dozen fires burning all over the state, most poorly controlled and geting larger by the day. I suppose you could let your eyes be the guide.