Month: November 2022 (Page 3 of 3)

Quick entry today. I hung around Carlsbad, working on music and other projects. Somehow, I had completely missed that the Pecos River flows through Carlsbad (in my defense, it’s on the outskirts of town), so I checked out the other side. There’s a tiny, picturesque riverwalk, with new stucco buildings and actual shady spots. I ordered breakfast from the rustic café in the complex. Not nearly as good as El Jimador. Too many napkins.

My day snuck by me, and before I knew it, it was time to leave town. I drove south, crossing the border into Texas and yawning incessantly. I don’t know why, but I’m beat. I’m camped for the night near the Guadalupe Mountains, which I will explore more thoroughly tomorrow.

I’ve seen some noteworthy caves on my trip so far. Mammoth Cave and the lava tubes were magnificently dark and isolating. Carlsbad Caverns is much more “cave-y”. This is where the stalactites and stalagmites live. It doesn’t have the primal, visceral feeling that the other caves do; it feels like an alien enclave under the Guadalupe Mountains. The extraterrestrial conspiracy grows!

I traipsed around the Big Room for a good chunk of the morning. All the tours sold out a month in advance, so instead of delving deeper, I returned to Carlsbad proper for some lunch. I have determined three key elements that indicate a Mexican restaurant of superlative quality:

1. Bad tables
2. Bad chairs
3. Very few napkins

Check all these boxes, and you will be rewarded with a stunning meal. My carne al pastor, served with chorizo-laced beans, was gone before I could take a picture. I ate more than I should. No regrets.

I spent the next couple hours in a post-meal haze, then drove back to the desert. I found a spot with no people and many cows, unseen but very much heard. My boondocking app says they might migrate over this way in the morning. I pulled out my saxophone and kept building my chops up. Slowly but surely, they’re coming back. Tonight I’ll play the Close Encounters tune and see what happens.

Last night, two stray cats skittered around the Walmart parking lot. I named them Brian and Setzer. There are a good number of street cats in Roswell—as many as there were stray dogs up in northern Montana. It was helpful to focus on them, as my stomach was pretty rough. I blame the suspect spinach I bought Thursday afternoon. I fell asleep around midnight and woke up at eleven this morning, feeling groggy but healthy.

I immediately put my stomach back to work at Amigos, which is my kind of restaurant. Absolutely terrible ambiance: foam-stuffed chairs, like you might put out for extra guests at dinner, and plain tables that would be at home in a school cafeteria. The food had to be good, and it was. The highlight was the chile relleno, which was expertly spiced and seasoned. I got more than I could eat for just ten dollars. The chips and salsa were scrumptious as well.

I considered staying longer in Roswell, but I sensed that the Extraterrestrial Museum would be a letdown. Roswell also smells like trash. It’s that specific trash smell that almost smells like a fast food restaurant. I decided to ease on down the road, but not before a couple of commercial close encounters.

Just an hour down the road, Carlsbad was comfortingly familiar. This may be the New Mexican Derry. I spent some time in the library, beginning the painstaking process of figuring out exactly which towns I’ve visited on my trip. Spoiler alert: there’s a lot. I wrote some more lyrics as well. Slowly but surely, these songs will get done.

As I drive south, I’m munching on baby carrots and my endless supply of bananas and listening to the new black midi record. If you like anarcho-jazz post-rock, this is the record for you. If that makes no sense to you, you won’t like it. 

I woke up in New Mexico to a considerable sprinkling of snow on my car. The storm would continue off and on throughout the day. This never happened in Breaking Bad. I slogged down the interstate, in order to avoid high altitudes, and wound up in Santa Fe. 

I had high hopes for this town. My first impression of Santa Fe was favorable; despite the commercial stretches, it’s more organic by far than the Colorado suburbs. I pulled into the Santa Fe Bite, recommended by both the Food Bible and the Food Network, and ordered a plate of enchilada. They were… disappointing. I struggled to understand how the restaurant was held in such high esteem. Further reading revealed that I should have ordered the Green Chile Burger, a ten-ounce patty heaped with toppings. At least the enchiladas were healthy and, judging by taste, sodium-free.

I was still buoyant, though, because I had a ticket for another Meow Wolf installation. The Santa Fe location is the original, and was sponsored by a local bigwig named George R. R. Martin. The House of Eternal Return, in many ways, shares the DNA of Denver’s Convergence Station. Both are wild, immersive spectacles; both have fascinating levels of detail; both occasionally spiral out of control and feel disjointed. 

I think where the Denver location succeeds, and this one struggles, is in the storytelling. Convergence Station tells a grand story through large visual strokes, like crashed vehicles and stadium-style video screens. I think The House of Eternal Return has a better plot, but it’s smaller in scale and focused on the absent inhabitants of the titular house. This means that most of the story is conveyed through journals, notes, newspapers, etc. I wanted to read every word of these, but couldn’t because other people were patiently waiting to do the same.  Everyone wanted the documents, and it turned much of my time into assembly-line, slightly rushed speed-reading. This made me fairly anxious. I eventually gave up and tried to take in the installation holistically, like I had in Denver. It just didn’t work as well.

I tried to rebound in a coffee shop, but it was loud and chaotic, and the coffee was also mediocre. I was disappointed by Santa Fe, and it was cold. I set off for warmer climates. Three long hours of driving fixed my mood and brought me to Roswell. I will try not to get abducted tonight. 

I’m back. Livi and I had a relaxing, low-key few days in Denver. She flew out on Wednesday, and I took the last couple days to retrace my steps into southern Colorado. I picked up my guitar and my absentee ballot at Sam’s (thanks again!) and immediately exercised my constitutional superpower. Make sure you do too!

I tried to write melodies for some of my new lyrics yesterday, but they weren’t especially inspired. I cranked out the gunk, did some focused listening to other records for inspiration, and came back to them today. Much better. It’s a wonder what a difference a single day can make.

The Bruins are currently in a dogfight with the Rangers. After the game, I’ll try to make my way into New Mexico before I park for the night, and I should be fully back into rhythm by tomorrow.