The first planned stop of the day made me do it. Yep, I took an interstate. This was the only way, well probably not, that I could get to the Cadillac Ranch. The Ranch is an area landmark located just west of Amarillo, where someone stuck a fleet of Caddies, nose first, into the ground, in a middle of an open field. They all stand there, with their tails up in this air, angled East. This is a pilgrimage area of sorts. As I approched the spot, just before I turned left since it is on the south side of the interstate, I spotted the old sign that reads: Bates Motel, and has some words about taxidermy. I parked by the open gate that lets pretty much anybody wander in, and immediatelly saw the hundreds of spray paint cans that litter the site. People who visit here often do so with the idea of leaving their tag behind. I was their with a similar idea in mind, excpet for me, it was to leave one of the orange flags there too.It took some time to walk around and take photos, before finally selecting a spot, tying the orange flag of freedom the the rear axle of one of the old Cadillacs, watching it wave in the wind. I was then struck by the thought that maybe some of those cans may have paint in them, and sure enough, I soon found one with blue that was pretty full. Finding a spot on one of the cars the had almost nothing on it, I sprayed it with N4S. I almost immediatelly let go of the can, as if it had been some sort of weapon I had just used to commit a crime. I smiled. Yep, at 52 I had executed my first tag.
From here on it was just a short distance West on the feeder road, until I veered North and started my long journey across the Texas panhandle. Unlike the usual flatness, I was surrounded by a landscape of bleach blond fields, which led me into Dumas and eventually to the border crossing between the Republic of Texas and the state of New Mexico at Texline.
I started travelling towards the Northern part of New Mexico, eventually hitting Cimarron. From there the roads and landscape became some of the best I have seen. The road between Cimarron and Eagle Lake was of visual symphony of connifers in all shades of green and blue green. The leaves of the aspens shimered in the wind, producing a rain like sound, waiting a few more weeks before they are able to start dawning their capes of gold. From Eagles Nest, I turned left, towards Angel Fire, and from there North to Taos. The magic of the road the brooks that rune by its side has no comparisson. This was really a pleasure, especially when compared to a little bit less than a year ago, when snow and ice cought me off-guard when making the trip in the opposite direction.
In Taos I made a quick stop, only long enough to get gas, a cup of fair trade cappuccino, and to run into no other than Chuck Ronshausen, his wife and two of their friends. This was indeed quite an amazing coincidence, since Chuck is one of the elders of our church in Houston, City of Refuge. He is truly an amazing guy, and quite responsible for my joining this church. It was his warm welcoming hand, his quick smile, and honest caring that first showed me what a church community really should look like.
US 64 West took me out of Taos, and by the Rio Grande gorge. I stopped there, and approached the fence along the gorge. For some reason, for the first time since I started planting the flages, I felt moved to kneel down and say a prayer for the oppressed and the enslaved. After praying, I tied to flag to the fence and once again, saw the orange flame dance in the wind. I then moved towards the bridge, where an elderly couple inquired about the significance of the flag. They seemed to have been intrigued by seeing me pray. As I explained the purpose of the flags, which in my heart have now become prayer stations, they were moved by the story, and offered me their blessings. In return, I gave them a business card the has the NotForSale Campaign web address on it.
US 64 has to be one of the most beautiful roads in this area. It is indeed a pleasure for bikers to ride. With long and ondulating lazy curves, the road leads through forests and small towns. The sky started turning dark; a clear signal that it was time to get the rain suit out. Shortly thereafter, a light rain started coming down, but nothing really serious. Mr. GPS announced that I was getting closed to Heron Lake and directed me towards a turn in the road. What followed were, very likely a good set of instructions to take me to the state park. Good, except for the small fact that I would have had to go down steep dirt road, and, oh yes, cross the lake. Last I read, Jesus did walk on water, and while He rides with me, I do not think a fully loaded BeMWu, under my command, would have made the trip successfully. Mr. GPS and I had a long series of discussions, and while we argued, I went around the town of Los Ojos, with its beautiful church, but no Heron Lake in sight. After more arguments and counter arguments, we made it to the lake and the campsite, only to find out that two couples had pitched their tents on my reserved site. Their very logical argument, not, was that they had arrived the day before, and the site was empty. Fortunatelly, there were other sites, and after grinding my teeth, and biting my tongue I settled some place else.
While I was pitching my tent, rain fly and all, and strategizing how best to keep stuff dry, it occured to me that these people should pay it forward. I did something nice for them by not making them move, now they should make a donation to NotForSale. Out came the N4S business card, and up I went to their tent to explain to them the idea, and they took it nicely, promising to actually make a donation, and offering me a glass of Shiraz to boot. ‘Good idea Lord, if only I could bite my tongue more often’.
With that out of the way, I used the magic stove to prepare a Cajun Chicken REM. Pretty good I must say, except that it has like 200% of the daily allowance of sodium. Good thing my blood preassure is low. After that, I stepped down to the lake and touched the water, I poured some over my head and my arms, and the feeling was so extraordinary that the only word that came to me to describe it at that moment was baptismal.
With the sun going down, I settled into my bivouac, after using rocks and wood to secure the rain fly lines. The minute I was zipped in, the tap, tap of the rain began,