It seems it's always a 30 hour trip to New Zealand or back, no matter from where you leave or return. I stayed with niece Care and her husband Greg for a few days in Denver, then flew to El Paso, then took Amtrak to Deming. I'm very proud of Care and Greg as they build their lives together. I'll skip the details of Denver and getting to Deming. But one thing to mention, which I sort of already knew, was that the only way to get to the hotel from the train station was to walk four miles. The sidewalk was that bumpy asphalt so I couldn't slide my carry-on next to me. I channeled the backpacking trip and just did it. Unfortunately the wheels on the suitcase are shredded.
I had a fun reunion with the staff at the Quality Inn. The bartender told the folks at the bar how I had been composing music on the laptop, and the breakfast person hugged me as I said goodbye. I picked up the van and was on my way to White Sands National Park. It was a strange sensation being back in the van. I had forgotten some of my routines.
White Sands, outside of Las Cruces, is a unique area of gypsum, a result of runoff and buildup in the low valley. What I admired was the daily effort it must take to keep the dunes off the scenic drive. I'm sure it's magical at sunset and in the moonlight, but the glare was tough on the eyes. My glasses don't darken, so as I was walking, the white began looking red, and when I got back in the van and looked down, everything was lime green. I moved on.
Had a lunch with a friend of a friend, always a fun thing! Readers take note, let me know if you know someone where I'm headed!
I booked a campsite at Guadaloupe National Park, but didn't pay attention to the fact that it was entirely around the back side of the mountain range, so I followed the advice of the signs at Cornudas Cafe which said, “Last stop for 70 miles!” “Home cooked meals!”. What a fun, funky place.
Next day I arrived at Guadaloupe, did a hike to a spring, and kept going towards my campsite, another two hour drive. Before the turnoff, I passed Carlsbad Caverns and pulled in. I was in time and got a ticket! I chose the Natural Entrance instead of the elevators. The incline path down is the height of the Empire State Building. Huge. Epic. Cavernous… It's a UNESCO World Heritage site. The whole path is almost three miles. The “Big Room”, a test case in naming understatement, would fit the US Capitol Building, twice. It felt like a too-crowded art museum, where everywhere you looked were fantastical mineral creations. Little circles on the path were from drops that, if people didn't walk there every day, would be stalagmites in a thousand years. Speaking of the path, I was filled with awe at the engineering and effort it had taken for visitors to stroll safely through this wonderland.
On to Dog Canyon Campground. 60 miles down a country road, and there it was. Still, the tent sites were filled, and the RVs were on the way. The next day, on a nice long hike to Lost Peak, I thought about hiking.
Hiking is a bit like acting; you can't get too into your thoughts or your character or you'll trip. It's an exercise in divided attention. You can be enjoying the scene and the foliage, but keep your eye on the path. You can let your mind wander, but don't forget to be present. When I used to do meditation retreats at Insight Meditation Center, the advice was given to have a “mindfulness trigger”; walking through a hallway, or touching the doorknob, you are reminded to be present in the moment. I used my walking sticks, saying, “Now. Now. Now. Now.” as they clacked on the rocks. I was also singing nonsense words with lusty gusto at one point, when a hiker came from the opposite direction. All good, the mountains do that to people.
I hike as much as I can, wherever I go. I do urban hiking when I'm in a city, too. I've had little issues with knees and ankles, but I'm issue free at the moment. I see these as localized storms in my body; they last a while and then clear up. I'm grateful they do. I can do what I'm doing now, but who can say how long that will be? Having been with Sharon through her cancer journey, I can't help but wait for the storm that doesn't pass.