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February 16-28, 2001
Friday, February 16, 2001 Steamboat Springs, CO
We jumped out of bed early this morning with plans to clean up and get a second day of skiing in at Copper Mountain before driving up to Steamboat Springs. Those plans were squelched pretty early when we couldn’t get any water flowing. I checked the thermometer to discover that it was minus five degrees outside. Even with a heated RV and opened cabinets the pipes still froze.
Well, with a sink full of dirty dishes I was determined to get the water flowing. Christine’s electric hair dryer was very handy. I removed a cabinet panel in the bathroom and ran the hair dryer on the plumbing in there for a few minutes until I got cold water flowing in the bathroom. After that I removed a panel under the fridge to get the hair dryer blowing into the raceway built into the floor for the piping. This took a little longer, but finally the PVC pipes thawed out and water flow was again restored.
This was just the beginning of my thawing efforts. I even had to use the hair dryer on the heated campground faucet. Even with the campground’s winterizing efforts, it was too cold to keep their faucet from freezing. After that I had to thaw out the plumbing gate valve to drain the holding tank. I’ve begun doing this with hot water supplied by the convenient outside shower built into the side of the RV right over the holding tank drain area (Hmmm, could this have been an intended use for the outdoor shower?) I even had to use the hair dryer to unfreeze the shower faucet.
After all this effort, we were running out of time to get our moneys worth skiing. Also Christine is not entirely over her cold, so we decided to not ski today. Instead we headed into the nearby town of Frisco to let me work on an idea that began germinating in my mind as I was thawing out the pipes in the raceway. I spent a couple hours in the Wal-Mart parking lot creating a hose assembly that will easily let us keep warm air in the plumbing raceway built into the floor. With this done, I think I may have hit on a key freeze nuisance factor. Little by little I’m amending the factory effort at winterizing the RV. We’ll probably have it all worked out just in time for exit from the cold weather, but there’s always next winter.
We arrived in Steamboat with plenty of time to settle into our campground and get a hold of our friends staying here. We met for dinner with Jimmy and Donna and two of their children, Robby and Lauren, at a good Mexican Restaurant. Together we calculated that we had last seen each other on a ski trip to Aspen in 1998. So it was great to get reacquainted and plan to ski together.
Saturday, February 17, 2001 Steamboat Springs, CO
Well, my Wal-Mart parking lot creation was not very effective. The floor raceway plumbing froze again last night despite my efforts. At least my air flow contraption made it easier to use the blow dryer to get hot air down there. We were thawed out fairly quickly and wasted no time dressing for a beautiful day of skiing. We caught the Free Shuttle (gotta love that free stuff) to the ski area. The campground we’re staying in is the last stop for the shuttle, so it actually turns around in the campground. Very convenient.
The mountain was somewhat crowded with the influx of skiers for the holiday weekend celebrating Presidents Day. We spent nearly thirty minutes in line just to get our outrageously expensive lift tickets. The mountain however lived up to past memories dishing out some very pleasant skiing. Our friends had scheduled their kids for ski school today, so the four of us had no trouble skiing together all day. We ended the day with some après-ski beers at a familiar spot and made plans to rendezvous tomorrow for dinner.
1) Christine and Joe; 2) Donna and Jimmy.
Sunday, February 18, 2001 Steamboat Springs, CO
We had a pretty quiet morning as I was determined to again tackle the freezing pipe problem. I removed some more inside panels to get a better look at the workings between the walls. I modified a two-inch heater duct installed by the factory that wasn’t really needed to heat the living space. I re-routed it so that it now heats the problematic raceway. But I’m not satisfied that it will suffice. I now plan to apply some insulation to the underside of the RV where the raceway runs. I picked up some materials for the job today, but won’t get to it for a couple days.
Christine and I headed into town to catch a matinee showing of “Traffic.” It was a long heavy movie, but we enjoyed it. Parts of it were filmed in Cincinnati, Ohio that we recognized from having lived there and met there.
We later joined up with our friends one last time for a nice Italian dinner. They had to catch a flight back to their jobs the next day. We were very fortunate to inherit the remaining days on their ski passes. They ended up buying more days than they needed as part of deal for their two kids to ski free. Christine and I quickly agreed to extend our stay in Steamboat Springs to take advantage of two days of free skiing, the best kind of skiing.
Monday, February 19, 2001 Steamboat Springs, CO
We awoke to fresh snow this morning, and plenty of it. It snowed constantly until late afternoon. It was a heavy wet snow at the base of the mountain since the temperature was above freezing, but the powder was pretty fluffy up on the mountain. Skiing in powder is so much more demanding physically. We got a good three hours of skiing in before calling it a day. We were both pretty spent. The lift lines were a bit shorter today as people were returning to their workaday lives from the holiday weekend.
We returned to the RV for a hot meal and some quiet time. We were determined to get in another day of skiing, so we wanted to be well rested.
Tuesday, February 20, 2001 Steamboat Springs, CO
We got an early start this morning and stopped in town for a hot breakfast at Winona’s Café. It was a great energy booster for a day of skiing. The mountain was less crowded today, but still more congested than we have been accustomed to elsewhere. It was a beautiful day as Christine and I skied a new area of the mountain that had just opened last year. The Pony Express lift feeds an area of runs that are much less developed, yet not totally backcountry skiing. The runs are a lot narrower with more opportunities to ski between the trees. This also made it more challenging. So after about three straight hours of skiing we were through.
Wednesday, February 21, 2001 Breckenridge, CO
We awoke to a fresh six inches of snow on the ground as we left Steamboat Springs. The trip over Rabbit Ears Pass had me a little concerned as the approach signs warned of icy conditions and explicitly required chains or snow tires. I felt mostly confident with seven tons of weight on nearly new tires. The concern was unwarranted as we breezed over the well-plowed and sanded pass. I have yet to feel any loss of traction in the RV. But I will continue to exercise caution and prudence in unfamiliar driving conditions.
We returned to Breckenridge and checked into the Breck Inn as part of the ski package we signed up for. The accommodations were modest. We enjoyed a tasty BBQ dinner before settling in for the evening.
Thursday, February 22, 2001 Breckenridge, CO
We met with our vacation salesperson at 9:30 this morning to hear the pitch we agreed to for our ski package. The pitch was better than expected which caused me some stress as Christine and I sincerely contemplated putting some money into a vacation condo network (not a time-share, but similar to it). We ended up spending so much time considering the possibilities that we didn’t leave ourselves enough time to ski.
We decided to make it a productive day by working on a punch list of computer problems. I made great progress on some computer connectivity issues that had been nagging us since day one. And Christine spent the afternoon reading for her class and learning how to connect the digital camera to the computer. This ended up eating up the entire afternoon. We ordered in a good pizza and relaxed having decided to pass on the vacation condo offer.
Friday, February 23, 2001 Leadville, CO
We jumped out of bed this morning and moved out of the inn. We hit the slopes at Breckenridge for a very pleasant day of skiing. The runs were all very well groomed making it a less demanding day, physically. This was my tenth day of skiing, and I can finally say that the new boots are actually comfortable. We also watched some NCAA giant slalom racing.
After skiing we hit the road to Vail to meet up with some friends flying in from Charlotte. Rick and Barb ended up getting in a little late, but we joined them for a fun dinner in the nearby town of Minturn with another couple traveling with them. We finally finished up at 11:00 before heading south thirty miles to our campground for the night in Leadville. The weather had served up a couple of fresh inches of snow and ice this evening. We took well over an hour to cover the twisty miles, but again the RV showed no signs of sloppiness, as it felt glued to the road. We were both dead tired as we pulled into Leadville, observing that this was the latest night for either of us in quite a while.
Saturday, February 24, 2001 Espanol, NM
Yes, we are no longer in Colorado. We woke from a great nights sleep and took our time hitting the road. I had looked forward to our ride today, and was not disappointed. The skies were mostly clear as we drove US 285 due south all the way into New Mexico. We again passed the Collegiate range of fourteeners (14,000 feet or more) as we traveled through the Arkansas River valley. Then we crossed Poncha Pass into the San Luis River valley. We were flanked by the majestic Sangre de Cristo Mountains to the East and the San Juan range to the west.
We took a side trip to the Great Sand Dunes National Monument. There was nearly nobody there. We took advantage of our first National Park site to purchase a National Park Passport. We intend to get a lot of use out of the card these next two years.
The sand dunes are a freakish result of geography. The prevailing winds are so consistent that they pick up sand on the west side of the valley and slam into the steepness of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, forcing the release of the sand. The streams that run through the dunes deposit the sand back on the west side of the valley, only to be picked up again by the wind and returned to the dunes. A cycle repeated for millennia.
We took a brief walk out onto the dunes, but were overwhelmed by the chill of those prevailing winds. The dunes take up nearly 50 square miles and rise to over 700 feet.
The Great Sand Dunes National Monument. If you look closely, there are two people in the second picture to give you perspective on how tall the dunes are in comparison.
Back on the road we pulled into the small blue-collar town of Espanol just north of Santa Fe. The scenery took a refreshing change as we moved through northern New Mexico. The dry protected canyons permitted the survival of fragile towers of caked earth. The architecture also takes a dramatic turn under the influence of adobe pueblos. I think we’ll enjoy our time in New Mexico for a while.
Sunday, February 25, 2001 Albuquerque, NM
We had an easy ride into Albuquerque this morning with Christine driving. I couldn’t focus on reading my book because the landscape was so attractive. I was forced to sit back and take it all in – the journey ya’ know.
We were in town before noon with a list of things we wanted to get done. The weather was so nice that we jumped right to work so that we could try to get a motorcycle ride in before dusk. We checked into our campground and then immediately drove down to a do-it-yourself carwash. Christine scrubbed the inside while I gave the outside a thorough cleaning. It was a lot easier to wash the RV this time (last time was in Gunnison in 10 degree weather). We got it quite clean, since we were meeting up with Christine’s parents and her aunt and uncle here.
We returned to the RV and I set to getting the bikes prepared for a ride while Christine tackled the laundry. This time the ramp functioned as designed, and I was pleased to get both bikes off and have them start right up. They hadn’t been off the RV since we loaded them up in Charlotte a month and a half ago.
After a couple hours of laundry Christine and I were both anxious to get out for a ride. It was going on 4:00 when we finally suited up and headed out for a run down the road. I had picked out a loop that would take us about twenty miles west of town on I-40 and then get off on route six. Route six looked like a great rural ride between mesas and through canyons southeast to I-25, which would take us back north to town. A kind of triangle loop.
We were enjoying the temperature as we headed west in the late afternoon sun, chattering on our radios about our respective joy. We got off on route six as planned and were pleased with the intimate desolation of the area as we headed away from I-40, me in the lead. I wasn’t a couple miles down route six when I heard a quick incomprehensible scream in my intercom, and knew there was trouble.
I quickly turned the bike around to find Christine on her feet about a quarter mile back with her motorcycle splattered across an intersection with a side road. As I approached she was pointing at a dilapidated old Chevy pickup truck pulling away. I pulled up and she made it clear that she wanted me to go after the pickup truck that had caused the collision.
My head was swimming in disbelief and confusion as I pursued this pickup down a side road that quickly turned to dirt as it neared the demarcation for the Laguna Indian Reservation. I honked and waved at this pickup trying to get it to pull over, and all along kept trying to shake this sensation of the bizarre. I was somewhat stunned as the truck finally heeded my request and came to a stop in the middle of the road.
The door opened and a native-American woman looked at me with a confused look as to why I asked her to pull over. The cause of the confused look quickly became clear to me when she began speaking with the familiar slurring of a drunk. This woman registered very high on the intoxication meter. I foolishly tried to reason with her as I instructed her to turn the truck around and return to the accident site so the police could be summoned. She worked very hard at trying to make me understand that she couldn’t turn the truck around. I finally realized that her clutch was shot, making the truck very difficult to drive.
In a moment of clarity, I had remembered that I had my cell phone with me. I called 911 and reached an operator in Grants, NM another thirty miles further west on I-40. I was on the phone with her for about fifteen minutes during which time she dispatched an ambulance for my wife and the police. We were in the middle of nowhere so no one was going to be showing up in less than twenty minutes. Meanwhile Christine was back at the scene of the accident, out of my view, but very much on my mind as I tried to cut through the cinematic cloud that was descending upon my world and turning my reality into some dark comedic drama more aptly found in an independently produced film from the edge.
A civilian appraiser named John pulled up in a shiny pick-up and offered his assistance. I asked him to please go check on my wife and relay to her how I was occupied at the time.
I was instructed by the 911 operator to stay with the drunk and try to collect some information. The drunk refused to give me her name. I recited the license plate number to the 911 operator and assured her that there was little more I could hope to get. At that time the drunk climbed back into her truck and somehow got it started and began driving away. I continued feeding the 911 operator with a play-by-play, refusing to pursue this person any further. A few hundred yards up the road the truck again came to a stop. Shortly thereafter the drunk climbed out and began staggering across a field on foot.
At about this same time a more sober native-American male approached me from the direction of the accident carrying an open 12-pack of Budweiser under his arm. I soon learned that he is the sorry husband of this drunken woman. He was eager to get up to his truck but paused with me long enough to give me his first name as Adam, and his wife’s first name as Brenda; and that I should please not call the police because they have insurance. Since I was still on the phone with 911 I informed him that it was too late. He managed a couple more pleas to keep the police out of it as he walked ahead toward the truck.
By this time his wife had managed to climb over a wire fence and continue her stagger across the field. I continued the play-by-play to the 911 operator as I explained how the woman had dropped her pants and was relieving herself in the middle of the field. With that task complete, she pulled her pants back up and began her stagger back across the field. The wire fence proved a little more challenging on the return trip; perhaps it was beginners luck the first time. She finally made it back to the truck at which point Adam began waving a piece of paper at me from the truck.
I decided to drive further on down to where the truck was. There Adam handed me their proof of insurance certificate. I pulled out pen and paper and copied down everything I could from that document. It at least appeared legitimate (we later found out that they had cancelled their policy on February 5th). About this time the first police office arrived at my location. He was a federal agent in an unmarked car working for BIA (Bureau of Indian Affairs). I spoke with him briefly and then asked if I could return to my wife. By this time it had been at least twenty minutes since the accident.
I drove back to find my wife already being checked out by the medics in the two ambulances that arrived. Their initial assessment led them to cancel the medical helicopter that was in route. Most of the motorcycle was now sitting upright in the middle of the intersection with the remainder either piled on the shoulder out of the way, or splintered in pieces all over the roadway. The gas and oil puddle in the intersection made it obvious where the accident had occurred. About this time a Cibola County police officer arrived. After determining that we weren’t going anywhere, he drove on down the road to join the BIA agent with Brenda, the drunk. As time moved on in a nondescript surreal pace of comings and goings another county officer and another BIA agent arrived on the scene. Finally one of them began taking our statement while awaiting the arrival of the fifth and final officer to join in, the State of NM Trooper.
The bizarre continued as a legitimate and weighty question of jurisdiction generated a lot of discussion and opinion. A couple officers drove around looking for county line markers as one of them explained to me that we were at the confusing intersection of two counties and the reservation. It appears that the accident occurred in one county and Brenda fled to another county and was detained just feet before crossing onto the reservation. Once it was determined that nothing actually happened on the reservation, then the BIA guys could be dismissed. Then, regardless of which county the accident occurred in, the State Trooper could call the shots. Since the other county (Valencia) wasn’t represented there by an officer, the Cibola County police and the State Trooper split the duties. The Cibola officer processed the arrest of the woman for DUI, Hit-and-Run, and operating an unsafe vehicle. He also had her unsafe truck towed and impounded. The State Trooper took care of writing up the accident report and arranging for Christine’s totaled motorcycle.
After photos and measurements were taken I was permitted to strip the bike of the few items with any remaining value. The Good Samaritan civilian (John) was still there and agreed to drive Christine back to the campground in his truck. By this time Christine was beginning to regret not taking the advice of the medics to go to the hospital and get checked out. The motion of her joints shortly after the accident was good and didn’t indicate the need for any critical care. But the medics knew that Christine’s adrenaline flow was inhibiting her self-diagnosis. Hours later, with the adrenaline all consumed, her pains began to worry her. We collected some valuable information about where we could pursue some urgent care when we got back to Albuquerque.
I followed John’s pickup on my motorcycle as he drove Christine back to the campground. Once there we thanked him profusely and I then hurried to get my bike loaded into the RV so that we could disconnect and get to an urgent care facility. While I was doing this, Christine made a phone call to her parents who had just arrived in town that evening and had checked into their hotel. She downplayed her condition for the moment and we made plans to hookup tomorrow morning. The two urgent care facilities recommended to us were both closed at 9:00 on a Sunday night so we went to the emergency room of a hospital downtown.
Let me back up to replay the accident. Route six was very rural with hardly any trees or development. Visibility was quite good. The location of the accident was an intersection with a reservation road and a tavern parking lot. The tavern sat on the left side of the road relative to our direction travel. It was very rundown from outward appearances and had only a few patrons, evident by the minimum number of vehicles in the dirt parking area. The stop sign coming out of the tavern parking area matched the stop sign leaving the reservation road across route six. There were no stop signs on route six, with a 55 mph speed limit.
Christine was maybe a half-mile behind me, traveling at just over 50 mph as I rounded the bend in the road by the tavern. I made no observations of any threatening conditions at that time. Brenda the drunk must have just gotten her truck started and began to leave the parking area, cross route six, and head down the reservation road. She must have been preoccupied with her inability to stop without stalling the truck, due to the broken clutch. This distraction and her severe intoxication motivated her dim mind to continue across route six without obeying the stop sign or yielding to crossing traffic.
Christine saw this develop too late and in too short of time to ensure a safe outcome. Christine began braking and swerving to the right in front of the truck hoping that the driver would see her and stop before the point of collision. Unaware of the driver’s intoxication, Christine was doomed to slam into the front right quarter panel of the truck with the front-left side of her bike and body. The front fairing disintegrated in the collision and Christine came to a complete stop against the side of the truck from a speed slowed to approximately forty mph by then. Christine and the bike then bounced off the still moving truck and the bike rested on its less damaged left side. Somehow Christine jumped to her feet and by that time motioned to me to pursue the drunk driver.
Before continuing on to the ER, I, being Christine, would like to talk about about my thoughts and actions during the accident. As I was following Joe on route six, I noticed a truck pulling out onto the crossroad. It was not evident that the building from which they were pulling out of was a bar, ( as noted by my Uncle days later, bars here aren't as well marked as in Wisconsin) so I checked for a stop sign and refocused my attention forward. Mistake number one. Next thing I know the truck is in front of me. The part that flipped me out as I hit the ground, was that the truck never stopped. That is probably what propelled me to my feet so fast. Soon after Joe went after the truck, John stopped to check on me and I sent him after Joe. In the next few minutes as I tried to gather my thoughts a trucker and some other people stopped to see if I was OK. At first, I was just saying yes, then I smelled the gas and I got a group of guys to help me lift the bike and I tried to clear some debris for vehicles to get through. After John got back to the scene, the progression of medics and police started appearing. Joe did a good job of describing that to you. I would like to say a special Thanks to John. It was awful nice of him to stay for the whole ordeal and give me a ride home. I wasn't up for getting on the back of Joe's bike. And last but not least, our special motorcycle jackets and my helmet saved me from being a lot worse. There is no excuse for people to ride a motorcycle and not wear a helmet. Any excuse they can think of is just a cop out for laziness.
Back to the ER. We were lucky to choose one of the least crowded ER’s in town. Christine was taken quickly while I called our insurance company to get them started on the claim. The ER physician was concerned more by her rapid change in speed than by the apparent external injuries. Christine was having pains taking full breaths, and ached more in her back and neck. The doctor ordered up a slew of x-rays of her leg, knee, arm, elbow, chest, neck, and back. All the results were negative except for a broken left arm. Her radial bone was broken just below the elbow. They created a splint for her, gave her a shot of morphin and sent us home with a prescription of percocet, and instructions to see an orthopedist the following day.
A very tired Christine and I climbed into the RV and began our search for an all night pharmacy at 12:30 am. With the prescription finally filled, we headed back to the campground and deservedly climbed into bed at 1:30 in the morning. Exhausted and lucky, all things considered.
Side view of the motorcycle The arm after it was put into a cast a week later.
Monday, February 26, 2001 Albuquerque, NM
I called the orthopedist first thing this morning and got an appointment for Christine just after noon. She called her parents and they all decided to come on out to the campground. I spent the morning finally applying some insulation to the underside of the plumbing raceway. It was a good morning to get this done while Christine visited with her family in the RV. Christine’s family had driven here from Green Bay in a mini-van so we used that as our primary means of transportation, leaving the RV at the campground.
Christine and I dropped the four of them off at Old Town, touristy historical section of the city. We then drove over to the orthopedist and were pleased to find out that they would not put her arm in a cast. The radial bone was broken so near the elbow that they would have had to put her entire arm in a cast. Due the tendency for adult elbows to get stiff, they avoid putting them in casts whenever possible. Instead they prescribed for Christine to continue with the open casted splint that was given to her in the ER. We have to go back next Monday for a follow-up X-ray to ensure that the bone has not moved any. The prognosis for a solid recovery is good. She may lose about 5 degrees of arm extension in the end, but should otherwise come out clean.
We regrouped with the family later in the afternoon and then went out to see the Petroglyphs National Monument. The Petroglyphs are thousand-year-old pictures scratched into the surfaces of a large area of volcanic basalt. The surface of the basalt has oxidized into a dark patina that gives way to the original light brown color of the basalt, once scratched deeply enough. The images are simple and primitive, and probably related more toward spiritual expression than any kind of communication.
We enjoyed a nice brick-oven pizza dinner downtown on historic Route 66. Christine suffered an attack of nausea, but toughed it out like a real trooper. The family was dropped at their hotel leaving us the mini-van to return to the campground. We made plans to pick them up again at the hotel in the morning.
Tuesday, February 27, 2001 Albuquerque, NM
We awoke this morning to wish each other a Happy Anniversary. It is our second, and promised to be a good one, all things considered. We picked up the gang at the hotel and drove up to the Sandia Peaks Tramway.
The Sandia Crest is a very precipitous mountain range just east of town. They rise to over 10,000 feet from the 6,000 foot valley below. The Tramway boasts as being the longest in the world, with one of it’s spans being the third-longest unsupported span. The peaks were covered intermittently by fogs and clouds, but it was still a pleasant trip. The overnight rain had dropped a few fresh inches of snow on the crest which improved the ski conditions on the east side of the mountain. We took our time on the top enjoying the occasional views and then descended for lunch.
The group on the Tram: Joe, Mom, Arlene, Christine, Dad, and
Don.
We found a microbrewery for lunch and discussed more sightseeing plans. After lunch Christine and I visited with a representative from our insurance provider to collect information for the uninsured motorist claim. Some pictures were taken of her injuries and we were back on our way. It appears that all of the medical expenses will be covered, but the totaled motorcycle is a complete loss.
After that we all visited the Indian Pueblo Cultural Center to learn more about the history and culture of the Pueblo peoples. The museum exhibits were excellent, and just the beginning of what we expected to learn about the original occupants of this land.
We returned to the hotel for cocktail hour and to make plans for dinner. Since it was our anniversary, our preference for steak won out. We spent a lovely evening digging into some hearty portions of steak and sharing a couple bottles of wine. It was perfect sharing this day with two other couples whose combined marriages added up to seventy-five years.
Wednesday, February 28, 2001 Albuquerque, NM
Christine was now getting by on just Advil. The percocet had contributed to her nausea. We awoke to snow on the ground and occasional flurries. Yesterday’s consideration of scheduling a hot air balloon ride for this morning had already been dismissed. We even put off plans to drive up to Santa Fe, due to poor driving conditions. Instead we made do with more local tourist attractions, to our enjoyment.
We were the first visitors of the day at the Aquarium. It was an excellent aquarium, focusing more on quality than quantity. Most of the exhibits were themed to relate to the Rio Grande, from the mountains to the Gulf of Mexico. The adjoining conservatories of the Botanic Gardens concluded our visit there.
With the weather improving only marginally, we ventured south to the cities nearest pueblo. The Isleta Pueblo is sixteen miles south of Albuquerque off of I-25. It doesn’t appear in many brochures as a tourist destination, but we were feeling adventuresome. Isleta is a fairly large living pueblo with a hodgepodge of historic and more recent construction. There were signs of modernization on most dwellings as electrical lines and HVAC mechanics were visible. The most interesting thing we visited there was the old mission church now called Saint Augustine. At nearly four hundred years old, it was a real relic of western influence on the pueblo. It had only recently been restored. As recently as 1965 the pastor of the church was handcuffed by the Indians and evicted from the pueblo due to his tyrannical threats and closed-mindedness regarding the pueblo ways.
The Isleta Mission
We drove around some of the dirt roads of the pueblo exploring on our own until a local officer of the law encouraged us to explore cautiously. There had been recent rituals performed in their sacred kivas, and the Isleta people could resent our ignorant trespassing, however naïve.
We returned to the city and had lunch at an old family restaurant on Route 66 east of town. There are several miles of the highway there trying to preserve the feel of the Route’s heyday with motor lodges and restaurants all well preserved in that period. By now the nasty weather had moved out and the afternoon was becoming downright pleasant. We opted for another outdoor excursion as we took in the Rio Grande Nature Center. The center is dedicated to the preservation of the Rio Grande ecosystem. It does an excellent job at educating those interested into the history and development of the river and the bosques (wooded lands along the rivers banks). We enjoyed a self-guided nature walk and warmed ourselves in sun.
Christine’s Aunt Arlene had a request to get to Ash
Wednesday Mass at a specific church. Arlene
works for the Diocese of Green Bay, and had worked many years with a priest
whom had relocated to Albuquerque. She looked up Father Tom and planned a meeting.
On the second try we found Father Tom’s church.
He was now pastor of a parish with church and school.
We took in mass and then enjoyed Father Tom’s company for an
excellent seafood dinner. Father
Tom was an exciting and animated addition to our party.
He contributed to our lessons on the history and social studies of the
area.