TRAVELING MAKES THE MIND WANDER…IN A GOOD WAY
I do not mind heading out on the road into the parts unknown with no companion other than my own thoughts. Maybe it is because I am an introvert by nature. But I do not honestly believe that when I hear the words. Something more happens. Something instinctual, almost at a genetic level. Something that my mind and body and soul knows should be there but hides because of all the distractions interrupting our daily lives.
Traveling, to me at least, resets me. It wipes the slate clean and presents a new canvas upon which I can create a new adventure or tale. A couple weeks ago, I wandered out into the Land of Enchantment—New Mexico. I love camping up in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains along the Hondo River. The US Forestry Service manages a few campsites off the side of the road along Taos Ski Valley.
This time, I went further South. Almost to the border with Mexico. For a few moments, I even contemplated a visit to our neighbor but had too much on the itinerary. See, I’m a planner. I outline my stories, even my poetry. Spontaneity does worm in its way into my life. It must so that I might generate ideas.
That is why I travel. Spontaneous thoughts and ideas flash into my mind’s eyes and blossom into fleshed out stories. Driving west along Interstate 40, I crossed Oklahoma and passed into a haze-filled sky over the Texas Panhandle. It wasn’t overcast. It reminded me of the Los Angeles basin in the early 80s with its pollution.
I stopped at a filling station in McLean, Texas and asked about the current weather conditions. Apparently, brush fires raged across the panhandle, and I had been completely ignorant of the fact. A quick call to my sister revealed that her son and his wife living in Amarillo were packed and ready to evacuate should the need arise. Luckily, it didn’t.
My first stop in New Mexico was at Newkirk. I have a friend who wants to be a filmmaker. I have a story Sky Empty but for the Sun I am adapting into a short movie script for him. This abandoned gas station to the south of I-40 would be the perfect location. When I tried to go over to get some pictures, I realized the road had been closed and emergency vehicles sat in the lot.
Exit off I-40 in Newkirk, NM
A flood of ideas came unbidden into my mind. I hadn’t even been gone 12 hours, and already the creative fount was erupting. Why were the emergency vehicles there? Why was the road closed? It must have something to do with the character in my story, soon to be our film.
The sunset that night blew me away with its beauty. It wasn’t red, but no storms or rain blew in the next day. Maybe the old sailor’s adage did not apply. More on that later. I spent the first night in Albuquerque—and did not make a wrong turn when leaving it—driving into the most populous city in the state at night.
Sunset in New Mexico
I had a lot planned for the next day. I had to make Magdalena, visit the ghost town Kelly, tour the Very Large Array, and camp the night at the Cosmic Campground—the darkest night sky in the Lower 48. Like I mentioned earlier, spontaneity worms its way into my life.
After leaving Albuquerque, where I visited a Walgreens with even the toothpaste under lock and key, I stopped for gas in Socorro and went to Walmart for some last-minute supplies: a 5-gallon bucket and a Reese’s Peanut Butter Egg. I put my items on the belt and waited. The gentleman behind me put his basket up: fuel treatment and two bunches of bananas.
I could not resist saying something. At times like these, my wife is glad she doesn’t travel with me on some of my adventures.
“You got to have the bananas,” I said.
What a dumb thing to say, I thought as soon as the words escaped my lips. But they’re already out there. Nothing I do can call them back. Just roll with it and make the most of it.
“They were out yesterday,” the gentleman with a cowboy hat said. “But they had them today. I like to eat one a day.”
I knew the voice but couldn’t remember why. Turning to the side to smile and nod, I realized I knew the face too. But still couldn’t discern the reason. He looked at my selections.
“If we were closer neighbors I have several buckets you could have used.”
He didn’t know me. I don’t think. But he offered to give something to a complete stranger anyway. How thoughtful and genuine. I smiled and nodded.
“I guarantee you we’re not close neighbors,” I said, raising my eyebrows.
“Why’s that?” he asked.
“I’m from Arkansas.”
He nodded. “I’m going to be the starter of the World’s Smallest Parade in Hot Springs this year.”
“Awesome,” I said. Nothing else came to mind.
“My best friend just moved to Fort Smith,” the cashier told us.
I chuckled. “Small world.”
I gave my goodbyes and walked out to my truck. Halfway there I realized who the gentleman was. “Lloyd” from Yellowstone. I did a little research while writing this and learned that his involvement in the parade was not officially announced until yesterday—two weeks after he told me.
Forrie J. Smith plays Lloyd on the television series Yellowstone
After a quick hike in the Box Recreation Area, I made it into Magdalena about noon. Spontaneity hit me again. I stopped by the Golden Spur Saloon and visited with the bartender Margie. She told me great stories about the town. I gave her a copy of my poetry collection Newspaper Reading. She introduced me to a man named Cole—whose last name I cannot recall.
Cole managed the Steer Stop, a convenient store and gas station. He also owned the Hall Hotel. Apparently, it is haunted. Perfect. I wrote a novel Silence in the Garden—to be re-released this year as Branches in the Window—about the haunted Crescent Hotel in Eureka Springs, Arkansas.
I toured the whole hotel top to bottom. Great place where I would like to spend a night or two in the future. During the whole tour, I neither saw nor heard any unexplained event. He told me he and his wife live there on the top floor and have never experienced anything. We toured the historical Charles Ilfeld Co. building, an old warehouse serving the railroad back when Magdalena was the “Trail’s End” for livestock drives across the state. The trail was operational until 1971.
Historical warehouse in Magdalena, NM
Next, I went to the town library and met some fascinating people whose names I cannot recall because I did not write them down. The old train station houses the library, and 19th century graffiti adorns the back wall. A box car on the only remaining section of tracks serves as a museum. They gave me several books, and I left a donation for the library.
The day was getting long, and I began to think I would not make the Very Large Array by 4 p.m. That was fine. I was supposed to be relaxing. So what things weren’t going according to plan. Time to enjoy it.
The ghost town of Kelly fascinated me. It was an old mining town a few miles southeast of Magdalena up in the mountains. The only remaining building is St. John the Baptist church. To my surprise the pit was accessible—if you had a very long rope. The rock I tossed down the shaft fell for four seconds.
Abandoned mine shaft Kelly, NM
Maybe I shouldn’t have done that. I did find a pair of hiking poles leaning against a nearby tree. But the only person I saw up there was Anthony from Utah, an “amateur rockhound,” as he told me before I hiked to the mine.
When I stopped back by the Golden Spur for dinner, I knew I would not keep my planned schedule. The burger was good. New Mexico chile infused. As I wandered up to the bar to thank Margie for introducing me to Cole, I learned she read some of my poems to the patrons.
One woman smiled at me and said, “Oh, you’re the writer.”
As I drank a bottle of Shiner, Margie introduced me to the owner. He told me all kinds of stories. Led me on a tour around the establishment. Explained how Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid got so drunk at that very saloon, they auctioned a cow they’d rustled. This was right before they lit out to South America.
Magdalena turned out to be a “gold mine” of spontaneous creative ideas. What if something came up out of the mineshaft after I threw the rock down? What if Billy the Kid really had stayed at the Hall Hotel? Could the ghost of a cowboy who hung himself at the hotel still haunt the town?
That night, I stayed in a comfortable room of the newly renovated High Country Lodge. I arrived late, so I had to ring the bell. A young woman came to the door and let me in. I checked in with her mother, the owner and operator.
During the check-in process, the owner asked, “You’re an author, right?”
It seems word and news travel fast in a small town. I loved it. I will be returning in the near future. Possibly in the fall when they host the “Enchanted Skies Star Party”—an event attended by astronomers and photographers for the dark sky found there.
The sailors may have been correct. It snowed that night. The 24-mile drive west to the Very Large Array was beautiful, surreal. Overcast sky sitting low over snow-covered scrub and small trees. Or maybe the sky wasn’t low, but I was closer to the clouds because of the mountains.
Snowed overnight in Magdalena but melted quickly
I learned a lot about radio astronomy at the VLA. A fascinating beginning to an adventurous day. After leaving the array, I drove to the ghost town of Mogollon. To get there, you drive from the valley floor up a 9-mile one-lane road into the mountains. Incredible views and a worrisome drive.
After coming back down the road, I went to the Catwalk Recreation Area in Glenwood. As the name suggests, catwalks are secured to the box canyon walls, allowing hikers to walk above the river. My next stop was for dinner at the Buckhorn Saloon in Pinos Altos. They let me tour the 19th century opera house next door. Lots of ideas exploded in my mind.
A long time spent traveling the next day after spending the night in Silver City. I saw the third oldest open pit copper mine in the world—the Santa Rita mine. More ideas. I stopped by the archeological site of the Mimbres Valley. I followed the Geronimo Trail Scenic Byway up to Emory Pass for some beautiful pictures. During the descent, my gas mileage improved to 39 miles per gallon.
View from the Emory Pass pull off
The long drive along the northern edge of the White Sands Missile Range had all kinds of ideas churning in my mind. Made me kind of nervous. What if the AI revolution started today, and my vehicle became a target?
Later in the day, I visited the town of Lincoln, New Mexico and learned all about the Lincoln County War between two rival outfits during the historic Wild West. Passing through Roswell, I could not resist checking out the International UFO Museum and Research Center. Talk about ideas flowering. For dinner, I had some wonderful enchiladas at the El Toro Bravo restaurant.
The sun had dropped beneath the horizon by the time I rolled into Fort Sumner and saw the historic resting place of Billy the Kid and Charlie Bowdre. From there, I stopped in Clovis, New Mexico and talked politics while paying for fuel. I arrived in Amarillo, Texas after midnight.
After a late checkout, I had lunch at the Big Texan, where I watched a gentleman from Minnesota begin the challenge to eat a 72-oz porterhouse steak with all the fixings inside an hour. He had family in Arkansas. Small world.
Minnesota man enjoying a 72-ounce porterhouse at the Big Texan
I drove through Palo Duro Canyon State Park. This place was intriguing. The flat land of the Texas Panhandle is broken up by this huge ditch. When I was a kid, I heard a legend that it was Paul Bunyan’s dragging axe that made the Grand Canyon. Very likely, it could have been Palo Duro. I learned a lot of history about the area, and the ideas just poured out as I watched a short video.
I made the 500 more miles back home, arriving after midnight.
What an adventure. I cannot recommend travel enough to kickstart the imagination. Ideas for stories rolled out of the cobwebs in my head. My creativity could not be shut off. Now that I have this chance to work every day on my writing, I know I will have no shortage of material. It doesn’t matter if it’s western, science fiction, horror, fantasy, historical, literary, or poetry. Everything is flowing. My muse doesn’t speak to me when I explore; she SHOUTS.
