Showing posts with label tucumcari. Show all posts
Showing posts with label tucumcari. Show all posts

Friday, August 4, 2017

Missouri Flash Trip, Part 2: The Space Capsule Shower


On the way back to El Paso from my July flash trip to Missouri, I stayed at a motel in Tucumcari, New Mexico.

I pulled in just in time to beat a clapping, dark thunderstorm.

I was as delighted with my space capsule shower in this motel as I was with the red velvet love seat in the previous night's room in Missouri.


Space capsule shower in motel, Tucumcari, New Mexico. July 2017.


As small as it was, it felt grander than my shower box in El Paso.

Friday, November 1, 2013

Tall Tarantula Tales of Tucumcari

From wikipedia. Artwork by: Reynold Brown



A few weeks ago, while I sat on a comfortable, raggedy couch at the Lupus General Store, in between sets at the Lupus Chili Fest, I struck up a conversation with a gentleman sitting nearby. Although he lives in central Missouri, it turns out he's originally from Tucumcari, New Mexico. .... where I'd just been before I left New Mexico, and where I saw all of those tarantulas crossing the road.

And he told me a story.

It began, "You're not going to believe this, but .."

His daddy, a farmer in those parts, told him about the time in 1955 or thereabouts, when they had to close the highway for several hours because there were so many tarantulas crossing the road one day. There were so many tarantulas on the move that the road was slick with the blood and guts of those that had been run over by the vehicular traffic, that it was treacherous to drive.

From Route 66 News, here's this 2009 account:
Mike Callens at TeePee Curios in nearby Tucumcari said that after the first frost, usually in October, the old road becomes nearly covered with tarantulas migrating. At that time, tarantulas are looking for a place to hibernate for the winter.

My new friend said he'd tried to find verification of his daddy's story, but hadn't been successful, and neither have I, yet. But based on how many tarantulas I saw within a few miles during my recent sightings, I could only imagine how many of the spiders had been crawling in the vicinity, that I didn't see.



And here's a story from cryptomundo about only one spider, but it was a giant one - in Louisiana, my new future home:

One cool night in 1948, in Leesville, Louisiana, 48-year-old William Slaydon walked his wife, Pearl, and his three grandsons to church. Among them was the youngest, Richard Partain, a child of six at the time. They walked north along Highway 171, and as the road began to dip, Grandpa Slaydon suddenly stopped his grandchildren with a gesture and had them step back quietly and freeze.
The grandchildren, aged six to thirteen, knew instinctively to obey this gesture without question. There was a rustling from the ditch, and an unbelievable creature emerged from the darkness. 
Richard Partain described: “It was a huge spider, the size of a washtub. It was hairy and black. No one, not even my grandmother, said a word.”

As they watched, the giant arachnid crossed the asphalt from East to West, and disappeared into the brush on the opposite side of the highway.

“We asked Grandpa what it was, and he said simply that it was a very large spider.”
Afterwards, all nighttime walks by the family to the church were cancelled. The incident was never discussed again with the grandchildren.





Tuesday, September 3, 2013

Highway 104, New Mexico: The Cliffhanger


Highway 104 between Las Vegas and Tucumcari, New Mexico. 2007.


I've been down this road before - Highway 104 between Las Vegas and Tucumcari.

Surprised me the first time in 2007 and again the second time, August 2013.

From Las Vegas, you're tooling along a flat, not-unpleasant track, then bang, there it is, one of those vast scenic New Mexican panoramas.


Highway 104 between Las Vegas and Tucumcari, New Mexico. 2013.


A 1985 story about this road, by Jon Mark: New Mexico Highway 104: 110 Lovely, Lonely Miles. An excerpt:
Heading west from Conchas, the landscape is virtually unmarked by man's presence. You'll find traffic so light that only one car every 20 or 30 minutes may pass a given spot. This part of New Mexico is a high, vast, rocky, sagebrush-covered plain at the foot of the Rockies' eastern slope. Here, Highway 104, a shoulderless two-lane strip of asphalt, traverses hills and red rock mesas.

The land rolls up and down. A car rides the slopes as a ship rides the waves in the sea. The sea changes constantly as the sun moves in the sky and the car moves on the ground.

Here's a 2012 paean to Highway 104 from Ramblings From a Road-a-Holic: New Mexico 104: A Delightful Excursion.

And another 2012 entry: Of New Mexico 104, Josh Beckett and Six-Game Lead.


Thursday, August 23, 2012

New Mexico Enchanting Me

Tres Piedras, New Mexico. Pink Schoolhouse Gallery.


When I was in high school, I read a book that made me laugh out loud many times. It's about a kid who moves from Alabama to this foreign, inter-cultural community in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains of New Mexico circa 1945.

The book was Red Sky at Morning.


Taos, New Mexico. Holy Trinity Park.


Author Richard Bradford's characters were vividly drawn, as was the geographical stage of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains on which all of the events played out. The images of a fantastical New Mexico that Mr. Bradford planted in my mind took root.

It wasn't until many years later that I first set foot in New Mexico. Since then, in 1999, I've visited New Mexico two or three times more.

Montezuma, New Mexico. Scarecrows.
 
In some locations, I relished the sensation of having been there before, because they so strongly evoked Red Sky at Morning:

  • At the Chama Visitor Center, talking to a volunteer who explained that although she and her parents and grandparents and great-grandparents were New Mexico natives, English wasn't her first language.
  • In a wooded lot in Taos, the Holy Trinity Park, decorated with that New Mexican outsider art that fuses Roman Catholic iconography, naturalism, magic, and perhaps a dash of schizophrenia.
  • In Tres Piedras, the Old Pink Schoolhouse Gallery (sadly gone now), a cacophony of bright color and media in the middle of nowhere
  • Desperate hope, visible through cruciform prayer offerings left at the Santuario de Chimayo.
  • The mountain-hugger road between Las Vegas and Tucumcari.

Desperate prayers left at Santuario de Chimayo, New Mexico.

New Mexico is American, but it's also a foreign land. There are layers of language, ethnicity, traditions, religion, art, climate, geography, and light that I haven't found anywhere else in the U.S., and I feel drawn to it.

And it's got the Spaceport, you know.


Road from Las Vegas to Tucumcari, New Mexico.