Ruby and I were ambushed by the creeping night. Our previous location had taken away our ability to measure time, making me lost in a photographing rage while in the heavens. There is no physical remedy to such foolishness but a mental cure. I endured the troubles of travel at night, without any regret.
This domain of the forgotten has allured his next wandering visitor. The ideas of protection were as dim as the far away stars. Ruby’s company and light were my only assistance.
The concrete path was deprived of his basic needs and care. The road was emancipated and whipped at the endless barrage of 16 wheel monsters that roam these parts. Their path of destruction is freshly visualized as bloodskits in the road. A mechanical monstrosity that carved their way into the food chain of these lands.
Hiding between the abyss, where fallen angels. Horned creatures that roam the region as mobile brick walls. Their once naive demeanor turned into my biggest worry while finding refuge. Their eyes were a giveaway of their immediate presence, like staring at a pearl in a deep sea, I watched as these dots began to multiply.
Ruby created sparks as my foot collided with the breaks. The smell of rubber penetrated my nostell as I lowered my window. As I announce my presence, the herd of deer scattered, leaving me with a feeling of uneasiness. To collide with these critters could end horribly, not only towards these fallen angels but myself.
The promise of safety was nonexistent. The path ahead was dim, but the path home was darker.
At times, the road would bless me with some form of civilization. Areas of tall circular obelisk designed to carry the nation’s wheat supply. Farming cities and industrial zones that look abandoned and uninviting at the slightest hint of judgment. The only signage of their presence were the many ominous lights scattered around these buildings.
The hypnotizing roads were beginning to squeeze the energy out of me. With a tight grip around my senses, I began to feel the barrage of sleepiness. If this assault were to be left unchecked, I would be a bigger hazard towards myself than these roads. In an act of desperation I searched for a rest stop.
Eventually the US 64 took me to the murkiest rest stop I have seen in a while. Somewhere in the darkest areas of the desert, a plot of land was marked by a sign with red lettering. REST. A bittersweet welcome, for sure, but my mechanical parts began to deteriorate as the slumber consumed me. One of my initial shutdowns came from a lack of fear.
Amidst the abyss, I found other travelers. Vans and trucks evenly spaced so as to refrain from seeing each other. Not like it truly matters. Many had the simple pleasantry of having covers for their windows. A luxury that Ruby could not bear, neither I thought of implementing. This misfortune discovery allowed me to glaze at my landscape.
Darkness fought slightly by the simple radiance of light posts. A concrete building could be seen as the beacon of safety in this uncanny oasis. It was the reststop’s main lounge and restrooms area. A sickening yellow tone smirked across the building, blending great against the sand.To the surprise of no one, these restrooms were locked. Almost as if they were abandoned.
Given that it was the beginning of spring, the atmosphere had a chill feeling. As Ruby began to acclimate to the outside world, my extremities began to shriek in pain. My futile attempts to warm were slim, as I would be a danger to keep my engine running.
I hopped in the back of my car, where all my supplies lay. Throwing items without a single care or thought. I was practically running on instincts. A primal thought of finding my mini-stove and sleeping bag. After a couple of violent throws, I found my sacred relics. Without a second thought, I began to practice my culinary skills.
As I patiently waited for a can of warm soup, I was presented to the warden of this prison of the damned. A police officer, in what seemed to be a Ford Explorer, stared quietly at all the sleeping wanderers. Their presence was appreciated. Their vehicle lights were glimpses of hope in these lands, but their wandering did generate thoughts of uncertainty. For there must be some reason, any reason, for a cop to patrol a quiet rest stop in the middle of nowhere.
Nonetheless, I trusted the officer and found myself sleeping after my quick meal. Aside from the troubles of the waking cold, the officer would do routined checks with all the vehicles. His headlights were bright, leaving a heavy silhouette against the rest stop and dead trees. Such irony, To think that the officer was able to cast deeper shadows in the shadows.
The menace was over in the morning. Like a child hiding from a monster, I found myself hiding in my covers when I had awakened. It was a pleasant emotion when I felt the sun paint my cheeks pink. The once creepy and empty rest stop had flourished into a market.
Locals that seem to get together in the morning to sell all kinds of trinkets. A lot of bone work and necklaces. On the other hand, I saw general cowboy attire. Hat sellers and a letter worker. My actual favorite was the offerings of a lady wearing a pink poncho. She had a really impressive cow skull.
I was still in delirium from my previous sleep. All of those random searches at night had me sleeping poorly. Upon leaving Ruby, I started walking North West. A strange way for me to metaphorically perform my ablutions.
A delightful scene was granted upon me. It seemed that I had arrived at the Rio Grande Gorge Rest Area. Right next to this rest stop, there is an impressive bridge that creates a wonderful sight.
As my vision straighten, I came to realize that I had traded my morning coffee for this view. It was a welcoming sight and the first blessing of the day. I was still regaining my energy, but I was still happy. In fact, I was so ecstatic that I forgot to photograph many things.
As my mechanical parts began to be rejuvenated, I started driving towards my next destination: The “Aztec” Ruins in New Mexico. A midway point towards my goal of reaching Chaco Canyon.
For some reason or another, The road to New Mexico wandered back to Colorado. I observed the sand turned into snow once again, almost like going back to time. Tiny huts and abandoned towns made their introductions as I began to gain height.
Once again, I began to cultivate a terrible trait of mine. The simple act of photographing and driving. While my actions cannot be excused, can I be detained from understanding when the peaks practically begged to be photographed?
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