Clines Corners
The stretch of I-40 between Albuquerque and Santa Rosa is historic Route 66. Nowhere is this more evident than in the 50 miles of billboards to either side of Clines Corners, advertising all the bells and whistles of the travel center. As far as I know, Clines Corners has never been a town or a significant population center of any kind. It is, however, a cross-roads of I-40 and US 285 (the major North-South artery for Eastern New Mexico). Clines Corners is on pretty much every map and road atlas printed since 1937, when Roy E Cline built the first rest stop/travel center at the location. There’s still a travel center on the site. Currently, it’s a 30,000 square foot structure containing a restaurant, convenience store, gas station, and gift shop. There is little of note in the unpopulated prairie and hill country stretching to the horizon in all directions from I-40 between Moriarty and Santa Rosa. Thus, the giant billboards that advertise Clines Corners (and the Flying C Ranch 16 miles further East) are a great form of entertainment and advertising. The billboards themselves take me back to a time when the freeway had a speed limit of 55 mph, and fuel efficiency was low enough that you stopped and topped off the tank at every travel center between Albuquerque and Amarillo, because you might just run short of fuel and get stranded in the middle of nowhere if you didn’t.
That type of road culture, and the communities it fueled were hit extremely hard in the 2008 recession. The temporary but massive spike in fuel cost, when combined with the loss of jobs and reduced wage-earning potential across multiple sectors and the hyper-critical focus on environmental impact, put nails in the coffin of the Great American Road Trip. Yet, the road trip is still a deeply in-grained expression of the freedom and independence at the core of American culture. It is somehow calming and uplifting to see that though the words and pictures on the billboards along I-40 change, the billboard themselves are still there, and that Clines Corners is still open and on the map.
Encino and Vaughn
We turned South at the cross-roads, down US 285. There are no miles of billboards here, and we have retrieved most of the caches along this route to keep ourselves alert during business as well as leisure travel. The monotony of scrub dry grass prairie under endlessly blue sky speckled with black cattle is enough to lull me into bursts of micro-sleep. We do pause briefly for caches in Encino and Vaughn, and again to embrace the humor of the massive Cowboy Ruckus art installation. At one time Encino and Vaughn were thriving stops with many bustling motels housing an ever-changing mix of tourists, travelers, and long-haul truckers as they undertook travel to or from Roswell, Artesia, and myriad points in South-Central and Southeast New Mexico. Those days are long passed as the crumbling walls of long-abandoned inns and gas stations will attest.
Roswell
I roused myself in Roswell to undertake the hunt for several caches. Unlike many other communities on the hot, dry planes of South-Central New Mexico, Roswell has clung traditionally to their ground and remained a viable population center. No doubt this is helped by the New Mexico Military Institute, the campus of which is actually bisected by US 285. New Mexico’s only dedicated military secondary school and junior college is a beautifully built and maintained facility, and I can’t pass it without a pang of regret for not being aggressive enough in researching the financial assistance that would have made my attendance possible in high school. Of course, the school could only do so much for a small town, the big reason that Roswell thrives while smaller towns like Artesia struggle is tourism. In 1947 some intergalactic tourists crashed here for the night, literally, as local lore tells it. Local lore also tells that there was a massive military cover-up of that single tourist incident. Now we can see aliens and UFOs everywhere in town. There are museums, shrines, tours, annual gatherings and conferences. Every way one can get the word out about the massive conspiracy to keep the truth about aliens crash-landing in 1947 is used here to promote tourism and exploration of all that Roswell has to offer. It’s seriously effective branding, and whether or not we believe, it’s fascinating enough that we’ve visited more than once. We’ve yet to meet any live extra-terrestrials, but we have had some truly out-of-this-world burgers prepared by very warm and welcoming humans. Please check out my review of Chef Todzilla’s Gourmet Burgers, and make a point of visiting if you’re in Roswell. The burgers alone would be worth the 200-mile drive even if we didn’t like driving.
Ruins of Blackdom
Our next stop was for a cache to bring our attention to a historical marker. At the beginning of the 20th century, several dozen African-American families homesteaded nearly 15,000 acres of land about 18 miles South of Roswell. The community of Blackdom, NM was self-sustaining until the drought of 1916 dried out the wells, which in turn led to alkali build-up in the soil. The infestation by worms of most of the crops wasn’t related to inability to sustainably irrigate, but happened as the third ill-omen that sealed the fate of the town. In a twist of bitterest irony, the town was finally recognized and incorporated in 1921, the same year nearly all 300 residents abandoned the site and moved to surrounding towns. All that remains now is a barren plane and the remnants of some fencing.
We left behind the hot, dry desert plains and moved West toward the mountains, stopping at the site of an almost empty stretch of US 82 at the Tom & Pam Runyan Ranches. We opted out of wandering through the zoo or renting a pole to fish. At only $2 for an afternoon of activities and interesting things to see may be the best entertainment value in the state, but by the time we arrived there, we were too tired to take full advantage of the roadside attractions. Not to worry, we will simply plan another weekend road trip. We did pick up some local honey, interesting preserves, and small pies for later. We also picked up some cherry cider that we immediately opened. Good stuff that dark and rich, just a little sweeter than the famous ciders of Carrizozo.
Cloudcroft
Watching the numbers fall on the outdoor temperature reading as we climbed up the mountain was impressive. Caching at the Blackdom historical marker had meant wandering outside in full sun without shade at 98° (36.7 C). We stepped out onto Burro Street in Cloudcroft at a balmy 74° (23.3 C). It Is easy to see why Cloudcroft has been a favorite summer tourist destination for West Texas for the last century. Fewer than 700 people call this little village home, but more than twice that number were shopping along Burro Street as we stepped into the local bakeries to sample the fare. Fortified with one of the best frappes we have ever tasted, we adventured about the 9,000 ft high village in search of some very elusive caches. We finally caught one on a winding, hilly, barely paved back-road. I found myself in deep gratitude after the find that none of the local trees are junipers. At so high an altitude, even a little of the most dreaded allergen would have caused an asthma attack. I’m a little surprised the exertion alone didn’t set me to coughing, but I won’t look that gift horse in the mouth.
Climbing back down the mountain, it was as though we topped a foothill and were on an entirely different planet. There was no gradual thinning of the forest onto the … of the desert hills. The trees just ended in one valley and the rolling stretches of desert appeared on the far side. From the western slopes of the Sacramento Mountain, you can see the shifting dunes of White Sands, though there be several other foothills and peaks in the intervening distance. The play of light and cloud-shadow across the far … valley gives the illusion across the glittering sands of deep waters and white wave caps. New Mexico’s only sea dried up millions of years ago, though, so the mirage is a particularly cruel trick of nature.
We stopped at almost every vintage-point pull-out on our way down the Sacramento Mountains, but as so many scenic features in New Mexico seem to do, the view of the mirage between far mountains eludes capture. The angles of the mountains observe the far mirage from White Sands, leaving only the immediate valley below open for photographs. We shook our heads and fists in frustration, and pushed on toward Alamogordo and our evening lodging.
Alamogordo
As is my habit in planning trips, our lodging was selected for its low cost and moderate-to-high rating on Booking.com. We travel most often as a couple, renting one bedroom for one night at a time. We need only a secure room, wi-fi, and a place to park, which makes most hotels and motels a pretty solid option. I’ve not managed to fully research and understand the star-rating system on hotels, but I have learned over much trial-and-error to ignore them completely. As far as I have experienced, if you are a budget-traveler, as we are, you are best-served by accommodations in the in the one to three star range. Four- and five-star hotels get that rating based on the luxury and service of their most costly rooms. While the beds, linens, and toiletries in the less costly rooms may be high quality, simple conveniences like microwaves and fridges are almost never included. You are also much more likely to have surcharges for basic services like wi-fi and cable. One and two-star hotels/motels include the cost for their Internet and cable in the basic bill, and put great thought toward the amenities their lodgers actually need. This keeps them competitive in an economy saturated with room-share services like AirB&B. Every once in a while, we get a bad roll of the dice, like during our previous trip to El Paso, TX. Our low-cost gamble in Alamogordo however, paid off nicely. We were already tired when we pulled into Budget Inn, but the warmth of New Mexico hospitality is always a balm for that. For the first time in decades, we did have to make an immediate complaint, as the room we were given was not prepared for occupation. That was remedied in seconds, with a new room, immaculately tidied, and personally inspected by the proprietor, who deeply apologized for the error.
The room was clean, comfy, beautifully decorated and the shower had been recently redone based on the very modern features in this mid-twentieth-century motor lodge. After a brief foray to the Brown Bag Deli for dinner sandwiches, we settled in for a very comfortable night and logged all our caching finds for the day.
I missed the morning Train whistles, but Raz assured me that he heard them inside our motel room. Sometime during this trip I lost count of the number of trains we encountered at crossings or overpasses built to keep highway traffic from having interminable waits at rail crossings. It's both odd and reassuring to see this older form of transport being used so heavily once again. I have to admit to chuckles when I see a half-mile long set of rail cars that are carrying nothing but double-stacked trailers intended for hook-up to semis for their final few miles by highway. America sought to replace the trains with trucks and highways in the mid 20th century, only to be once more reliant on the trains for the better economy for shipping massive loads.
Alas, the trains are the only thing on or near the road between Alamogordo and Carrizozo that I haven't seen too many times to pay attention to. I realize there is a wonderful walking trail for the Valley of Fires, and ancient lava-flow that covers a significant stretch of ground in this desert valley. There's a great deal of history and science to see, and I've no doubt we will head back to walk the trails in fall or early spring. When it's already 90° (32 C) at 0800, and the only water available for at least 50 miles in any direction is what we're carrying with us, a stop to view the burnt badlands of the Valley of Fires doesn't seem like a brilliant idea.
Carrizozo
We did, however, get out and explore the tiny town of Carrizozo. I've bought bottles of the cherry cider produced from the orchards here as far away as Seattle, WA and New Orleans, LA. It's very good stuff, and is about all this little town is currently known for. Apparently around the end of the 19th century, this place had a significant boom related to the placement of a rail depot at this location. The boom here pulled most of the residents from what was the biggest town in the area, White Oaks, as well as the designation of Lincoln County Seat from the eponymous town of Lincoln, NM. Good on Carrizozo, since White Oaks is a ghost town, and Lincoln isn't even an incorporated town any more. About a thousand residents still call Carrizozo home, though we only met one, and his two very friendly dogs. Like many small, New Mexican towns, the only places open before noon on Sundays are places of worship. Thus, we were completely unmolested in our long, meandering path of discovery that lead to many sightings of strange burro activity. We were not able to track down the story of the burros on this visit, so we shall have to come back to do so, or just begin legends of wild conjecture...
Socorro
By 0900, we were hungry, having had nothing more for breakfast than 2 tiny, though tasty, pies purchased yesterday at the Tom & Pam Runyan Ranches. Knowing there would be at least one more full hour of driving to reach home, we opted to stop in Socorro. There are 2 exits for Socorro off I-25, each marking one end of California Street, Socorro's main thoroughfare. We entered via the southern exit, and drove north along a road that I once knew like the back of my hand. A few buildings have changed in the 15 years since I was last a resident here. I was looking forward to pointing out the strange house with an upstairs door to nowhere, but that building was a casualty of the town's progress. The Quonset-hut with an adobe façade that serves as the town's one-screen movie theater still stands proudly on Manzanares Ave, just up from the Valverde Hotel, or what was once the Valverde hotel. I can find no listings for rooms at the hotel currently. I have memories of one of the only truly formal dinner occasions I attended as a student at New Mexico Tech being held at the restaurant in the Valverde. A stroll down the street or a virtual tour on Google Maps show the place to be currently vacant and gated. The El Camino Restaurant and Lounge, however, has its doors wide open.
We enter El Camino and seat ourselves, myself smiling all the while about things that never change. This may be the only business that still operates 24/7/365 in this small town. The single grocery store just north on California street has closed its doors, the Wal Mart just across California from El Camino having driven it out of business. I would feel sadness for that loss, save for the simple fact that the presence of Wal Mart in this town means the residents and college students no longer have to undertake a 30-plus mile road-trip to buy socks or underwear. This was the case at the turn of the 21st century, when I was a student here. Like many who lived in the dorms, I had no functional car of my own. At that time, it was not uncommon for students to form "clubs" for the specific purpose of gaining access to the school's fleet of activity vans to organize regular trips to buy basic necessities. People laugh when I tell this story, but every word of it is truth, and I can't pass through Socorro without retelling it. We don't shop for socks today, nor take a trip to visit my Alma Mater, but we to take a side-trip after breakfast to see the haunted ruins of the State Tuberculosis Sanatorium.
In the latter half of the 19th and earlier half of the 20th centuries, New Mexico was a destination for individuals seeking the benefits of our dry air in halting the progression of their active tuberculosis. The air wasn't by any means a cure, but the low population density of the region and the desiccating heat did reduce the spread of the disease. Eventually the bacteria responsible for the horrors of consumption was identified, and a cure was found and widely distributed. TB is still a concern in many places today, and we nurses have to get annual testing to make sure we aren't spreading it to our patients, but the day of the dedicated sanitorium is passed. All that remains here are crumbling buildings with reputations for being haunted. Stopping in the middle of the morning, as we did, we did not encounter any of the ghosts. We did find the cache, however, and wandered the rest of the way home marveling at just how quickly modern medicine has advanced since the days of the old San.
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