Back in the Saddle of Sanderson

A panorama taken from one of the bluffs overlooking Sanderson, Texas.

This article originally appeared in the Terrel County News Leader, Sanderson, Texas.

So what was it about Sanderson that stood out from all the other towns along a journey of 1,000 walking miles, that was special enough for me to give it a whirl for a little while, as I prepare, anticipate, seek the path for the next journey?
 
When I began journeying, pulling the little “friggin’” wagon from Madison, Wisconsin back in the fall of 2009, there were many, many reasons for this upper-mid-lifer to take on such a crazy project. Many of those reasons were basically indescribable (then and now!); it was just a need, something compelled me to plan and take on such a challenge; to break “bubbles,” open discourse between people, between strangers; the wagon, I’d say, was symbolic of the pioneer time in this country’s history, when people were led by dreams and ambitions that were more akin to satisfying ones own life in the quest to obtain their dreams than that of the some status quo and corporate hegemony that seems more to benefit from such ambitions today; most times to appease those who needed a definite, seemingly rational excuse, I’d simply say, “To get out of the house!”
 
I had returned to Madison, my hometown, several years before, and during that time I came to realize that I had lost my hometown. Rents, leases, mortgages had soared; development was occurring at a rampant, uncontrolled pace (At the time I departed Madison, $1-billion in construction was in the blue prints or underway for the UW-Madison University alone (this in a city of only 270,000?!), replacing buildings left and right, some only 30 years old. A $205-million “playground” for the wealthier, a world-class symphony center, the Overture Center, was literally plunked right down in Madison’s most pedestrian-heavy, community-orientated area, gobbling up an entire city block on State Street (Not long after “Big Brother” cameras were installed at every corner along State Street).
 
Where bureaucracy and unfettered development rules, I said to myself, community, people, a true sense of place at a pace people can grow alongside with suffers.
 
Coming into Sanderson from San Antonio (“To Roswell & Beyond!” I called it) back in March with worn wagon tires, broken axle, broken wallet, and a broken spirit, I was close to ending the journey, 281 miles short of Roswell, the 1,000 walking milestone. I weighed the choices, and basically they came down to returning to “bureaucracy” or, irrationally, leaping ahead, if only one step at a time.
 
Then, I started running (err walking) into people. Randal at Sanderson Tire & Feed helps fix the axle; Anna at the News Leader mentions a Mr. Bush; a Mr. Bush drives me over to the “compound” and points to a camper,“Your new home!” and to bicycles with tires for the wagon, and gives me work, while his wife Amanda cooks up incredible lunches; neighbors Lane and Evonne and Pete and, again, Anna pitch in food; their friend Pam Professional Hairstylist On the Go cuts my hair; Genie and Martin at Uncle’s need the gas pumps to sparkle again; Mick of the Canyons RV park has a house needing a new life.
 
In less than two weeks I would be re-energized, provisioned, then continue the journey to Roswell. And now having achieved that goal, why not return for a little while to Sanderson, where one feels the hometown appeal, where not bureaucracy but the people still rule, and aren’t squeezed into a narrow social standard. A place from where to journey from not with angst, as I have done from Madison, but with a sense of place where one is welcomed at their own pace. Even if that pace is walking, and even then pulling a little “friggin’” red wagon.

 

END

Hitchin’ It Back to Sanderson

A plethora of oil-related apparatus such as these tanker rigs were common along the route between Sanderson, Texas and Roswell, New Mexico. I took this photo at about 6:30 in the morning in Loving, New Mexico, while waiting for a ride back to Sanderson. I waited at this spot for nearly 7 hours for a ride.

SANDERSON, TEXAS — It first looked like hitchhiking back to Sanderson from Roswell would be a nightmare. In the first 51-hour period, I’d traversed a mere 80 miles. Hitchhiking in today’s day and age, and especially a guy with a 125 lb. wagon, what should one expect? Things were looking mighty, mighty grim.  

Diane from the Artesia area saved me from hours of waiting in Artesia: "There's good people here, don't get me wrong, but not ever the type to pick up a hitchhiker."

The mood slowly began to change when Diane stopped and asked how I was doing. When it sounded like I had a “viable” story of being “here” (wherever that really was!) with a wagon (!) and a goal, she offered assistance.  

The smart thing she did was asked for my ID and called her husband, who happened to be an officer, and she gave him my information. That made her feel better and of course made me feel better knowing she felt better. Know what I mean?  

Diane took me into Carlsbad and treated me to Wendys, the air conditioning, and good talk: her volunteering in the Boy Scouts, and her and her family’s Native American heritage. She talked of some of the hypocrisy she and other Native Americans experience.  

She mentioned how once her husband had been offered a position through a government agency to help educate and reinforce that pride of heritage to other Native Americans, but lost the opportunity when they also demanded that his hair be cut.  

Thanksgiving, as well, “celebrates sharing and togetherness between whites and Indians when in fact it ‘celebrates’ the complete opposite…” 

David was en route from Carlsbad to Del Rio when he stumbled upon me and the wagon in Loving, New Mexico. Here we're photographed in Sanderson where David dropped myself and the wagon off.

David was the blast out of the heavens. After a several week working stint for the oil companies in Carlsbad, he was on his way back to Del Rio when he stopped for the LRWT in Loving, New Mexico. 

First thing he said? 

“You don’t have a knife, do you?” 

My first thing I then said? 

“No, you don’t, do you?” 

“Well, I just want to be sure.” 

Does anyone blame him? Not me! 

We ended up sharing the next 200 miles together, the miracle ride of all rides, just when I needed it, and right from where I’d sat in the same spot for 7 hours twiddling sticks, counting stones, ants, you name it, just to pass the time. 

David turned out to be one helluva guy. Not the kind of guy who will ever get “recognized” for his simple acts of kindness, but from what he informed me, he oughta be up for honors, indeed. You see, he happens to live right near the Rio Grande, right at the border…… 

But for his safety I don’t want to go into specifics, though an example is how he’s helped others in need who weren’t considered all that “legal” (hint hint border issues, etc.) with info and water and food and…. 

Thanks, David! 

Note: Coming back from Roswell and especially the final ride from David, at normal highway speed, it was like being in a time warp. It had only been a couple of weeks since I’d walked out from Sanderson toward Roswell. Yet, driving back it felt like it had been ages ago. It was really strange. I’d see places I’d camped at just two weeks back, and they looked familiar but foreign in memory. And when I got back to Sanderson it was funny because a neighbor came up and said, “Hell, that took you no time at all!” and I’m looking at him, confused, and thinking, “Huh?” 

I guess what I mean to get across here is that though in walking the distance between point A and point B took so much longer than driving it, it felt as if I’d experienced much more — timewise — and so time itself seemed like it had stretched out over a much longer period than we’re accustom to. 

I’ll need to ponder on this more and get back to it. Right now there’s a community barbecue for the race drivers and community at large for the… 

Next Post: The Big Bend Open Road Race, “Live” from right here in Sanderson. Race is this Saturday, April 24, a 64-mile track using Highway 285 between Sanderson and Fort Stockton, Texas. 

 

END

Saying Goodbye at Rivers of Life in Roswell

Here's part of the "crew" at Rivers of Life who helped make my stay in Roswell one I won't forget. Super kind! and not one alien among us!

ROSWELL, NEW MEXICO — On the day I left Roswell after hitting the 1,000 mile walking mark, David, Eddie and Daniel were kind enough to pose for this candid moment outside one of the Rivers of Life homes.

Thanks, you guys! for all your kindness and good spirit, and that “Good night, Jim Bob” type of late-night feeling in the jabs and jokes and the stories told in the dark at night.

Next update: Some photos of some good people who picked up the “train” for the return  to Sanderson.

END

Back to the Future

Pictured somewhere along the Military Ridge Trail near Barneveld, Wisconsin after beginning the journey from Madison last fall.

ROSWELL, NEW MEXICO — This 2nd Leg from San Antonio, Texas “To Roswell & Beyond!” is basically complete. Altogether, so far with this leg plus the journey partway down the Mississippi valley area last fall, I’ve logged 1,000 miles walking — that’s right around 1,924,000 footsteps! — pulling the “friggin’” wagon.  

For now I will be returning to Sanderson, Texas by hitching it, so to arrive in time for next weekends the Big Bend Open Road Race. (There’s just something truly unique — and still exudes that Old West spirit — in which amateurs are invited to pretty much  floor their gas pedals for 64 miles on Highway 285 between Sanderson and Ft. Stockton.)  

Somewhere North of Sanderson, Texas, I took a breath to take in the breathtaking experience of Western Texas.

Sanderson as well is where I plan to call home, regroup, save up some funds for a new camera and such, then listen for the next wagoneers’ calling: Where no wagon has gone before.   

I met wonderful people back in Sanderson, as I’ve met most everywhere along the LRWT journey, and there’salso good opportunities for work (Sanderson has not yet fully recovered from the flood of ’64 and the R&R depot closing of ’94; and has in the meantime retained a vintage charm). Sanderson simply has that Western Texas appeal of large skies and vast horizons, while nestled nicely in the convergence of two valleys, and is perfect for the solace required in which to focus on writing and photography.  

There are many of you have given support in so many ways, Thank you all! and I’ll certainly keep you posted for the next adventure, journey, performance art, whatever one may like to call it!  

Note: It’s strange! I feel more fears now thinking ahead to settling down some than the fears so many warned me about on attempting such a project. Has this been a growing, eye-opening experience? Absolutely. For myself and others I’ve met along the way…  

END

Rivers of Life Ministry

Sarah, pictured here with husband Burl, is a whirlwind of energy and goodwill, directing many of the duties for Rivers of Life Ministry. Sarah says, "This is not work. I love this. I have come to love every one who comes here, and they all have their unique stories."

ROSWELL, NEW MEXICO — Some half-a-dozen years ago Sister Stella (I’m still trying to get her pix!) received one profoundly simple but far-reaching spiritual message: Reach out to people in need. 

One person, one vision. 

Artist-In-Residence @ Anderson Museum of Contemporary Art

Visiting the Anderson Museum of Contemporary Art was a fascinating, enduring experience.

ROSWELL, NEW MEXICO –Imagine…you’re born with the need to create…you’re an artist…you’ve done good work…and you’re wishing upon a star as most artists do for: If only I could have a window of TIME to really dive into what it is I need to create… 

A Visitors’ Welcome

Suzy poses with "Bob" at the Roswell's Visitors' center.

ROSWELL, NEW MEXICO — I met up with Suzy and “Bob” and Emily (not pictured) for the inside scoop of the alien phenomenon in Roswell at the visitors’ center. 

All (not surprisingly!) were true believers in the alien Roswell phenomenon.

Emily said it was simple: “Hey, if we’re capable of being here, who’s to say anyone else isn’t?”

Then with a grin she added, “But they were the smart ones, they took off!”

Suzy was kind enough to pose with “Bob,” who, she informed me, could be kin. Suzy says she was born in 1947, the very same year of the Roswell Incident. “Who knows? It’s very possible, and I do have big ears.”

References to alien visitation abound around Roswell.

As one wanders around the Main Street area where the visitors center and many alien-related shops are, you often run into Roswellians who have met “survivors”, people who in one capacity or another were involved in the Incident, and return to visit.

Suzy is no exception. Over time Suzy said she’s met several survivors, and for her there is no question. “I met the pilot who flew the gear (debris) to Ft. Worth afterwards, and he was certain something was amiss.”

END

Just for Fun: Quik Hippie Chicks Expose

Disregard the ugly Tux sign; Can you see the name of the store on the VW up on the roof?

ROSWELL, NEW MEXICO — Some of you “in the know” who know me will get a kick out of these photos, as I say now and again that once I do finally settle down, I hope it will be with a “Hippie Chick” sort of girl (of course my age) with the sunlight or moonlight in her eyes or however the song/saying goes.

“Tree of Knowledge” Right On!

Considering all the chance occurences along this journey, was it any surprise that, when I went to visit the main library here, there was this "Tree of Knowledge" with hundreds of little quotes and what was the first one upon which I stumbled? Gave me goose pimples.

ROSWELL, NEW MEXICO –Last night, my first night in Roswell, I slept nine hours straight through–unbelievable!–at the mens’ shelter, Rivers of Life. Breakfast was Rice Krispies and Kix cereals, at seven this morning. Devotions, required, was at nine. Afterward I went to the library where I found the “Knowledge Tree,” on the way in to update the blog.

Have Made Contact: Roswell, New Mexico

Downtown lamp posts remind you of the city's heritage as the "epic-center" of alien lore.

 ROSWELL, NEW MEXICO — Aliens abound, peering at you from within every nook and corner along Main Street. This should be an unconventional experience, just what I like…