White Sands National Monument, New Mexico

We left Ruidoso early today and passed by the Apache Casino on the way out of town. Indians are exempt by treaty from many state laws and tribes can operate casinos and sell cigarettes with no state taxes. These tribes once reckoned descent though women and the men religiously avoided their mother-in-laws.

About 1,700 Mescalero Apaches live on their reservation of 2,000,000 acres. There are 4,000 acres that are suited for agriculture (although Apaches have little inclination to farm) and another 500,000 acres are appropriate for grazing cattle and horses. The 25-mile drive though the reservation was not what you might expect. It is a long climb through the reservation up a winding wooded valley to an elevation of 9,000 feet. There are many small Indian ranches with lush pastures, Hereford cows and painted horses, some of which were on the road. No feathers or warrior bonnets. No marketing of trinkets. Just a quiet Sunday morning drive though lovely woodland and pasture.

The bright yellow (autumn) trees with white bark that we have been seeing are aspens, which grow at elevations above 7,000 feet. The aspen leaves shimmer in the wind like no other tree. They mix everywhere with giant pines. There is no sign of the pine beetle infestations that have killed hundreds of millions of pine trees in Alaska and in most of the rest of the US. Perhaps this pine population is isolated by the desert?

As we left the reservation, we found free municipal tennis courts in the small ski resort of Cloudcroft. I lost 6-2, 6-0. I blame the altitude. Peacocks are often unable to fly at this elevation.

After the tennis game we ride down 4,000 feet to Alamogordo, using the transmission to conserve the brakes, and then on to the 300-square-mile white gypsum dunes of the White Sands National Monument. We tour White Sands on the motorbike and see an Apache dune mouse scurry over the road. The creatures of the desert are nocturnal and most, like the Apache dune mouse, have evolved a pure white colouring to shield them from predators. We shed our shoes and climb the dunes barefoot. As we drive 30 miles at the park's speed limit, we are continuously overtaken and passed by SUVs in a hurry to see the dunes and desert creatures at very high speed.

About 10 million years ago, the Earth's crust began to settle at White Sands along fault lines running north and south. A huge basin was formed between the Sacramento Mountains in the east and the San Andreas mountain range to the west. Melting snow washed sediments into a large lake, which became saturated with gypsum. As the climate warmed, the lake evaporated and this area began to form into the ever-changing white dunes, which are 97% gypsum.

We are settled now in Elephant Butte lake, just North of Truth-Or-Consequences, New Mexico.

Gila Cliff Dwellers National Monument, New Mexico

Today we drove over the Black Range Mountains, ascending and descending on switchback roads. The trees in late October are a spectacular palette of oranges, yellows, reds and greens. The mountains are a mix of Tertiary volcanic stone and Mesozoic sandstone uplifted some four miles.

We set up camp in the Gila National Forest and break out the motorcycle to drive the remaining 20 miles on lonely mountain roads to the Gila Cliff Dweller National Monument. We get there just in time for the last tour and are alone with the guide. This is the first National Monument and was established in 1914 by Teddy Roosevelt.

The Mogollon Indian cliff dwellers occupied the caves high in the cliffs of a limestone canyon on the banks of a river. The river has ornately sculpted the vertical sandstone walls of the curving canyon and caves. The narrow canyon is decorated in late October with yellow aspens, red ferns and twisted, deformed green junipers.

Trees used in constructions within the caves are dated about 1270 AD, based on their dendrochronology ring patterns. There was a thirty-year drought before that date that leaves a distinctive pattern of small rings like fingerprints in time. The Mogollon used a mix of clay, gypsum and turkey feathers for mortar to build elaborate stone structures in the caves.

They abandoned this place in about 1300 AD for unknown reasons. Several tribes including the Ute claim the Mogollon as ancestors. They may have lived here for defensive reasons or might have regarded this as a sacred place or meeting place. Theories vary. It is a magical place that throbs with power and beauty.

Our guide takes us though the caves for about an hour, explaining the purpose of various rooms. As we talk, he explains spiritual animism. He mentions that he has had mystic experiences here. I ask him about them, but he tells me that the park superintendent doesn't like him to talk about these during the regular tour. He offers to explain after we complete the regular tour. Several others then join our tour in progress, so we wait for him to finish with them.

We meet him at the mouth of the largest cave and he tells his story:

I was here before dawn, meditating. I've meditated for many years. Suddenly, as the sun rose, an electric shock of adrenaline ran though me and I jumped to my feet and faced the rising sun.

I found my arms rising in an arc above my head and I saw a decorated pot in the sky.

Then I bent over until my fingers touched the ground and I saw a vision of a basket filled with fruit and food, the symbol of Mother Earth.

I stood up and my hands came together over my stomach and I saw a spear, the symbol of power at the central core my being.

Then my arms rose again in an arc above my head and I again saw the decorated pot with light pouring from it.

He tells us that a voice then spoke to him and said:

You have been given the gift of the Bringing-the-Sun-into-the-Cave Ceremony.

He says that all ancient cave dwellers have this ceremony. He knows this because he read a book about it before receiving this vision.

Mogollon, New Mexico

The Mogollon ghost town was disappointing, except for the knuckle-biting moments on the one-lane five-mile drive up to the old abandoned mining town. The uphill drive is on the face of a cliff only wide enough for one vehicle over most of the drive. We hope not to have to back up the 30-foot-long RV. We should have driven the motorcycle up this bad road, but Mrs Phred hasn't been on one for thirty years and she still pounds my back to slow down on curves that I could easily take at seventy, wanting me to slow to twenty.

The evening campsite is 25 miles south of the Petrified Forest and Painted Desert. They have fishing, swimming and ancient petroglyphs here. It's a state park on a 1,500 acre lake at 6,000 feet. We climb the rocks in the park looking for the Indian petroglyphs, but find none as darkness falls.

Tonight we are reading some of the bagful of used paperbacks we bought in Silver City, New Mexico, yesterday. I got three old Norman Mailers (including Tough Guys Don't Dance), a Stephen King, a Dean Koontz and a Robert Bloch. My Faithful Companion picked up a stack as well. There were no books on meditation. The cellular modem works on the picnic table outside the RV and I write about today's travel by flashlight.

Painted Desert and Petrified Forest, Arizona

The pastels of the vast Painted Desert are breath-taking.

The huge black raven owns the Painted Desert. It sits quietly, waiting for my arrival. I throw three pieces of bread and it picks these up one by one, places them in a single pile, then gathers all three and flies off into the desert. It is a bird of great intelligence and courage. The raven found light and brought it to the people, according to an ancient Alaskan Inuit legend. It is the center of many Native American legends.

I know the impossible sea

when the dogs bark

I am a death bird

Naughty night bird

-Jim Morrison

The Petrified Forest National Monument is just south of the Painted Desert on Route 66. 225 million year-old Triassic trees and tree fragments litter the desert floor for miles. There are hundreds of letters in the visitor center attesting to the bad luck that befalls anyone who removes a piece of rock. The rock trees contain lovely varieties of minerals, colors and patterns. It takes ten time longer to polish these than it takes to polish granite according to the exhibits in the center. They must be hard.

A ranger at the exit asks if we have collected anything... we tell her only memories and digital photographs.

Park Superintendent

Petrified Forest National Monument



October 28, 2005



Dear Sir,

Enclosed is a piece of petrified tree that I removed from the forest.

Since stealing this accursed rock I have had nothing but bad luck. The Internal Revenue Service is auditing my taxes for the last five years. My wife discovered my affair with her sister and left me. My daughter has begun dating an ex-convict. The front porch collapsed and killed four of my hunting dogs. On the way to buy the winning lottery ticket, my pickup truck threw a rod and I missed the deadline by an hour. My youngest son has become a gel-head. Hurricane Wilma blew half the shingles off and I shot myself in the foot with my nail gun, nailing myself to the roof. I'm really very sorry about stealing this rock, please put it back.

Sincerely,



Phred

Slide Rock State Park, Arizona

Sedona is picturesque. The town is surrounded by towering spires of red rock. It's full of artists, shops and galleries where photographs, paintings, pottery and silver and turquoise jewelry are sold.

We ride the motorbike up to Slide Rock State Park in the morning. The park used to be an apple orchard. The original barns, houses and equipment are on display, including an old waterwheel electricity generator. Mr Pendley's 1912 apple orchard has now been turned into a state park. We self-register and explore the park. Pendley dug a two-mile system of flumes and tunnels up the mountain to deliver water to the orchard, which is about 100 feet above the adjacent river. This effort took him two years and appeared to be back-breaking work. Red Delicious apples seem to grow best here.

Tennis scores on the municipal court for today are 6-1, 6-2. I lose both sets. I'm obviously distracted by the surrounding scenery.

Later, a five-mile evening trip for groceries on the motorbike in the dark, rain and cold in heavy four-lane traffic adds some spice to the day. I fill my backpack with wine, whole-grain bread, eggs and sliced turkey.

The weather has been near or below freezing in the evenings for the last week. I have a dawn balloon trip over the red rock spires of Sedona booked in the morning to surprise Mrs Phred for her birthday present.

Journey to the Heart of the American Southwest Archive

Phred

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