Stalagmites,
Aliens and Russell Crowe
Now heading northwest on highway
285, I bypassed Pecos with its West of the Pecos Museum (howdy there, Judge
Roy Bean) and crossed into New Mexico. At a crossroads in the middle of
nowhere, a forlorn highway sign pointed to Carlsbad Cavern National Monument.
I pulled over and pondered. Had I been there as a kid with my family? (Couldn’t
remember.) Should I detour and see it, adding extra miles and hours to
my schedule? My answer: of course I should.
At
the Cavern’s visitor center, I somewhat guiltily opted for the elevator
rather than hoofing it down 750 feet to the “Big Room.” What a wuss am
I. Strolling through the maze of formations, all dramatically lit (just
like Mother Nature would’ve done had she enough extension cords), was quite
spellbinding. Glistening with water dripping from above, the formations
had an organic look about them, like some prehistoric, giant jellyfish
with smooth, shiny folds of limestone skin. I wondered if perhaps A.E.
Geiger, the artist responsible 
for
the look of the Alien movie, hadn’t spent some time down here. One could
almost see the formations throbbing with some strange life force. (Have
I seen too many movies or what?)
One could also make the case that
the cavern resembled a church, with the formations as its altars. Indeed,
the mood in the caves was reverential; the visitors spoke in hushed tones.
But then there was also a decidedly non-reverential group of teenagers
madly making out in every nook and cranny along the pathway. Nothing like
a warm smooch in a chilly cave.
Then it was ZOOM back up the elevator
and WHAM out into the hard afternoon sun. From the claustrophobic cave
to the huge expanse of naked New Mexico prairie proved a blinding contrast.
Roswell, New Mexico is, of course, the
UFO capital of the United States, if not the whole doggoned world. Remember
Area 51? If you don’t, a drive down Roswell’s main drag will refresh your
memory. In addition to the brightly neoned UFO museum in the middle of
town, one local shop features a life-sized flying saucer embedded in its
roof, and the Macdonalds' marquee cheerfully announces “Welcome, aliens!”
Yes, Virginia, there are aliens, and they are us: the tourists.
I was drawn to the Western Motel because
of its look: a circa 1950s motor court with an adobe hacienda motif. You
don’t see many of these anymore. And the nice couple who owned it even
came down in price when I started to walk away after hearing the rates.
It was meant that I should stay there. Must be alien power.
Night fell. Rather than hop aboard
a passing spacecraft, I joined Russell Crowe on the good ship Surprise
as we chased that pesky French frigate across the seven seas. Not only
hadn’t seen a film in a long time, but it just seemed ironically appropriate
to see an historical drama in the hometown of the UFO. I’ll take a frigate
over a flying saucer any day.
Next:
Off the see The Kid...
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Trip journal preface/master index