The last day of our trip began in Oklahoma City and continued on through Texas into New Mexico. We made a few unusual stops, the first of which was a roadside attraction in Groom, Texas: the biggest cross in the Western Hemisphere. Now we didn't feel the need to get up close and personal to the giant white structure, so we stopped a ways down the road and took a few pictures with Velociraptor.
As we mushed on through the Lone Star State to Amarillo, we passed a sign for Boots n' Jeans Western Store and decided to stop and check out their cowgirl attire. We left minutes later with a pair each of perfectly fitted boots and Ragan with a hat.
Well, I suppose I should clarify that we left the store a few minutes apart. Ragan went outside to check on Taima and make a phone call and I paid at the register. A few hundred feet off the entry ramp back onto the highway, we heard a subtle yet unmistakable clunk on the back of the car. "What was that?" We both asked. "Must've been a rock," I said. A moment of silence. Then Ragan followed with "Where's my phone?" Which was followed by several more moments of silence and then an explosive round of expletives. Yes, Ragan's phone met it's end on the highway in Amarillo, Texas, sliding innocently from the top of the car to the trunk as we picked up speed and, with that subtle yet unmistakable clunk, it uttered its final goodbye. The good news is that she had insurance and now has a new phone with the same number. The not as good news is that she lost all the numbers saved in her phone, so if you haven't already you should call and leave her your number.
We made it to New Mexico by early afternoon and were determined to reach Santa Fe by nightfall. Had we not been so determined, we probably would have said "Hell, no!" when we looked a mile down the flat stretch of road into an ominous black wall of rain and lightning. It's one thing to find yourself in the middle of a storm. It's quite another to intentionally drive into a storm you see in the distance. I always thought the "crack" was solely associated with the sound of lightning until I watched these jagged white lines soundlessly pierce the Southwestern sky.
On I-81 there are two turn-off roads that lead to Santa Fe, with about 40 miles and nothing else separating them. As we neared the first turn-off the rain began pounding down and I called Rebecca (afore-mentioned Jersey Grrl) to see if she could pull up the local doppler radar and let us know which way to go. Neither way looked particularly promising. Just as Rebecca was telling me "it doesn't look good," my phone went dead. And later, as we continued on I-81 beneath forked lightning that landed on both sides of our car, I experienced my first Southwestern hail storm. We spent a while on the side of the road, snuggled up behind a FedEx truck that, while driving rain or shine, would not brave the monstrous conditions an hour outside of Santa Fe. Ragan, the experienced driver that she is, was calm and collected. I just bit my lip for the better part of an hour to keep from screaming "Oh, God, we're gonna die!" as I waited for the windshield to crack and the hail to start pummeling our bodies. I'm sure if I'd said this, Ragan would have rolled her eyes. When we finally emerged unscathed on the other side of the storm, she commented on how awesome the whole experience had been. I shared in her enthusiasm of the moment, but for an entirely different reason: my life and limbs.
So, having overcome the obstacles set before us, we have arrived happily and healthily in Santa Fe. I am sitting in the Tribe coffeehouse on Cerrillos, the road home to the Red Roof Inn, where we spent Thursday and Friday nights, and Motel 6, where we spent Saturday and Sunday. Where does that leave us the last three nights? At home. Yes, home. But I'll have to save that story for next time.
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