Bumper Sticker: Our Other Car is a Trek

We continue to be a one-car family. In part for the savings in gas, insurance, upkeep. Except that gas costs are negligible when you drive about 50 miles A WEEK! Still. In order to stay a one-car family, Nick is now relying on pedal-power. He invested in a Trek mountain bike which he often rides to town for meetings and etcetera. It’s all downhill. Well, to town it is. Coming home, he has to get off and walk the bike the last 100 yards because it hits a fairly steep incline.

This is relevant because the car broke down last Tuesday evening about 2 blocks from the house. Fortunate for us that it broke on Tuesday, because on Thursday morning, we were supposed to take off for San Diego. If you look at a map – trust Google or MapQuest only so far, but they both at least show the same route from here to San Diego and that is right straight through the desert. We had to have the car towed into R&L Service Center. And here begins this week’s saga.

We own a 1998 Volvo sedan. Where we came from, that is nothing of note. At any intersection in the Northeast or Middle Atlantic cities, you will see 3 Volvos. They are very popular because they have a tendency to last forever. My last Volvo? I earned a 350,000 mile longevity emblem. But we weren’t the sages of our Volvo dealer. The longest-running Volvo there sported a half-million mileage emblem on its grill. Volvo puts out a million-mile emblem because, one assumes, there are Volvos that earn that honor.

However. In Silver City, Volvos are exotic creatures. I’ve seen a handful since we moved here. A friend has one – hers has a spoiler—I always wished for a spoiler. Another gray Volvo lives in our neighborhood. Other exotic cars here include: Mercedes Benz; BMWs; Chryslers. Cadillacs are rare enough to be eye-catching. Perhaps that’s because there is only a Ford Dealer and a Toyota Dealer here. I think the Toyota Dealer also sells Jeeps. There’s not even a Chevy dealer that I know of. How can you see the USA without a Chevy dealer? Oh, sorry; showing my TV age. If you don’t drive a Ford or a Toyota, you are an endangered species with limited habitat. And so you find R&L Service Center or their equivalent. R&L came highly recommended by the neighborhood Volvo and has lived up to its reputation. They got to our crippled car as soon as they could (Thursday morning) and fixed it promptly – as well as they could fix it. They couldn’t replace the part – the ignition key cylinder. To give them credit, they called a Volvo dealer to see about ordering the part for long-term repair. Unfortunately, Volvo apparently keeps the replacement of keyed parts close and so told R&L that we’d have to bring the car to a Volvo dealer, or have it towed there if the car broke down again and R&L couldn’t clean and repair the cylinder again. Nearest Volvo dealers: Albuquerque-5 hours drive; Tucson-3½ hours drive; El Paso-3 hours drive. Can you imagine the towing bill? Small towns can be wonderful: this small town has a terrific bakery, an arts community, an energetic and diverse community made up of caring friends. Small towns have their drawbacks: limited services to keep you, your car and perhaps other durable goods healthy and humming.

My daughter was telling me about the Cash for Clunkers program where you trade in your gas hog and get credits toward the cost of a new car that has better gas mileage. I think that’s wonderful. I don’t think our Volvo would qualify because we get marginally better than the 18 mpg or less to qualify. Last I measured, we got about 20 mpg/town and 25 or so on the highway. But I have to laugh. If everyone in Silver City with an aging vehicle decided to take up the Federal government on the Cash for Clunkers program, it would make the bailout of General Motors look like pocket change for the Salvation Army. We have cars on the road with brand names that no longer exist – there’s a Datsun 280Z that we see regularly when we walk the dog. Numerous Datsun sedans are to be found lounging in the WalMart parking lot. There are several Dodge Comets, Plymouth Barracudas and Ford Falcons roaming the territory. Raise your hands if you remember fins on cars. Think they are only exist in classic movies or tv ads? Nope, still tooling along Hwy 180. Before Nick committed to a Treck instead of a truck, we looked at a Ford F150 pickup that was advertised as a 1990 vintage. When the seller brought out the actual title, it was 1980. There are any number of trucks running the roads, mostly Fords but some Chevys, that have a split windshield. A buck to the person who writes me back with the last year that trucks, or sedans for that matter, had a seam down the center of the windshield. $10 to the person who actually drove one! (A virtual bet only, but tell me if you remember or drove one anyway.) The winner of this cruise down Silver City’s old Rt 66 is a Jeep that surely saw action in WWII. Still seeing action on NM Hwy 90 but hasn’t been painted in the intervening decades. I think the thing is that nothing really rusts here because it’s so dry. And because we’re not really desert with sand or dust storms to grit up moving parts, you can keep most anything running. And people do! I have a great time watching the variety of 4-wheeled workhorses and basic transportation that folks here still coax along from home to ranch to store to work. Perhaps you’ve seen images and video and stories of the cars of Old Havana? You don’t need a passport or permission to ride on down to Silver City and see our mechanicals any day.

Independence Day Ups and Downs

Up with parades in small towns! Flags galore – every lamp post sported the stars and stripes. 6,000 flags handed out by a local realtor. Flags of varying size glued or taped onto bicycles or stuck into headbands and shirt pockets and even gelled into young boys’ Mohawks. Candy tossed from every float, truck and tractor—stuffed into small mouths, little and big people-pockets, fanny packs, and finally, crushed by tires, feet and hooves to be swept up by the last “float” in the parade, the street sweeper. Transport of all sizes – live and mechanical. There were floats pulled by 4x4 pick-ups on steroids. The floats themselves carried hay bales, fake rockets, or lawn chairs filled with veterans, the Red Hat ladies, various citizenry representing various social and business enterprises…and a bazzilion ball players from barely-big-enough-to-field-a-glove to ready-to-graduate. There were a couple of tractor-trailers bedecked with banners, posters, flags and ribbons; every fire company in the County was represented, providing a lift in style for many of the younger ball players. There was a tractor brigade made up of 1930s through 1950 era farm tractors sponsored by the Silver City Museum. This was one of my favorite segments since the old Farmalls reminded me of my grandpa’s tractor, though these were much redder and shinier! And there was horsepower on the hoof. A group of horseback performers didn’t, except by accident when the mechanized horsepower following the troupe sounded its airhorn causing horse flesh to start and riders to grip the reins. Another favorite, though was the US Forest Service mounted firefighters and the mule-drawn water tank. Some of these may have been, as recently as a week ago, fighting real fires up in the Gila where mechanized horsepower couldn’t reach. All these paraders and more are in my Flickr slideshow , there are also two little videos of the parade route and of the horse-mounted performing group. (let’s hope the links hold this time!)

Down with parades as the vehicle for political statements! I have not seen many small-town parades, so maybe this is normal. But the buzz that I heard from neighbors and friends for the next couple of days would suggest that this one got a little more political than usual. Or maybe it was a little one-sided? Many flavors of republican or conservative, few flavors of liberal or democrat (not always the same thing regardless of your lean). Many opinions about who paraded and who wasn’t represented. Can’t say I was entirely thrilled with some of the points of view on parade or even that any political points of view were paraded at all, but you know, they were shooting people in Iran and currently seem to be doing so in China if the paraders’ viewpoints were not welcome. At least everyone here has the right to stand up and speak out in relative safety, other than a dirty look or two. On a lighter note, there were five – 5! – different men running for sheriff who had floats in the parade; floats with lots of very cute kids, very attractive young women, good music blaring or all of the above. Three of the 5 were together in a line.

Up with July 4th in the Park! I didn’t get to stay too long, but was there long enough to see…well, a little of everything and a little of everyone. Like the Blue festival, a full representation of the community. More food than you could taste if the day had room for several meals, snacks and appetizers. All the paraders, some still in their costumes military, hatted, sports or otherwise, wandering along looking at the food booths, the political booths (yep, here too), at the arts’n crafts booths, and at the “sign up here” booths, usually with raffles as temptation. Especially up with being hailed by several new friends and stopping to chat and hug and wish well for the weekend.

Up with good food and good company. We didn’t get to attend all of invitations on Saturday we had intended due to a family phone call in the morning that kept us close to home, but what we did attend, we certainly enjoyed. Then, we extended our celebration the next day with friends here at the house, tucked back into our outdoor room while it rained-sunned-rained-blew-stormed. When the rain went horizontal and started blowing into the recessed space, we gathered drinks, food and cushions and headed for the living room.

Up with fireworks – although on this note, Nutmeg would surely disagree. Giant blossoms of red-and-blue or green, with sparkles and bangs. Roman candles in brilliant white. And all viewed from our back patio. Uniquely, in my experience, just about everyone with a few dollars could buy and shoot fireworks. The law here says that anyone can set off fireworks…and I’m not talking about sparklers, but the streak-into-the-sky aerial fireworks…as long as they are within city limits. ?? But they can’t set them off outside of town, where so much of the vegetation is grasses. ??? Well, you can imagine no one paid any attention to municipal boundaries. So from our patio, we could see anywhere from four to seven or eight discrete fireworks displays going off in the skies over town proper during the course of an hour and half, as well as two or three separate displays going on right around, and behind, us. The skies were glowing. Nutmeg didn’t know in which direction to bark. We didn’t always know where to look. Oh! Look at that one…wait, you’re missing that one over there…wow, did you see the one behind…quick turn around, oh, too late, but wait, what’s that over there………

Oy! The humidity!

Walked the dog this morning and, just like the last couple of days, came home lathered! Dripping! Fresh t-shirt no longer fresh, but damp and sticking. I thought, oy! it must truly be monsoons, the humidity is so high. So I went on the weather and (friends and family in Eastern states, please forgive me) found that the humidity was a sauna-like 5o+% . Found myself truly amazed at the speed at which our bodies and minds adjust. The average humidity here when it’s not monsoon season is probably 20%, may25?%. In the really dry season, it’s even lower. I have to go back to DC for work at the end of July. I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll survive.

Speaking of monsoons. I guess they have for sure started. Despite the fact that we’ve had rain once or twice a week since before Memorial Day (remember that Sunday afternoon when the Blues Festival was rained out?), we have learned that it’s not truly monsoon until the storms come in from the southwest. For a week or so, I’ve had the experience of the seeing the day’s weather develop out my office window facing north and east: at 8 am, the sky is deeply blue with mare’s tails clouds; at 10 am, there is a beautiful cathedral of white cloud building over the Pinos Altos mountains to the north-northeast; by noon, there is a dark gray bottom to that cloud cathedral, and by dinner, the wind is blowing and rain is falling. But that’s just rain. That’s not the monsoons. Well, a couple of days ago, I think the monsoons started for real, because by mid-afternoon, the sky to the south was black, the sky to the north was sunny and blue and we were sitting right in the seam. The seam can be nice, though – we saw rainbows 3 evenings in a row, including two that were doubles!

I have to tell you that these clouds-blue-clouds-storms make for magnificent, dramatic skies. I also now understand where all the cartoons got the idea of the miserable one with the rain storm right overhead and nowhere else. Out here, that’s a fact! In fact, when we went to Tucson a couple of weekends ago, I saw a most marvelous example – on one side of the car within 100 yards, there were dust devils swirling along the highway. On the other side of the car within 100 yards, it was pouring rain. A cloud can drop rain across a whole mountain range, but it can also drop rain in a 1-mile-or-less band width. I swear that, being in the seam, one evening it was time to walk the dog – it was sunny on the north side of the house when I called Nick to come let’s go and he decided I must be crazy because on his side of the house, the rain was beating against the windows. It is thoroughly fascinating to watch the clouds bring their rain in patches, buckets, and splatters across the landscape – and a good gambling game – is that one going to hit us? Or miss us? Your side of the street? Or mine? Wanna bet?

The conclusion (I hope) of our Hitchcock saga of cliff swallows: we kept going to the back porch and the front porch (did I mention the swallows were trying to build in 3 corners over the front door?) and chasing the birds away, and scraping away their mud daubs. I did a little research on the web and found that we really needed to prevent them building their nests. Turns out swallows are protected, and once they build and lay eggs, you can’t destroy the nests or the eggs – not that I’d try, but I really didn’t want people having to come to the front door ducking as the birds whizzed by or covering their head for poop-protection, nor did I want to give up the back porch because of the same set of reasons. So I went to Walmart and bought some netting like you’d use for petticoats or tutus and decided that I would hang netting around the entrances and sides of both porches. Wouldn’t look too great, but would only have to last 2-3 weeks until the birds found other roosts. But, it would appear that just disturbing them and scraping their hard work onto the floor every hour or so was adequate. They seem to have given up. Don’t know whose house the swallows’ve chosen now. But I have 14 yards of netting I could sell them!
Wishing all of you a happy and cheery 4th of July – remember when you’re watching those fireworks that it’s also our 22nd anniversary and blow us a sparkler or two. We’re anticipating a glorious small-town celebration.