It seemed odd that my resuscitation of the old van had not yet involved a drive out of town at highway speeds, so I used a tire purchase as my excuse to drive out of the Little Pueblo, down to the torrid high desert town of Deming, NM. It brought back some memories.
For one thing, I remembered how much I would actually like driving the van and, yes, looking out the windshield, if the world would just let me drive at 45--55 mph. Call me heartless if you wish, but I don't really give a damn if the people who pass me end up in the ditch. But I don't want that to happen to an innocent motorist in the opposing lane, so I end up driving the speed limit instead of the leisurely pace I prefer.
The other fact that came back with a vengeance was how different it is to drive south -- downhill and into the sun -- than north. My dog would heartily agree with that one. This was a reminder that an RV camper will find Dry Heat in the summer to be the source of 90% of his annual discomfort. Once in Deming, parking in the shade to keep my dog cool became my obsession; that pattern came back into my mind as a Way of Life, not just a specific action.
There was an RV park in Deming right on the busy highway, with tiny sites. Not everybody was air-conditioned. How can you look on an existence like that except with horror and disgust? But maybe some of those lowly wretches consider that existence OK; or all they just trapped there?
Maybe somebody is asking the same question about my existence in an RV park in the Little Pueblo. Something has clicked lately: I have started to see people as local yokels again.
For one thing, I remembered how much I would actually like driving the van and, yes, looking out the windshield, if the world would just let me drive at 45--55 mph. Call me heartless if you wish, but I don't really give a damn if the people who pass me end up in the ditch. But I don't want that to happen to an innocent motorist in the opposing lane, so I end up driving the speed limit instead of the leisurely pace I prefer.
The other fact that came back with a vengeance was how different it is to drive south -- downhill and into the sun -- than north. My dog would heartily agree with that one. This was a reminder that an RV camper will find Dry Heat in the summer to be the source of 90% of his annual discomfort. Once in Deming, parking in the shade to keep my dog cool became my obsession; that pattern came back into my mind as a Way of Life, not just a specific action.
There was an RV park in Deming right on the busy highway, with tiny sites. Not everybody was air-conditioned. How can you look on an existence like that except with horror and disgust? But maybe some of those lowly wretches consider that existence OK; or all they just trapped there?
Maybe somebody is asking the same question about my existence in an RV park in the Little Pueblo. Something has clicked lately: I have started to see people as local yokels again.
Comments
Post a Comment
For the Brave browser, you might have to turn off Reader Mode to comment.
Feel free to disagree as much as you want with any ideas, but resist the ad hominem approach.