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.
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