The P. S. I Love You Southwest Memorial Tour Part Four

 Waxing Gibbous Moon

Fort Worth Stockyards

The morning after P. S. I Love You's fun-eral service and the subsequent most pleasant gathering at Uno and Roadie's house, I moved on to the next phase of my journey. The first stop was Fort Worth and lunch at Joe T. Garcia's Mexican Restaurant near the Fort Worth Stockyards with Bearcat Mike. This restaurant is busy and famous and efficient with terrific food in an expansive garden setting. I arrived early, so I walked down the street to the Stockyards to see the sights. I have been there a few times before, so there were no big surprises, but I like the whole relaxed historical cowboy/cowgirl theme the town presents here. There are signs that big money has started to take it over, but I will probably keep coming back any time I am in the area - as long as they don't "Dallas" it up too much. 

I have known Mike since the 3rd grade (1960!) so we always have a lot to talk about. Also in our class back then was a kid named Cosmo Lucchese, whose family was in the cowboy boot business. I haven't seen Cosmo since then, but I guess they are doing pretty well these days. Fort Worth is a big city, with all that entails, but I like it better than most. I have been to the Stockyards with Pat before, so I know she liked it. Also, there were hardly any flies.

Hico, Texas

My next visit was down the road in Cleburne with my beautiful, loving sister Diane (aka Dinesey) and her kind and generous husband Patt (aka King Safari). Other than to say it was great fun and all too brief, I will keep our conversations private, if not top secret. I never pass up a chance to see them if I can help it, though. They are the ones who introduced me to Glen Rose (awesome small town), Dinosaur Valley State Park (very cool dino tracks), and more importantly, the Billy the Kid Museum a little further down the road in Hico, Texas. 

The museum in Hico is a kick in the pants. Not because it is so grandiose or anything approaching that description. What makes it giddy and remarkable is its alternative theory about the death of Billy the Kid. According to the museum's curator, the loquacious and pert Ms. Sue Land, Billy did not die at age 21 from Pat Garrett's gunshot to his chest. Billy actually escaped Fort Sumner and fled to Hico, where he changed his name to Brushy Bill Roberts and lived there undercover (for the most part) until 1950. If you want to know more about this fantastic story, I will leave that up to you and Dr. Googlie. Either that or go to the Hico museum and ask Sue about it yourself. I recommend it!

Pro tip: if you are traveling from Fort Worth to Austin, steer clear of the I-35 nonsense and follow the backroads through the eclectic small towns that offer authentic old school Texas vibes, great food, and glimpses (true or not) into Old West history you won't find anywhere else. Do it soon, before they Dallas it all up.

Peace, Love, and Long Live Brushy Bill,

Jim

The P. S. I Love You Southwest Memorial Tour Part Three

 Waxing Gibbous Moon

Crossing the border into Texas is always a shocker. The gas prices drop, the highway widens, the speed limit shoots up, and there are flies all over the place. The flies are not particular about where they live - they would gather in Maryland or Rhode Island, wherever - they just love poop. In west Texas, between the four lane highway with the 12-foot shoulders and the railroad that parallels it, there are acres and acres of cattle feedlots. Cattle stand shoulder to shoulder in their own poop, filling enormous, fenced,-in black-dirt pens, waiting, I assume, to be loaded into rail cars or trailers that take them to their probably much better lives as steaks and hamburgers. And the flies? The flies are in heaven.

Approaching the town of Hereford ("Beef Capitol of the World"), some of the flies seem to have discovered other dining choices (landfills? dumpsters? patio cat food?). These might be the bourgeoise flies, the snotty upper middle class ones who only visit the feedlots when they have had too much sticky, spilled vino to drink. 

Palo Duro Canyon State Park

Among these bourgie flies there is yet another class of fly - the on-vacation, RV crowd that hitches rides to Palo Duro Canyon State Park for weekends and longer stays. Some have even become permanent residents. When I pulled into a campground at this surprisingly beautiful park and exited my trusty Hondo, these happy-go-lucky flies swarmed me - and Hondo - and the first ten items I placed on the picnic table. 

Very soon I abandoned any hope of camping there, hiking for a bit (swat-curse-shake-like-a-dog hiking is not fun) and taking some nice photos before moving on - along with several buzzing passengers. Perhaps this was peak fly season in west Texas, I don't know, so maybe, just maybe, there is a much better time to sample the stunning beauty of Palo Duro Canyon. Otherwise, arm yourself with lots of Off! and one of those water-powered salt pellet cannons to fight back. And don't bring your sister. She will not like the flies, no matter how pretty the countryside is..

I don't have a lot of good things to say about west Texas - or north Texas - or any of that godforsaken prairie territory between Amarillo and Fort Worth - but I do like Fort Worth and the smaller towns south of there. I'll come back to that after I try to describe the events of September 23 in the Dallas/Grand Prairie metroplex. 

The Service

I have decided after much thought that describing the gathering of family and friends at P.S. I Love You's fun-eral service would be unfair and discourteous to the fantastic people who attended. It's too personal for a blog entry. I will simply repeat that I was very glad that I came and that I am sure Pat was thrilled with it. How do I know that? Well, obviously, I do not know if consciousness or "spirit" survives death - nobody knows that for certain - but it makes me feel happier and more motivated to live a good life to believe that it does. Maybe it doesn't survive in a sense that anyone alive can understand (probably not?). But maybe that energy and spark that was Pat for almost 80 years is still out there in some form (probably so?) and maybe honoring it (she/her, let's get those pronouns right) is not only proper and respectful, but fun and life-affirming as well. So yeah, we blew bubbles and we laughed and cried a little and in a quiet, respectful way, we put the fun in fun-eral. Almost everybody there has some Irish blood in them and that is what Irish people do, dammit.

The Friends

I have also decided not to go into any detail about meeting with the family and old friends I spent time with after the service. If you have read any of my books, you might recognize some names -  Uno and Roadie, Huntermon,  Dinesey and King Safari, Sweet Carole, Bearcat Mike, the one and only Kirby Coe Kennedy, The EMPress, and Rootie-Toot - but these personalities are too big, too strong, and too important in the many changing stages of my life to wax on casually about their roles in the the Palomino state of being. To the extent that I have my act together as I complete my 71st lap around El Sol, these people deserve credit for standing up for me or propping me up in various places along the way. I am so very much stronger as a result. 

Peace, Love, Family, and Friends (but not flies),

Jim

The P. S. I Love You Southwest Memorial Tour Part Two

 Waxing Gibbous Moon

Pie Town, New Mexico

From Winslow - and The Falcon Restaurant - I had to make a decision. I wanted to continue on I-40 to take the cutoff for Chaco Canyon, but a little chat with Dr. Googlie made me go with Plan B. A recent storm had washed out what was already a rough road, plus a lot of the campsites were also closed. Ergo, I steered for Pie Town instead.

Pie Town, New Mexico is a tiny place on the north side of Hwy 60 where, if you are good boys and girls, you can luxuriate at the Pie-O-Neer Pie Shop. They serve full meals there, but let's face it, you came for the pie. On Sunday mornings, everybody within a 30 mile radius shows up for brunch, served on a huge metal tray with dividers that separate your burger from your side dishes and oh yeah, your dessert. The place was packed when I walked in, and oddly quiet. That's because a) polite people do not talk with their mouths full and b) the whole reason all these polite people came was to fill up their "pie holes" and chew. These were your basic keep-it-simple kind of folks, among whom I felt VERY comfortable. I got a slice of blueberry-lemon pie because all the rest of the pies had been sold already and I couldn't wait around to taste something - anything - that would "in a few minutes" come out of those ovens. I carried my pie out to the front porch and dined while rocking in one of the half dozen or so rocking chairs parked there for that very purpose. The other rockers smiled closed-mouth smiles and nodded in between bites, thereby conveying all there was to say on the subject of Sunday a.m. at the Pie-O-Neer. 

Afterwards, I was full and happy and, learning of the free camping opportunities in Jackson Park, right across the road, I proceeded to bounce down the dirt roads of the undeveloped and nearly vacant "park" campground until I found my spot. Perfecto!

I first heard of Pie Town from reading journals online from hikers on the New Mexico stretch of the Continental Divide Trail, or CDT. The CDT is a long distance hiking trail that runs 3,028 miles from the Mexican border to Canada through New Mexico, Colorado, Wyoming, and Montana. I'm probably too old and beat up to tackle it at this point, but it's fun to take a peek once in a while whenever I am close by. I definitely loved Pie Town. 

Abo Ruins

Continuing east on Hwy 60, I eventually pulled into Abo Ruins National Monument, which I didn't even know was on the map. What a cool surprise. Let me summarize the history for you. When the Spaniards came in the early 1600s, they looked at the Abo people's buildings there and decided, what the heck, this would make a great place for a mission. So they converted, enslaved, bludgeoned, and or murdered their way into making the place into a pueblo to be proud of in the name of their personal lord and savior Hazoo Kristy. Most of the original Abo structures are gone, but the remains of the pueblo buildings have been preserved. It's really a beautiful place. I was the only one there on a Monday afternoon. 

Fort Sumner, New Mexico

From Abo, I hightailed it along Hwy 60 to Fort Sumner, eager for some Billy the Kid lore from the town where he met his 1881 demise, we think. The reason I was hightailing it was that biggo thunderstorms flanked me in the skies to the north and the south and I was trying to slip straight through. My guardian angels kept them apart and I pulled into town safe and sound. 

The Billy the Kid Museum in Fort Sumner is pretty good - a lot better than others I have seen. The number of movies and books created about the Kid's life and death is staggering. This 5'6" runt only lived 21 years and was only an "outlaw" for a few of them. Facts about his life are nearly impossible to document and the fictional accounts are hard to believe. The best book (my opinion) of the handful that I have read so far is Billy the Kid: The Endless Ride by Michael Wallis. But no matter what you think about it, if you travel in New Mexico, west Texas, or eastern Arizona, you are going to see his name and image frequently. 

Because it is believed that Billy the Kid died from a gunshot by Sheriff Pat Garrett in Fort Sumner in the wee hours of July 14, 1881, there is a lot to see in this town especially. That includes his gravestone, which has its own odd story (see below). His actual gravesite and the whereabouts of his remains are unknown - a flood apparently wiped out the evidence, goldurnit. Anyway, it's sort of fun to poke around Fort Sumner and talk to folks about him. I'm not sure Pat would be attracted to this topic at first, but I think she would have been game to explore the museum and cemetery. They keep things pretty clean in both places, which she would appreciate.

What is it about this guy that has kept his name in people's minds all these years? Is it simply tourist-trap marketing? Is he an orphaned, boy-gone-bad, sympathetic, Elvis character? A Robin Hood sort of hero? I kept running into Billy on this trip as I moved along into Texas and turned around to come home. 

Peace, Love, and Six-shooters,

Jim

The P. S. I Love You Southwest Memorial Tour Part One

 Waxing Gibbous Moon

Two days ago I returned from a long (4,000+ miles) car trip from San Juan Bautista, CA to Yosemite to Nevada, Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas. The primary purpose was to attend my dear sister Pat's memorial service. Pat (aka P. S. I Love You) passed away in mid-August, a couple of months shy of her 80th birthday. It took a while to figure out a date when most people could attend. On September 23, her ashes were buried beside her husband's remains in a Veterans' Cemetery in Grand Prairie, Texas. 

I don't particularly like going to funerals, but showing support for my sister and brother and cousins and Pat's extended family was the right thing to do. I was surprised by how much I enjoyed being there and seeing everyone. To say we put the "fun" in "funeral" would be an irreverent overstatement, but there were lots of teary smiles and sincere laughs shared by the group. It really was cathartic for me. Maybe that's a better word than "fun." Pat was a really fun person, though, so maybe not. Maybe fun-eral suits her just fine.

Just in case she DID like the idea of me remembering her by celebrating her life, I decided to make a long tour out of this project, stopping at places that I thought she might get a kick out of seeing. What follows is a pretty long summary of where I went and what I saw. And who I visited, too. One thing I am sure of is that if you have an opportunity to see someone you care about, especially if they're "in a certain age group," take it. You don't know when or if you will get that chance again, especially if you are "in a certain age group," too.

Yosemite National Park

Several years ago, Pat visited me in San Juan Bautista and I drove her to Yosemite Valley to see the Springtime waterfalls. We spent one night there in a Curry Village heated tent cabin, which I am certain she had not experienced up to that point. The next day she bravely climbed around for a few minutes on some slippery boulders at the base of Bridalveil Falls. I held my breath as I watched her get down and walk back, laughing nervously. Bravo, sister!

This time I camped at Hodgdon Meadows and hiked the trail up to Carlon Falls, near Hetch Hetchy. I didn't expect to see much water if any at this time of year, especially in the middle of a mega-drought. But I was pleasantly surprised when the falls were gently flowing into some really inviting pools. I sat and offered up some of my best thoughts there, calling in the water spirits from all directions to bring Pat love and happiness. 

The next morning as I drove slowly east through the park, I spied a doe next to the road and I came to a stop. The deer paused its movements, looked right at me, and lifted its upper lip with a very reasonable facsimile of a female mule deer smile. I will go to my grave saying that was Pat, or at least Pat's courier. I laughed out loud and slowly pulled away. 

Beatty, Nevada

The next stretch past Mono Lake and Benton Hot Springs into Nevada down to Beatty was a beautiful drive along Hwy 6 and Hwy 95 with a few back roads thrown in for good measure. This part can only be described as mostly mining town funky with country rock overtones. I loved it, even if it was excessively warm. 

Hackberry, Arizona

Interstate 40 through northern Arizona covers some really beautiful territory, bypassing most of the old and iconic Route 66 haunts. But if you take the time, you can jump off the express lanes and head for the cool stuff. Hackberry, not too far east of Kingman, is the best of the best if you ask me. Seligman has more cool places, but Hackberry's one Route 66 roadside building is Arizona's most outstanding. Pat would have loved this stop for sure.

Homolovi State Park

A few miles outside Winslow is Homolovi State Park. There are Hopi ruins to explore and wild burros to greet and a soothing sunset vibe that is hard to beat. It is "such a fine sight to see." Breakfast at The Falcon Restaurant in Winslow is a real treat, not to be missed.

The next leg took me into New Mexico, the Land of Enchantment, where I will continue in Part Two.

Peace and Love at 70 mph,

Jim

Heat Wave Solution

 Waxing Gibbous Moon

Any time I have to choose between a heat wave and an ocean wave, I'm heading for the beach. Such was the case a couple of days ago when I motored over to Pajaro Dunes State Beach to walk in the sand along the breezy surf (I actually wore a jacket for the first hour). My intention was to visit the mouth of the Pajaro River and see what kind of birds were out and about. I was rewarded with constant flights of pelicans up and down the coastline. Pelicans don't have thumbs or noses, of course, but it wasn't hard to imagine them thumbing their noses at those poor inland geese and things flying around all sweaty and panting, looking for a viable fresh water source. This was a primo beach day.

I was a little surprised by how few people were out there enjoying themselves in the Sun. As I got closer and closer to the mouth of the river, it was mostly just me and the pajaros.

Sometimes the mouth of the river is nearly cut off by sand bars, but today it was open and quite obviously being scooped out by an aggressively rising tide. I had the place to myself so after walking around for a bit to inspect the river banks, I did what I always do - I stretched out on the sand and took a twenty minute nap. There is nothing better for napping than a gentle Sun and the soothing sound of ocean waves. I was completely zonked out, just another lump of seaweed plopped on the beach, in the beach, of the beach. There was nothing separating me from that spot on Earth.

The way back was too Zen to describe. I floated back. One of the birds. Pajaro Palomino. There was nothing more to say.

Peace, Love, and Take That, Heat Wave,

Jim

#2,022 in 2022

Updated 2022 mileage: 1,325 miles