July 8, 2006: Albuquerque

In the morning, we drove through Acoma Indian land on the way to Albuquerque. When we last visited New Mexico, we toured their mesa-top pueblo – a natural fortress known as Sky City – and were amazed not only by the stark beauty of the place but also by the exquisiteness of their painted pottery, some of which we purchased. Sky City has been occupied for over 1,000 years, making it the oldest continuously-inhabited town in the United States.

Many of the Acoma people are poor, however, as was made evident by the dilapidated trailers and shacks and cars we saw. The tribe operates a casino, but it’s clear that the wealth is not being shared equally. The contrast between the poverty of the Indians and the affluence of the Albuquerque community where Debbie’s aunt and uncle live could not be sharper. Of course the collision between European and Native American cultures was disastrous from the start. The former have rigid ideas about time and money and faith while the latter do not.

We never gave thought to an excursion today – not to Sandia Peak Tramway, the longest in the world; not even to the local Lavender Festival. It was much more enjoyable to be with Debbie's aunt Mina Jo and her uncle Michael, a radiologist who, like me, is an enthusiastic collector of recorded music. I hadn’t seen them in several years, and they gathered a wonderful family group together: their daughter and son-in-law, Elisheva and Tobias; two grandchildren, Margolit and Akiva; Michael’s niece and nephew, Annie and Ben; and his mother and father, Betty and Joe. We spent the day at their lovely home in the Albuquerque suburb of Los Ranchos.

Elisheva is a cantor at a temple in Arlington, Virginia, for whom photography is forbidden on Shabbat, the day of rest. I will not, therefore, have any pictures of her to post until we see her again on the East Coast. The family did no cooking or traveling on this day; we ate only foods that Mina Jo had prepared the night before. We particularly liked her delicious salmon-pasta salad. Before our meal, Elisheva sang a mellifluous prayer over challah, traditional Jewish bread.

Elisheva’s husband Tobias changed careers last year and had just finished his first year as an algebra and calculus teacher at a public high school. I can attest to how difficult the first year of teaching is, especially at the secondary level. Tobias was interested in pedagogical suggestions, so I offered a few from my 20 years of experience: breaking down complex activities into smaller and more digestible chunks, providing less direct lecture and more practice in small groups, and helping students find practical applications for what they learn.

Young Ben, next to his uncle Michael in this picture, lives in Kansas City and raps in a multi-ethnic hip-hop group. He describes his music as “political” and performed a bit of it for us. We talked about the violence in Kansas City, and the fact that last year it was the murder capital of the US. “Detroit was a distant second,” he told me. He invited us to visit him and his mom when we pass through.

Ben’s sister Annie is holding her little cousin Margolit in the above photo. I talked to her about what a crazy patchwork hodgepodge of progressive liberalism and reactionary conservativism the state of Colorado has become. Like my mother, she studied at the University of Colorado at Boulder. Boulder is quite liberal, yet only a few miles away are megachurches in which pastors exhort their flocks to oppose abortion, gay marriage, a scientific worldview, and all the other “evils” of modern life. Annie now lives and works in Portland, Oregon.

Betty and Joe live in Albuquerque. They are a spry, affectionate couple in their eighties, devoted to their kids and grandkids and eager to talk about anything and everything. Joe is retired from the steel business. It was a pleasure to meet them for the first time.

We talked with the group and the boys played with their second cousins until about 9 p.m. Then, since Elisheva’s family was staying with her folks, we checked into a the AmeriSuites Hotel for the night.

July 7, 2006: Interstate 10 (Route 66)

We got a late start today, leaving Phoenix around noon, a miscalculation that would come back to haunt us at about 11 p.m. But it was a good lesson on the importance of sticking to our schedule, since we’re now entering a phase of our trip that entails some very long drives. If everything goes to plan, we’ll be arriving at Debbie’s sister’s place in Kentucky in only six days.

Heading north on I-17 toward Flagstaff, we passed thousands of saguaro cacti and other interesting and extremely prickly desert plants. The saguaro, many taller than telephone poles, reached to the sky with spiny arms. Almost all of them had spent blossoms at the tips of their thick branches, but a few were still blooming red and yellow. We were buffeted by blustery winds and swirling clouds of dust, and it began to rain. It would rain off and on for three days.

As we regained the altitude we had lost driving south, we noted some characteristic place names: Dead Man Creek, Horse Thief Basin, Bloody Basin Road. We also passed Arcosanti, a place where Debbie spent a month interning during college. There she learned about the Italian-American Paolo Solieri and his vision of ecological architecture, which he calls "arcology," and worked on his experimental prototype community. After many years of building, it still has the unfinished look of a construction site.

We visited two sites of scientific significance today. Flagstaff’s Lowell Observatory was founded in 1894 by the astronomer Percival Lowell, after whom our boys’ elementary school in Seattle is named. He is famed for studying the surface of Mars using the 24-inch refracting telescope in this building. Taking advantage of the high, cool, clear air of northern Arizona, some great astronomical discoveries have been made there, including the planet Pluto in 1930.

On I-40, just east of Flagstaff, Meteor Crater is the best-preserved impact crater in the world, some 4,000 feet in diameter and 700 feet deep. It was created about 50,000 years ago by an iron-nickel meteorite an estimated 150 feet across moving at roughly 26,000 miles per hour. This mass and velocity were instantly converted into a force greater than that produced by the first atomic bomb, excavating up to 200 million tons of rock and sending fragments hurtling for miles.

Early explorers supposed the crater to be an extinct volcano, but in the 20th century, scientists gradually established its true origin. It was famously used as a training ground for lunar astronauts during the Apollo Program, and it stands as a warning that such a cataclysmic event will eventually occur again.

At the rim of the crater, the boys spotted a collared lizard, which a guide told them was a pregnant female.

Inside the visitor’s center, Tommy enjoyed playing with a computer simulation that allowed him to choose the mass, density, diameter, velocity, and angle of descent for a meteor heading toward earth and showed the resulting crater. Using a very large rock, he finally managed to smash the virtual planet to bits. Other exhibits described how space suits had been tested there, including one for a potential future trip to Mars. As we left, Tommy announced, “Now I know what I want to do when I grow up. I want to be the first person on Mars!”

We were too late to enter Petrified Forest National Park, near the town of Holbrook, but petrified wood was everywhere. The Petrified Wood Company had tons of the stuff on its lot, and even Denny’s had dozens of huge examples next to their parking lot.

We crossed the New Mexico state line and set our clocks ahead one hour to correspond to Mountain Time. The rain east of Gallup became so intense that I had to give up on driving. We spent the night in the town of Grants, an hour outside of Albuquerque, in an appallingly bad hotel called the Econolodge, probably the least enchanting in the entire Land of Enchantment. Only exhaustion and the elements kept us from leaving.

By the way, to the speeding lunatic who nearly sent us under the wheels of a big rig during the thunderstorm, I commend The Bad Driver’s Handbook: Hundreds of Simple Maneuvers to Frustrate, Annoy and Endanger Those Around You, which includes chapters on “Intimidating Pedestrians,” “Making Your Car Louder,” and “Driving When You Can No Longer See.”

Before I sign off, I should mention historic Route 66, which Interstate 40 more or less follows from Los Angeles to Oklahoma City. From there it heads northeast to Chicago, roughly 2400 miles in all. It's important as one of the first national highways, one that popularized the American road trip - together with Bobby Troop's extraordinarily catchy song:

"Get Your Kicks (On Route 66)"

If you ever plan to motor west,
Travel my way, take the highway that's the best.
Get your kicks on Route 66!
It winds from Chicago to L.A.,
More than 2,000 miles all the way.
Get your kicks on Route 66!
You go through St. Louis, Joplin, Missouri.
Oklahoma City looks mighty pretty.
You'll see Amarillo, Gallup, New Mexico,
Flagstaff, Arizona, don't forget Winona,
Kingman, Barstow, San Bernardino.
Won't you get hip to this timely tip
When you make that California trip:
Get your kicks on Route 66!