A noisy interlude

Oct. 14 – Ruidoso, NM

After two days of travel in the state, I was beginning to think there was no part of New Mexico that isn't desert scrub and barren hills. I wondered what the appeal was for retirees and artists who seem to speak so highly of the Land of Enchantment. The towns we had seen were dusty, run-down places where the inhabitants seemed to live not by choice, only by circumstance. These towns had an Old Western feel, but that was because they had scarcely progressed since that time.

Seven thousand feet up in the mountains of Lincoln County is Ruidoso, which is unflappably Cute. It's full of Cute stores with Cute names selling Cute items with Cute slogans on them. (One questionable shop name was "Michelle's Double D Ranch".) There are Cute restaurants serving Cute fare with Cute things plastered on the walls. (One bar advertised beer, wine, live music, and skateboards.) I ate some Cute jambalaya in a Cute pizzeria with Cute antique cell phones nailed to the ceiling. Our hotel was the archetype of Cute. (Make your own waffles at breakfast? C'mon!) Clearly this was the Grandma's Attic of Southwestern towns.

Before we reached our performance venue, we had read some pretty high-falutin' write-ups about it. In the neighboring hamlet of Alto, somebody had donated many millions of dollars to build the Spencer Theater, a supposed jewel of architecture on a high plateau, but likely a blemish in the eyes of many long-time residents. For myself, I was undecided, but our first comparisons on seeing it were to (A) a doorstop, and (B) the Jawa Sandcrawler from Star Wars.

But we played our night there, and it was comfortable. Really comfortable. And so was our hotel (the aptly-named Comfort Inn), and so was Ruidoso. The night was chilly, the first real taste of autumn I'd had after a long summer. I craved hot cider. I wanted to sit on a couch by the artificial fireplace with a faux bearskin rug. But I had to go to bed, because the next morning at five-thirty we were due to drag our sorry selves back across the desert toward Oklahoma City.

I watched the sun rise over Roswell and blot out the morning star. We stopped for lunch in Amarillo, not far from Cadillac Ranch. Later, I did a Wikipedia search for "center pivot irrigation". I'm still looking for hot cider.

View Larger Map