I drive through some small towns, nondescript conglomerations of people, names that mean nothing to me. The landscape is bland, nothing to catch the eye, especially after what I had seen in the last few days. It is hard to believe I have gone from alpine meadows and the rocky heights of the San Juan mountains to this in less than a day. The world is flat again, empty, like someone hit the reset bottom and things have not rebooted yet.
I find myself riding through Bloomfield, hunger and a lack of coffee remind me it is 10 AM and I have not yet had breakfast. A big sign points to a restaurant
like many others on the road, trucks parked outside, people coming and going, local people. If they like it, so will I. I do a U turn and park my bike. I see the big display case with Coca Cola memorabilia, a nice collection that n one seems to notice, bottle sets, little trucks, banners. A couple groups of old men sit and talk while the waitress goes around filling coffee cups. One waitress in particular seems to be filled with a contagious joy, the old men laugh easily, she seems to care. She is young and pretty but the beauty seems to be more of a radiance than a physical thing. A young delivery man comes him, they seem to be old friends, she laughs, he laughs and jokes. I do not hear what he asks her but she volunteers a time for a date. That seem to take him aback. She laughs, having caught him off guard. Later I hear her turning down an offer, saying only lobster will do. They seem like old friends, comfortable with each other. He orders a large breakfast and eats heartily. His waitress friend does a few more rounds, then comes and sits with him and they talk some more. They seem to go well together.
My waitress is an older lady, tells me the special is " eggs and bacon", which strikes me as an odd special. I order it, and coffee. A few minutes later a large plate comes in and I eat the food with gusto, washed down with two cups of coffee. I joke that I am on a trip, not on a diet. The waitress tells me there is no way to diet with this food.The bill was $4.90. I am surprised, especially after two weeks of being milked out of my savings by all the touristy places I have gone through, so I leave her a tip that is out of proportion. A bit of Karma, I hope. I know I can use some myself.
I get to Albuquerque around noon, happy to see my friends again. At the request of my friends, I made Gaspacho, always a hit and miss, as most people are not keen on cold soups. It was a hit and miss but a good one, and a good compliment to the perfectly seasoned roasted pork and potato salad. Laughing is easy with old friends, and yes, I will have some more wine.
After dinner I subject my friends to a quick showing of my pictures. They are good sports, and we laugh that hopefully the camera batteries will give out before I have a chance to scroll through all the 1,300 photos I took.
Again I think about my return to Mississippi and how long it will take me to make peace with the loneliness that awaits. I go to bed at 10, tired, but I cannot sleep. Luckily I decided that I would only do 300 miles next day. Somehow the return trip looms even larger than the map tells me, an unmeasurable distance between two points.
I find myself riding through Bloomfield, hunger and a lack of coffee remind me it is 10 AM and I have not yet had breakfast. A big sign points to a restaurant like many others on the road, trucks parked outside, people coming and going, local people. If they like it, so will I. I do a U turn and park my bike. I see the big display case with Coca Cola memorabilia, a nice collection that n one seems to notice, bottle sets, little trucks, banners. A couple groups of old men sit and talk while the waitress goes around filling coffee cups. One waitress in particular seems to be filled with a contagious joy, the old men laugh easily, she seems to care. She is young and pretty but the beauty seems to be more of a radiance than a physical thing. A young delivery man comes him, they seem to be old friends, she laughs, he laughs and jokes. I do not hear what he asks her but she volunteers a time for a date. That seem to take him aback. She laughs, having caught him off guard. Later I hear her turning down an offer, saying only lobster will do. They seem like old friends, comfortable with each other. He orders a large breakfast and eats heartily. His waitress friend does a few more rounds, then comes and sits with him and they talk some more. They seem to go well together.
My waitress is an older lady, tells me the special is " eggs and bacon", which strikes me as an odd special. I order it, and coffee. A few minutes later a large plate comes in and I eat the food with gusto, washed down with two cups of coffee. I joke that I am on a trip, not on a diet. The waitress tells me there is no way to diet with this food.The bill was $4.90. I am surprised, especially after two weeks of being milked out of my savings by all the touristy places I have gone through, so I leave her a tip that is out of proportion. A bit of Karma, I hope. I know I can use some myself.
I get to Albuquerque around noon, happy to see my friends again. At the request of my friends, I made Gaspacho, always a hit and miss, as most people are not keen on cold soups. It was a hit and miss but a good one, and a good compliment to the perfectly seasoned roasted pork and potato salad. Laughing is easy with old friends, and yes, I will have some more wine.
After dinner I subject my friends to a quick showing of my pictures. They are good sports, and we laugh that hopefully the camera batteries will give out before I have a chance to scroll through all the 1,300 photos I took.
Again I think about my return to Mississippi and how long it will take me to make peace with the loneliness that awaits. I go to bed at 10, tired, but I cannot sleep. Luckily I decided that I would only do 300 miles next day. Somehow the return trip looms even larger than the map tells me, an unmeasurable distance between two points.
No comments:
Post a Comment