Day 18 - Santo Domingo to Santa Fe

Santo Domingo to Santa Fe

This journal was written on 5-31-10 in Angel Fire, New Mexico , which is 23 miles north of Dixon where I have been staying for the past month. Angel Fire is a Mountain Ski Resort, which is also the site of the Vietnam Veteran’s Memorial. It was created in honor of Daniel Westphall and his fallen comrades, and erected by his father and mother after his death during an ambush in the Vietnam War. Construction began in 1968, shortly after the death of their son, on property they donated. It was the model for the Veteran’s Memorial created in Washington DC in 1982, and in 1987 this site was recognized as a Memorial of National Significance. Another example of a people who, while struggling with agonizing loss, selflessly put forth tremendous efforts to honor those who sacrificed their lives for their Country. Ironically, another event in history where the people set precedence before the government acted on behalf of its fallen heroes. It seems appropriate for such a sacred monument to be placed in this setting of natural beauty. My time here in Angel Fire has allowed me to explore and at the same time reawaken my cycling muscles, which hopefully will get me through Route 66 and my destination of Chicago , Illinois .

While here in Angel Fire I took some time to hike the seven mile Elliott Barker trail, only one of several offered in this beautiful environment. The trail wound itself up to an elevation of 9500 feet passing abundant fir, spruce, pine and tall aspen trees with several large valley meadows that were spectacular, sprinkled with wildflowers which were slowly appearing. The many patches of purple irises were blending in uniform color with their wild counterparts of yellow, red, and violet flowers on the green background of the meadows. All this was under blue skies filled with clouds that were changing in character with the wind currents creating, at one point, the possibility of rain giving this hike a uniquely wonderful experience of joy and connection. Riding a bike proved to be just as wonderful. At an elevation of 8500 the air was still cool under the sun and the ability to move about with greater distance let me explore Eagle Nest Lake to the north and Black Lake to the south, each with a variety of fowl, great fishing and boating areas. The traffic was light allowing a comfortable tempo with no need to hurry -- something I am becoming very much acquainted with.

Rudy loaned me one of his cars, a VW Jetta, which allowed me to explore two small towns, Red River and Questa, which are nestled along the Enchanted Circle Route, each with its own personal statement honoring Memorial Day. The drive in between was as beautiful as the hiking trail, but with a much more expansive view of the southern end of the Northern Rocky Mountains . (Pictures). These activities offered the opportunity for solitude and reflection, which allowed me to put this journal into its present context. I would recommend to anyone traveling through northern New Mexico that the drive to Angel Fire will be worth every mile traveled.

Now, onto my journal for day 18 ride which actually took place on --

5-14-10. Santo Domingo to Santa Fe

I woke up feeling strong and rested. The weather promised another good day with my friend the wind to assist me through the short climbs into Santa Fe . I had a cup of coffee with Robert before he so graciously fixed breakfast for his mother Rosa and I. As is my Cousin Rosa’s nature, she sat in silence while Robert and I carried on our conversation from the night before regarding his career with the New Mexico Department of Corrections, and my similar experiences with my time while employed with the California Department of Corrections. We both agreed that power and greed is universal and so very unfortunate. It often prohibits anyone from developing a cohesive approach towards mutual cohabitation in the work environment, and can sideline the promotion of the welfare of each other in the community as a whole. No occupation is performed in a bubble, but has a domino effect on all social aspects of each culture.

The morning moved on quickly, and suddenly we realized we had been sitting for over two hours. Sadly, the time had come for me to leave, and Robert helped me by loading my bike and equipment onto his truck. Before departing, I walked back into the house and gave my cousin Rosa an exceptionally warm embrace and a kiss. She responded with the same gesture and at the same time placed her rosary into the palm of my hand, and with a kiss said, “God Bless. This will keep you safe.” I thanked her and while looking into her eyes I felt the connection that she shared with me. I was touched and sensed that this might be the last time I would see her. Rosa ’s gesture reconnected me with my mother, because it was the very same faith that gave us the strength as kids to move forward without fear. I gave her one last kiss on the forehead, turned and walked away closing the door behind me while not exposing the welt of tears in my eyes. I climbed into the truck where Robert was waiting, and all I could say to him was, “Take care of her. She is a very special woman.” Robert looked at me, smiled and said, “I know.”

Robert drove out the back way through Highway 16, and decided to give me a short tour of Pena Blanca. We passed a local market/trading post and a newly constructed building with the same marquis. I said to Robert, “There’s money in trading posts out here, isn’t there?” We passed the local church with a cemetery adjacent to its right. These were not lavishly manicured grounds with shaded trees and well-kept roads. A simple makeshift fence surrounded the cemetery exposing the berms on top of the graves and humble markings identifying the deceased. The graves were decorated with fresh, colorful flowers intermixed with artificial flowers, indicating that the graveyard was well visited by relatives and friends (picture). Robert then informed me of a dam and recreational area that is now owned by the Cochiti Indians. He pointed to an enormous wall of rock, and told me that the dam created the Cochiti Lake , and it was the reason why the Rio Grande did not flow as it once did in past days. I was surprised at the length of the wall -- at least ¾ of a mile wide and 100 feet high, maybe even more. In my Bernalillo journal I mentioned the fact that the Rio Grande was not so big. Now I know why. As with all dams there is an overflow release maintaining a river life. I can see where the Rio Grande would have easily been ¼ mile wide prior to construction of the dam. (Picture). We continued out west towards I-40 traveling on a road on top of a mesa that seemed to go on for miles. We traveled in silence for a few miles, and then Robert said, “We used to call this the longest road when I was a kid.” The mesa was flat with abundant buffalo grass and cacti that looked like sage from a distance. There were horses and cattle grazing and roaming free. It amazed me that you could see for miles, and yet in such a short time I had come to expect nothing less. We arrived onto I-40 where Robert dropped me off. I left him with a handshake and embrace, and thanked him very much for his hospitality, conversation and kindness. As I rode away I saw the qualities of his mother – softness in conversation, his love for humanity and his dedication to family.

I stopped at the top of the hill at the Visitor’s Center, La Bajada, where free coffee was served and tourist information provided for a pleasant stay in Santa Fe . I entered the Visitor’s Center and found a map of New Mexico , took the cup of coffee I served myself outside and sat on the rock wall. From this vantage point I was able to admire the view of Santa Fe and all the open land I would travel in the coming days. From here it appeared it would be an easy ride because the grade descended. Unbeknownst to me at the time, I still had rollers to contend with (hills). So off I went into the wide blue yonder feeling free with a sense of accomplishment. It did not last long before the first roller took the wind out of my sails, but then there was a joy in that, because I thought, “I am alive!” I was reminded that these hardships are the very basis for my accomplishments. Feeling humbled, I reflected on how these hardships pale in comparison to what others have endured. I am truly a wealthy man. I am loved by my family and am never alone. I am amazed at how the term loneliness continues to resurface with a meaning much different, yet parallel, to its defined term before this ride. Reflecting back on the often asked question, are you doing this alone, my answer without hesitation has always been a resounding yes! In my own personal way of living I have always felt my spirit content when in the absence of human presence. I have never felt alone because within me dwells the lives that I love – parents, wife, siblings, children, grandchildren, extended family and, of course, the closest of friends. (You know who you are.) So throughout my journey and in my moments of loneliness a resurfacing and acknowledgement of all those that I have mentioned is shared in the silence of the passing moments with my surroundings. This connection releases all fear and allows life to live; there is so much of it with so little time.

With my head down and my feet to the pedal I moved forward against my friend who, for some unknown reason, changed his direction of travel. I thought maybe I was not listening or talking enough to him. In either case, my friend has my deepest respect, and on my arrival to Santa Fe I thanked the wind for the challenge with a deep appreciation for the accomplishments thus far.

I stopped between the Red Roof Motel and a Comfort Inn on Cerrillos Road and, while in contemplation of which one I should choose, I received a phone call from my cousin Rudy. He informed me he was on his way into Santa Fe from Albuquerque stating he would stop by to see me. I made my decision and informed him that I would be at the Red Roof Motel. For 40 bucks you can’t go wrong! As I was checking in Rudy arrived in his Ford cab truck. We talked and agreed to have dinner. Rudy invited me to stay with him and his wife Darlene in Dixon , which I accepted with deep gratitude. Rudy saw that I was in pain and suggested seeing a local chiropractor, Dr. Rudy Gonzalez and someone else who he told me would make a big difference utilizing the healing touch of Sobado. I made no objections and accepted, and in the same breath asked, “What is Sobado?” Rudy stated, “You will know soon enough.” Needless to say, I have been here ever since.

I will now attempt to cover my stay with my Primo and Prima Rudy and Darlene in the quaint little community of Dixon . But first, a little information of Santa Fe . You thought I forgot your history lesson, didn’t you!

SANTA FE

Santa Fe, the capital of New Mexico , is the fourth largest city in the state. The name translated from Spanish means Holy Faith. Originally between 1050 to 1150 it was occupied by the Pueblo Indians living along the Santa Fe River , which is a tributary of the Rio Grande . The “ Kingdom of New Mexico ” was first claimed by the Spanish Crown in 1540 by Francisco Coronado almost 67 years before Santa Fe was founded. In 1598 Don Juan de Onate established Santa Fe de Nuevo Mexico as a province of New Spain . Our great tenth grandfather Hernan Martin was among the original settlers who came with Onate. The muster rolls of 1598 show Hernan as the designated Sargento of the expedition. He and his wife, our tenth grandmother, Juana Rodriguez, brought their family with them as well as cattle, horses, utensils and even a millstone. So there you have our family beginnings and our role in the making of the New Mexicans. In 1608 Don Pedro de Peralta founded the new city at the base of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains which became the capital of the province. As a result, Santa Fe is the oldest capital city in the modern United States . Prior to this the capital of New Spain was in Yunque which was later known as San Gabriel . Rudy drove me to Yunque, San Juan where the first capital of New Mexico was established. Sadly on a lonely hill the remnants of the monument and a plaque which was removed by vandals and now bolted to metal post is all that is left. The inscription tells of the event on 1598 when Spaniards settled and cohabitated with Pueblo Indians resulting in a new race, Mestizo, the Found People of the South West, New Mexicans of New Mexico. It was an odd feeling to be standing on this hill with the Rio Grande river rushing below, the very ground our ancestors (Our Dad’s Family)occupied five centuries ago. The capital was later moved by Governor Don Pedro Peralta to Santa Fe in 1610 due to complaints from the Spanish settlers regarding the lack of provisions and the unsettling nomadic Apache and Navajo raids of the time. That is 100 years before the pilgrims landed on Plymouth Rock. This says a great deal for the New Mexicans ability of self government as set up in the likeness of the European process.

For the most part, Santa Fe remained under Spanish rule until the outbreak of the Mexican War of Independence in 1810. In 1824 a constitution was created that gave the city its status as the capital of the Santa Fe de Nuevo Mexico . In 1841 a military expedition left from Austin , Texas , with the intention of gaining control over the Santa Fe Railway, but were not prepared and easily defeated by the Mexican army. In 1846 the United States declared war on Mexico . General Kearny led an army of approximately 1,700 soldiers into the city to claim it and the rest of New Mexico Territory for the U.S. In 1848 the U.S. officially gained New Mexico (including what we now call Arizona ) and California to the United States through the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo.

Originally Santa Fe was supposed to be an important stop on the Atchison , Topeka and Santa Fe Railway. However, as it progressed into New Mexico , the civil engineers working on the railway decided it was more practical to go through the town of Lamy , a town south of Santa Fe . This caused an economic decline in Santa Fe , and some of this was reversed by creating a number of resources for the arts and archaeology. Several businessmen were also instrumental in developing the Pueblo Indian pottery industry, which contributed to the founding of the Santa Fe Indian Market. (American exploitation at its finest.) In 1912, New Mexico became the 47th State of America, with Santa Fe as its capital.

There is an old Hotel La Fonda in Santa Fe established in 1610. It remained a place which over the years many travelers of the Santa Fe Trail found comfort in lodging at this corner hotel. The hotel was eventually bought by Fred Harvey in 1926 and became one of the most famous Harvey Houses besides the La Posada. Visitors would take the train to La Fonda, get off and journey into Indian Country where they saw Indian Pueblos, Indian Ruins and the Carlsbad Caverns . La Fonda is still in operation with a first class restaurant and room prices beginning at $239.00 dollars for their basic room. So obviously they don’t exist on just good food alone. (This, by the way Pete, is why I chose the Red Roof!)

In 1926 Route 66 traveled through Santa Fe . For spiteful political reasons, and the loss for his reelection, Governor Hannett rerouted Route 66 through Albuquerque before his term was over. The new route was completed and in use before the newly elected governor took office. There you have the real reason for the reroute of Route 66. Another “Just Because I Can” example of greed and power in the political arena. Santa Fe is still proud to place the Route 66 marquis on the main thoroughfare and local businesses routing you through the original stretch of Route 66. In retrospect, the birth of I-40 may have determined the same outcome as it was a much more direct route.

Dixon is located 46 miles north of Santa Fe off Highway 69 at an elevation of 6028 feet. It is tucked away in a small valley with the Rio Embudo River , a tributary of the Rio Grande running through it. The area was originally inhabited by the Tiwa people from the Picuris Pueblo, and eventually settled by Spain in 1725 by the Embudo Land Grant. It was originally called El Puerto del Embudo de Nuestra Senor San Antonio . The irrigation canals, known as acequias, were the first project of the land grant. It is said the town was changed to the name of Dixon in 1900 to honor Collins Dixon, a school teacher who taught there in the late 1800s. Others say that it was named after the first Postmaster Mr. Cunningham Dixon. I will have to research more closely. Because of the moderate climate and the irrigation ditch system this area has become a significant fruit and grape growing area. The town is home to the largest population of organic farmers in the State, and because of the amount of artists in the area the Dixon Studio Tour was created which draws many tourists for two days in November. Dixon has the community-supported Embudo Valley Library, a radio station and the Dixon Community Food Co-op. During the summer months there is a Farmers Market, which serves the needs of the community.

My first week in Dixon I took it upon myself to do a little maintenance around my Primo’s pueblo. (What a surprise, eh?) I call it a pueblo because this is the home Rudy grew up in with his grandmother. The pueblo part consists of a kitchen, washroom and bedroom, all made of adobe. Rudy has since remodeled adding a master bedroom, living room, den and bathroom, so you have the pueblo and modern dwelling joined together to create a home. I say home because it is lived in with love and affection by the two dwellers. The home sits on ¾ of an acre in a valley between mountains as their backyard, with various wildlife as their very own “beware of pets.” The difference between the domestic pet and these wildlife pets is that they come and go as they please, and are only seen in the late night and very early mornings. During the daytime there are a variety of birds consisting of doves, magpies, wild finches, hummingbirds, blue jays, woodpeckers, common house sparrows, swallows, crows, ravens, hawks, vultures and, of course, it would be incomplete without the coyotes. I met up face to face with a coyote while leaving the house for one of my bike rides. It was crossing the street stopped and stared at me rolling in its direction. I slowed to a stop about 50 feet in front of it for a picture and as if it knew, it stood motionless waiting. Unfortunately, while fumbling for my camera it decided it had seen enough and dashed into the brush with my only catching his departure behind a juniper. Even animals have a way of saying, OK; you had your chance now kiss my butt! (Picture) You will have to look closely.

Across the road the Rio Embudo, one of the tributaries of the Rio Grande River , sounds its roar 24 hours a day, so you can imagine the symphony that takes place in the dead silence of the day and the stillness of the night. To my surprise this rich, natural setting of silence is only broken by the passing of cars driven by the neighbors living close by. This happens only occasionally considering the many homes in the area. (Picture). The evening skies are lit up with stars as the background for the Milky Way giving life in the dead of darkness -- an amazing acknowledgement of our place in the Universe. If we could see our blue planet from the outer banks of our solar system, we would be but a dust speck floating in place. Such is the simple meaning of existence among a greater plan, one which is unbeknownst to those who see themselves as greater than the Universe itself.

In between my activity around the house Dr. Gonzalez, in his joyful and humorous manner, worked to realign my body and correct the vertebrae causing the discomfort to my left shoulder and arm. Dr. Gonzalez is truly a man of the people. His life experience connects to the people whom he serves. He offers his profession to all in need with many unable to pay for his service. He is a simple human being with a unique sense of humor giving life to those who arrive in a slew of pain with his uncanny words of wisdom and assurance that their discomfort will pass. Most of those whom I was honored to meet while waiting for my alignment were full of laughter, and all left with a smile and in good spirits with a physical reconnection allowing them to function once more in their work and family environment. Mr. Gonzalez stands six feet in height with white hair like that of a Q-tip, white eyebrows and sports a white mustache. He wears rimless eyeglasses and hums while walking with shuffle. I was very impressed with Dr. Gonzales’ approach and ability to paint a clear picture of his diagnoses, which he explained in detail to help me understand how he would treat my problem. So with his smile and magic hands he proceeded to fix me. Rudy followed behind as Dr. Gonzales escorted us to his Dungeon of Pain with a little of his humor. Unfortunately, I let out a painful grunt with Rudy standing by and since then have not heard the last of Arnold’s famous phrase “You girly man!” OUCH. (Picture.)

Rudy also made appointments with Juanita Romero, of whom I had the honor to meet and at the same time be a patient receiving therapy of an old Spaniard art of deep tissue massage and alignment called the art of Sobado. Over three hundred years ago the art was called Laragia, which was actually a form of scrubbing. This is a traditional healing art which originated and was practiced in Spain and Spanish America for several hundred years abroad and for almost three hundred centuries in New Mexico . Ms. Romero was very instrumental in researching the art which was legislated, certified and recognized as a healing art of stimulating physical and spiritual well-being through a wholesome type of body massage and natural stretching.

Ms. Romero stands roughly 5’2” with slight salt and pepper hair giving her the distinctive look of wisdom. She is soft spoken with a deep commitment and dedication to her healing arts. Her eyes lit up as she explained the process she follows in providing therapy. Ms. Romero comforted me with her explanation of her core belief regarding the importance of energy flow in the body, and the complexities anxiety creates which are brought about by our demand to function on an imbalanced base. I reassured her that my mindset and core beliefs were in line with what she has just shared with me, and told her that I had complete faith in her healing art giving her permission to use her healing small but strong hands on the problem area of my back.

Rudy had explained to me before going to see her that it was she who brought his ability to walk again. Rudy had been in a skiing accident resulting in a broken leg, which later became more complex due to reactions to antibiotics causing a poisoning and, at one point, a near loss of his life. His left leg is scarred from where muscle was removed due to the poisoning and tendon atrophy. Even after his recovery the doctors stated he would not be able to walk without a cane or walking apparatus. It was Ms. Romero and Dr. Gonzalez’ practices that proved today’s medical prognoses are not always correct. So, I put my body in the hands of these two exceptionally wonderful human beings.

The above comments do not take away from my gratitude and deep respect for those who have provided me with their expertise in the medical field. Without my saying too much about my condition, immediately after assessing me both came to the same conclusion regarding the vertebrae. They both stated I needed to rest and see them more than just the initial appointment, which I thought would be sufficient. Fortunately for me the weather in Northern New Mexico from Santa Rosa through Tucumcari up into Texas and Oklahoma was creating such havoc with golf ball-sized hail, lightning and thunderstorms and tornadoes leaving me with just one conclusion. My life would be in better hands here, and the weather conditions in New Mexico were much more desirable. So, needless to say, I have been here resting, getting therapy and just enjoying the hell out of the little maintenance I am involved in. Most importantly, I have basked in the warmth and acceptance of our extended family in New Mexico .

On June 1^st the primary election for the various seats took place, one of which was District #1 Commissioner in Rio Arriba County where Rudy ran as one of three candidates for the position. The election, as most do, started at 7 am and ended at 7 pm. New Mexico prohibits the sale of alcohol during the election process. Needless to say it was a very sobering day in the Land of Enchantment . (I was told that alcohol was a bribing tool and confrontation under the influence was always a problem.) Rudy, in good spirits, waited while having a barbeque with all who were involved in his campaign at his home in Dixon . His campaign staff consisted of family members: Our Cousins Johnny and Cora Medina with son’s Isaac as his Campaign Manager, Kenny and their wives with close friends contributing their efforts for a change. Johnny and Cora are very active in the fight against drugs in the County. Every year they sponsor a community supported event by the name of ‘The Youth Pilgrimage against Drugs Walk.’ All of the families members partake in the 14 mile walk from the San Juan Church to Santuario De Chimayo banding together against the devastating effects that has enslaved the youth in this part of Northern New Mexico . (CHOICES).

The following morning the election results were posted in the Albuquerque Newspaper and those results relayed that Rudy had come in second by only two hundred votes. I was very saddened by his loss, but in reality it was a loss to the community who have been enslaved and conditioned over the years to believe they are not the ones who control the voting process. Instead, over the many years a control has been exerted by those individuals rooted in greed and power, and they have managed to create a machine operated by those select few who look only to employ the will of the corrupt and consequently have become the controlling factors in the County. I was amazed that many of the positions the candidates were running for required no experience or education. What was even more disturbing was that several of the candidates that had held previous positions, in fact, had extensive criminal records for theft, embezzlement and drug convictions. How is that possible? All of this information was well documented in the local newspapers.

Oddly enough, this information appeared to be of no concern to the voters or those who campaigned for them. In conversation with several of the opposing workers I discovered that they were just as political, if not more so, than their candidate, each with an agenda of their own. Their convictions, in my opinion, have been compromised with a selfish need to control their status in the community resulting in financial gain for themselves and significant others through appointed positions and employment contracts in the system. Their comments, “This is just the way it is” and “It will never change” is the life force of this corrupt political machine, which gives true meaning to the terms APATHY and FEAR and lays the groundwork for the statement, “If you can’t change them, join them”. I could go on, but I remind myself that in California the same machine is alive and well, but takes place in a more sophisticated manner. The term ‘Third World Country’ is alive and well in Northern New Mexico .

Please do not take this as a broad condemnation to the wonderful people who have succumbed to this system in the Northern part of Land of Enchantment . There are many who strive for a fair working system and have a great history in this community of Dixon . They have an unselfish way of accepting transplants from other states and making the passing tourist comfortable during their stay, and often they contribute in some manner of sacrifice for the betterment of all.

One of many examples of this is a man by the name of Arsenio Filogonio Sanchez, otherwise known as Gonito. The community and Post Office of Dixon were named after his grandfather Cunningham Dixon, who was the first Postmaster of the community then known as Embodo. I met Gonito out in front of the school where the voting elections were taking place. He was just one of the many who, upon returning from the voting booth, gave the thumbs up of approval for Rudy and their vote for his platform for change. Gonito is lean, stands all of 5 feet and, with the exception of poor eyesight is overall in good health and, as a 79-year-old man, he moves with the speed of a well-balanced youngster. He was standing across the street from where he exited the post office and looking to see if it was safe to cross. Several of the people who were working the campaign acknowledged his presence with campaign literature as he made his dash across the street to the do his part at the voting booth. He waved them off and said, “I know who I’m supporting.” Gonito was wearing a baseball cap with a small American flag protruding from the back of one the vent holes in the cap.

He approached Rudy and with a firm handshake expressed his support and the need for change in Dixon . Rudy introduced me to Gonito and asked if I had seen the movie “From Here to Eternity.” I replied that I had. Rudy then informed me that Gonito was the only soldier who survived the stand on “Pork Chop Hill” and that the movie was based on his account of that tragic event in the Korean War. Gonito very humbly changed the topic back to the election. I was asked to help Gonito by reading the candidate names on his voting sheet, and I accepted it as an honor. Ironically, Gonito took my arm before I replied and proceeded to walk to the voting booths inside the school. He did not say much, but was very adamant that he has never missed his right to vote and did not understand why the people would not stand up to do the same. “I won’t let anyone dictate who I should vote for.” He reaffirmed his position with Rudy as the candidate for change and thanked me for helping him.

Rudy later shared with me that Gonito was a Sergeant while serving in the Korean War and was given the title “Sgt. Pee-Wee” due to his height. He stated that Gonito suffered a great deal after the war with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (It was not until after the Vietnam War that the disorder was acknowledged as symptom due to the effects of war.) This resulted in the separation from his family, loss of self esteem and a long bout with alcoholism. It was in this little community that the lack of understanding for his excommunication with reality and the people was most felt. He became the local drunk, not the hero that laid dormant, until his experience with an unknown man who knocked on his door on a snowy cold winter night.

It is told that Gonito had asked the visitor into his home offering him something to eat and drink. The stranger thanked him and said “Gonito, you have to change your ways.” Gonito, although having very little himself, told the stranger several times that it was too late to be out in the cold and that he could stay the night. The stranger thanked him each time Gonito offered and left after the last invitation. Gonito, feeling uncomfortable after closing the door for not being more aggressive with his invite, walked outside himself in search of the stranger. Oddly, he did not see the stranger anywhere, but instead noticed that the snow had not been disturbed in any way. There were no shoeprints in the snow to indicate that anyone had come or left his home that night. Gonito, in deep confusion, finally concluded that the stranger was, in fact, a messenger angel. Gonito since that winter night has remained sober and to this day believes there is a reason for everything.

His status as a member in the community has been reaffirmed by the people with a deeper compassion for him and an understanding of the unpredictable effects of war. This is all too often a tragic result that is experienced by many of our men and women of past and present wars. Sgt. Gonito was awarded the United Nations Medal of Honor along with other medals for his valor. Unfortunately, the movie does not credit him for his unselfish acts for his country, nor are there any factual written books of Mr. Sanchez’ acts of bravery on the bookshelves in the community library. A fictional book of a character that lived a similar life was all they could refer me to. Shirley, a volunteer, searched a file of written articles by local newspaper writers. She found one article written by the Taos News, El Crepusculo, in 2007. Unfortunately, it was written in Spanish and, of course, while I understand Spanish I am not yet able to read it. I sent a picture of the article with picture of Gonito as he looked then and one of him of present day. For those of you, who are able to read Spanish, try to magnify it on your screen as it is a very good read. Nothing hinders the quality of life that Sgt. Pee-Wee/Mr. Arsenio Filogonio Sanchez (Gonito) lives in Dixon , New Mexico , even the careless oversight of his accomplishments. Mr. Sanchez lives alone in a very small, simple four room adobe home, wants for nothing and gives what he can to those in need. Mr. Sanchez travels on foot everywhere he goes and is not boastful of his accomplishments. Most certainly he is a living testament of a simple man who survived a war not just for the people of this country, but on a grander scale a war fraught with human misunderstanding, neglect, and a lack of compassion. The men who create war fail to understand the profound importance of the people who make this a great nation.

Yes, I am very aware of the argument in my statements above, but the sad truth is that from the wealth of our government coffers more time and money should be spent on educating, caring and solving the after effects of war on our men and woman who so courageously serve our nation. There should never be any hesitation or questions regarding care for all who place themselves in harm’s way for their country while wearing the uniform of the United States . Gonito, along with the many who have suffered and sacrificed, are the reason for the beauty and wonderment of the land. There is much more to say of the people here in Northern New Mexico along with those from other states in our Great Nation, but you will have to forgive me. It would take what life I have left to do so. So, instead I will on to my next adventure.

I have had the great pleasure to ride the highways which run parallel to the Rio Grande . One such ride took me to Taos , which is north of Dixon . It is a 23 mile trek with 16 miles of it climbing rolling hills through a canyon with 1000 plus foot walls on each side. The outline of the ridges are sharp with boulders hugging the sides of the mountain, which have been wedged securely by smaller rocks that have come loose by the rain, wind and snowy weather condition. They are bold and intimidating giving an uncertain feeling of safety. As you move through the canyon you become increasingly aware of the canyon walls, and you cannot help but wonder if this will be the moment the earth will choose to move and cause an avalanche onto the road ahead. The power of the unknown is what sends the adrenalin rush. Maybe this is one of my highs in riding! One more mile to experience what lies ahead and around the corners of life.

The Rio Grande is rushing with full force from the melting snow on the Truchas Peaks and surrounding mountain tops of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains , giving the whitewater conditions for the rafting and kayak enthusiast. At the top of the climb there is a rest stop with a grand view of the Rio Grande Gorge, a smaller scale of the Grand Canyon but still a rewarding moment without any obstructions of where the earth meets the sky. Once again, the sky plays a big part in the beauty and lay of land, and the clouds continue to prove their importance in giving definition and depth to this Land of Enchantment . Penasco is another little community east from the house. Although a shorter distance, its challenge was a steeper grade and minus the river it proved as equally beautiful ride with the juniper, sage, cacti and wildflowers growing where only rock was visible. It is a 17 mile ride with an alternate route back. There is a dirt road that takes 12 miles off the return trip if one should be so bold to do so. I considered it briefly, but was very thankful I chose not to. Although it offered some views of beautiful terrain with small creeks and the natural creation of castles in the sky, it would also have been a very bone shattering and uncomfortable return. (Picture) (I know this because Rudy and I had driven the road while out checking on his campaign posters.) While in Penasco I had very good breakfast at R@R Restaurant, and from my booth I enjoyed a perfect picture view of the Truchas Mountains . (Picture) As a side note, I originally sent a picture of these mountains that I had taken as I left Albuquerque . What I did not realize at the time was I was actually looking at them from a distance of one hundred miles away. This is just an example of the incredible distances one can see here in New Mexico .

During his weekends Rudy graciously gave me the grand tour of other areas of Northern New Mexico and Santa Fe . Rudy and I drove into Santa Fe a few days after my arrival to purchase office equipment for the expansion of his law firm and he wanted to show me the Capitol. He said that it is the only place where cucarachas are not safe. Why? Because it is called the Round House with no corners to hide. It is said that there is only one rat who has managed to survive its term in the Round House and that is Bill Richardson. The request to have animal control remove the varmint has been approved with an anticipated removal date of 12-31-10. This is a Democratic State, but the feelings for Richardson by the people are very negative. They are actually hoping that the Republicans win the Governor seat this year. We had lunch at La Choza Restaurant, on 905 Alarid, Santa Fe New Mexico , 87501 . I have to say that as much as I have enjoyed the many huevos ranchero plates in California , this was truly the best that I have ever had. You have a choice between red and green chili, and believe me the green is the bomb. The plate even comes with a sopapilla. For those who have not had the pleasure to have one of these delicacies, it is a special dough that is cut up in a square shape, deep fried until it rises like a puffed up pillow and with honey it is delicious. The staff is very friendly and the service is more than up to par. They graciously allowed me sit for several hours while writing this journal. The duration of my stay allowed me to see the change of staff and my enjoyment of the chicken enchilada dinner plate. It too was fantastic. I recommend this as a must stop for those passing through. My stop again before my departure was again not disappointing. Be sure to ask for Sarah, Jessica or Zoe. All were absolutely wonderful and not once did I have to ask for a water or coffee refill.

We spent some time with friends, having dinner with one very special friend of Rudy and Darleen’s. His name is Gerhard Kiefer (Geez), is of German origin and a mechanic for foreign cars by trade. Geez moved to the United States 30 years ago settling in Michigan taking a job on a dairy farm. As he put it, he was in charge of one quarter of the farm performing the duties in caring and maintaining the cows’ production of milk. He said it was good work and fun while it lasted. He liked the flexibility of his work hours and performing his duties without the over-the-shoulder supervision. Like most of us, after a time he was ready for a change. He moved to New Mexico after a friend, who was also a mechanic from Germany , called from Santa Fe telling him of a mechanic position. This position paid much more than he was making on the farm with the possibility of one day owning the mechanic shop. So, without much to lose, Geez found himself working on expensive cars for the wealthy in Santa Fe . With a smile he inserted, “And I’m still making very good money.” Geez was simple in his mannerisms with a very soft yet profound accent when expressing his feelings and thoughts in conversation, giving a very comforting presence. He looked like a young Dudley Moore but thinner and taller. His eyes were young and gleamed with every expression along with a smile of humility. I asked what his life was like in Germany and, much to my surprise; he stated that he hated Germans. He expressed his dislike for their arrogance and well-to-do attitude for themselves as the elite. As a child he grew up in orphanages. He did not know his mother and was encouraged by Rudy to establish a relationship with his father. Geez said his father is very wealthy in Germany . Geez’ father never responded back to his letters. “I guess he thought I wanted his money. I don’t know why, I wrote him of my success here in New Mexico , so I don’t know much of him.” His eyes well up with tears showing the emotional effects of rejection. In the same breath he became humorous and shared what must have been a devastating moment of reality. He said he remembers as a child falling asleep and waking up in a different room. “I remember falling asleep in my room one night and waking up, in a different room, the ceiling was different. I looked around and thought I was dreaming. Not only was I in a different room, I was in a different town.” From that point on he was moved to different homes until, for some reason, he found out the people who were taking care of him were not getting paid anymore, making him a ward of the orphanage. His smile was sincere when he stated that it was hard but fun. “I remember the good times with the bad and have no hard feelings for anyone.”

Geez’ laughter was intoxicating as he shared some of his adventures with other children of the orphanage. “I was the only child, and it was good to have an extended family.” Needless to say, Geez is another survivor of hardships resulting in an existence that lives with a deep understanding and compassion for humanity. It was not his choice to be born, but he chooses daily to live in this world with his natural gifts sharing what he has with those who have less. Rudy says Geez is not just great guy who will give you the shirt off his back, but a magician with foreign cars, only doing what is needed and nothing more. He does not work for greed but for the love of his profession. We parted after a wonderful dinner and coexistence of life with a mutual respect and acknowledgment of friendship. I can see why Rudy regards Geez as a close friend -- better yet, a brother.

Another visit was with Elmer and Oneida Aragon , both lawyers in Las Vegas , New Mexico . They have two children, Mario and Marissa. Their son Mario is a graduate in Engineering from Tulane University of New Orleans, and will be entering a Doctorate Program at the University of New Mexico this fall. Their daughter, Marissa, graduated this year from Texas State University , and her parents were having a family dinner for her. Her major in Psychology should suit her well as her communicative skills allow her to be the talker and listener at the same time. Rudy and Elmer attended law school together, and after graduating maintained a close friendship. Rudy said that during the school breaks he and Elmer would work on the family land gathering and baling hay from fields across the street. Their home sits at the base of the mountain with a view of a valley surrounded by healthy junipers, ponderosas and tall green grass covering the ground. Small areas are lined with cotton trees where the creeks run. There are a few old rustic barns which have had their use in the past, blended with newer buildings which will have a much longer life term of use. It is a picture setting, one that we only get to see on an occasion when watching programs of earth or a cinema movie with marvelous scenes highlighting the backdrop of the movie set. During conversation with Rudy and Elmer, I found out that Elmer knows my brother Mario. Elmer attended San Diego State University and had classes with Mario. With that I got on l my cell phone contacting Mario asking him if he remembered Elmer. He immediately replied, “Yes.” I handed the phone to Elmer and a lengthy conversation ensued with laughter and responses like “really”, “no kidding”, “that’s great” regarding other classmates, past events, present status, and future plans. This went on for thirty minutes or more ending with invitations to each other’s homes. It is a small world after all. You would never know that Elmer and his wife were lawyers by their interaction with the guests. They mingled with everyone sharing simple conversation, never avoiding a question or request for anything in need. They are servants to the people and extend that gift to anyone in their home. Both are very humble like the blend of natural beauty of this valley they grew up in. Elmer said they could not work anywhere else, and coming back to their roots to help the surrounding communities was always their intentions while acquiring their accreditations in law. They have no need to display their riches; they live it. The happiness which is in the face of their daughter will live into her future family, for the love in this house is grounded on a foundation built of simplicity and the knowledge of the importance we are to each other. I am much honored to have had the opportunity to share this special day with them. As Rudy and I were leaving, Elmer and Oneida ’s departing words were “come back and stay a while longer.”

On another occasion, after rearranging furniture in Rudy’s office, we drove to Abiquiu in Northern New Mexico . The terrain changed drastically where the mountains were made up of sandstone with colors of clay red, dark and light browns with yellow, gold and white mixed with mesa tops rising hundreds of feet exposing the landscape’s erosion over the centuries. The vegetation of juniper and sage was the only cover in some areas, and buffalo grass with wild flowers under green trees was in others. Echo Amphitheater created by nature’s elements of wind and rain is one of Abiquiu attractions. There is a short walk from the parking lot to a walkway that leads up to this marvel wonder with wild grass, various families of cacti, juniper, pinion pines and the remains of tall cedar pines on both sides. Once there you can holler, recite a poem or just sing a song as I did into the silence of the living surroundings. Lake Abiquiu sits in the middle of all this and on this chosen day the clouds and sunlight gave a very unique balance of color with a rainbow that presented itself only for a moment as if to say ‘This is your day.’ The reflection of light off the lake became a living moment of divinity, resurrecting a spiritual moment when the balance of life was defined to a twelve year old boy and his journey to understanding the meaning of existence. The day passed with the horizon changing from sporadic clouds with large windows of open blue skies to a gathering and connecting of the different clouds, which formed in unison as if being directed to ready themselves for their part in the days end with the setting sun. The beauty of the sunset with the surrounding of nature’s handful of colors was more than words could describe. Never have I seen the harmony of the sun, blue sky, clouds and mountains unified to display a beauty where only a picture can capture a glimpse of what the eyes of the beholder feels. Rudy, in many of these special moments, stood by in awe always adding,” This place always has something more beautiful than what I saw the last time I came through”.

Earlier in this journal I mentioned my cousin Rosa and how I felt when we gave each other our last good-byes. As I was leaving her home, I honestly felt like it would be the last time I would see her. My stay here in New Mexico was something that bothered me because I knew I was losing the window of weather opportunity to ride through Texas and Oklahoma . However, the weather pattern in both those states was not good for riding a bicycle due to the rainstorms, golf ball sized hail, and tornados, all of which justified my remaining here. I remembered thinking at the time that there was a reason for my stay and I would not question it. As it turned out, on 6-06-10 after returning from Abiquiu, my wife Ruth called with news that our cousin in San Jose had informed her that Rosa had passed away at seven that morning. In confusion I said that it could not be so, and maybe she meant Rosabelle, another cousin in Denver who had passed a week ago. I thought she might have received the news late, but Ruth encouraged me to contact Robert. I hesitated for a moment, not wanting to know the truth. I finally called Robert and immediately knew from the tone of his voice that his mother had passed away. Robert informed me that she had not been eating much lately and was quickly losing weight. While with her daughter, Elsie, Rosa began coughing and was immediately taken to the hospital. The doctors stated that there was not much they could do due to her weakened condition and the severity of her congestion. When the doctors said that they could prolong the inevitable with a feeding tube, it was decided that it would not be an option. As was consistent with Rosa ’s determined, strong spirit, she refused to have tubes tied to her. Fortunately, she did not suffer and was able to see her family before departing. At one point a nurse asked Rosa what she was staring at, and Rosa replied in Spanish that the lighted doors were opening for her. With that she was left in her peace and not bothered again.

Rosa had requested to be cremated and her ashes buried in Vadito. A rosary was held on 6-11-10 in the old church. It was very simple with all the family members conducting the service, and local friends in attendance. The church's pews were made of cedar, and they did not have comfort as a part of their design with the bench seat narrow and backs made so as not to lean back on. Some were anchored while others were not, causing them to move when shifting to a position of comfort. The wood plank floors were well worn showing need of attention. The altar was small with a Cross of Christ and a large rosary hanging from it on the back wall. There were saints on both sides of the cross with a very simple setting. No gold, elaborate paintings or rich clothes were displayed. On the left side of the altar stood a podium, which looked to have been made by a local member of the church. The walls were plywood, stained and lacquered with joints exposing the staggered pattern in which they were nailed, and hanging from these wall were simple 12 inch by 16 inch painted plaques of the Stations of the Cross. The outside had been plastered with the rounded corners, and the doors and windows were framed with 2 inch by 12 inch wood pieces giving away the thickness of the adobe walls. There were no manicured lawns or trees, nor were there any lavish flowerbeds. There was no paved parking lot, instead only packed dirt. Like most areas in Northern New Mexico , the only thing paved was the main highway road. Yet everything was in its proper place with a beauty that was integrated into its natural setting. There was nothing here to indicate that the outside world had any stronghold on the simplicity of this living community.

The mass service took place on the following day. The sun was in competition with the wind blowing the clouds, causing them to cover the open sky as if to let the sun know that the earth below was in need of cool weather. Rudy, Darleen and I drove together to the church, I sitting in the back seat contemplating the events of my stay in New Mexico . There was a bend on the road that gave a view of the church where we noticed immediately that parking would be a problem. Early arrivals parked their cars surrounding the church with the overflow, parking along both sides of the narrow mountain road. Some were so bold as to block the entrance and others behind cars making it impossible to get in or out if there was an emergency. Once parked, we walked a short distance to the church, and our arriving too late for a seat inside the only option was to stand inside the small corridor with other attendees. The mass was simple and similar to many I have attended. The children in attendance were in the main church; there was no crying room for the restless little ones. Most were allowed to move about, while the smaller ones remained in the arms of the parents. The people of the community were here to say their last good-byes to a woman whose life made a difference with her unselfish ways of giving of time and treasure to those with very little to nothing. She was known as “Tia Rose” with many referring to her as the mother figure in their lives. She was shy but never afraid to hold firmly to her beliefs and work ethics, setting the example for her children, grandchildren and members of the community. Rosa was easily recognized by the baseball hat she always wore while walking into town, or to homes of family and neighbors. She was never seen without one. Rosa ’s thoughtfulness was demonstrated by bringing presents throughout the year to family members and other community residences, something she termed “early Christmas gifts.” Although she did not attend Sunday religious services, she unselfishly gave a ten percent tithe to the community parish and the other ninety percent she lived on while giving what she could to the people of the this valley. She lived alone in her adobe home, which was plastered over and remodeled with indoor restroom, running water and electricity over the years. She had lived in this little home all of the eighty four years of her life, keeping it open to those in need. Anyone who came to visit was sure to have a meal before departing. She had a way in her smile which lit up her eyes with a joy in everything she did in life.

With the ceremony over we were led on a short walk up a mountain path behind the church to the cemetery, which was a very different experience for me. The path was not evenly graded, but for the most part was flat with small gorges made from past rainwater, rocks, loose sand, and a challenging incline. Both sides of the path were lined with thick junipers and large pinion pines with the wind blowing through their branches giving them movement from side to side as if they were dancing with a whisper in celebration of our presence. The dust kicked up but without being a hindrance as we continued the climb to the top. The cemetery lies high in an area surrounded by mountains, with the Truchas Peaks standing the highest among them. The skies were clear with a few clouds sitting in clusters, but not enough to hinder the sun’s rays which warmed the cool breeze as it blew. Everyone wove through the mounds of dirt which were on top of recent gravesites. There were several graves that had wrought iron around them with abundant colors of flowers. Many were very simple with just a name written on a wooden cross that was pounded into the ground above the grave. Several of the crosses were weathered and falling apart indicating the passing of generations with no one left to maintain the markers.

We joined in a circle at the edge of the cemetery which had a view of the valley and the surrounding mountains with their abundant cover of forest. The ground was dry, and the location of Rosa ’s plot was occupied with two crosses that had been weathered with time. There was a 12 inch by 12 inch by 5 to 6 foot deep hole which had been dug by a grandson next to the crosses. In silence we listened as the priest said a few words giving the last blessing over the grave and wooden box, which contained Rosa ’s ashes. Before it was lowered into the open ground by her grandson, he laid flat on his stomach to accommodate the depth of the grave with the length of his arm. All Rosa’s grandchildren and great grandchildren were present, along with the children of the community ranging in ages from five to eighteen years old standing in front with the parents and other adults behind them. Starting with the youngest, the children proceeded to drop a handful of dirt slowly filling the hole, which was taken from the pile next to their grandmother’s grave. They moved in silence and without hesitation made the sign of the cross indicating this gesture was not uncommon in their lives. It seemed so strange yet very welcoming to see the young play a very important role in the ceremonies of the departed. They were not insulated from the final moments of living and had been given the acknowledgement and importance that life does not come without death. All present gave their last words, whether in silence or spoken aloud with others in prayer. When it was over and before departing, everyone took one last look around at the beautiful mountains with the floating clouds in the blue skies above. I saw in their facial expressions they were giving a silent thank you to Rosa for the beauty of her life that she shared with them. Before departing, an invitation to join the family in the Community Center for one last meal together was given, which was an opportunity to continue the conversation of the many special moments each one had shared with Rosa . Everyone left the cemetery holding hands or with their arms draped over the shoulders of the people they walked with while engaging in whispering conversation of comments about how wonderful and caring Rosa was to everyone. I remained behind and was the last one to leave and, while alone, I also thanked her spirit for her presence in my life and thought how beautifully simple and involved this ceremony was. This was the first time that I had seen all family members involved in this final sacred moment. Not only was the involvement of the children a pleasant surprise, but the cemetery as well. It was open with no obstructions, not surrounded by block fences or concrete walls with tall wrought iron gates, nor did it have cameras or security personnel to deter vandalism or prevent anyone from entering or leaving. There were no mature trees that shaded over the graves, nor were they surrounded by green grass. There were no huge statutes or benches making the grounds look like an invitation to a picnic. There were no oversized granite tombs to indicate that ‘no cost is too great’ for the individual entombed inside. To each his own, I realize, but I could only come to one conclusion -- our cemeteries back home are meant to keep someone in, and the plots are sold with a guarantee that no one will enter to disturb the dead. Your departed will be a taken care of with someone always there to maintain the grounds for the comfort of their spirit. Cemeteries have become a ‘resting place’ to keep the dead in and the living out, all for a price. How often do we actually visit our departed? In that I am not referring to visits to their place of burial. I am referring to the place where they live. Your heart, your soul, your mind where the memories of laughter and joy with the sad times of uncertainty and struggle which are the living testament to who you are. Letting go of the physical body and living with the spiritual soul of those who have given of their life, whether it be good or bad, is the balance of life we struggle with. Let go and live the only life you have been given as the testament of the living spirit. In marked contrast to our cemeteries, this one in Vadito and others like it are on open land, and when you pass from this life there is no cost for the plot that you will be laid into. All sit with their own natural setting adorned only with the fresh and synthetic cut flowers that decorate the graves as a testament to the caretakers. The saying that when the departed are gone “They are free of this world” really should be “They are now this world.” There were no boundaries in this cemetery, just open skies and nature’s changing times with the beauty of the surrounding mountains, just as it was when she walked among the living. Maybe that is why I felt so connected to Rosa . We felt the likeness in each other, sharing the beauty with the deepest respect for everything, everyone and understanding their importance and balance in life.

The breakfast at the Community Center was wonderful with an assortment of homemade recipes each made to perfection. I know because I tried everything including a little from the each cake, pie, fudge, cookies, and various pastries. What was most important, though, was the opportunity I was blessed with to become reacquainted with all of the family members. The stories went on with laughter as if Rosa would show herself once more and attend to the needs of those serving themselves a second or third plate. Rosa will be missed and yet never forgotten. The young adults will keep her alive with stories of her at many future functions to come, as it should be. As we drove home a dance was set in motion with the surrounding trees shifting and bending with their leaves, glittering in light and dark green color as a result of their constant flapping made possible by the whispering winds. Another wonderful day.

I have come to enjoy the early mornings on the front porch having coffee with the birds feeding off the ground where I spread the wild bird seed. I will miss Rudy and Darleen who follow me after awakening for our morning ritual of sharing the enjoyment of conversation between us regarding yesterdays and the new day’s events. It would not be complete without a word about the behavior of the numerous birds competing for the seed, not to mention last night’s leftovers. I will miss the moments enjoying their company in silence, gazing into the mountains with the cool breeze blowing past us while sipping our coffee. Thank you for allowing me to stay, sleep, eat, and live your world with you.

I have to give my thanks to all the unknown drivers who waved in passing each time I was on the road to and from Espanola in Rudy’s car. I wasn’t quite sure at first if maybe the drivers passing thought I was Rudy or someone else they knew. I found out that people here just like to let you know that you are acknowledge through a simple wave of their fingers. Not that I don’t know the importance of two hand control of the steering wheel, but I had to learn to keep both hands on the wheel at all times because of the many times this jester is performed while passing. The trick, I found out, was to have both hands at the top center of the steering wheel. One hand which is your dominant side, controls the steering and held firmly. The other is resting lightly on the wheel so as to prepare for the simple return of acknowledgment with the lift of your fingers following through with that same friendly jester. Once I got use to this response it became very personnel as if there was a connection between us. In either case it was a good and friendly.

It is time to go. Everyone says I should stay and that I have a home here. I assure them that I feel at home and a part of this wonderful family, but I must go. There is still more I must experience, places and people to meet. So I will be leaving Dixon in a couple of days in an attempt to complete this journey. I say attempt only because the weather may be somewhat uncomfortable riding through five states with humidity being a major factor. I will be lightening the weight of my gear, especially the front. The left shoulder and arm, although better, are not yet one hundred percent.

Bear in mind, I have shared some thoughts that may be conflicting, but in no way are they intended to sway the differences in anyone’s beliefs. It may appear I get overly involved at times, but the clarity of life is not as transparent as we would like it to be. With our eyes we have vision to guide us through every step we take, but it is the heart and souls creation of obstacles that we battle in the process of true vision.

So, until then, know that you are all with me, and as such I am never lonely.

Take care, Love ya all.

Old Man Preparing for Part II, the Sequel