Blue Hole - Santa Rosa, NM
I’m headed to Blue Hole! With Rodney!
It’s only about 2-1/2 hours from Amarillo to get to Santa Rosa Lake, where we will be Corolla-camping for the night. Rodney is so excited to get back in his new-truck-dog-bed that he forgets it exists and launches into the tiny triangle created when the drivers seat is slid and tilted all the way forward.
We start the trip with a shared laugh.
My mother calls to ask if I am ok.
She has read my blog.
"[She is] still processing parts of it."
The tone in her voice says that she is worried I won't make it through the weekend.
We talk it out.
But, I can’t be sure that it was my real mother I was talking to and not a digital facsimile.
The tone in her voice says that she is worried I won't make it through the weekend.
We talk it out.
But, I can’t be sure that it was my real mother I was talking to and not a digital facsimile.
If we have the means to create identical, digital likenesses of people, what is stopping someone from gaslighting entire nations with indiscernible digital variations of their friends and family?
Our conversation is made even more
"Can you imagine if I wasn't real and you could just click a button to make me act differently?"
*silence
"Hello... Mom...? I think I lost you."
"I'm here..."
By the time we get to Santa Rosa, I’m barely feeling like any time has passed, even though the sun is setting.
Distractions can make decades feel like a single memory.
The stars are amazing. I can see the galaxy.
It’s too cold to sit outside without a fire.
I just drove a few hundred miles to get away from light pollution, anyway.
I just drove a few hundred miles to get away from light pollution, anyway.
So, I’m laying on my back in the camper with the main window zipped open just enough to slide my head out.
I count stars and watch the planes as they do their best to catch wishes.
I count stars and watch the planes as they do their best to catch wishes.
I bet this is what all those cephalons feel like in Arizona.
Cold heads, removed from their bodies.
Cold heads, removed from their bodies.
I don't take any pictures. Rodney tells me that it's my choice to make.
After reminding myself of all the extraterrestrial facts I’ve learned and rarely think of, I polish off my Pacifico and tell Rodney he’s a good boy.
He wags his tail in response.
Sign language for “Thanks, you too.”
---
Rodney and I spend the morning walking around to check out all the views and visit with the neighbors.
There aren't any views, but Rodney is just in it for the walk and socialization.
After making coffee, I sit down to read more of that book on transhumanism.
I’ll save you any further details, but at one point I find myself pacing in the road (for warmth), trying to decide if I could devote myself to learning what would be needed to even join the conversation in a meaningful way, much less further the mission.
I am mid-stride when I look at Rodney and see him napping in a spot of sunlight.
I’ll save you any further details, but at one point I find myself pacing in the road (for warmth), trying to decide if I could devote myself to learning what would be needed to even join the conversation in a meaningful way, much less further the mission.
I am mid-stride when I look at Rodney and see him napping in a spot of sunlight.
Smartass.
An older gentleman, out for a morning power-stroll, lets me know it’s chilly.
An hour later he passes by and lets me know it’s supposed to warm up to 80.
"Yup."
We are still on a rock that is dancing with the Sun...
We are still on a rock that is dancing with the Sun...
I’m not sure what I would rather a stranger say to me.
Nothing, maybe.
I wonder if he wants a genuine response from me? I could go one of two ways...
Nothing, maybe.
I wonder if he wants a genuine response from me? I could go one of two ways...
“There are frozen, severed heads awaiting the singularity in Arizona.”
or
or
“There’s sun-shine over by that dog, if you’re cold.”
I think I'll stick with the weather for real-life conversations.
Once it’s warm enough, I ask Rodney if he’s ready to go.
Stirred from his nap, he turns and looks at me with that face that says he’s excited by the idea but not ready to commit.
Or, that he doesn't understand the language I'm using, but is delighted to be having the interaction.
Stirred from his nap, he turns and looks at me with that face that says he’s excited by the idea but not ready to commit.
Or, that he doesn't understand the language I'm using, but is delighted to be having the interaction.
The swimming hole is all but abandoned and the water is a little cool for me.
"SWIM AT YOUR OWN RISK"
"SWIM AT YOUR OWN RISK"
Maybe this is what people were trying to tell me all week.
“It’s Fall... you idiot.”
It’s packed.
And everyone is scuba diving.
Yes, scuba diving.
I told you, I don’t need drugs.
A few seconds after jumping off the “cliff” into the 60 degree water, I’m convinced of the need for a full wet suit and make my way towards the exit.
Rodney is tempted to join me, but reminds himself of what the sign says:
“NO PETS ALLOWED IN WATER”
Wait... any.... water?
These people don't believe in keeping fish.
These people don't believe in keeping fish.
Rodney doesn’t identify as a pet, but he’s not feeling combative (and I told him to stay).
We lay out, alternating between sun and shade like two crocodiles.
No one bothers us except for a raven the size of a chihuahua.
Rodney decides for both of us that he is not. a. friend.
I watch a serious bike rider go by.
You can tell he’s serious because he has tall socks and an Aero As Fuck™ riding position.
And he’s smooth-fast.
I consider chasing him down, but wise crocodiles don’t chase their prey.
They lie and wait for the right time to strike.
Every time I think about looking up our next spot, the cell-service goes out.
Someone is looking out for us.
Reminding us to be patient.Not to rush it.
We kill time around Santa Rosa.
Steady, without worry.
Nice and easy does it.
