Shoestring Sisters: A Travel Memoir of Sorts

(the story of how my sister and I drove from Chicago to LA and back on less than $300 apiece)

by

Emily Mills (2002)

Part 3

Tsunami: Making Friends With Aliens in Roswell, Hiking White Sands, and the Ill Fated Trip to Silver City

(Day 4)

I pulled myself out of the last bed I'd see for days most reluctantly, and looked outside at a partly cloudy day. Heather and I decided to eat breakfast at the campy little Denny's that was situated in the heart of downtown Roswell, in hopes of then going next door to the International UFO Museum and Research Center. I ordered an extremely greasy Boca burger and went to town as I looked out the window at all of the really amusing alien paraphernalia the town had laid out for tourists like us. And then this older gentlemen, sporting a lovely pot-belly and bits of breakfast in his beard, strolled by wearing a truly inspiring t-shirt. It had a picture of a Confederate flag on it, and over the flag a picture of a chiuahua wearing a confederate soldier's hat. It read: "Leader of the Pack, Don't Trust Anyone". I hadn't known chiuahua's were icons of the Confederacy, but I guess you learn something new every day.

And so we left the cultural oasis that is Denny's and headed off to the UFO Museum. It was free, as it damn well should be, and after swapping stories with the desk lady about where we were from (they had a map on the wall with pushpins in it from the people who visited, some from countries on the other side of the globe), we went in. The museum is sparse, located in some sort of big old warehouse. There are a number of very kitschy pieces of art placed throughout the space: a big horse model with newspaper clippings pertaining to the crash de-cor-paged (sp?) to it, a big UFO model covered in sequins and little flashing Christmas lights, and all manner of artist drawings. There were, however, a great deal of more substantial display items. Every known article that was written at the time of the crash, evidence and testimonials from people involved, government documents, a full size model of an old newspaper office, and the oft-disputed alleged fragment of metal found at the crash site. It was, overall, very interesting and amusing all at once, especially the gift shop and all of the various alien related items one could purchase. I had the urge to buy a shot glass, so I could get drunk with the aliens some day, perhaps while we were at the Grand Canyon.

I resisted that particular urge, however, and we headed out. After exploring a few other shops, we hopped in ye ole Shaggin Waggin and rolled on off towards White Sands National Monument. This was a truly awe inspiring place. I had worried that it being dunes and desert, it would be hella hot, but fortunately for us, there was a good smattering of bubbly storm clouds in the sky that day, and we were treated to shade with the right amount of sun, a cool breeze, and even a slight mist. Now, White Sands National Monument is located just at the edge of the White Sands missile base, and the reason we intrepid traveler types tend to flock to it is that it is quite the natural wonder. In the midst of rather unspectacular scrub lands, there suddenly appears and oasis of pure white dunes (white because the sand is made of gypsum). The dunes form a rather lengthy strip of white at the base of a mountain range, and you can do day or overnight hikes there. We opted for the mile long hike and had a really great time running about in the giant sandbox, taking pictures, and shamelessly ogling these two cute girls who were hiking just ahead of us.

After the sand had thoroughly invaded all of our clothing, we got back in the van and drove out into the great wide open of the scrub land…headed straight for what looked like a big dark wall of storm.

In the desert, you can see storms coming from miles away. It really is a sight to see, quite breath-taking. But I know my van, and it has a hard time with strong winds, it's center of gravity being so high up and all. That combined with the ominous "monsoon" warning the weatherman had told me of the previous night made me somewhat nervous. But we braced ourselves and drove on, heartened by the sight of cars coming out of the storm in the oncoming lane of traffic. It really was kind of funny. You could literally see first the wave of wind that preceded the storm, and then the wall of dark rain that slammed into the car like nothing I've felt before. I slowed to a crawl--a mere 45 miles per hour on the open freeway--and squinted out the front windshield where my wipers were putting up a valiant, if fruitless effort to clear my line of vision.

It was at this point that my sister had an unpleasant thought. We had planned to camp that night up in Silver City, in hopes of going up to the Gila Cliff Dwellings National Monument the next morning. But with all this rain, we were suddenly unsure if camping would be an option.

But we pressed on, and after a good few hours, the rain had calmed to a drizzle, and there was a patch of blue sky up in the direction we were headed. But though camping conditions seemed to be looking better, this is where the trip got wacky. You see, on the map, there's a highway that goes north from the interstate into Silver City, which is the sort of jumping off point for the cliff dwellings. The map made no mention of the fact that this particular highway went smack through the Gila National Forest and a rather substantial mountain range. Yes folks, this was a 20 mile drive that ended up taking some two hours, what with a switchback every fifty feet and inclines that turned my poor van into the Little Engine That Barely Could. The forest was, albeit, quite beautiful, and the air up there was really refreshing, but that did little to make the drive any more fun. We had planned to get to Silver City with enough daylight remaining to find a decent campsite and pitch out tent with the aid of the sun, but as it ended up, we rolled into that damn town well after dark. Tired and defeated, we gave in and went to the local KOA. If you don't know KOA's, they're the Hilton of campsites. Campsites for people who want to feel as though they're roughing it without actually roughing it. Mostly a family place with quaint little cottages for rent and more RVs than tents, it would however, have to do. The nice old lady at the counter informed us that we were just in time, as the desk would have closed in another ten minutes. She also insisted upon seeing both of our Ids, as she thought we couldn't possibly be older than 14 or 15. I'm 20, my sister is 25. But she did give us a crack of land on which we could pitch our tent for the night.

I told her we planned to head up to the cliff dwellings in the morning, to which she happily informed us that the drive to the cliff dwellings alone would take a good 5-6 hours. We wanted to be at the Grand Canyon by that night, and so our hopes for seeing these little pieces of American history faded like so much bug juice on my windshield in a monsoon. And after a surprisingly easy battle to set the tent up on soggy ground in pitch black, we settled for the mouth watering meal of tortillas with peanut butter and then passed out for the night.