New Mexico

Every state has its own kind of vast nothing, but New Mexico's is wild nothing.

Pancho Villa, Billy the Kid, and battles between frontier states and Mexican borders happened out in these desert wastelands. It appears that history didn't look on it as waste after all. Now we haul through it at about 75 MPH. Crossing the Rio Grande on horse back would've been quite different than the thud thud over the bridge and done experience I had this afternoon.

As a passing comment, almost to no one, I murmured, "oh, the Rio Grande."

I guessed we missed its grandeur. I should have pulled over and saluted or something.

The Native Americans will shut down the highway that runs through their reservation on holy days. The land is sacred, and you'll have to respect it whether you want to or not.

On every other day we pass them by. A sign says there was a reservation you just left, and we rumble over a cattle guard. A civilization left in our dust, living simply in rusty trailers, surviving off of government checks.

We can buy their heritage for real low cheap at a conveniently located souvenir stand right past the junction.

Kill history, but carry an artifact manufactured in Taiwan to remind you of what you never really knew at all. Your imagination will fill in the gaps.

Mine saw cowboys riding slow through sage brush and indians making fires by their teepees. Flat-roofed adobe houses demonstrated people's commitment to braving the rocky terrain with hopes for new life and opportunity.

We repeat history.

There's too much land to walk on here. It goes too far and too wide and its treacherous in between. I was here, but I mostly saw it from the car window.

...ramble on...

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