Tommy Was Born in the Autumn of His 51st Year

There’s a lot going on – let’s get to it.

It was cold this morning when I woke in whatever town I was in. Not too far from Aztec, NM. Aztec isn’t famous, mostly because of what it would be famous for got hushed up. But, what that was, was little green men. Yep, we all kid about those aliens being little green men from Mars. Guess what.

In 1950 hundreds of eyewitnesses spotted dozens of flying saucers in the skies over northwestern New Mexico for 3 straight days. It made the local paper.

Farmington Daily Something

But, that is nothing compared to what happened a couple of years earlier in nearby Aztec. One of them sumbitches crashed in a theretofore empty field just outside of town. Several 12″ to 16″ tall little green aliens corpses were recovered.

The Aztec Visitors Center downplays the event, but hands out detailed maps of how to find the crash site for those interested. I was interested. I mapped up.

I drove north on state hwy 550, then turned right on County “road” 2770. I was supposed to continue for 10.6 miles. I did not.

2770 is pieced together out of what skiers call “moguls” loosely covered with gravel.

Driving down this road is the transportational equivalent of riding the bastard offspring of a Home Depot paint mixing machine and an Orgasmatron while simultaneously being kicked in the nads by a kangaroo on meth.

Being an intrepid investigator of all things otherworldly, I was prepared to make the necessary sacrifice to bring you an on-the-spot report, a scant 67 years after the fact. But, since the EM-50 Phantom Rambler has approximately the same miles as Apollo 11, I decided to turn around and make for Colorado.

I passed through Durango! …but, I didn’t stop.

I did stop in historic Mancos, Colorado!

Cards on the table…I had never heard of it, but they have these signs every 100 feet…

So, I got out to investigate…and pee.

Eventually I found this brass plaque…

It was like being there!

They move at a slower pace. It’s the wa-ay….of the west.

My true destination was Mesa Verde National Park, high in the Rockies.

Mesa Verde, which is Spanish for “Ping Pong Table”, was home to the Anasazi cliff-dwellers – a Native American tribe who is believed to have invented the Rec Room.

I reported to the park HQ and Visitor’s Center to read about these fascinating people. To my delight, I discovered the Department of the Interior had constructed life-sized dioramas depicting the daily life of the Anasazi. (pic related)

To my disappointment, I discovered that anytime the figure was a chick (pic related)

Still counts

…they posed her in such a way that you didn’t get a clear shot of any boobage (I have been on the road a very long time).

Then I made my way to the top of the Mesa (pic).

That’s racist Indian talk for, “this is my destination”

The road leading to the table land is shaped in a pattern that we oenologists (wine enthusists) call a “whirl”. You low-brow, Schlitz-swilling, steerage-traveling, Riff Raff call it a “corkscrew”…and you probably belch when you say it.

The perilous ascent is fraught with death-defying, spectacular views that allow for you to slide right off the mountain and plummet several thousand feet should you take your eyes off the road for a split second to appreciate them (pic related).