A Very Long Post for a Very Long Day

Yesterday was an incredibly interesting day. Walking out of my door this morning with the sun coming up over Sleeping Ute mountain, a cup of fresh coffee in my hand, and the night's quiet just starting to be broken by the early morning activities, it was hard to imagine the events of yesterday actually happened. But when I felt the tension in my shoulders after a day of stressful situations and the fatigue in my legs after a long busy day, I knew it wasn't all a dream.

The Mad Hatter said to "Start at the beginning. And when you get to the end, stop." So, I will do just that. My day started at the early hour of 5:30 am, with my alarm going off. I set it so I could send a good luck text to Kate before she ran the Marine Corps marathon in Washington D.C. She signed me up to receive text messages as she ran, as well. I thought this was a great idea the night before, but when I started receiving texts at 6:00 am MT (the race started 8:00 am ET), I reconsidered my great idea. Not only did I get texts at every 5k for Kate, but also for her 3 friends, also running the marathon... every half an hour.... starting at 6:00 am. I finally crawled out of bed at 7:30 (to the fourth round of "bee-beep... bee-beep... bee-beep... bee-beep) and was out the door by 8:30, on my way to Chaco. Chaco Culture National Historical Park is an archaeological hot spot in the southwest. It was once a giant trading center and has several pueblos that are immense in statue, even in their state of ruin. It was a site I definitely wanted to visit while I was out here, so I just decided to go on my day off.

About 2 hours into my three and a half hour drive, I was keeping an eye on the road, an eye on the map, and an eye on TomTom, when my multiple eyes saw the one thing no driver wants to see, that puts a sickly feeling in every stomach- red and blue lights in my rear view mirror. I pulled over and the policeman came out and of course asked the famous question "Do you know why I pulled you over?" "I guessed I was going a little quick, I am not familiar with the area," I responded. "You were going 70 in a 45." Ok- first off, the speed limit was 65, so when I was doing 70, I was fine. Then there are all these small towns randomly that change their speed limit from 65 to 45 immediately. Unfortunately, I had missed the sign. He took all my information, and saw I am from PA. "Pennsylvania?! What are you doing out here?" Curiously broke the hardness in his face. "I work at a National Monument above Cortez" I replied. "Wow, you couldn't pay me to do that" he said. "Well, I don't get paid. I'm a volunteer." "Is that so?" He went back to his car and it was all I could do to stay calm and not start to cry (meanwhile... bee-beep! bee-beep! bee-beep! bee-beep! more texts from the marathon are still coming in). He returned and said "Madam, you were going 70 in a 45" "Yes sir." Gulp. "That would be a $154.00 ticket." "Yes sir." Double gulp. "You can not afford that, can you?" "No sir." "Well, if you could sign here and confirm the warning I am giving you." "Yes sir." Gul- wait. Warning? "Is the warning ok with you, madam?" "Yes sir!" I was signing, completely and utterly in disbelief at my good luck. The policeman from New Mexico takes the form back and looked at me one more time before leaving, I assumed to warn me about speeding again, which he did. Then he pointed at my shirt and said, "Good game last night." I looked at my shirt, confused. I was wearing a Penn State t-shirt. "Thank you sir." I replied, in even more disbelief. He nodded and walked back to his car. Unbelievable. I am pretty sure I got out of a ticket in New Mexico because of Penn State's amazing game. Unbelievable.

I continued onto Chaco and finally found it. I had heard there was a segment unpaved to get into the park, but everyone I talked to said my little Mazda could handle it, so I wasn't as worried as I should have been. I saw the dirt cloud five minutes before I got to the road. That should have been a red flag, but still relieved about the near miss earlier, I drove right ahead. It is not gravel, like I assumed, but a dirt road. "Well, here goes nothing," I thought and with a bump, I am off pavement. A small segment turned into what felt like 50 miles. I found out it was only 16 miles when I finally arrived at the visitor's center a half an hour later. A half an hour of my car sliding in the dirt, my fingernails cutting into the skin of my palms, my knuckles white, my jaw clenched with stress and tension.

Chaco was fantastic! The structures were amazing and breathtaking. It is so hard to describe, and even my pictures will not do it justice. There are many pueblos, so eager to see as many as I could, I ate granola bars for lunch while hiking, keeping one eye on the path, one eye on my guide. I was able to see five pueblos, but by the fifth one, I was beat. I was so tired, I left my camera in the car, which I was upset about, but too tired to walk back and get it (the smallest of my worries, as you will see). I left Chaco around 4:00 pm, a little earlier then I expected to, but I wanted to make sure I had enough time on the horrible road so I wouldn't be rushed, and so the VC would still be open if I had any trouble. I was practical and thoughtful. I drove the half an hour on that abysmal 16 mile road before hitting pavement again, a pleasure I will never take for granted again, and started the 3 hour drive back. I watched for speed limit signs like a hawk with OCD the entire drive back, knotted tension in my shoulders that never left after the killer road, fatigue in my legs after a intensive day of hiking.

Finally, I arrived back in Cortez. I was about to get on 491 which will lead me back to Hovenweep, when I glanced at my gas gauge. I had enough to get me back to Hovenweep without a problem, and probably enough to get to to Cortez for my next trip to town. "But why worry about something else?" I thought. "Better stop now, while you are here." Practical and reasonable again. I pulled up at the City Market (my food store) gas station, grabbed my credit card and value card from my wallet and got out of the car. Something happened here, I can't explain. I blame my fatigue and stress of the day. Whatever it was, I suddenly felt that sickening feeling again, but this time it was so much worse. I turned around towards the car, slowly, praying with every ounce of my being I was wrong. Unfortunately, I was not. There are my keys on the driver's seat, sitting nice and neat behind the locked doors of my car.

I walked up to the gas station attendant and told her what happened. She told me that they can't do anything and they can't call the police because of liability. I didn't know what that meant and I still don't, but I felt panic start to rise. She came out of her little booth and started asking me the usual line of stupid questions "Are you sure all the doors are locked? Do you have spare keys?" We were walking over together and she told me she could call a locksmith for me, which I was about to tell her to do when she said, "Why don't you ask someone for help? Like... this gentleman over here! Excuse me sir..." And before I could say a word, the gas station attendant, with her maroon City Market uniform and curly black hair was walking up to a creepy middle aged man filling up his beat-up white pick-up truck, an unlit cigarette hanging out of his mouth. I am about to flip out. This stupid lady asked the creepiest guy here in this little tiny town to help me?! This is the part of the movie where everyone disappears and I get chased around town by a man welding chainsaw/ hook/ other tool of torture. While I was in the middle of my horror movie thoughts, the man responded with a "perhaps" and started rummaging around his truck for tools.

An hour later, the party of Kevin, the creepy man, and myself has grown into a party of 8. Where all these people- no, these men- came from, I'll never know. Every guy that had pulled up to the City Market gas station in the last hour has realized the situation happening at pump 4 and came over with advice/ suggestions/ random tools that apparently all guys keep in their pockets. Not only was it every guy that was stopping, but 2 boys that had stopped called their friend to come with a slim jim, which he did... but without the slim jim. Three old men in City Market uniforms were smoking cigarettes near by, watching the excitement. My car was being worked on from 4 different angles- someone was working the driver's side window, someone the passenger's side window, someone the back passenger's side window, someone on the trunk. When a guy gave up, there was someone else to replace him, stepping away from their own gas pump to try their luck. It was ridiculous. I only almost cried one more time, when one of the maroon shirted City Market employees came over, offering his cell phone for me to call my dad to bring spare keys over. "Well, that won't exactly be a local call," I responded with a laugh. "How about a sister, brother, boyfriend, cousin, friend?" He rattled down the list, with me shaking my head. "You are all alone out here?" I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Yup." Halfway through the party at my Mazda, someone realized I was from PA, which was an unknown fact before, and that was another cause for hoopla, questions, and another round of cigarettes. Every time I suggested the locksmith, I got met with shaking heads, a chorus of 'No no, it is almost there!" even one, "We'll get this, if it takes us all night!" which, of course, was met with cheers and agreement. Not from me.

This story does end happy. A little over an hour after I closed my door, I was happy to finally open it. I can't tell you what did it, but I thanked everyone involved as the party broke up and went back to their own cars, almost disappointed the excitement had ended. I could not have been more wrong about the creepy first guy, he had stayed the entire time, the ring leader of the whole deal, helping others, telling what had worked, what had didn't work, managing the flow of tools emerging from the pockets and trucks of the men, giving me words of encouragement when my face fell after every failed attempt. He shuffled his feet till he was the last one, refused my offer to buy him coffee, and gave me his card with the words "if you ever need painting..." I assured him, if I did, he would be the first one I would call.

I drove the hour back home in the now black night, hunched over from the tension and stress of the day, on the lookout for mule deer and, now that it is cooler, elk. I retold my tales to a bewildered Julia before crawling into bed. All in all, it turned out swimmingly. Aside for a few scratches on my car and some leftover stress in my shoulders, I am amazingly unharmed.

Finally- congrats to Kate for her long run- finishing the marathon in an impressive 4 hours and 8 minutes (and hats off to Mom who still holds the Belfield Family record of 4:02)! I hope everything is well on the east coast. I'll post pictures soon of Chaco. Miss you all!