Road Trip v.2 (Part 11): Albuquerque and Roswell

The next morning I woke up at 5 a.m. to my first fresh snow of the season (not counting what we had seen on the ground in Oregon). It was thick enough that I had to scrape my car. I had no idea Santa Fe got so cold. My early morning was due to my unreasonable desire to keep my schedule as insane as possible. On a whim the day before, I booked a hot air balloon flight in Albuquerque. Because it was off-season and insanely cold, the prices for flights had dropped to a level I could afford as my last trip splurge. I arrived at the dirt parking lot around 6:30 a.m. Several groups of friends and couples arrived as well. After the crew inflated the two balloons, they crammed us all into the baskets. I was shoved in a corner with a few other groups. It was a tight fit, but it was better than riding in a hot air balloon all by myself. We lifted off and I silently oooh-ed to myself. When we crossed the Rio Grande, the pilot dropped us down to skim the river and lifted us back up with a long blast of ignited gas. The balloon ride was very calming, but I would have preferred a less urban location. We passed over neighborhoods, industrial complexes, and what I believed to be a scrap yard. The sunrise over the mountains behind Albuquerque was lovely, but I seemed only able focus on the chorus of barking dogs in the neighborhoods below. I'm likely the only one who noticed the dog symphony in my solitary corner.

We landed in a parking lot near a Sam's Club. The pilot explained that they usually have no control over where the wind takes the balloon and have to spot places to land while they are in the sky. We all helped pack up the balloon and the vans took us back to the original parking lot. There we were given a champagne "breakfast." The pilot explained the historical tradition behind having champagne after a hot air balloon ride, which I immediately forgot as I choked down a plastic-wrapped bear claw.

Fox! (I think). (Note: I've been informed
that I'm an idiot and this is a coyote. I
am obviously no Jack Hannah.)

I was on the road again by 9:30am and on the way to some alien adventures in Roswell. Just outside of Roswell, I first stopped at the Bitter Lakes Wildlife Refuge. I'm not certain what the place really does because they do allow hunting. If you let people run around shooting at animals, I don't really see what the refuge part is. I drove the eight-mile loop around the refuge, which took me past a large wetlands area filled with cranes, ducks, geese and other birds. The right time to visit the refuge is at dusk or dawn to see the large flocks of migratory birds flying in and out. At least that's what the guy at the frozen custard stand where I stopped that night told me. His mom and other locals enjoy seeing the birds swooping in, covering the sunset in the sky. He lamented that I had not seen the same. Instead, I just saw them chilling in the distance, being boring. The trip was worth it, however, because on the way out I was just a few feet away from the cutest fox, coyote or fuzzy desert creature staring at me from the side of the road. I know that doesn't sound that thrilling, but compared to a bunch of do-nothing birds, he or she was awesome.

In town, my first stop was the International UFO Museum. It wasn't nearly as sensational and exaggerated as I thought it would be. I actually learned a little. While the exhibits seemed hastily curated, they were well sourced and packed a punch of legitimate information. I was impressed. The exhibits told various stories of sightings, encounters, investigations, and, of course, a lengthy narrative of the Roswell UFO crash incident. It was a fairly objective and very thorough approach to the story. In addition to pictures and their own descriptions, the museum had collected and posted affidavits from those involved in the incident, newspaper and radio clippings, and other research findings. The museum actually hopes to expand and include an even stronger focus on research objectives. There was actually a research library in the back that was free to visit. The library stocked hundreds of books on astronomy, alien encounters, scientific musings on aliens and UFOs, and various conspiratorial books. There was a bona fide librarian in there and a local resident perusing the card catalog. The guy looking around seemed to be a regular. He was comfortable in the library, wearing a fluffy hat and sweatpants. The librarian called him by name and mentioned seeing him later. Hilariously cliche conspiracy freaks are alive and well in Roswell, using the UFO research library. And it filled me with such unexplainable happiness.

"So I says to Mable, I says"

After the UFO museum, I did some souvenir shopping in one of many kitschy alien stores. Yes, Roswell totally milks the alien thing. At least in the touristy downtown area, they lay it on thick. The alien stores all started to blend together, much like the trinket stores in San Francisco's Chinatown, except the hilarity of Roswell made me much less frustrated. I took some pictures, bought some souvenirs and gifts, and headed to the only other "museum" to visit. The Alien Zone & Area 51 Museum was more like a fun house than a legit learning experience like the UFO museum. They had a gift shop, arcade area, and several bizarre staged areas where they had set up alien mannequins in various lifelike scenes. I went nuts in there. I spent a good thirty minutes shamelessly staging, self-timed pictures with the alien mannequins. I left feeling an odd mix of embarrassed and proud of what I had accomplished. Finally, I hit up a wine tasting room downtown. My goals here were two-fold, 1) get some hilarious alien wine and beer, and 2) ask a local business person about the good places to eat. I figured the guy working in a run-of-the-mill business might have more wits about him to give better advice than the lady sitting in the dimly lit alien store with her chihuahua. The alien wine and beer was surprisingly decent, and I left with a few food recommendations.

Rough night

The top recommendation was pub food at Billy Ray's. I had also read about good Italian food at Portofino. Billy Ray's was closer, so that's where I headed. The parking area was a a dark dirt lot without marked spaces. The entrance was so dimly lit that I feared my string of nightly "not assaulted" confirmation texts to Kim would end here. I called both Kim and Tad to ask them to do some Internet reconnaissance on the place. They confirmed that people had come here and left alive enough to post positive things about it. Billy Ray's is the textbook divey jem. Yes, the bar and dining area were dimly lit and low maintenance. But everyone was incredibly friendly and eager to strike up conversations. They had their own chef--who seemed like he was the only one doing all of the cooking. Nobody had ordered food yet, so at first the chef was hanging out at the bar, chatting with us. After I ordered, a group of regulars came in to dine and he disappeared in the back. The menu seemed low on choices. The bartender mentioned, however, that the chef will cook up pretty much anything guests requested off the menu as well. Nevertheless, I had decided to have a mini-Roswell food tour. I ordered a small a la carte plate of chile relleno and planned to head to Portofino to try a small plate there as well. The chile relleno was amazing. Maybe best ever. I might just be saying that because it was swimming in cheese. But I also wanted to lick the chef's green chile sauce off the plate.

I left for Portofino, excited to see what they had to offer. I walked in and the gruff woman at the door seemed annoyed that I simply wanted to order some take-out (even though they had a to-go counter area). She came to the counter and responded to my two menu questions like I was an idiot. I tried to ask her a friendly question about their Spumoni, an Italian ice cream dessert that is rare to find in its proper delicious form. Again, she responded as if she wanted to throw hot pasta in my face. My response: "Actually, nevermind, I'm all set on food. Have a nice night," followed by walking out. That wench beast wasn't getting any of my money. Instead, I went back to Billy Ray's, where everyone knows your name and is happy to be alive, and ordered another Chile Relleno to go. I picked up dessert at the frozen custard stand where the older gentleman chatted me up about the wildlife refuge and other things to do in Roswell. I loved that everyone in Roswell was so incredibly welcoming and friendly, despite living in such a oddly-themed little town....well everyone except the people at Portofino; they can suck it.

I had always wanted to visit Roswell. Hey, I used to watch the X-Files; I appreciate the historical value of the whole Roswell incident. Mostly I just love towns that are able to capitalize on really obscure popular culture phenomena. It was kind of like that time I visited the town in North Carolina on which Mayberry was modeled....but different. I'm fascinated by the residents who build normal lives around a town of unique gimmicks and odd tourists. I know it's likely not the case, but it seems like every day has the potential to be an adventure.

Roswell was my last overnight stop on the trip. The next day was the end. Carlsbad Caverns would be my last activity. I was a little disappointed that the amazing road trip was over. At the same time, I happy to stop bleeding money and incredibly excited to finally get to Del Rio and see Tad.

Roswell doesn't mess around with aliens: