As we were waiting in line to grab our seating assignments, arrogance gained from a month of train travel lead me in the wrong direction. Standing in line behind a twenty something whose heavy midsection and remaining 12 teeth made me feel the years had been a bit too unkind to her, I was struck by the marvel of genetics when I noticed her cute as a bug 3 year old daughter. Unfortunately for the mother, it seemed the older Edward James Olmos look-alike in front of her had noticed the girl (I say unfortunate because his fixation became apparent after his ninth time mentioning how "all kids are angels”). As we stood there, moving along at a snail's pace, he took every opportunity to chat with this mother about her child and I eavesdropped just in case.
Overhearing where she was headed, and not realizing that this eastbound train did indeed stop off in Southern Colorado, I mistakenly told her that she was about to get on the wrong train. Thankfully I was smart enough to inform her to trust the ticket lady over me. Even with this fiasco, or perhaps due to it, I learned shortly after that the universe was not done with my helping this obviously weary traveler and her daughter. You see, after grabbing an unnecessary (but still damned tasty) last "real" meal of a Subway club, I headed back down the long tunnel passing ramp after ramp and came upon the same exhausted woman now pulling two large suitcases unsteadily behind her. Though her daughter tried to help, I believe the constant uttering of the phrase "are we there yet?" was doing little more than creating frustration.
Seeing a chance to make amends for my earlier snafu, I asked her if she would like some help and a look of relief washed over her face as she handed me the heaviest bag to pull. Feeling a little better about giving bad advice, my ignorance about rail travel again smacked me upside the head when I confidently strode up our ramp on the wrong side of the corridor from our cars. I guess the universe wanted us to get more exercise.
Finally onboard, I was dismayed to again notice that yet another lazy Amtrak employee had put everyone in the same car; thankfully this time I at least had a pair of seats all to myself. Though a direct cause of the issue, I am beginning to think that this conspiracy to ruin the comfort level of travelers is not totally the fault of lazy ticket agents and conductors. I have come to adopt the belief that it is instead the result of an asinine Amtrak policy geared towards always leaving empty cars for "future travelers". It begs this question though, if you keep pissing off your current clients, will you ever actually have a future?
Being that we left LA at 6pm and were slated to arrive in Albuquerque at noon, I was excited that this 18 hour trip was going to feel like eight. Of course, my excitement tapered when I realized that the only early arriving train on my whole trip lined up nicely with the one time my ride was not readily available to pick me up.
Stepping out into the Albuquerque warmth I quickly shed layers of clothes mistakenly left on after weeks of near zero Midwest cold and decided that it was a great day to hoof it. Sadly, my sense of direction must have scampered off earlier along with my awareness of train routes and I was a half mile into my trek before I realized I may be headed in the wrong direction. Thank God for google.
Finally aimed properly I skirted past the sketchy folks calling the bus and train terminal home and was overjoyed to see that the first three quarters of my trek would be all uphill. Its a good thing my ankle isn't throbbing... Oh, wait.
At the top of my Olympus the scenery regained a familiarity, and not just because I was back on a college campus. Eye balling the brown buildings tucked in amongst brown trees and browner grass currently being fruitlessly watered, a shortcut learned during my last trip to New Mexico flashed through my mind and I bee-lined it across the campus. A short while later I found myself on the front step of Amberlee's cute pueblo styled house.
Knowing it would be 45 minutes before Amberlee would be here, I pulled up a chair on her porch and set my gear down. Plopping myself down, exhausted, on her front step, I stared off blankly into the neighborhood until I was startled back to reality by a curly haired woman who looked like she could hog tie me in about 30 seconds. Turns out, the more I learned about Robin, the more I realized that I my rash judgement would prove to be prophetic if I offended her in any way. Thankfully she was down to earth and had a sense of humor almost as open as mine. I could see why she and Amberlee got along.
After coming to the conclusion that I was not just some drifter on her front porch, that I was indeed Amberlee's friend here to visit (albeit earlier than expected), Robin showed me through the front door and I was immediately met by Scotty, a terrier who's resemblance so closely mirrored Snowy from the Tin-Tin adventures that I yearned to take him on an adventure. Bounding along with the unbridled enthusiasm only a puppy could bring, I also met Jack, a cuter than should be allowed blue healer. Getting past the requisite licks and pats of attention, I asked Robin if she wouldn't mind me taking a shower, the train stink by this time feeling like it was permeating my very being.
Overhearing where she was headed, and not realizing that this eastbound train did indeed stop off in Southern Colorado, I mistakenly told her that she was about to get on the wrong train. Thankfully I was smart enough to inform her to trust the ticket lady over me. Even with this fiasco, or perhaps due to it, I learned shortly after that the universe was not done with my helping this obviously weary traveler and her daughter. You see, after grabbing an unnecessary (but still damned tasty) last "real" meal of a Subway club, I headed back down the long tunnel passing ramp after ramp and came upon the same exhausted woman now pulling two large suitcases unsteadily behind her. Though her daughter tried to help, I believe the constant uttering of the phrase "are we there yet?" was doing little more than creating frustration.
Seeing a chance to make amends for my earlier snafu, I asked her if she would like some help and a look of relief washed over her face as she handed me the heaviest bag to pull. Feeling a little better about giving bad advice, my ignorance about rail travel again smacked me upside the head when I confidently strode up our ramp on the wrong side of the corridor from our cars. I guess the universe wanted us to get more exercise.
Finally onboard, I was dismayed to again notice that yet another lazy Amtrak employee had put everyone in the same car; thankfully this time I at least had a pair of seats all to myself. Though a direct cause of the issue, I am beginning to think that this conspiracy to ruin the comfort level of travelers is not totally the fault of lazy ticket agents and conductors. I have come to adopt the belief that it is instead the result of an asinine Amtrak policy geared towards always leaving empty cars for "future travelers". It begs this question though, if you keep pissing off your current clients, will you ever actually have a future?
Being that we left LA at 6pm and were slated to arrive in Albuquerque at noon, I was excited that this 18 hour trip was going to feel like eight. Of course, my excitement tapered when I realized that the only early arriving train on my whole trip lined up nicely with the one time my ride was not readily available to pick me up.
Stepping out into the Albuquerque warmth I quickly shed layers of clothes mistakenly left on after weeks of near zero Midwest cold and decided that it was a great day to hoof it. Sadly, my sense of direction must have scampered off earlier along with my awareness of train routes and I was a half mile into my trek before I realized I may be headed in the wrong direction. Thank God for google.
Finally aimed properly I skirted past the sketchy folks calling the bus and train terminal home and was overjoyed to see that the first three quarters of my trek would be all uphill. Its a good thing my ankle isn't throbbing... Oh, wait.
At the top of my Olympus the scenery regained a familiarity, and not just because I was back on a college campus. Eye balling the brown buildings tucked in amongst brown trees and browner grass currently being fruitlessly watered, a shortcut learned during my last trip to New Mexico flashed through my mind and I bee-lined it across the campus. A short while later I found myself on the front step of Amberlee's cute pueblo styled house.
Knowing it would be 45 minutes before Amberlee would be here, I pulled up a chair on her porch and set my gear down. Plopping myself down, exhausted, on her front step, I stared off blankly into the neighborhood until I was startled back to reality by a curly haired woman who looked like she could hog tie me in about 30 seconds. Turns out, the more I learned about Robin, the more I realized that I my rash judgement would prove to be prophetic if I offended her in any way. Thankfully she was down to earth and had a sense of humor almost as open as mine. I could see why she and Amberlee got along.
After coming to the conclusion that I was not just some drifter on her front porch, that I was indeed Amberlee's friend here to visit (albeit earlier than expected), Robin showed me through the front door and I was immediately met by Scotty, a terrier who's resemblance so closely mirrored Snowy from the Tin-Tin adventures that I yearned to take him on an adventure. Bounding along with the unbridled enthusiasm only a puppy could bring, I also met Jack, a cuter than should be allowed blue healer. Getting past the requisite licks and pats of attention, I asked Robin if she wouldn't mind me taking a shower, the train stink by this time feeling like it was permeating my very being.
Once clean we took the dogs out back to play and I set about inquiring into what brought this tall rancher girl to UNM law school. A spirited conversation about beliefs and a love of law quickly turned its attention to the death penalty and we were so engrossed in conversation that I did not notice Amberlee's entrance until I heard a perfectly high pitched "Andreeeeew" and turned to see the beaming smile and outstretched arms of one of my best friends.
Dressed in scrubs that hung a little too perfectly I was left to wonder for a brief second how in the world doctors got anything done around women like this and was engulfed in a long overdue hug before becoming too lost in thought. I had missed my friend, this ex-player I ran into outside of a local Corvallis bar eight years ago and instantly knew would be a part of the rest of my life.
Though we both wanted to chat and catch up, we decided that a nap was a reward we had both earned. So, after a tasty lunch of sandwiches, we headed off to bed. Now, I know some of you are thinking that I am smitten and we napped together but, alas, that is not true. You see, not only does Amberlee have boyfriend of three years, but she and I already had our go at dating long ago. Though it was very brief and, though it was probably mostly due to timing, we decided that it was our friendship that would endure and not romance.
Waking up a few glorious hours later we set about making dinner, a delicious and overly healthy meal of salad, whole wheat pasta and chicken along with various other organic delights, and washed it down with some red wine and bourbon. As always we talked for hours about nothing and everything all at once and it dawned on me that this, being in Albuquerque for a whole weekend with nothing on the schedule except to hang out with my friend, was the perfect ending to my trip.
Dressed in scrubs that hung a little too perfectly I was left to wonder for a brief second how in the world doctors got anything done around women like this and was engulfed in a long overdue hug before becoming too lost in thought. I had missed my friend, this ex-player I ran into outside of a local Corvallis bar eight years ago and instantly knew would be a part of the rest of my life.
Though we both wanted to chat and catch up, we decided that a nap was a reward we had both earned. So, after a tasty lunch of sandwiches, we headed off to bed. Now, I know some of you are thinking that I am smitten and we napped together but, alas, that is not true. You see, not only does Amberlee have boyfriend of three years, but she and I already had our go at dating long ago. Though it was very brief and, though it was probably mostly due to timing, we decided that it was our friendship that would endure and not romance.
Waking up a few glorious hours later we set about making dinner, a delicious and overly healthy meal of salad, whole wheat pasta and chicken along with various other organic delights, and washed it down with some red wine and bourbon. As always we talked for hours about nothing and everything all at once and it dawned on me that this, being in Albuquerque for a whole weekend with nothing on the schedule except to hang out with my friend, was the perfect ending to my trip.
The next morning I was up around 9 to write and kill time until a noon date with Robin and a law school lecture. Though I was dreading listening to a high priced lawyer tell a room full of prospects why they needed to go into energy law, his talk actually applied more to my life than I could have hoped for. It seems that the universe was continually slapping me upside the head with the message "just take a job and figure out life from there" as I felt his words resonate a little too deeply in my soul for it to just be coincidence.
As we walked I learned more about Robin and was happy to note that she was, like me, completely candid about her life and her opinions. It wasn't long before I learned that this intelligent, strong as an ox woman likes older men; her 50 year old husband who, at 18 years her senior, may just be my new idol.
Though she and her husband are very much in love, it seems her mother does not exactly share her opinion. Now, I cannot tell if it is an age thing (mom wanting to protect daughter) or a jealousy thing (mom wanting to be daughter) but after a ten minute lesson into family history (including learning that her sister lives with her husband and two kids deep in the Alaskan wilderness in a 20'x10' hut) I am relieved to know that Robin will be alright.
Arriving back at the house around the same time Amberlee returned from her teaching gig, we sat down for another healthy meal. I was beginning to sense a theme. Tired after a 5am wake-up call following a late night talking to me, I could sense the conflict in Amberlee and reminded her that it was quite alright if she wanted to take another nap.
Later that night, after she was rested and I had caught up on some of my writing, we grabbed a couple of bikes from the stockpile in her front room and peddled our way to Marble, a brewery across town, to grab some beers and hang out with her friend Marsha. Riding a bike with a seat just high enough to render sitting (and maybe babies) almost impossible, I learned later than night why biking was a necessity in this town if one planned to drink.
As we rode through picturesque neighborhoods full of houses Amberlee dreamed of one day owning (the apple, in this case, falling very close to her real estate empire of a father's tree), I joyously gave my nurse friend fits as I wove in and out of my lane with no hands or helmet. I quickly learned that the old adage that most people take their jobs home with them was true as Amberlee shared numerous stories of trauma patients whose lives were shattered by accidents in the hopes that I would be scared into at least keeping my hands on the handlebars.
Pulling into the brewery, me thankfully for us both no worse for wear, we locked our bikes up and were amusingly greeted by a female pit bull squatting on her two front paws to relieve herself. I could tell that it was going to be a strange night.
Upon entering the dimly lit wooden room I was amazed at how many people could fit into such a small space. Standing in line waiting to place our order, we turned when we heard a shriek of joy behind us and I saw the most bubbly blond rushing over to tell us she had found a booth.
Sliding into the wooden seats we threw our gear down beside us and set about to a night of drinking. Being that I was in Albuquerque, and embracing that this trip was about friends, I hit up another ex-player of mine by the name of Aaron who was in PA school just up the road at the University of St. Francis. Settling in, my confidence soaring with a combination of alcohol and me looking like a stud with these two women, I slowly got to know this perky, full of life ball of energy that Amberlee loved and could instantly see why the two of them got along so well as Marsha's energy actually surpassed her friend's.
Lost in conversation I looked up and saw a familiar face. Dressed in an oversized flannel, backwards Dodgers cap and diamond earrings, Grossy (Aaron's nickname, more applicable to the shortening of his last name than anything appearance or mannerism wise) still made me laugh. How a shorter than average Jewish kid from Corvallis gets away with dressing like a thug is beyond me, but at least I knew he wouldn't get away with much at this table, especially not after he relayed to us that his ideal woman was, as he described, a "bad bitch".
It was precisely as these words were trailing off his lips that I knew things were about to get interesting and hilarious. Watching two down to earth women try to decipher what those words even meant was fun, but not nearly as much fun as watching as the realization that he was up against his match intellectually spread across his face; the light in his eyes dimmed a little when he saw that he would be receiving no quarter from his adversaries. After a few minutes of squirming and prodding, it was finally revealed that a "bad bitch" was a woman so confident in herself she does whatever she wants.
Did I mention that this was going to be an entertaining night?
After ordering a pizza from next door (yes, as in no actual food being served here but still cool enough to allow pizza delivery), we chatted more about women and relationships as we devoured the our slices of meat and veggie bliss. A discussion of toppings was short-lived, the only length to it stemming from a debate into whether or not to put hot chilies on whole, half or none of the pizza. Thankfully we were able to convince Amberlee to get them on the side, that way she and her boyfriend could have their fill while Marsha and I avoided the burn.
A few slices in, as we were scanning for women that would make Aaron grovel, I saw Stephen walk in through the front door, fresh off of a long shift at REI. A taller than average Mexican with a definite hipster vibe, Amberlee's boyfriend is a nice guy, albeit one that is very hard to read as his social awkwardness lends to an aura of aloofness. There is definitely something about Stephen I cannot peg. Maybe it is the fact that I always feels like I am pulling teeth when talking to him, or maybe it is witnessing Amberlee go from incredibly confident woman into a smitten school girl around him, but I admit that sometimes I wonder why such an outgoing girl likes someone so quiet. I suppose maybe it is just jealousy, or maybe it is just a true lack of understanding into what makes him tick (the product of limited meetings and our vastly different upbringings), but it really doesn't matter as it is readily apparent how happy he makes her. That is all anyone can hope to find.
Shifting my focus back towards reliving my college days, Aaron and I set about finding him the woman of his dreams, much to the delight of our table mates. I have to say I felt my age that night, as my unkempt grey beard and unruly hair did nothing to elicit interest from any of the crowd I was used to. It is amazing though what tenacity can accomplish; after being shot down nonverbally by a table of XC runners, my art of forced conversation meant that we were soon chatting up the whole team. Leaving Aaron with a blond English girl who shared his love of soccer, I was saddened to learn minutes later that she did not rank high enough on his bad meter to warrant further topics.
As the evening came to a close I asked Marsha if she wanted me to drive her home, but a belief that I was trying to take her home caused her to politely decline. After a night of drinking beer (which, along with Facebook, she had given up for lent two weeks ago) I wish she had not misread that. Escorting her to her car, I must have alerted the gods of irony when I told her to drive safe.
Loading the bikes into the bed of Stephen's grey Toyota we drove off, unaware that the night was about to take a very negative turn. Turning left at the light we saw the DUI checkpoint and it dawned on us that Marsha must have taken the same left. Our hopes that she made it through were quickly vanquished when we noticed her car parked and saw her standing on one leg by the side of the road in the middle of a field sobriety test.
Rolling through the checkpoint, Stephen recited the only acceptable answer at an Albuquerque DUI checkpoint, "no, sir, I have not been drinking". (Now I will throw out a caveat here, as I am certain there are some people reading this aghast that I might be condoning the heinous act of drunken driving: Albuquerque has one of the nation's highest rates of drunken drivers, so the checkpoints have assuredly saved many lives. The caveat comes from the knowledge that, due to the high volume of stopped drivers, I've been told that around 20% of the city's residents have a DUI on their record. Now, while I am certain many people out there are thinking, "serves them right", think to your own friend group and ask yourself the question, is one in five accurate?)
After quickly passing through the checkpoint, we made our way to another bar so Stephen could make an appearance at someone’s party. After 20 minutes of standing around, the goal seemingly to be seen, we left to grab some grease from a dive of a late night restaurant known as much for its food as it is for the reason it now closes its doors at 2. I guess one too many assaults/homicides (the product of different walks of bar life craving the same late night grease) will cause any owner to reconsider their employee's safety.
Though damned tasty after a night of drinking, my wolfing down two huge bean and cheese burritos and a cheeseburger from a dive like this probably wasn't an ideal move (more on that later). The next morning I awoke to the smells of breakfast wafting from the kitchen and and walked in on Stephen cooking while discussing Marsha's fate with Amberlee. My friend, the eternal optimist, still hoped that since Marsha hadn't been booked by our 230 bedtime that maybe she made it home unscathed. A call to the Detention Center the next morning quickly put that to rest and Amberlee and I decided that a day of hiking definitely needed to be replaced by rescuing her friend.
Located in the middle of endless dust and tumbleweeds the Detention Center was a half mile from a worn race track that probably split the inmate population in two with its incessant whining of engines and squealing of tires. Turning the corner we came upon a brand new building that looked more at home downtown than as a home of criminals. Personally I have a hard time understanding how wasting taxpayer's money to create an aesthetically pleasing prison makes any sense. I guess I mistakenly thought that the goal was to create a place that no one would want to visit.
After filling out paperwork given to us by a black man sporting an Alabama ball cap who looked like his playing days were fading quickly, I wondered how much a laid back approach by employees to pretty much everything wreaked havoc on businesses. Reading closely every word on a document transferring all responsibility for Marsha's court date over to the person brave enough to sign it, Amberlee at least wasn't in any hurry. Learning that we had an hour or so to kill (infinite prison wisdom means releasing or transferring all eligible inmates at the same time instead of as rides arrive), we headed out to the car to relax.
Around 1230 a metal door hidden amongst all of the stone covering the facade of the building opened and we watched as bubbly, bouncing Marsha stepped out into the light with three other offenders probably caught in the same sting. Shocked to see us, but eternally grateful to not have to be riding again in the prison wagon, somehow Marsha was still chipper. How anyone could be remotely happy after a night of zero sleep on a concrete floor, I told Marsha that she needed to bottle whatever made her this way so she could pay off her fines. A DUI isn't called the $10,000 mistake ironically.
Unfortunately taxpayer's frustration doesn't stop with a shimmering building, not in this town known for New Mexican cuisine and drunk driving arrests. In addition to being arrested for blowing .10 (a half a beer over the limit to legally drive herself home), we found out that Marsha's car would have to stay in the lot until at least Monday as they were not open for pick up on weekends. Not only were all of the impound lots closed, but the police station and courts were as well.
Though I know she wanted nothing more than to drive home and go to sleep, it was more her cell phone and house keys currently in her car that she was more concerned with grabbing. Does anyone else find it odd that they can tow a car to an impound any day of the week but not allow anyone to take theirs out? I wonder if that has anything to do with the $200/day fee?
After realizing that there was nothing else we could do, we headed off to Marsha's house to drop her off. Just in time too as I had been noticing a rumbling in my gut over the last hour or so and knew that last night's late meal was catching up to me. You ever notice that the closer you get to a bathroom the more desperately you sense that you have to relieve yourself? Well, that weird phenomenon was one that I experienced a few to many times that day. Another reason I guess I am not destined to live in the Southwest.
After lunch, and in between the trampoline practices currently being run between my gut and colon, Amberlee and I decided to take Scotty for a walk around the University golf course. As we continued our constant discussion of life and dating it dawned on both of us just how much time we had spent together in the last three days while never running out of things to say. It reminded me again why I kept her around.
After an afternoon spent lounging on the couch watching movies we both recalled to like more the first time, Stephen returned from work and I asked them to pick a spot for dinner so I could thank them both for putting up with me for a weekend. After a meal of tasty individually sized pizza pies sporting chunks of mozzarella, we made our way back home and talked of continuing the night at another brewery across town. Knowing that my intestinal fortitude would soon be bombarded by meat, cheese and tomato sauce, but also because I knew that I had spent more time with his girlfriend than he had in the last three days, I politely declined. I figured a night to themselves would be a better gift than pizza while selfishly hoping that a low-key night would calm my stomach down.
As we walked I learned more about Robin and was happy to note that she was, like me, completely candid about her life and her opinions. It wasn't long before I learned that this intelligent, strong as an ox woman likes older men; her 50 year old husband who, at 18 years her senior, may just be my new idol.
Though she and her husband are very much in love, it seems her mother does not exactly share her opinion. Now, I cannot tell if it is an age thing (mom wanting to protect daughter) or a jealousy thing (mom wanting to be daughter) but after a ten minute lesson into family history (including learning that her sister lives with her husband and two kids deep in the Alaskan wilderness in a 20'x10' hut) I am relieved to know that Robin will be alright.
Arriving back at the house around the same time Amberlee returned from her teaching gig, we sat down for another healthy meal. I was beginning to sense a theme. Tired after a 5am wake-up call following a late night talking to me, I could sense the conflict in Amberlee and reminded her that it was quite alright if she wanted to take another nap.
Later that night, after she was rested and I had caught up on some of my writing, we grabbed a couple of bikes from the stockpile in her front room and peddled our way to Marble, a brewery across town, to grab some beers and hang out with her friend Marsha. Riding a bike with a seat just high enough to render sitting (and maybe babies) almost impossible, I learned later than night why biking was a necessity in this town if one planned to drink.
As we rode through picturesque neighborhoods full of houses Amberlee dreamed of one day owning (the apple, in this case, falling very close to her real estate empire of a father's tree), I joyously gave my nurse friend fits as I wove in and out of my lane with no hands or helmet. I quickly learned that the old adage that most people take their jobs home with them was true as Amberlee shared numerous stories of trauma patients whose lives were shattered by accidents in the hopes that I would be scared into at least keeping my hands on the handlebars.
Pulling into the brewery, me thankfully for us both no worse for wear, we locked our bikes up and were amusingly greeted by a female pit bull squatting on her two front paws to relieve herself. I could tell that it was going to be a strange night.
Upon entering the dimly lit wooden room I was amazed at how many people could fit into such a small space. Standing in line waiting to place our order, we turned when we heard a shriek of joy behind us and I saw the most bubbly blond rushing over to tell us she had found a booth.
Sliding into the wooden seats we threw our gear down beside us and set about to a night of drinking. Being that I was in Albuquerque, and embracing that this trip was about friends, I hit up another ex-player of mine by the name of Aaron who was in PA school just up the road at the University of St. Francis. Settling in, my confidence soaring with a combination of alcohol and me looking like a stud with these two women, I slowly got to know this perky, full of life ball of energy that Amberlee loved and could instantly see why the two of them got along so well as Marsha's energy actually surpassed her friend's.
Lost in conversation I looked up and saw a familiar face. Dressed in an oversized flannel, backwards Dodgers cap and diamond earrings, Grossy (Aaron's nickname, more applicable to the shortening of his last name than anything appearance or mannerism wise) still made me laugh. How a shorter than average Jewish kid from Corvallis gets away with dressing like a thug is beyond me, but at least I knew he wouldn't get away with much at this table, especially not after he relayed to us that his ideal woman was, as he described, a "bad bitch".
It was precisely as these words were trailing off his lips that I knew things were about to get interesting and hilarious. Watching two down to earth women try to decipher what those words even meant was fun, but not nearly as much fun as watching as the realization that he was up against his match intellectually spread across his face; the light in his eyes dimmed a little when he saw that he would be receiving no quarter from his adversaries. After a few minutes of squirming and prodding, it was finally revealed that a "bad bitch" was a woman so confident in herself she does whatever she wants.
Did I mention that this was going to be an entertaining night?
After ordering a pizza from next door (yes, as in no actual food being served here but still cool enough to allow pizza delivery), we chatted more about women and relationships as we devoured the our slices of meat and veggie bliss. A discussion of toppings was short-lived, the only length to it stemming from a debate into whether or not to put hot chilies on whole, half or none of the pizza. Thankfully we were able to convince Amberlee to get them on the side, that way she and her boyfriend could have their fill while Marsha and I avoided the burn.
A few slices in, as we were scanning for women that would make Aaron grovel, I saw Stephen walk in through the front door, fresh off of a long shift at REI. A taller than average Mexican with a definite hipster vibe, Amberlee's boyfriend is a nice guy, albeit one that is very hard to read as his social awkwardness lends to an aura of aloofness. There is definitely something about Stephen I cannot peg. Maybe it is the fact that I always feels like I am pulling teeth when talking to him, or maybe it is witnessing Amberlee go from incredibly confident woman into a smitten school girl around him, but I admit that sometimes I wonder why such an outgoing girl likes someone so quiet. I suppose maybe it is just jealousy, or maybe it is just a true lack of understanding into what makes him tick (the product of limited meetings and our vastly different upbringings), but it really doesn't matter as it is readily apparent how happy he makes her. That is all anyone can hope to find.
Shifting my focus back towards reliving my college days, Aaron and I set about finding him the woman of his dreams, much to the delight of our table mates. I have to say I felt my age that night, as my unkempt grey beard and unruly hair did nothing to elicit interest from any of the crowd I was used to. It is amazing though what tenacity can accomplish; after being shot down nonverbally by a table of XC runners, my art of forced conversation meant that we were soon chatting up the whole team. Leaving Aaron with a blond English girl who shared his love of soccer, I was saddened to learn minutes later that she did not rank high enough on his bad meter to warrant further topics.
As the evening came to a close I asked Marsha if she wanted me to drive her home, but a belief that I was trying to take her home caused her to politely decline. After a night of drinking beer (which, along with Facebook, she had given up for lent two weeks ago) I wish she had not misread that. Escorting her to her car, I must have alerted the gods of irony when I told her to drive safe.
Loading the bikes into the bed of Stephen's grey Toyota we drove off, unaware that the night was about to take a very negative turn. Turning left at the light we saw the DUI checkpoint and it dawned on us that Marsha must have taken the same left. Our hopes that she made it through were quickly vanquished when we noticed her car parked and saw her standing on one leg by the side of the road in the middle of a field sobriety test.
Rolling through the checkpoint, Stephen recited the only acceptable answer at an Albuquerque DUI checkpoint, "no, sir, I have not been drinking". (Now I will throw out a caveat here, as I am certain there are some people reading this aghast that I might be condoning the heinous act of drunken driving: Albuquerque has one of the nation's highest rates of drunken drivers, so the checkpoints have assuredly saved many lives. The caveat comes from the knowledge that, due to the high volume of stopped drivers, I've been told that around 20% of the city's residents have a DUI on their record. Now, while I am certain many people out there are thinking, "serves them right", think to your own friend group and ask yourself the question, is one in five accurate?)
After quickly passing through the checkpoint, we made our way to another bar so Stephen could make an appearance at someone’s party. After 20 minutes of standing around, the goal seemingly to be seen, we left to grab some grease from a dive of a late night restaurant known as much for its food as it is for the reason it now closes its doors at 2. I guess one too many assaults/homicides (the product of different walks of bar life craving the same late night grease) will cause any owner to reconsider their employee's safety.
Though damned tasty after a night of drinking, my wolfing down two huge bean and cheese burritos and a cheeseburger from a dive like this probably wasn't an ideal move (more on that later). The next morning I awoke to the smells of breakfast wafting from the kitchen and and walked in on Stephen cooking while discussing Marsha's fate with Amberlee. My friend, the eternal optimist, still hoped that since Marsha hadn't been booked by our 230 bedtime that maybe she made it home unscathed. A call to the Detention Center the next morning quickly put that to rest and Amberlee and I decided that a day of hiking definitely needed to be replaced by rescuing her friend.
Located in the middle of endless dust and tumbleweeds the Detention Center was a half mile from a worn race track that probably split the inmate population in two with its incessant whining of engines and squealing of tires. Turning the corner we came upon a brand new building that looked more at home downtown than as a home of criminals. Personally I have a hard time understanding how wasting taxpayer's money to create an aesthetically pleasing prison makes any sense. I guess I mistakenly thought that the goal was to create a place that no one would want to visit.
After filling out paperwork given to us by a black man sporting an Alabama ball cap who looked like his playing days were fading quickly, I wondered how much a laid back approach by employees to pretty much everything wreaked havoc on businesses. Reading closely every word on a document transferring all responsibility for Marsha's court date over to the person brave enough to sign it, Amberlee at least wasn't in any hurry. Learning that we had an hour or so to kill (infinite prison wisdom means releasing or transferring all eligible inmates at the same time instead of as rides arrive), we headed out to the car to relax.
Around 1230 a metal door hidden amongst all of the stone covering the facade of the building opened and we watched as bubbly, bouncing Marsha stepped out into the light with three other offenders probably caught in the same sting. Shocked to see us, but eternally grateful to not have to be riding again in the prison wagon, somehow Marsha was still chipper. How anyone could be remotely happy after a night of zero sleep on a concrete floor, I told Marsha that she needed to bottle whatever made her this way so she could pay off her fines. A DUI isn't called the $10,000 mistake ironically.
Unfortunately taxpayer's frustration doesn't stop with a shimmering building, not in this town known for New Mexican cuisine and drunk driving arrests. In addition to being arrested for blowing .10 (a half a beer over the limit to legally drive herself home), we found out that Marsha's car would have to stay in the lot until at least Monday as they were not open for pick up on weekends. Not only were all of the impound lots closed, but the police station and courts were as well.
Though I know she wanted nothing more than to drive home and go to sleep, it was more her cell phone and house keys currently in her car that she was more concerned with grabbing. Does anyone else find it odd that they can tow a car to an impound any day of the week but not allow anyone to take theirs out? I wonder if that has anything to do with the $200/day fee?
After realizing that there was nothing else we could do, we headed off to Marsha's house to drop her off. Just in time too as I had been noticing a rumbling in my gut over the last hour or so and knew that last night's late meal was catching up to me. You ever notice that the closer you get to a bathroom the more desperately you sense that you have to relieve yourself? Well, that weird phenomenon was one that I experienced a few to many times that day. Another reason I guess I am not destined to live in the Southwest.
After lunch, and in between the trampoline practices currently being run between my gut and colon, Amberlee and I decided to take Scotty for a walk around the University golf course. As we continued our constant discussion of life and dating it dawned on both of us just how much time we had spent together in the last three days while never running out of things to say. It reminded me again why I kept her around.
After an afternoon spent lounging on the couch watching movies we both recalled to like more the first time, Stephen returned from work and I asked them to pick a spot for dinner so I could thank them both for putting up with me for a weekend. After a meal of tasty individually sized pizza pies sporting chunks of mozzarella, we made our way back home and talked of continuing the night at another brewery across town. Knowing that my intestinal fortitude would soon be bombarded by meat, cheese and tomato sauce, but also because I knew that I had spent more time with his girlfriend than he had in the last three days, I politely declined. I figured a night to themselves would be a better gift than pizza while selfishly hoping that a low-key night would calm my stomach down.
Now Albuquerque is not all brown trees, stifling heat and oppressive police; I learned, as we drove past endless rows of new and used vehicles shining in the sun, that it is also a mecca for car sales. As we drove back from Target, my stock up of train supplies purchased, I could sense something was wrong and asked Amberlee how she was feeling about having me around. Preemptively apologizing for anything I may have done to make her or Stephen feel uncomfortable, she reassured me that she I and nothing to apologize for. After talking for awhile, I began to believe that her demeanor had changed, especially when around Stephen, solely for his sake.
I spent that afternoon cleaning and packing while my gracious hosts attended a birthday party for one of Stephen's nephews. Though it wast the way I envisioned spending my last few hours, I could tell by now that Stephen was done having another man in his house. Sensing this, I asked Amberlee take me to the train station a little earlier than necessary as I knew they both had an afternoon and night free from work and further entertaining a guest was the last thing on their mind.
Stepping out of the only car I had ever known her to own I grabbed my gear and thanked her for the weekend. Making her way around the car, Amberlee said goodbye with a simple hug and a promise to call.
I was again very thankful that whatever power at work forced me to save this leg for last.
I spent that afternoon cleaning and packing while my gracious hosts attended a birthday party for one of Stephen's nephews. Though it wast the way I envisioned spending my last few hours, I could tell by now that Stephen was done having another man in his house. Sensing this, I asked Amberlee take me to the train station a little earlier than necessary as I knew they both had an afternoon and night free from work and further entertaining a guest was the last thing on their mind.
Stepping out of the only car I had ever known her to own I grabbed my gear and thanked her for the weekend. Making her way around the car, Amberlee said goodbye with a simple hug and a promise to call.
I was again very thankful that whatever power at work forced me to save this leg for last.
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