Day Eleven: Lubbock, TX, to Albuquerque, NM

Billy the Kid was shot dead at 21 years old after a series of arrests, escapes, and gun fights in eastern New Mexico. His end finally came in a friend’s bedroom, where the sheriff lie waiting in what is now Fort Sumner. I never knew any of this, nor did I feel any compulsion to do so. Not knowing it felt good and right, in fact. So, when we saw the sign for Billy the Kid’s grave along the side of I-40, I felt zero tug. My husband, however, was pulled clear off our itinerary.  

Like more than a few red-blooded American boys, Jonathan grew up on the stories of Billy the Kid, Wyatt Earp, and Doc Holliday in formulaic-if-not-entertaining westerns. At the site of the pseudo-historic site, he was instantly intrigued and there was no talking him out of the 7-mile diversion. So off we went to muddy, cold, underwhelming Fort Sumner, where I peed next to a fence because the gift shop was closed for New Year’s Eve. And that was the most interesting thing that happened between Lubbock and Albuquerque — a long drive of subtle but cumulative landscape changes that brought us from the flat cow pastures of desolate West Texas to the soaring mountains and elevations of red rock reservations in the American Southwest.

We noticed the patches of snow hiding on the north side of small embankments, and the temperatures dipping down. Still, a part of me hoped New Mexico would deliver a warm southern sun — a spicy chili pepper after a long, bland drive. It was not meant to be. At the Enchanted Trails RV Park on Route 66, the ground was frozen and snowy, the pull-through concrete slabs were desolate, and the wind was howling. We dug out our winter hats and gloves for the first time in 10 days and set out for Old Town Albuquerque.

It was cold. After 30 minutes of wandering into quaint artisan shops in adobe buildings arranged around tiled courtyards, the kids were cranky, cold, and tired. They needed Mexican food, clearly. So I found the highest rated dinner spot on Yelp, which ended up a long drive on the far side of the city. Anytime you find yourself the only gringo in a Mexican food joint, you know you’re in for a treat. And by the time we left Mariscos La Playa, we were full, satisfied, and happy to be West of the Rockies, where Mexican food is as it should be.

And what’s better than dessert after a flavorful meal? A little “Breaking Bad” stalking. So we hunted down Skylar and Heisenberg’s house in the cookie cutter suburbs in the Northwest, just half a mile or so from Saul’s office. Trying to explain the premise of “Breaking Bad” to the kids was exhausting, so we headed back to the RV to hunker down in the 17-degree night with board games and Christmas stocking candy. And there we all fell contentedly to sleep well before the strike of midnight — tired by the adventures of 2018 and ready for more tomorrow.