Nope, no drugs involved. Literally too high up in the air.

I only stayed in Denver for a day. It was really just a halfway point between the things I really wanted to do. Most of the time I spent resting–didn’t sleep very well/enough in Nebraska.

I stayed in the RiNo Arts District at a swanky little hotel. I know next to nothing about Denver, but this neighborhood looked fun when I was doing some research. I decided Denver (or at least where I was) is an outdoorsy hipster’s dreamland. Funky coffee shops and clothes shops and plant stores. Everyone wearing some piece of outdoor clothing or skate gear. Mostly the shoes–a lot of skate shoes and chacos. Everywhere I went someone said they liked my chacos–“it’s a good color.”

When I got to the hotel the valet saw I had Tennesse tags.

“How often do you hear, ‘you’re the only ten I see’?”

“Um. Literally never.”

“Really?!?!??”

I walked up through the neighborhood a bit, did some shopping, ate dinner, and then back to the hotel. Nothing super exciting or groundbreaking. Very nice people, very cool part of town.

The next morning I was on my way to Santa Fe for camping and hanging out. I forgot my computer charger, so I had to make a trip to an Apple store, a slight detour. But always interesting to see different cities’ versions of Saddle Creek or Germantown Parkway. This one had the Rockies in the background.

The drive to New Mexico was interesting…the changing landscape, driving through a rainstorm, and the clouds. It’s so stupid to want to take pictures of the clouds. But then I have the thought that they will never be exactly like they are at that particular moment ever again. An experience of a specific moment in time, one that will never be experienced exactly the same at any other point. All of the molecules and water vapor and sunlight and sky–like this only in this moment. Our lives are made of moments like that, obviously, but sometimes it hits me differently. Mostly when I’m looking up.

I get to Santa Fe and I call Emily to tell her I’m headed to my campsite and I probably won’t get cell reception. At some point, driving up and through, I zone out. Not for any particular reason. My head hurts a little, but nothing horrible.

I drive up to the campsite, back my jeep in, and the whole thing looks so sad and lonely. Me and my badass jeep alone in this little spot in the woods. And for some reason I feel terrible. I walk out and around a bit, try to get my satellite phone to send out a message that I made it, but it’s not getting good reception either. It’s cloudy and it starts to rain a little bit. I walk back to my site.

Now my slight headache has turned into a blinding headache and I feel so dizzy. I grab all my bags that I think I’ll need, Which is all of them because I don’t feel like thinking about what’s in each and if I’ll need what when. I just want to lie down. I feel like I’m going to throw up. It’s only about 7:00 pm, but I’m already in for the night. So much for hiking and watching sunsets and whatever magical thing I thought was going to happen. Sounds about par for the course.

I’m laying in my tent, dozing, waking up and trying to see if my headache is gone. And at some point I wake up and I am freezing. I already have my sweatshirt on, but I put on some wool socks and unpack another blanket.

On and off all night I struggle to actually stay warm. My head is still pounding. I have three “blankets” but none of them are heavy enough to do anything. I toss and turn all night, trying to get my blankets wrapped around me enough, trying to organize my gear to act as cover, trying to find the most comfortable version of the fetal position. I wake up at one point and my toes are numb. I can’t decide if it’s from the cold or having them slammed up against the edge of the tent, almost certainly limiting the blood flow. Finally the sun comes up and I pack my gear and head down the mountain to get some warm coffee and breakfast. The temp on my jeep says 49 degrees outside. Holy hell.

I had a dream the last time I fell asleep. I woke up with a lump in my throat. People that I wanted to see. And waking up to an altogether different reality.

I make my way down the mountain. My headache is gone, but I feel hungover. I weep the whole way down. Maybe it was the sun coming up through the trees, the music hitting just right, or the crisp air like Fall. Maybe that dream. The whole damn way.

I finally start getting close to town and messages start coming through that didn’t come through when I didn’t have service. I get a latte and a breakfast burrito and start responding to the texts I missed. I start feeling better, but decide that eff that mountain and that whole thing I just did, I’m getting a hotel tonight.

I felt so stupid. How ill-prepared I was for that. Did I not check the weather? Surely I did. But I didn’t. And did I not know anything about Santa Fe? I was only really prepared for hot camping. I know the desert has a fairly significant diurnal temperature range. But that? And then I’m talking to someone at some point and he says, “yeah, we’re about 2,000 feet higher than Denver.” What on earth, I didn’t realize. My geography is all off. I feel like an idiot. And suddenly realize I could have had altitude sickness. I look up the symptoms. I absolutely had altitude sickness.

And the funny thing (or not so funny thing) is that I’m reading Into the Wild, a gift from Ryan and Katie for the trip. A story that proves that when you’re not prepared for mother nature, you may not make it out. Using it, or misusing it, as some kind of challenge in a spiritual quest. But really it’s nothing to play around with. I didn’t go into it with the same attitude as Chris, but you never know when you might meet the same end. Anyway. I learned. Luckily it wasn’t too bad.

It ruins most of my plans for the day though–no hiking or biking, no visit to Taos. I’m beat, and it’s only 9:30 am. I decide I’m gonna get some cowboy boots and wander around downtown.

I find a used and vintage shop, supposedly the best in Santa Fe. I find a pair (or two…maybe three…) and a hat. She throws in some socks. All of them are ridiculous, but I get the ones with horses on them…for some reason that seems right. And also hilarious to think about me wearing them.

I head downtown and wander in and out of the shops. Still feeling like I’ve been hit by a speeding train. Everyone asks where I’m from.

“Memphis, Tennessee.”

“Oh, Memphis. I love Tennessee. You know all the people moving from California to Austin? Well, I know a lot of people moving up to Tennessee. My friend who is in Little Rock says a ton of people are coming up from Austin. And you know Austin is a little weird. Definitely a social neutral place. New York is not a social neutral place. If you want to make it, well, you know. But yeah they are moving up to Tennessee too. I went there in 2020 to see the waterfalls. There was nobody there, I saw three waterfalls…Fall Creek Falls. Have you ever been?”

“Uh no…I should go,” is the only thing I have to contribute. I have no idea what on earth is happening to me in that moment. Bombarded by some strange monologue.

Somehow it ends and I say thank you and go to walk out.

“Yeah of course, safe travels.”

“Be sure to tell your friends Memphis is cooler than Nashville.”

“Oh! I know it is! Justin Timberlake, come on.”

“Ha, yeah…”

“And Three 6.”

There you go, that’s how I know you’re legit.

I walk outside to a traditional Native American dance in the plaza. I sit down and get weepy again. Because damn it’s beautiful. After the dance he starts talking about President Carter passing the American Indian Religious Freedom Act, which protects indigenous people’s right to worship without persecution. My god, the people who this land belongs to, having to be protected by a president as late as 1978. He says that’s how he can continue to share this with us. Part of American History that is never really considered part of American History. Thank god people are willing to share. Because it’s painfully beautiful.

I get up to go find some lunch. An amazing place with amazing tacos. Then to the hotel to check in and hopefully lie down. It’s all I really want to do.

I check in and sleep for the rest of the afternoon.

The next day I feel better and I pack up and head to Marfa, Texas. Google maps is taking me on some interesting roads. Or maybe all roads that lead to Marfa are interesting. Lots of two-lane roads. Many of them I am the only car for up to an hour of driving. But I trust Google Maps.

Ryan: “Don’t forget Apple Maps killed all those people in Australia.”

“Yes, I won’t forget. You won’t let me forget.” I have not forgotten. Saving my life out here in the desert.

And for whatever reason, weepy again today. Driving through the desert landscape. It’s captivating in a cheesy, totally unoriginal, completely cliche way. I now understand why so many people have ventured out here. Something spiritual.

I drive through Roswell. That was fun. And interesting. A McDonalds on the main stretch of the road that looks like a UFO. A green alien holding the sign for Dunkin Donuts.

I start getting close to Marfa and a jeep comes speeding toward me, swerving all over the road, with a “Don’t Tread on Me” flag flying from the back window. Great. What am I getting myself into…

But the hotel is beautiful. With completely amazing art all around.

I woke up this morning to wander the town. The Donald Judd Foundation and Chinati Foundation are closed the first two weeks of August for vacation. Great. One of the only reasons I came here, and they’re closed.

So I check out all the shops. It’s the weirdest thing, a few VERY expensive shops with expensive artwork, and then completely vacant parts of town. Like a ghost town that some boutiques came and set up shop. The lone Prada store on the highway suddenly makes sense.

I stop into a leather goods shop. The owner/artist and I start talking. She asks where I’m from. She says something about Marfa. I say something about how strange it is to have the very nice art and then just very vacant parts of town. Then I ask her what she thinks about living here.

“Ah, well some days I love it and then other days I wonder what I’m doing here.”

“Did you come here to make art?”

“Well, I am originally from Poland. I lived in Cincinatti and my husband is from here. I guess I got lucky. There is a joke….how does it go?….If you marry someone from Marfa and move here, are you a transplant or a hostage?”

We both laugh. I can totally understand. What a strange place to spend your life.

I walk around a bit more. The Ayn Foundation is open now. A sign on the door that says to knock. So I knock. I see some feet shuffling at the bottom of the windows and an older lady finally unlocks and opens the door.

“We aren’t open yet. I’m the director and I’m always running a bit late. Let me sweep the floor and you can come in.”

“Yeah, sure, no worries.” I sit back down on the bench trying to avoid the sun.

She opens this heavy steel and glass door, sweeps a little pile across the threshold, walks out, sweeps off the sidewalk a bit. She goes back in with the broom, and comes out with a tiny flag that says “OPEN” and places it in the flag holder on the side of the building. She walks back to the door.

“Ok, you can come in now… if you’re ready.”

“Sure, of course, thank you.”

I walk in to a pale pink room and on one wall is one of Andy Warhol’s Last Supper paintings. What the heck is going on. I ask her a bit about why and how this painting is here.

“Oh the foundation operates the gallery here and in New York.”

“Right. But how did this get here…and why?…Can you tell me a bit about the Foundation…?” I’m not being clear. Mostly because I want to know why an enormous Andy Warhol painting is in this random tiny town in Texas.

“It’s here because it’s ours.”

This weird questioning and lack of real information goes around in circles for a while until I give up and just look.

Then I go next door to check out the next gallery.

I’m back in my room now, mostly so I’ll stop spending money here. So many cool spots with cool art and cool clothes and just all-around cool things. I found a vintage 1970s flower print jumpsuit that I’m obsessed with. And an antique French Linen jacket with someone’s initials embroidered on the front.

On the road again tomorrow.