Part Eighty Nine

     January 13th – 16th                       Animas, NM                               (Go to Pt 1)

I fixed my usual tinned meat and starch for supper then sat outside the tent, just staring south toward Mexico.  My mind was no longer leaping straight to the border as it had been since leaving Silver City but was actually stalled, not wanting to proceed any further than where I was now sitting.

Knowing the end was imminent gave me a weird feeling, like I suddenly wasn’t sure if I really did want the trip to end. Once I crossed that border, my life would go back to ‘normal’, and that was a strange thing to think about – work, school, and everyday life still felt a million miles away, except they weren’t.

The following morning was overcast but not particularly cold.  I got my feet patched-up and collected water from the tank then set off down the road for Animas.  Around mid-day I stopped for lunch and had to pull-off my boots to give my feet a rest.  I was about 5 miles north of Animas and could see the large, deciduous trees growing off in the distance where the outpost was located.

Click on the map for a larger image

Starting-off after my noon break, I was hobbling to get started and dismayed by how sore and achy my feet were,  almost as if they were boycotting the last 40 miles and determined to make it as painful as possible. After 3,000 miles, I was going to end the journey by limping my way to the border and that had never been part of the plan but, as I was soon to find out, everything else was about to go off-script, as well.   
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When I finally reached Animas late in the day, I was surprised to actually see buildings.  There was a truck leaving a Post Office and a few other dwellings close-by, which I was scoping for water spigots when I noticed a windmill a ways further down the road.  I decided to hike down to the windmill to make camp, figuring I’d find water in the tank, which I did.

As I set-up my camp, I noticed the clouds were lower and heavier than they had been earlier. The sky had been overcast all day but now there was the appearance of an actual weather front on the horizon.  And sure enough, during the night a fierce wind kicked-up, howling across the plains to batter my tent and spin the windmill blades to sonic levels, making it sound as if the whole thing were about go airborne.

When I started rousting about the next morning, wind was still punishing the tent and when I looked outside, the sky was dark, like dark-dark.  As the sun rose, black clouds lying out on the horizon turned blood red, signaling foul weather out ahead. I messed with my feet then hobbled about, waiting for the pain in my boots to dull out.

The last road in America ended in Animas and now there was only a lonesome two-track wandering out into the valley.  As I left camp, a spattering of rain began to pock the dirt and about an hour later, clouds enveloped the valley and rain began to fall through a thick, blowing mist.  Not long afterward, the entire valley turned to gumbo clay, sticking to my boots in globs.

Click on the map for a larger image

Around noon I stopped to give my feet a break and get something to eat. I sheltered under my cagoule with my back to the wind and searched the clouds as periodic breaks would raise my hopes, only to regress back to rain.  By now, the impervious clay floor had trapped the rain into ponds, everywhere, and in just a few short hours the entire valley had been transformed into a sea of standing water and mud.

Nonetheless, you’d think being as close to the border as I was, I’d be hell bent on getting there, circumstances be damned, you know, a real ‘come hell or high water’ situation, but instead, the wind, rain, mud, and aching feet turned the afternoon into a ‘fuck this’ situation, so after lunch, that’s exactly what I did.  The border wasn’t going anywhere and the price per mile I was getting in this mud was too high.

A ways further I saw an old, bent tree offering a measure of shelter for my tent and headed there to make camp.  Pulling over turned out to be a good call as the weather only worsened during the afternoon with more driving rain and strong winds battering my tent throughout the rest of the day. Ensconced inside, listening to Radio, I found out the Dallas Cowboys had beat the Denver Broncos in the Super Bowl, as if my day weren’t glum enough.

Intermittent rain and wind continued into the night but I had already decided, short of a hurricane, I was headed to Mexico in the morning.  Period.  Fortunately, when I woke-up, I heard nothing at all, no wind and no rain; I poked my head out to see the sky was still thick with clouds but rain did not look imminent.  Okay, well, I guess this is it.

I checked-in on my feet and the blistered skin was still angry but there was nothing more I could do about it, so I booted-up, packed away my gear, and stepped back out into the mud.  It’s amazing how creative nature can be in crafting obstacles, sometimes major obstacles, where not a care in the world had previously existed.  I was in a flat, wide-open valley with not a single obstacle standing between me and Mexico, except mud.

It was nuts, my lead boot would squish down into several inches of muddy clay, then my trailing boot would slip, trying to push forward, and come up with bigger wads of clay with every step, expending as much energy as postholing through deep snow.  In fact, this mud probably was equivalent to plodding through several feet of fresh snow.

Well, this was my ‘come hell or high water’ day, so I had to bear down and focus my energies on hiking the mud.  Clouds overhead remained low but the valley was open and I could see the rolling mountains raising up on either side with Animas Peak out to the east.

All morning my sightline had been blocked by a slight rise in the terrain but as I passed south of Animas Peak, I finally crested the incline and from the top I got my first, close-up view of Mexico, and that Mexican border was finally a real place.  As I stood there, I was nearly overcome in a moment of laughing-crying-jibberish.

Click on the map for a larger image

Maybe 10 miles away, the border was within striking distance and my mind started screaming at me to hurry-up.  So I did, adrenaline pushed me into a power stride as I took-off down the road, plowing through the mud like an angry man after vengeance.  Surprisingly, this supplemental blast of energy lasted for nearly three hours, but by four o’clock, as I approached the Fitzpatrick Ranch, all of that energy was spent, along with any reserves I had left.  I was exhausted and my feet ached; I wasn’t going to make it, not today.

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Go to Part 90

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