What. A. Drive. I mean that in every way possible. The good way, the bad way, the fractal equations way. All the ways.
When I started out from Magdalena Library, my Google Map Woman was along for the ride, giving me her usual, 100% accurate directions to reach the VLA, just over 20 miles from where I started. There's a lot of hilly and mountainy driving around this area, so it felt like I was going up a never ending series of hills, each with the promise of an apex only to be breached onto yet another, higher hill. The pay off was grand, with a rather large hill to descend (yes, I yelled wheeeee) and a subsequent hill that laid bare a flat expanse of land, dotted by the rare shrub and rarer cow. And in the distance, that beautiful sight: 27 improbable white dishes pointed at the sky.
The VLA, or Very Large Array (the most hilariously named serious creation I can think of), is just as much a sight to behold as you would expect. At first they don't seem all that impressive so far in the distance, but it takes a long time to close that distance, and the measure of their achievement becomes all the more awesome.
There is a visitor's center, which was a surprise since I always assumed equipment of such size and significance would be locked away under barbed wire fences and surveillance, only to be viewed by permission. It's six dollars to stand next to one. You can't touch it (don't even think about touching it or someone will touch you), but you can get incredibly close, so close you can stand beneath it and ooh and ahh and listen to the giant air conditioner affixed to the side that keeps all the intricate instrumentation inside cool and functioning.
But before you can get right next to one of the massive antennas, you are greeted with a warning at the front of the visitor's center that all cell phones and electronic devices (Kindles, Ipads, etc.) must be turned off and will interfere with the array's ability to work. My heart sank, I won't lie. How would I document the lovelies? Would I just have to buy postcards and, I don't know, sketch the antenna? I can draw-ish, but let's not get crazy. It would end up looking like a malnourished dog in a cone of shame.I went inside and passed the theater (it's small, about 20 seats)--I could hear the gift shop attendant talking to someone, so I walked around and read the different displays set up to explain some of what the VLA has done since it started documenting our universe in 1980. Once she was free, I went in to buy my ticket for admission. Six whole dollars to see this wondrous sight! Along with the ticket, I got a snazzy guide and a sticker to commemorate my visit. People usually had to wear them but since there was almost no one there, I wasn't forced to put mine on. The attendant was very helpful and informative--and extremely pleasant to talk to, I might add--and she quickly clarified all that business about cell phones. Even on the permanent fixtures it mentions that setting cells to "airplane mode" is fine, but apparently the advancement of technology has rendered this fail-safe ineffective. Even in airplane mode, your phone, Ipad, device-of-choice is emitting signals--even if you think you've rendered it inactive, that little bastard is totally betraying you right now.
However, she said it was okay to turn the phone on, take a picture, and turn the phone off. Which is what I did. I would expect that still causes problems, but since so many people no longer own cameras and do all photographing via Androids or IPhones, I suppose they had to make some kind of compromise. I don't know the science of it beyond what I've told you, but it occurred to me later that I should have known I would have had to do this (or shut it off completely--I am surprised there weren't guards at the first turn off from the highway, put there for that very purpose).
Before going on the walking tour around the facility (which is basically a dirt/gravel path that takes you in a square, with one long path off to see antenna 24) I went into the theater and happened to catch the 24-minute documentary just as it started. I should mention that when I realized I was going to get to see the VLA, my first thoughts were of Contact--the oft-panned but much loved film about first contact with extraterrestrial intelligence. Contact was one of the last all-cable, all-the-time movies I watched on one of my many HBOs before I closed up shop in Brooklyn and headed for home. Truth be told, I will watch it whenever it is on. So as soon as the narrator started talking I was like OMG it is her, and as the first screen credits popped up a few minutes later, it was confirmed: Jodie Foster. AAAAAAAAIGHH.
I love it when things you love turn out to love each other which makes you love them more. Like cookies and monsters, or William Shatner and the Space Station. It's just so uplifting, ya know?
Anyway, the VLA documentary is cool and you should watch it, too. Linked here. (For you smarty marties wondering if I cried while watching the VLA doc because it is space-related, I will have you know I did not. I simply welled. Welling is not crying. I maybe snorted once.)
After the documentary, I walked around the facility and got a closer look at all the antennas, including the close up of number 24. There was a storm rolling over the mountains I'd driven through to get there, which made for some pretty amazing skies. I am not sure that the pictures quite captured it, but all the signs around the facility about threats of lightning were definitely on my mind, even through the sky directly above me was bright blue.
I think I was there for an hour and a half, so by the time I got on the road it was going on 2 pm. I figured arriving near Tucson around 8 would not be so bad, later if I stopped for dinner somewhere. As I was leaving the facility, I got my phone out, but waited to turn it on until I was back to the main highway (New Mexico 60 West). Did I mention that my Sprint service literally dropped out of existence as soon as I reached New Mexico? I was a Roaming Foole. And that did me no good at all way out in the way, way out since there was no signal to be found and the Google Map Woman was no longer accessible (having turned off my phone). I drove and drove, waiting for a signal that never came. Every small town I passed through, I'd stop to look, but no dice.
Finally, I knew I had to stop and see if I could find an Atlas somewhere, so I stopped at the very next town, Datil. This is a town that barely exists, but it has a very nice general store and gas station, so I took a chance. Not only did they have fresh, crisp Rand McNally US/Canada/Mexico road atlases, but they also had beautiful, beautiful wifi that was open to anyone. I reacquired Google Map Woman and realized that if I hadn't stopped in Datil, I would have missed my turn on 12 West and would have been fairly screwed.
Now back on track and heading down 12, it should be noted that I was in bit of a mental pickle. I couldn't remember why I was going to Tucson. I know that sounds crazy, but it is true. It wasn't the libraries. Don't get me wrong, the two I am visiting are great (one I can confirm since I've been writing here all day, the other I'm sure will be nice, too), but they aren't drive-almost-400-miles great. What was it?
I'd already passed through Cibola National Forest, though just the outskirts of it, and when I reached the signs--and the sights--of Gila National Forest, it clicked. I don't think I had an inkling of what I would see--I think it was just a decision I made as I planned. I want to see a forest, dammit. And a forest I did see. Holy Shitballs. (A quote--I screamed this phrase several times during my drive of majesty and awesome nature...our beautiful planet gave us Gila National Forest and I screamed "holy shitballs" at it).
I only have a few pictures, but just Google it, y'all. It was so goddamned pretty and, at times, scary. I was glad to be driving through it during the daytime--it afforded so many beautiful views, it's hard to sort through them all in my memories. Lots of pine trees the higher the elevation I went, and the roads were relentlessly winding. I was relieved that very few locals came up behind me on the road--you know how that goes. They can run a familiar route doing 80 on rails while you are slamming the brakes and sweating it out at 5.
The best mountain shot of the bunch is of Willow Mountain (I'm getting this from my review of my route via Google maps now--I think it is Willow). I was busy delighting in the fact that I had just passed through the small town of Alma (my grandmother, who comes from New Mexico, is also Alma) and decided on a wild whim to follow 159 to Mogollon, which is apparently a ghost town. I wouldn't know because by the time I got up the steep, winding road (at places, 15 mph was the speed limit), I was in a serious No Thank You frame of mind. There was a spot to pull over, so I did that, breathed, and took some pictures. You can't tell so much from the next picture, but there were places where the road just dropped off to...I don't know how many feet? 500? 1000? Dangerous feet? Is that a valid quantification? Dangerous? There was also screaming during this part of the drive.
As I went on, it was hard not to notice that there was more and more of that upward climbing, winding and winding evermore. It felt endless but was also quite beautiful, so it was easy to forget that the down part would start eventually. It happened in the most over-the-top, you've got to be kidding me way. I turned a corner and there was a monstrous crevasse. Are you familiar with crevasses? They go in the earth. Deep. Dark. Far. My favorite thing!
So there was a lot of screaming, though it was only half terrified. The other half of me had the time of my life. It was gorgeous and horrifying, and beautiful and awful, and it was really just too much. By the time I was through the mountainous region, I was in full overload. However, this route wasn't done with me just yet.
You know how excellent rollercoasters build up the drama with the slow crank up the first hill, then zing your brains against infinity with intricate twists, turns, and drops until finally slowing down for leisurely hills or mild banks that allow you to reenter your body and resume normal function, if not just a little greener and a bit shaky? If the mind/body bending happens too rigorously with no cool down, you tend to reel around a bit and maybe stick your head in a trashcan or two to upchuck that $30 hamburger because you have effectively dissociated and your senses are still clinging to that first loop. Somewhere between Gila and the rest stop--and I wish I could tell you exactly where (I believe it was 78 and 191 west, but can't promise)--something akin to that cool down occurred...but it was so much better, and sweeter.
In every direction for miles: undulating hills of soft, pale green, tall grasses so delicate all I could think was velvet. It was peaceful and golden and pristine. It was perfect. And I saw the biggest herd of deer I've seen in my life. I didn't know they gathered in such huge packs, but I saw it so it must be true. It looked like 30 deer, half were on one side of the highway, half were on the other. Less than a mile further, five more deer. I yelled at them to get awaaaaay from the road like Sandra Bullock behind the wheel of a bus and they scattered (though probably just at the sight of my car--while I looked like a lunatic, my windows were up).
By the time I got to the rest stop (8:30ish) I was exhausted. I went it to brush my teeth and the whatnot, then came back out to the car, launched myself into the back, put up hasty barriers for some privacy, and slept a hard 9 hours, only waking a couple of times to roll over and go back to velvety sleep.
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