Adventure 373: Artesia, New Mexico

A quite excellent RV park.

The heavy winds brought fire; the fire brought smoke, so as we traveled through the immense oil field between Hobbs and Artesia, sun red smoke made the preying mantis shaped oil rigs all the more eerie. Many were bobbing, perhaps like the lover Annie Dillard described in her book, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek. Regardless, there were thousands of oil rigs, apparently randomly placed. Each had Methuselah like strands of black pipe running  from the rig, a torpedo shaped propane tank, and a strong cable attached to the nose of the mantis. Clearly, the action is frantic, not unlike (I suppose) the sexual escapades of a preying mantis. Before we took off for Artesia, things were no less frantic in Frac. No, not that. More frantic, and I mean FBI independent investigation worthy type frantic. The Wiley Cager, as wacky a move as accusing a former President of wire tapping, moved my pegs. Not only did she move my pegs, but she put them on the wrong track, and then she replaced them at some point close to where they started. That alone should have brought her mental state into question. Clearly, she's unfit to play this game, but then she reached for her phone, tweeted for a lifeline, and in the most outrageous act of all, doubled down on her lack of propriety by saying, "I'm just a cribbage neophyte, I should be given some slack, and my actual moves should not be questioned." I wouldn't be whining so badly if I hadn't lost, and I just can't get over the fact that this so called cribbage "neophyte" actually can alter enough facts to get me to believe that I'm deplorable. That's just cards, I guess. (WOW - WHAT A POOR LOSER! JW) Artesia turns out to be quite a little town, population 11,000. The downtown area is prosperous, lively, and proud. Sprinkled like jewels around the downtown area is a series of bigger than life bronze sculptures. This is what we hoped to find in the small towns we visit. Most amazing is the high school, especially the history of the football team. They have won 29 state championships between 1957-2015! As a former coach, I can tell you, that's quite a program. Just think of it: 58 years, 29 championships. That equals a state championship roughly every other year. Wow! On a lesser note, we rode just under 20 miles today after we set up, and as we were making our way downtown, we passed the very huge bright orange football stadium. The pride and tradition is obvious.  Tomorrow, we'll head to Roswell, NM, where we'll be in search of oval eyed aliens and flying saucers. Stay tuned because at least for now, before we're beamed up like "Scotty", life is good, especially today.

 Thousands of these preying mantis oil rigs were hard at work.

 Several of these big drill rigs were either working or being erected.

 This oil refinery anchors the town of Artesia.

 In the background, the historic Artesia Hotel. In the foreground, one of the magnificent sculptures in town.

 Though poorly lit, this sculpture honors the history of the cattle drive.

 Pioneer women were in charge of learning on the plains.

 This little tyke looks, like most boys, less excited than his teacher, about the prospect of reading books.

 This whole stack of books dominates an entire roundabout.

 This is certainly the wild west and the free range.

 Then there's oil.

 This oil rig sculpture shows the floor of a drilling rig.

 I couldn't  really capture the power of this piece.

 I really liked this one. Two men, chatting as they lean on the hood of a Ford pickup. Notice the classic hand in pocket.