The falling of the mountain (see picture below) onto the road at Milepost 8, or thereabouts, really kind of moved me. I am here in Illinois now, safe from the prospect of living way out in Sixteen Springs and having to drive now seventy or eighty miles to get groceries, rather than the usual forty. Or maybe it could have been fifty or sixty, but it would be more, harder, more difficult. I'm not sure I could bear it.
I'm really surprised they fixed it as quickly as they did. Reports say, the road is open tonight; that means really traffic was disrupted for only a few days. I had given them a month, because I figured the road damage was so extensive they would have to rebuild the road. Apparently it was, and they did, but they're quite good at it. And they could fix the guardrail too, or at least mark it so traffic could get by knowing that hey, the guardrail is broken for a spell here. That's nothing new. I have to give them credit; my hat's off to them. They fixed the road.
I think a lot of people seek out that little mountain corner of New Mexico for its general remoteness and isolation. That is kind of what I liked about it. The majority of people up there weren't afraid of Laborcita Canyon or any of the rocky backroads that could have been taken instead of the highway. They though weren't like me, having kids that needed dentist appointments all the time, or, needing some x-ray myself down in the Gerald Champion. For most of what my life really is these days, I'm grateful to be up in Illinois where I can now go only a mile of flat plowed roads to fill all my needs. I really respect the people who live out there and that's what I'll remember: the ability of people to work together, converge on a spot of trouble, and make the trouble go away. So that life can go back to its usual.
