So, in the early afternoon of another dark winter day, mechanic #1 and mechanic #2 (myself) piled into the aforementioned truck with the aforementioned questionable motorcycle and headed east into the wilds of the Santa Fe National forest. Our spirits were relatively high beginning our journey on NM 285 which climbs sharply into the high desert mountains, yet once we leave the main road at the designated exit, real fear begins to settle into the cab of our vehicle.
Even though the temperature outside is below freezing mechanic #1 has the passenger window rolled down and is chain smoking like a a fiend, and to be truthful, even though I do not actually smoke cigarettes the supply of nicotine gum in my pocket is rapidly being depleted. The usually circumspect mechanic #1 is also chatting away madly running and re-running through every possible deadly scenario we were likely to face.
We continue to navigate through the back roads just north west of Pecos, even passing by the Glorieta national monument, a bloody civil war site, surely a bad omen. Eventually we reach the designated address and it is, in fact, even a worse omen. A dilapidated mobile home surrounded only by the fine red clay dust which infests everything in the area, a few broken down motor vehicles of various descriptions, and...well, you get the idea.
Mechanic #1 had met the seller before on his initial voyage to buy the bike and was, in my view, feeling understandably shaky about the whole affair. The gentleman in question was suffering severely, as most of us were/are through the throws of the Great Recession. Unable to find much work he was in the process of liquidating what assets he had left and moving out already sketchy digs. Unfortunately he could also have used a good dental plan. He was wearing battered clothing but reasonably groomed and his soon to be abandoned pad sparsely populated but clean, was another hopeful sign.
Mechanic #1 explained to him that he had to have either the title or the money back. Since the gentleman in question had already spent the money there was no choice but to go to the original owner and get the title "right now." Mechanic #1 and my own blood pressure I am sure went up several points at this prospect.
It is my belief that that most fear is based on expectations and has been the case throughout this whole little saga our expectations were playing games with our heads , however, as the shadows lengthened on this winter afternoon, our fearful expectations continued to play out in frightful clarity. Since "the gentleman in question" had no transportation of his own he had to pile into the cab our our little shop truck.
Now two people are furiously filling the cab of the truck with cigarette smoke and the journey takes us even deeper into back alleys and dirt roads of the Pecos wilderness. We were headed toward what had been described to us as "an abandoned drug encampement.
As if there were not enough ghosts around already with the glorieta battlefield nearby and all the symbols associated with it. This whole adventure was getting truly strange. I drove bravely onward while my two "companions" continued to fill the truck cab with smoke.
As promised and predicted our strangle little trio did, indeed come upon what could have easily been at one time a meth lab or other structure built for some nefarious purpose. Roughly built walls built of indigenous stone and held together with crude mortar along with high grass and evidence of decay surrounded the sad, two story structure within...
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