The days leading up to our southwest tour were packed with activity. Things got so busy that Brandon flagged me down coming out of the gym early one morning with coffee and a bagel in order to update our schedule. One of us had been sleeping when the other left or arrived home for two straight days. Nice as our break in Lubbock had been, I was looking forward to being squashed up together in the RV again.
Actually leaving town proved just as difficult as usual. I told everyone we’d go by 9, secretly hoping for noon. It was ten after twelve when we pulled out of Aunt Rebecca’s driveway, but we still had to stop at Aunt Melissa’s barn to rifle through boxes for winter coats and a math book. Then we remembered the frozen meals the big kids had cooked up in an effort to eat more economically on this trip. Back to Bec’s. Before we hit the city limits, a burning electrical odor filled the RV. Brandon determined the problem would not result in fiery death, just a lack of air conditioning, so we ventured on, holding our breath now. Even the weather seemed to conspire against us; a dust storm was blowing in from the west, and the RV struggled against it at barely 60 mph.
Then, about an hour from our first stop in Albuquerque, the RV really disappointed us. The warning code for engine trouble, which plagued us at the end of our last trip, began to flash. We hobbled into town, crushed. This would not be an overnight fix. I tried to recall details of the various cancellation policies I’d agreed to between New Mexico and California. Could the RV even make it, if we turned around for home?
Relief in the midst of our distress came in the form of Chelsea and Josh Collins. They’re old friends from Lubbock who moved to Albuquerque. We’d made plans to spend the night with them and hang out the next day. They immediately invited us to extend our stay while we figured out what to do—no small gesture considering they have young children of their own and live in somewhat tight quarters. Also, they helped raise our kids for several years, so there were no illusions as to what it’s like to bunk with a bunch of Mulkeys.
At sunset, Chelsea showed us why the mountains behind her house are called the Sandias. Sandia means watermelon.
Life appeared more hopeful in the morning. We’d just retired our old family van before leaving Lubbock, planning to replace it after our travels. Now Brandon decided we should leave the RV in Albuquerque for repairs (the German engine that so wooed him now required a replacement part from Germany), shop for a new car, and keep traveling. While Chelsea entertained the younger kids, I spent the day changing reservations, and Brandon tutored the boys in the art of purchasing a vehicle.
At the ABQ BioPark, we tried out the new Bug-arium and learned, to our delighted horror, that the Tarantula Hawk wasp is the NM state insect. We’d just been reading a gruesome description of its habits at breakfast. Read all the gory details here:
http://www.wired.com/2015/07/absurd-creature-of-the-week-tarantula-hawk/
Chelsea was such a beloved babysitter that my neighbors still recall the weeping and wailing that followed her move to Albuquerque. Now Jane babysat for Chelsea and Josh’s kids, so we parents could go out to dinner one night. It felt very circle-of-life-ish!
We also got to eat supper with Brandon’s Aunt Anne and his cousin, Matthew. We loved meeting his new fiance, Amanda.
I’m grateful for Brandon’s cool-headed approach to problems. He never seemed very panicked by the potential implosion of our trip. “It’s an adventure,” he reasoned, as he cheerfully arranged eight people, a dog, and all their possessions in a shiny Chevy Traverse. The fella is practically Gandalf, absent beard and pipe.
On the Road with the Archangel 