Space Cadets in hot water in New Mexico

We were very glad to depart Arizona. Since we had missed a trip to Mexico we opted for New Mexico. During our stay in Las Cruces, we had become interested in the space related activities centered around Alamogordo. In any case even Rv parks in New Mexico were breathtaking. A few days in Alamogordo, then North to explore Santa Fe and Taos before heading home was our plan.

Alamogordo houses the New Mexico Space History Museum. It is appropriately perched above the city, beside the university, in the shelter of towering sandstone cliffs. In this dramatic setting are a selection of rockets, missiles, satellites and the remnants of an exploded bomb. 

That's a pair of nose cones 

They are huge. They dwarf an individual and they were not created by any individual. The museum is international. The clear theme is the cooperative nature of science and space exploration. Along the hallways are pictures and information about members of the space hall of fame. It begins with  Hipparchus from 190 BC  who calculated the distance between the earth and moon, through Eugene Krantz, who was mission control on many Apollo flights. It made me think of Issac Newton 's comment about standing on the shoulders of giants. Newton is, of course, in the Hall of Fame. There is also a dome Imax theater, we made plans to return the next day for the Imax.

Francis happily watched larger than life planes race over and around his head. The parralax of the theater sent me into the hall, to a more conventional screening of the latest Nasa Mars Rover discoveries.

Welcoming and socially aware folks at Can't Stop Smoking

After enlightenment and celestial exploration, we returned to earth and discovered we were hungry. We went in search of divine smoke bar b que. We found it at a local spot called can't stop smoking. They not only had good food but also good works. They asked you to drop wooden nickels into cups identifying local charities. They made contributions to all in proportion to the customer votes. Nice concept.

Alamogordo is the site of White Sands National Park. A unique beach of gypsum dunes has formed along the normal desert.

In the middle of the high desert, there were families on a Saturday outing for sand sledding on the dunes while in the distance the wind spun up dust devils,  like towers of smoke,  in the fine white powder. We drove through the dunes with an errie sensation of displacement, were we at the beach or in the mountains? 

White Sands Missile Base is just across the highway. Closed to the public. While the formerly secret Los Alamos research base is a short drive away at a higher elevation. The Hollis Bradbury Museum explains both historical secret Atom bomb studies and the open current research. Hmm? Are all the Los Alamos programs really public?

    

While in Alamogordo we stayed at an RV park owned by a retired White Sands Missile Base Engineer. He was native to our neck of the woods in Pennsylvania and had done his best to recreate that environment in the New Mexico desert. He had a windmill pumping water for a pond surrounded by fruit and nut trees. It was an RV oasis complete with migrating ducks and a school of koi.

Alamogordo has the ancient as well as the modern. Near to town are 100s of petroglyths 10,000 years old. Scattered among the desert boulders it is hard to imagine that this was once a thriving farming area. Not 1,000s of years either, just a hundred years ago an unusually damp period tricked many immigrants into farming nearby. When their creeks dyed up they turned to livestock ranching. The Federal government took their land by eminent domain to build the missile range and Los Alamo.

From Alamogordo we went on to Santa Fe, where the emphasis was American History. The New Mexico Museum of History clarified facets of Westward expansion and settlement, while the Indian museums told the same story from a different perspective. Altogether, manifest destiny - - an excuse to invade a neighboring country and steal land from the residents, forget treaties, just a big land grab.

Not a wonderful phase in our history. The hand crafts in the Museum of Indian Art were wonderful. Traditional pottery and weaving, later silverwork and turquiose work and recent sculpture and paintings. A large painting in the Wheelwright Museum gave a different perspective, Buddha, Jesus, Yaweh and Shiva are playing cards but Coyote is the dealer and we all know the house always wins in the end

When we said we were going on to Taos, Johnathon told us about a hot springs nearby. A little research uncovered that their was an on site campground. Ojo Caliente is in the middle of nowhere, about 30 miles due west of Taos. The mapping software kept showing roundabout  routes looping out of the way north or south, but some maps indicated a direct shot.

At Ojo Caliente we found a beautiful rustic luxury resort featuring four different mineral springs in seven natural hot pools. Rooms started at $150 a night up to $400 for a private adobe. The cost for our RV hookup in a wooded glen was $60 for four nights was $60, more my price range. We decided to explore Taos and the mountains before taking the waters. Francis also wanted to find a hand woven rug.

The grounds at Ojo were as nice as the hot springs. You could hike by the Bosque River or hold events in a Round Barn with labyrinth.

Off into the mountains, we went encountering extraordinary geology and erosion. The terrain is in layers of basalt, sandstone, limestone and clay. The wind picks up sand and grinds the softer stone away leaving bizarre out-crops of the harder tuff. Cliffs stick straight up with horizontal cap rocks. Domed outcroppings are accompanied by strange lumpen pillars. Formations have names like turtle rock and camel hill. Throughout the landscape the hard volcanic basalt surface layer has fallen away in pieces as the softer sub-layer eroded. The black basalt tumbles like giant  children's blocks down the hillsides, piling into the ravines and arroyos.

Deciding to follow the little line on the paper map, unacknowledged by our gps,  we drove past abandoned adobe houses and through a strange little ghost town called Carson and found the Rio Grande River!

The West Rim Bridge had been called the bridge to nowhere as there was no road connecting it to Taos! Signs proudly promoted a recently completed 2 billion dollar roadway project. I walked across the bridge looking down to the Rio Grande about 5000 feet below. Perhaps not as wide and dramatic as the Grand Canyon but still pretty dramatic

Still gasping from the unexpected drama we drove on to Taos. The odometer turned 5000 mile in Taos, . time for the first checkup and oil change. We dropped by the local dealership and they agreed to do the work, while were toured downtown. Off we went for another dose of hubris, manifest destiny and native crafts

Returning to Ojo Caliente we took the Southwest loop route. As we left town a sign indicated a road to Carson. The sun was close to setting and a straighter route could get us back before dark. Off we drove wish fingers crossed, through an adobe and trailer village into a national park. The road followed alongside the Rio Grande River. After seeing the river from the bridge 5000 feet above, it was thrilling to view the water up close rushing and tumbling over boulders and to look up the cliffs to the mesa so far above. At one point there was a USGS observation shack and we could walk out just above the cascades to gaze down the winding river. As we drove along stopping to examine the cliff side and collect rocks we began to wonder where would we cross the river?

Nice road?

Carson was on the top of the mesa across the Rio Grande. Finally there was low bridge across the river, a dirt road led around a hill toward the mesa. And up and up and up, the gravel track climbed at about 30 degree. Our wheels skidded and spun until we went into four wheel drive, then we bounced up the rutted wash. With a single lane-width, minimal shoulder and  no railing, we hoped there were no wash outs, there would be no way to turn around. A van marked "Adventure Charters" came down the track, narrowly passing by us. I was glad we were on the inside! A passenger's wide eyes met mine as the van went by. Several more white knuckled miles and we emerged onto the top of the mesa. 

In the distance I could see the West Rim Bridge and breathed more freely. We took a break to look at a park map which described the route along which we had just traveled  Definitely an off road adventure for us.

While we were staying at Ojo Caliente record low temperatures were set. The coldest since 1917. It was hot water in the springs but frozen hoses in the RV.  The next day we went to the hot springs to warm up. In the water we were warm but every puff of air was painful.  The air temperature made the thermal pools even more impressive. There are iron rich waters, arsenic laden waters and soda  water. The lithic spring was closed as they were rebuilding the pump and pool. Around the pools there were open fires of pinon pine, the fragrant smoke mixing with the mineral mist created an unique incense which spread throughout the complex. There was also a steam room, a sauna, an Ayurvedic spa and in addition,  a restaurant, a yoga yurt, a interesting round barn for events and the ubiquitous gift shop. In the lobby soothing new age music played while  another pinon fire was kept burning in the round kiva fireplace.  One evening I sat in the lobby and knitted until they closed, it was such a pleasant atmosphere. We will definitely return to Ojo Caliente - - when the weather is warmer.

Taos and Ojo Caliente was the official end of the trip from our perspective. We would have seven states to travel through, there would be events along the way with a stopover planned in Memphis, TN

Dashing thorough the South

Dashing through the South

We had arrived in Fl in mid-February, driving off in our mobile home the next day.  Two weeks in the State of Florida we covered 2000 miles. Our next destination was Francis' oldest friend, Miller, in Pomerene, AZ near the Mexican border. Francis had said we would arrive on March 10th  at 2pm. Departing Duke's on the third of March we had seven days to traverse seven states. It would be a run through the South. We hypothetically said we would try to get to Texas, in one day. We didn't. Driving along the coast, the roads were bad and there were head winds pushing us back. Francis rarely drove over 60 in spite of posted speeds of 70 or higher.

The Southern coast is swamp land. The highways are  elevated, with warning signs about water on the roads and flooding. It is a somber landscape of drowned forests and dank weeds. We got as far as Louisiana, on day one and picked a RV park in New Orleans. It promised a river front setting. Technically, yes, we were in the middle of the industrial docks. The park was new; post-hurricane redevelopment funds, would be my guess. It featured a on-site cafe / Bar B Que restaurant with live entertainment. That night was open mike. The music ranged from R & B covers to Country with a few appropriate touches of zydeco. 

The Bar B Que was good, the waiter was cheerful. He had driven down from New Jersey a few months before looking for work. He had come South with his Spouse, two kids, a baby and a couple of  dogs in a sedan. He was probably happy to have escaped that car, landing a job was icing on the cake. We asked if we could get a glass of wine, without inquiring too deeply what we would receive. We were served prepackaged plastic "copa de vino" with replaceable vinyl snap-top lids. A great concept but a vile product, tasted like vinyl too. Our waiter offered to take them off our tab but we were so simultaneously appalled and amused, we wanted to keep the little containers as a memento.

The next day we drove through New Orleans. It was interesting to see the vernacular architecture, the suburban combinations of Spanish and French and Levitown influences. Reaching the highway, we resumed bumping along the causeway and sped as quickly as possible under the circumstances through the remainder of  LA. 

We were very excited to see the big signs, flags and stars signalling our entry into Texas. The huge visitor information center offered us maps, cups of coffee, coupons and big smiles. In Texas they had to do a better job maintaining their roads - - Yup, they do. Although the xx section of Texas is geographically identical to their neighbor to the East, the roads were smooth and the posted speeds kept climbing, 70, 75, 80. The refrain of a Lyle Lovett song rang in our ears, "we know you're not from Texas, but Texas wants you anyway"

It is 834 miles from Orange, Texas, the Easternmost point, to El Paso, the Westernmost point. That is about three trips from Walker Lake to Annapolis, a drive which usually took us about five hours. Yup, it's a big state.

My impressions of Texas came mostly from old movies. The coastal swamps were a surprise. Once we got away from the Gulf, the terrain was more like the big screen. Not the plains with herds of cattles but the marginal forest and scrub, full of mesquite and cottonwood. John Wayne could have ridden out from behind any Cottonwood tree. We passed many a well fenced ranch and wondered what was being kept out or in. Most of the ranches had massive entries with iron gates, just like the movies! Some of the arches featured iron silhouettes. Horses were a common theme, but also water pump windmills, oil rigs and other animals. There were deer, stags and does as well as big horn sheep. The ranches with the highest iron fences were hunting preserves  stocked with both deer and more exotic ungulates.

Driving through the rugged hillsides covered in scrub vegetation, was tiring. The roads were in good condition but the constant changes in elevation combined with strong winds made for high concentration driving. We decided to take a break  in a little town called Fort Stockton. It had retained many frontier era buildings and sections of the original Buffalo Soldiers fort. I had always wondered from where had that moniker had come. It was the designation the Indian tribes used for the Black cavalry troops in recognition of their curly dark hair, strength and teamwork  like the herds of Buffalo.  As the primary function of the Buffalo Soldiers was to hunt down renegade Apaches, if the title  had originated with the Apache,  I'm not sure it was intended to be wholly flattering.  There was also a local history museum housed in an old hotel. It was interesting reading about and seeing the detritus of lawmen and outlaws, who were oddly enough often one and the same. That facet was enlightening. A local miscreant would run for sheriff, be elected and use his office to promote his criminal enterprises. In Fort Stockton, the unsolved murder of  one such Sheriff was local lore.

Therese and Carlos at the cafe

We stayed over in Fort Stockton in part because the campground staff  were so pleasant. The little cafe at the campground served a simple menu of  Bar B Que, chicken fried steak and catfish. We tried it all and it  was  wonderful. The chef had been born in Cuba, had a MBA with many careers all over the world and had lived in New Orleans before going back on the road. His combination of the Carib and Cajun accents was delightful on the ear.  Therese, the waitress, was staying in the RV park and started waiting tables to keep buzy. She and her Husband, Nine-Fingered-Jack, travelled the Renaissance Fair circuit. She plied us with local wine, which Francis liked as much as his Cocha y Toro. He bought several bottles. They made our stay in Fort Stockton a truly delightful.

The next RV park was much less appealing. It was the zombie park. Tiring from a long driving day,  I called ahead to the only RV park I saw listed. It seemed alright it was affiliated with a motel. The woman who answered the phone assured me there would be space for us but did not require a deposit.  About an hour later we found our way to the Econolodge . It was next door to a closed truck stop and a burned down motel.  In the fading afternoon light, surrounded by the high desert, without vegetation or signs of life, just the scream of trucks down the next highway, it was eerie a great set for a “Walking Dead” episode.  All the lights were off outside the motel and in the motel  lobby.  Behind the counter the office machines blinked at me and a cat stared me down but no one was there.  Back outside I tried calling the listed phone numbers as a red sports car drove up. The driver began to wander aimlessly, as I.  He wanted a single room although a woman was clearly sitting in his car waiting. Down the hill we could see the RV park, just a few big rigs on the big lot. Finally I began calling the phone numbers again. This time the same voice as I had spoken with previously picked up, telling me she was waiting in  the lobby.  I looked around; she was now behind the counter sitting in the dark. How did she get there without my seeing her?  Pale, thin with a drawn face and a bluish bouffant, she informed me with officious tone that she was much too busy, she just managed the RV park,  the motel was their “bread and butter”. Down the hill we connected to the electric and water supplies and locked our door tight. All through the night I kept checking out the windows for Zombies to come down from the barren hills.  

After Zombie motel, we were ready to depart Texas. The Welcome to New Mexico signs were very welcome. As we crossed the state line we saw a rainbow on the horizon! The Puebla style buildings made us think of the adobe house Miller was building. We still had a several days before the deadline Francis had set for himself and we were only one day out.  

There were more choices for RV parks and  we drove into one  near the highway. It was beautifully landscaped with a building full of amenities for RVers, a lounge, laundry and bathhouse with private dressing rooms. When we walked into the colorful and brightly lit lobby, the cheerful girls behind the counter offered us cookies and coffee. The asking price for a night was the same as at the Econolodge park.  ‘Definitely glad to be in New Mexico. We decided to stay a few nights there in Las Cruces.   

Rainbow welcoming us to enchanted New Mexico

All along the highway we had seen signs warning about dust storms and low visibility. Just after we pulled into the park, a storm kicked up. Looking out our trailer windows all we could see was white. There was zero visibility, nothing at all. We thanked our lucky stars that we had gotten off the road just in time. The next day the skies were clear and there was a Craft and Farmer’s Market in Downtown Las Cruces. Vendors lined the main street, selling locally grown vegetables, Tupelo honey, baked goods and a variety of  artisan crafts. On each block a different band or duo was playing to passersby. On one corner a older man with long grey hair, few teeth and a battered guitar was harmonizing, if you could call it that with a similar remnant of the psychedelic era woman, on a Bob Dylan song. Down the next block a blue grass band of  tattooed but relatively clean-cut college agers was performing renditions of Dawg music. They were spirited and really good. Francis sat on a bench and listened while I wandered lusting after Silver and Turquoise jewelry. We also wandered to the historic town of Mesilla, which had retained it's original adobe buildings.

From Las Cruces, we were only a few hours from Miller’s in Pomerene, AZ. We had been to Miller’s rancho notorious once before. He had hosted a Django-fest and had convinced several  Gypsy Jazz musicians to perform as a fundraiser for the local Senior Center. Pomerene tends to be a dust bowl. In addition the breeze often blows across the nearby cattle farm bringing with it the piquant odor of manure. The plan had been for Miller to take Francis sailing on the Sea of Cortez in Mexico. Unfortunately both Miller and Debs, his wife, came down with the flu and the plan was curtailed. We visited for a awhile enjoying their company, until afraid we would also catch the virus headed back to New Mexico. We may not have stayed long but we arrive on March 10th at 2pm just as Francis had said! 

 an impromptu mandolin concert from Mills

North by Northwest

Our week at the Jolly Roger drew to a close and it was time to depart the Keys. Our next port of call was the Florida panhandle but Florida is 500 miles long, several days driving. Coincidentially friends were attending a wedding in NW Florida traveling South and East, while we were in the Southeast traveling North and East. We decided to see if we could intersect at lunchtime at a midway point. Naples FL was identified as the mid point, with a route through the Everglades and an RV park in Naples for our accommodation. 

Driving across the Everglades a canal paralleled the old highway. As Francis drove I was amazed by the flora and fauna so close to the road. Egrets wading slowly through the marsh, Anahingas spreading their wings under the Spanish Moss, masses of Bromeliads clustered on every tree and lying like half sunken logs everywhere, Alligators. Big lumpen lazy Alligators laying in the swampy water. Their torpor made me think of what the naturalist had said about the sea turtles, "they are cold blooded, very slow metabolisms". While the Alligators probably would have moved fast for prey or to rout a predator, they were motionless at this point, sometimes lying on top of each other too lazy to move.

We stopped at the Miccosukee Indian cultural village. In front of the village is a huge model of a swarthy, presumably Miccosukean man wrestling an  equally outsized Alligator, the Miccosukean version of Paul Bunyan and his blue ox? My experience brought more to mind the Roman post office more than myth. (The stamp window may be open but you must have exact change and the cashier is closed, when the cashier opens the stamp kiosk is closed.)

The Miccosukee facility entrance had a gift shop backed by a pair of symmetrical counters. Behind each counter stood a splendid specimen of willowy native american womanhood. Left hand counter girl studiously ignored me, facing in every direction except the space I occupied, each time I moved she pivoted to avoid my gaze. It was a rather amusing game. I caved first and wandered off to try right hand counter girl. She was indeed 180 degrees out, brightly greeting me and offering me samples of freshly made fry bread. When I asked about the guided tour scheduled for the next hour, she said that she was sorry I had to ask at the other counter... Back across the hall to find the other counter vacant, back to cheerful girl but she had now relocated to the left hand counter and I overheard her say "the one o'clock guided tour is self-guided". Huh, I can stand in the sun reading a brochure, better idea ride through the Everglades reading a brochure, so grabbed a brochure, bid Paul Miccosukee farewell and got back on the road with the real Alligators.

The Everglades ended and we emerged into tropical suburbs. Whoever developed Naples Florida really did have an Italianate sensibility. Canals and stucco work well for both tropics and Mediterranean.  While rather sprawling it was attractive. Our campground was cramped but equally attractive, lushly landscaped with palms and pines. Bromeliads clung to the trees and Francis collected fallen samples of several varieties. The campsites were very narrow, there was but six inches leeway between a concrete pad and tree for us to back into. Francis has shown himself to be adept in handling the truck and trailer rig. The proof was his sliding the trailer into that space with an inch to spare from an overhanging Tillandsia.

The fellow in the next camper, a huge 42 foot unit, complemented Francis on "threading the needle. They were leaving the next day and he said he would probably knock out a leaning ornamental lamp post on his way. Francis later went over to give them our contact card. We all ended up drinking wine and swapping histories. They were retired attornies, having left their firm, sold their house and bought the big truck and trailer to spend three years criss crossing the country. They had a son in the foreign  service and a daughter abroad. A family dedicated to wanderlust. We hope to stay in touch. He did by the way take out that lamp post.

Yolanda and William had attended a Niece's wedding in Tampa and intended to visit another in Fort Lauderdale. In Naples, we would intersect them on their way. Amazing but true, we did actually connect and had lovely lunch together before parting to go our separate ways.

From Naples, we at random picked a town called Carrabelle on the Gulf Coast for our next stop. It was a fishing village with a long pre civil history. Our rv park was a fishing camp owned by a fellow who looked like Jimmy Buffett and sounded liked Jimmy Buffett mixed with an AM deejay, a deep slightly gravelly very resonant voice. His wifi network was named Rich Rabbit and so he will remain Rich Rabbit to me. Mr. Rabbit, I have a crush on your voice. He recommended seafood at The Fisherman's Wife and urged us to buy a fishing site from his property. We weren't interested in the site but the seafood held promise.

 also had a waterfront park with a fantastic sculptural bike rack and a small historical museum. After the civil war, ferries had brought commuters and commerce between Carrabelle and Appilachicola. The ferry service ended when an overloaded boat capsized in stormy seas. The local museum featured information about the disaster and the survivors. A  great swimmer had notified the authorities of the disaster, he was lauded for his feat but the several black boatmen who also managed to swim ashore and survive could not even identified.  Judging by the historical museum there were no persons of color of note in Carrabelle, hmmm... The most interesting oddity in Carrabelle was a full size "Nina" docked at a private dock, Nina as Nina, Pinta, Santa Maria. The connection to back water Carrabelle still escapes me.

From Carrabelle we wandered North to visit Duke. We had met Duke, aka George Jonkel, when he was visiting his Daughter Laura, our Annapolis neighbor. A retired ornithologist, he was still a enthusiatic naturalist and bird watcher, who could identify a dozen different species in a flock of seagulls. Duke has the aura of a modern shaman, speaks often of being in tune with the earth and has constructed a contemplative labyrinth on his property. His little house  is a treasure trove of interesting things, a scattering of Indian artifacts, a wall of blue Scandinavian porcelain plates, a pile of new age magazines on crop circles, a entire room of his home made wine. Every day in his company brings out a new facet to his long and interesting life. Francis says when he looks into Duke's blue eyes beneath bushy greyed eyebrows he still can see the child inhabiting the old shaman. 

Grandson Colin, Francis and Duke

Key Fauna

Francis ever ready tp communicate

Florida is a long state and it is a long drive through the Keys. We only got about half way, as far as Marathon. Marathon actually encompasses several Keys, the Jolly Roger being on Grassy Key. With a new swimming pool and a dock and pavilion on the Gulf of Mexico we could have hunkered down on site. Francis would well have done so, spending his time adjusting radio reception. In preparation for the trip he had ordered a collapsible antenna. It was on back order and finally was shipped to the Jolly Roger. He had also purchased a new analyzer. With a new antenna and an analyzer, he had activities for days. While it is my inclination to get out and explore NOW, I practiced patience. It was a tough sacrifice sitting in the shade knitting or swimming while Francis played radios.

Non native but quite at home

Eventually we ran out of the preferred daily drugs, caffiene or alcohol, and were forced to set off to explore. It is a narrow highway, often with heavy traffic  and high winds through the Keys. Traveling through hauling the trailer was disconcerting, buffeted by trucks and the sea breeze. Unhitched, driving along in the pickup alone, was a real breeze. Much to our delight Florida sells wine in the grocery store, one stop shopping. After stocking up, we played tourist. Local fauna featured turtles, dolphins and pigs, yes pigs.

Turtle Orthopedics

Two contented residents

Down the road was the first veterinary hospital dedicated to the rescue, recovery, rehab and release of sea turtles. The hospital was originally a motel and bar. The owner, as an attraction for the motel, had converted a salt water swimming pool into an pond / aquarium featuring the local fauna. In order to have any sea turtles on display he had to agree to provide rescue and rehab. Turtle rescue gradually became the primary focus, with the motel finacially supporting the hospital function until a hurricane closed the motel. The hospital became a non-profit entity with the old motel serving as housing for volunteers and staff. The transition from using the turtles for personal economic gain to dedication to turtle welfare, I found poignantly moving. While fascinating, it was very sad to observe the plight of the residents. Due to the severity of their injuries many would remain residents for the remainder of their long turtle lives. On the other hand, in contrast to the half dozen retirees, over 1400 turtles had been successfully treated and released back into the wild.

Somewhat more expected, there is a dolphin research facility. In addition to the preditable  dolphin displays and training shows, their research into dolphin cogitive process has discovered some interesting facets to marine style intelligence. Dolphins have initial persistence of memory but not if you relocate the object. The residents at the dolphin lab were bred there or were retirees from Sea World type shows. The research center has student programs, camps for youth and college credit for adults seeking employment in marine animal care. What a fantastic summer school for a teenager, to spend your time in the Keys, learning about and working with dolphins.

After the more intellectually stimulating aspects of local fauna we came across a completely absurd  aspect, the pig race. It was promoted as "National Pig Day",  a fundraiser for a local child care organization. Curiosity piqued, we stopped on the way back from sad turtles and decrepit houses. As we admired the fantastic kid's bungee sling / moon bounce,  which made me wish I was little, free flowing beer and a bar b que buffet, the announcer said 15 minutes to place your bets before the next racing heat. Perfect, we were too hot and sun struck for beer. The disappointed waitress brought us bar b que and plain water. Scarfing down the q we hustled over to the small but well decorated race track. A very enthusiastic woman hustled the crowd in proper NASCAR fashion. Right on time she announced the first heat, wild racing pigs, big ugly and fast. Next up were baby domestic pigs, little cute and very fast. The last big heat was the mature Asian racing pigs, bigger uglier and completely ridiculous. Just watch the video...