Puttin' the double-A in Santa Fe

Let's see, Santa Fe... 

We pull into town sometime in the afternoon and head straight to the Wal-Mart to park Campy and maybe take a nap. (We're still recovering from the big night out in Albuquerque the night before). Plan: nap and hang for the rest of the day, something low key for sure. We find the Wal-Mart and immediately start vegging out.

We were hanging out and heard some rustlin' in the urban bushes, so naturally we peeped out of the curtains and saw this fine example of a man:



security

(note the fuzzy corners of the frame from our creepy Peepin' Tom perspectives)

Naturally this man gained the nickname "Sweet Potata" after he told us to leave our humble residency in the town W-Mart. When Carrie questioned him about the ever-inviting policy of Wal-Marts nationwide, he explained that the city had an over-riding policy over such things.



Now, what do ya' think of that? Here we are in a city that was basically unheard of by the rest of the country until about 40 years ago. It was put on the map by venturing artists, hippies, and other alternative-minded persons and to date it's the only city that hasn't allowed urban camping at their Wal-Mart.

So we bust out the Woodall's and find Hyde Memorial State Park high above the city in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains and accept the thought of dishing out some cash for a peaceful night's sleep in the woods. It's dark by the time we navigate our way to the park's entrance and the office is already closed. As I'm filling out the pay-envelope in the dark to drop in the Iron Ranger, a name given to pay stations in parks, I notice quite a lot of CAUTION/WARNING/STAY AT YOUR OWN RISK kind of signs posted. Some are standard-issue state park signs while some are more specific to the area; such as the Hantavirus Warning for the surrounding wildlife and what to do when encountering a bear or mountain lion. Now, Carrie and I are all for the outdoors and sharing space with the natural residents, but it seems a little different when it's pitch black night and there is no other human in sight. Our silly fears are quickly expounded upon by our road-weary minds and skewed logic.

So, back into the false security-blanket of the city. We pull into the desserted Sam's Club parking lot (at the suggestion of Sweet Potata) and fall asleep to the sound of delivery trucks making their way through maze of  RVs and campers.