Day 4: Amarillo to Alamogordo

Today, it was Curt's turn to lead, and you won't believe the mess he got us into.  More on that in a minute.

This was an eventful day.

We got an early start this morning, leaving the Best Western in Amarillo at 6:15.  Within a few miles, we crossed into New Mexico, which gave us another hour due to the time zone change.  But, we knew it was going to be a HOT one, so we hit the road with a jacket on, that wouldn't stay on for much more than a couple hours.

Our first stop was in Hereford, TX.  Why?  A little history might help.  My father was native Italian, and came to the US during World War II, as a Prisoner of War.  I had never realized that he'd been a POW in Hereford, TX.  Back in the '70's, I was stationed at Cannon AFB in Clovis, NM, looking for a doctor who was qualified to give flight physicals, since I was learning how to fly.  So, I looked for Italian doctors in Clovis, and found a Dr. DeMaio.  Well, during the physical, we chatted, and realized that he, like my father, was an Italian POW.  In an amazing coincidence, we realized that he knew my father.   I doubted it, because my father was a POW in Massachusetts, not Texas.  Later, after chatting with my dad,  he told me that when he was first captured, he was, in fact, interred in Texas, and that he remembered the doctor.  No idea where.  No internet back then to research such things.

So, before this trip, I did some research and found that Italian prisoners were interred in several places across the county, and the only one that could have fit this scenario, was in Hereford, TX.  And, I found out that some of the Italian craftsmen, especially stone masons, built a chapel at the POW site, and that it's still there....the only remnant of a facility that housed thousands of Italian POWs at its peak.  I KNOW my father had to have had a role in this, because it is well-documented that he built one (a "grotto") at Camp Miles Standish, in MA, where he was also a prisoner.

So, as long as I was in the area, I HAD to see it.  I found its location, and put it in as a waypoint in the GPS.  I knew it was going to be in the middle of a field, and probably gravel roads to get to it.

This gets us back to Curt.

Blindly following the GPS, he took us on a 5 mile ride on, not gravel, but dirt and mud.  I almost dropped my bike twice trying to get through two of the gullies.   We didn't stop to take pictures of the first one, the worse of the two, because I think both of us were on borderline heart attack watch.  But, here's the second one we had to cross.  Being engineers, this time, we stopped to analyze the obstacle and strategize how to get across.  Click on the pic to enlarge it, so you can see how deep that mud was!

In this pic, you can see where we parked to analyze the situation.  I told Curt that, since he's leading today, he should go first.  I'd be right there to help pick up his bike, if it dropped.

This next picture is proof that we made it through!  We both admitted that our hearts were beating pretty fast.  Trust me when I say, this was mud.  When the wheel hit it, it sunk fast.  If you didn't have a head of steam, you'd get stuck.

I hope you realize that I'm screwing with Curt with my comments.  In truth, he was a trooper.  He got us to the chapel.  I'm buying him a drink later today.

So, we made it.  Here's what it looks like from the "road."  The big thing on the left is a sprinkler for the fields, and has nothing to do with the memorial.  It has simulated barbed wire, a walkway, and the chapel...all standing the middle of nowhere.

Again, if you click on the pic, you'll be able to read this.

Despite the difficulty in getting there, I think it was worth it.  I thought it was pretty cool.

Looking back toward the bikes, you can see that this REALLY IS in the middle of nowhere.  But, it's so cool that someone decided to preserve this piece of history.

A funny anecdote to this... some farmer drove up in his pickup, and talked with us.  He had seen us trying to navigate through the mud earlier.  He said, "We don't see too many motorcycles trying to ride that road."  I replied, "You won't see these again much either!"  He then pointed to a road about 100 yards up the road we were on, and said, "If you turn right there, you'll be back on pavement in one mile."  That escape route was a dream come true, because neither Curt nor I wanted to go back the way we came!

So, next stop would be Clovis, where I lived for 3 years.  My daughter Kristin was born there.  On the way, we stopped for a photo op of Clovis Muni, where I learned to fly.  I still remember my plane's call sign:  "Cherokee 47 Kilo."

On the way, we saw some of the largest cattle feeding yards I've ever seen.  For as far as you can see, there are cattle, feeding and pooping, getting ready for their destiny in life.

Next stop was the first house I ever owned.  As you can see, it's run down, and even looks as though it may be unoccupied.  That was kind of sad.  Our fledgling family had some great times there, even though Matt wasn't even a twinkle in my eye at that time.  But, Kristin was much more than a twinkle!

As long as we were in Clovis, we made a quick run out to Cannon AFB.  Here I am saying, "Hi!" in the old military way.

Finally, on to Alamogordo, with a stop in Roswell, the favorite stopping place for UFO's and visitors from other worlds and states.  Nice lunch, but getting really hot....  

We motored on to the hotel, with a very pleasant relief from the heat along the way, as we climbed to over 7,000' near Ruidoso.  A delightful 20 degree drop that didn't last long enough!

Mike