I am going to shake loose from being haunted by the political mini-series of Malaysian politics; too much to handle for my migraine-infected brain. So I am going to travel back in time and entertain myself with the past, when I had some good times getting to know who I am.
It was sometime in 1979–80 that I made my trip in a Chevy Impala—1965 model—which I bought (a gift) from my then-girlfriend who had gotten it from her grandmother. It all began in Green Bay, Wisconsin, where I was a student at the University of Wisconsin, in Green Bay. My intention was to travel all over the Southwest of the United States—the states of New Mexico, Arizona, and Colorado—while living out of the trunk of the Chevy. With lots of help from friends and fellow students who chipped in for the cost of my trip, I left Green Bay along with a young friend by the name of Jerry Sulle, the son of a very close friend, Charles Sulle. Jerry was about seventeen then, and was ready for anything to add excitement to his life. Together we left Green Bay on a cold morning as it was sometime in winter. Armed with a map of the United States, a trunk full of canned food, and a two-man tent, we headed south.
Most of what I still remember of our trip south was the fact that we stopped at the Oklahoma Cowboy Museum, where I was so attracted to a thick hardcover book on Native American Cultural History by a famous cowboy artist. I later gave this book as a present to Jerry, as he showed great interest in the Native American way of life. We later drove through Kansas and stopped at a small town called Udall, where we were put up on a small farm by an elderly couple. Their address was given to me by a friend and fellow artist at the university in Green Bay. In Udall, we went to a small church on a Sunday morning, and there I sat listening to the most interesting sermon delivered by a Zen-like pastor who talked about, "after your meal, you just need to do your dishes..." I was so impressed by his talk that I joined the congregation in receiving the "flesh and blood of Christ" as I knelt before him along with the others to receive the bread and wine in my mouth.
I have forgotten much of what transpired as we drove south into New Mexico, except for the fact that the car was leaking oil and needed two quarts added every once in a while. In New Mexico, we camped at the City of Rocks, in Grant County, located midway between Deming and Silver City, NM.
City of Rocks State Park is a state park of New Mexico, USA, consisting of large sculptured rock formations in the shape of pinnacles or boulders rising as high as 40 feet (12 m). The exotic collection of volcanic "art," set in the middle of a grama grass plain, was formed by a huge explosion called the Kneeling Nun eruption about thirty-four million nine hundred thousand years ago.
Located in the Mimbres Valley at the northeastern edge of the Chihuahuan desert at an elevation of 5,200 feet above sea level, the "city" is a fantasyland of wind- and water-sculpted pastel rock columns. Only six other places in the world have similar formations.
By day, the rocks entice the explorer. Visitors can scramble over sun-warmed boulders, walk under cool stone arches through the winding "streets" and dim "alleyways" of the volcanic metropolis, hike up a rimrock trail to picnic and photograph the panoramic views from the Observation Point, or sit in quiet solitude by a peaceful desert botanical garden at sunset. At night, campers share sleeping accommodations with bald and golden eagles nesting 40 to 50 feet overhead in the rock walls, nocturnal wildlife prowling unobtrusively among the massive stones, and sometimes coyotes serenading the star-filled sky.
Here I had one of my most unforgettable, if not frightening, experiences in my travels. Upon arrival at the site in the late afternoon, I noticed a huge Mesa (an isolated flat-topped hill surrounded by flat land strata) not too far from the site itself and thought it would be great to hike up and see what was up there. From where we had pitched the tent it looked like a short distance, and I could make it there and back in no time, as I noticed that only tall prairie grasses lay between me and the mountain. Telling Jerry of my plan, I left him curled up in the tent, as he was tired from the long drive.
I headed out toward the table-top mountain on my own, armed with just a Rambo-type knife and a water bottle. As I walked further from the City of Rocks, I noticed a camper trailer parked at the edge of the site with a light on, and I felt safe just in case I had to head back in the dark, as the sun was now beginning to set. I made it to the foot of the mountain and foolishly decided to climb to the top—it was not impossible—and this I did, sweating and scraping myself against the sharp rocks of yellow earth. When I eventually made it to the top, the sun had already begun disappearing over the horizon, and I witnessed one of the most beautiful sunsets of my life. I also noticed that the light from the trailer was still on, which gave me some comfort.
I decided to remove all my clothing, as they were damp from my sweat, and laid them on the flat rock. I was stark naked as I stood scanning the horizon around me like a Native American on a vision quest. The skies were filled with myriads of twinkling stars, and I raised my hand toward them invoking "Wakan Tanka," the Great Spirit, to behold this crazy Malaysian who did not know any better, come to pay his respects. All around me I could hear the howl of coyotes in the distance. Soon I realized that the evening was fast getting colder. I got dressed, built myself a small fire with twigs and dried grass around, and sat in meditation. The fire did not last long, but I kept my sitting for a while until I felt calm and peaceful.
A prairie hen led a line of chicks behind her, walking quietly in front of me so close that I could have reached out and caught them—but I kept sitting. (It never occurred to me till later that it was almost impossible to find these birds on top of a mountain unless they could fly.)
Then it was time to return to the tent. As I started to climb down, I realized how difficult it was without tearing my skin to pieces, and I thanked my lucky stars for my thick jacket and jeans, which took most of the brutal scraping and tearing. By the time I reached the bottom in the dark, I also, to my dismay, found that the light from the trailer home had been switched off. My trip back through the prairie grass was a long struggle, as my feet kept sinking into holes and I kept tripping over thick bushes, falling onto my face at times. I made it at long last to the edge of the pile of rocks after what seemed like ages.
It took me almost two hours to locate the tent after a long, horrifying struggle walking in the dark, sometimes going in circles from one rock to another along small paths barely visible in the dark. There were noises of things scattering here and there at every turn I made, and I could not tell which direction to head anymore after some time. By the time I located the tent, I was totally exhausted, and it dawned on me the hard way why they had called it the "City of Rocks."
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