The Road to Mancos part 3: Arrival

The last big leg in the road to Mancos, after Wolf Creek Pass, is a winding trek through pine forests and small towns.

Pagosa Springs is the biggie - a tourist town with a big pool full of hot mineral water. I always wanted to stop for a soak after negotiating Wolf Creek, but was so close to home I kept going.

The night I arrived in Mancos, I had watched the sunset from Wolf Creek and continued on in the gathering dark. I still had another hour and a half to go, so there wasn't much to see. Past Chimney Rock, another ancient archeological site, it was dark; a really DARK dark without a moon. The road wound its way to Durango, where it splits; one fork to Durango and Silverton, the other to Mesa Verde and Mancos. I headed toward Mancos with only 25 miles to go after the 1,700 I had already covered from the Atlantic and Southeast Florida.

It was the third week in May, which meant that while days were lovely and spring-like, the nights could still be freezing cold - like this night. The temperature was probably just above freezing.

Prior to leaving Florida for my new editorship in Colorado, I had corresponded with Former Editor, who had been casting about for a place for me to land in Mancos. He found a possibility, in the home of the Independent School director; we'll call her Madelaine. I recieved pictures, via email, of a sunny little apartment with a bed, fully equipped with a comforter and pillow. It is important to remember this element - bed, sheets, bedding, pillows. All there. In the email pictures.

Madelaine and I went back and forth via email, and arrived at a deal. I would stay there for a couple of weeks while looking for a permanent home, and would pay for the privilege; no problem. Worked perfectly.

That night I pulled into Mancos at about 9 p.m. - Former Editor was waiting in a well-used Jeep Cherokee under a street light at the closed gas station. We agreed I would follow him to Madelaine's house.

The next thing I knew, Former Editor was leading me on a high-speed chase up a complicated network of dusty dirt mountain roads. Shit. I could barely see his tail lights through the flying rocks and debris, and wondered why he was driving 50 on a road meant for maybe 25. Was it a game? Getting to know Former Editor later, I learned indeed that it was a game, one of his favorites, and that Former Editor, an entirely fictional character, of course, loved to play little games with new-comers to the valley. Some sort of hazing thing, like 15-year-old boys would do. Former Editor was not 15, at least chronologically. Did I mention that Former Editor is an entirely fictional character?

We made it to Madelaine's, where she showed me the apartment, but the bed was naked, a stained mattress.

"I'm sorry, but do you have any bedding?" I asked.

She looked at me.

"I'm not running a motel, you know," she said.

Hmmm.

Pictures of the nice bedding on the bed flashed through my mind. Was this my bad? Did I presume too much? Most of my worldly goods were in my Subaru wagon, but bedding was not among those items.

Among those items were my puppy, Ivy, and my Amazon parrot Celeste. Ivy had been with me since March, but Celeste had been traveling with me since 1993 - cross-country, in and out of relationships, to grad school, everywhere, for 12 years. Celeste, being a tropical bird, needed warmth. The apartment was colder than chilly.

"How do I turn the heat on?" I asked.

"There is no heat," she said.

Former Editor looked stunned. I'm sure I looked stunned as well. There was a woodstove, but no wood.

This would not do. Celeste could not tolerate these temperatures.

"All your hygiene products are fully biodegradable, right? I have a gray-water system. All your shampoo and soap and toothpaste have to be biodegradable, or you can't use them. Can I see them?" Madelaine said.

I explained that I had not had an opportunity, in the six minutes since arriving, to unpack these items, but assured her (lied) that all my stuff was correctly biodegradable. I didn't care anyway, because I planned on escaping the hell out of there at first light.

Former Editor left. Madelaine, also a fictional character, handed me a cat-urine smelling blanket and said good-night.

I turned the oven on high and opened the door. This was not a suicide attempt - the pilot was lit - I was trying for some scant heat to keep the parrot warm. I did not care about Madelaine's solar batteries or propane supply or gray water or anything else that night - I was going to keep the bird as warm as I could.

We made it through the freezing night. I snuck out the next morning, leaving a note explaining our hasty departure due to lack of heat along with $40 (I know, WAY too much). Never again, in my time in Mancos, did Madelaine and I have a conversation, or even a casual encounter in the grocery store.

Next: My first day in Mancos and my new home in a Cortez Motel.