ROSWELL

I arrive in Roswell in the early afternoon and end up spending the next three nights there, my body in recovery from the previous weeks of riding. My searing skin demanding air conditioning and a bed. I knew riding through the southwest in July would be hot, I mean I’m not a complete idiot, but when you leave San Diego and its 75 degrees, a part of your brain assumes this is what it’s going to be like for the entire journey. This part of the brain is also involved in decision making at 2am on a Saturday night, choice of girlfriends and that daring cowboy-goth period I went through in the late eighties….. its obviously not to be trusted!

Roswell’s claim to fame is the crash landing of an alien space craft in the nineteen forties. Many people believe it was three female aliens who were flying, but I’m pretty sure that’s not true. Although to hit a tiny planet in a massive universe, you’d have to be pretty unlucky, or perhaps not paying attention, either way the year was 1947. Ever since then Roswell has really leaned into the whole alien thing. It’s like Disneyland for Trekkies. Gangs of nerds clog the sidewalks, hoping for a sighting of an alien life-form and by alien life-form I mean women, any women…. eventually we grow tired of clogging the sidewalks and go back to our hotels…