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TANDING NEXT TO THE truck, he looked up the road and examined the wooded area that crowned the ridge ahead into which the strip of blacktop disappeared. It was a dark forest of piñon pine, gnarled and misshapen, as if touched by some ancient blight. But, Gordy Mathis knew that this was the habit of piñon. That was the nature of desert country, to dry out and shrivel up most everything inhabiting it—people included. Often, it shriveled up more than just their bodies. The cell phone’s battery was dead, so he tossed it onto the passenger’s seat. He pulled his lanky frame up into the cab of the desert-worn Chevy pickup. Like him, it was well-seasoned with the effects of the environment readily identifiable. It had countless scratches along its sides from encounters with mesquite and acacia. His wounds were not so visible. The old Chevy pre-dated GPS systems by nearly two decades. The location app on his cell phone was now a moot point, so onward. He steered the truck back onto the blacktop. He loved backroads and had a fair mental picture of where he was and the location of the town of Arroyo. There was easier access from the
interstate, but the town itself was still in the middle of nowhere with mostly local traffic, except for one weekend a year. He had never been, but the state tourism department touted the Prickly Pear Festival as an event to experience. Off the beaten track, clever advertising hailed it as the Tuna Capital of the World. The tunas, he had discovered many years ago, were the purple-red fruit of the prickly pear cactus, or opuntia, and had nothing to do with fish. From that humble fruit, came a wide variety of prickly pear foodstuffs—beer, wine, ice cream, and even a prickly pear crème brulee came to mind. Finally, he reached the crest of the ridge. The gnarly forest blanketed the landscape in all directions. At least the road ahead was downhill. That was a good thing considering the position of the gas gauge needle. Driving slowly and in silence, he reflected on his presence in this place. A land surveyor by profession, Mathis had worked all over the West. He was a selftaught student of the desert. Many years back, he had lived in Montana and had been a student of the mountains. In this part of New Mexico, he could enjoy both. Knowledge of the physical environment
