One evening, we visited the local courtroom. This wasn’t just any courtroom, though: this was an Air Force courtroom. Since he was looking all dignified with his beard, my dad decided to be a judge for a moment.
In the case of Bob vs. The Beard, I find the defendant accused fuzzy.
The next morning, we set off for Sandia Crest, the peak of the mountains you saw beyond the city in the photos from Petroglyphs. This involved a trip up a winding road, past a ski area, and finally up next to a flourishing landscape of communication towers.
Next to the parking lot they had signs warning that the towers might interfere with wireless devices like car remotes. I was vastly disappointed to find not just that our car remote worked just fine, but also that I wasn’t receiving any curious communications in my fillings.
You may have noticed the strange white coating on the ground. That’s called snow. Albuquerque itself doesn’t get much of it, but since Sandia Crest is over 10,000 feet above sea level, it has the good sense to have a good solid winter. This made us snow-loving Michiganders happy.
There was, however, one downside we couldn’t ignore: they don’t maintain the roads and trails during the winter, so snow can make things a bit interesting. Things got crazy interesting…but wait, I don’t want to get ahead of myself. Crazy interesting wasn’t until later.
From the parking lot, there was a very short path to a scenic overlook. Due to the lack of winter maintenance, this path was approximately 99.998% ice, but we made it to the overlook thanks to the presence of handrails. We were glad for those handrails, too, because the overlook provided this view:
That’s Albuquerque you’re seeing. Yes, there’s a lot of Albuquerque.
At the top of that photo you can see the main section of Albuquerque. (That’s highlighted by the presence of the few buildings that are taller than one story. The University of New Mexico is near there — keep that in mind for the next post.) You can also see how the city just seems to keep going and going and going. In that sense it’s like Toronto, but without all the tall buildings and Canadians and with about 2 million fewer people.
Having sufficiently looked over the scenery — and having successfully made it back down to the parking lot (by clinging to the handrail as if our lives depended on it, because they did) — we decided to brave the lack of maintenance and try exploring one of the trails. In theory this seemed like a fantastic idea, but…well, this is when it got crazy interesting.
With more handrail clinging and very cautious steps, we managed to make it around the gift shop to the start of one of the trails. At that point I paused because while the handrails ended there, the icy snow kept going, and I did not trust my questionable-at-best balance on such a surface without any sort of handrail. As I paused, dad moved toward a staircase down to a lower parking lot to shoot a few photos. I heard him yell, so I looked in his direction. What did I see? I saw dad sliding headfirst on his back down a gentle but very icy slope.
Before my brain could process that bizarre and entirely unexpected sight, suddenly dad just disappeared. No, seriously. One second he was sliding down a gentle slope, and the next second he…wasn’t. Concerned, my mom and I made our way in that direction to see where he could have ended up. As we approached, we were relieved to see his head peek up over the edge of a dropoff. Remarkably, he suffered no significant injuries.
Here’s a look at dad standing at the bottom of his dropoff.
If you look closely, you can see his slide marks leading from the bottom right corner of the photo to the edge of the dropoff. That’s where he slid on his back headfirst over the edge. If you continue looking closely, you can see a rock on the ground near him. That’s the rock he dislodged on his way down.
Since he went over on his back, he tore up the back of his coat.
As we (VERY CAREFULLY) walked down the staircase to join him at the bottom of Bob’s Cliff — hey, it needed a name — we couldn’t help but laugh at the sign we saw.
When we got to the bottom, we got to see just how tall Bob’s Cliff was.
It looked to be about ten feet tall.
For posterity’s sake, I had to get a better shot of the rock he dislodged.
See that dark spot just to the right of his head? That’s where the rock used to be.
Oh, and I haven’t even mentioned the best part: you may have noticed that he’s holding a very nice camera in his left hand. He had that in his left hand when he slid over the edge. Do you know how much damage the camera suffered? None. He told us that when he was sliding down the hill, he was thinking that he had to protect the camera. Somehow he managed to do that and escape injury himself.
So yeah. My dad fell headfirst down a ten-foot dropoff…and brought a chunk of rock down with him…and walked away unharmed beyond a couple minor bruises. Sandia Crest: 0. Bob: 1.
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As the end of the day approached, our jaws dropped when we looked at the sky. The sunset was…I mean, it was so…well, just look at the pictures. Just look.
The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of His hands. My, oh my, do they ever.
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Check back soon for the next — and last — Albuquerque post. It’ll have bricks and flags and Lobos and a bear! You won’t want to miss it.
