We departed Wednesday so that we could take our time on the road, and take our time we did! Wanting to cross some more State Capitol buildings off of our list, our first detour was up to Santa Fe, N.M.

Though I spent three and a half years in New Mexico, I never did see the Capitol. Now seemed like as good a time as any, and we were pretty excited to see the sights. So rich was our emotion that we were undeterred with the difficulty finding a parking spot. It’s tough enough parking a 39-foot RV, but add to that the PT Cruiser on the back, plus the tough geography and narrow roads, and you’ve got a genuine hassle.

We persevered, parked a couple of miles away and unloaded the PT, and made our way undaunted to see New Mexico’s magnificent Capitol building. (Disclaimer: If you are partial to New Mexico or sensitive about its architecture, please skip the next paragraph. My intent isn’t to offend anyone).

What a bust! (No, no, that’s not what I said about the statues. Bad joke). Before seeing this building, I would say definitively that Salem, Ore., took the prize as the most disappointing Capitol. No longer, as New Mexico shot straight up to the top of the heap.

Though I’m sure the intent was to create something that complemented the area and cultural style, I ain’t buying it! I want opulence, flair, marble glamour and domed glitz. I want old pictures of long-dead guys with big moustaches who never smiled, and I want statues. I want chandeliers, cool paintings, and stuff that looks like it cost us taxpayers more than it should. I want a building that says, “Lots of money spent here.” If you’re like me, skip New Mexico, as it will leave you flat. Bad contemporary photos from school projects, as well as tapestries, paintings, and art that wouldn’t be sold at Wal-Mart, and I just wasn’t “feeling it.” We sucked it up and got back on the road, but poor little Jason was traumatized by the wasted time, and just kept pouting once eastbound again.

You’d have thought that this definitely would have been enough New Mexico, but I was determined to sightsee. The entire time I was stationed in Clovis, at Cannon Air Force Base, I counted the days until I could leave. We had the lowest retention rate WORLDWIDE for the Air Force. I suppose much of that had to do with the area, as living around Clovis was quite a culture shock for anyone who grew up in a bigger town. So, for the first time in over 20 years I wanted to go BACK to Cannon!

It’s strange that I can’t remember things from weeks ago, but as we drove towards the base memories from 20-24 years ago popped into my head as clear as could be. It was obvious that much had changed around the base, but I really wanted to take a quick stroll around to further jog my memory. Apparently no one at the front gate watches ESPN. Also, Saturday isn’t the best time to get a tour of military bases. Even telling the guard that I was Ron Capps didn’t afford me entry, so I had to settle for taking a photo from the parking lot as we did a U-turn and headed out. Bummer. Sorry Ron.

Perhaps you’re wondering why it took us from Wednesday until Saturday to make it less than 1,100 miles. No, I wasn’t driving 45 miles per hour, nor was I pulling over to nap at each rest area (though it was tempting). Well, we did get some quality tourism in on the way to Cannon, including a stop at the Billy the Kid Gravesite and Museum. I feel kind of bad for the guy working the museum, as it looked like business wasn’t exactly booming. From the looks of the guest sign-in book, things were bleak. Jason seemed to enjoy himself, and we pumped some money into the museum coiffeurs with a nice little Sheriff hat for my boy. The story revolving around the Billy the Kid saga is perhaps far more interesting than William Bonney, the person. His headstone was twice stolen, and now is shackled to the ground and surrounded by a cage to prevent a third attempt. The house he was killed in sits on the former Fort Sumner (Fort Sumter is many miles east of there, and famous for entirely different reasons), and belonged to a Mr. Maxwell. So, Billy the Kid was killed IN Maxwell House, not BY Maxwell House. Just thought I’d make that distinction for you.

Back to lovely Clovis and my youth. Jenna and I drove into the town (about six miles from the base) so I could show her how pitiful my early 20s were. More memories, this time of cruising up and down the brick-covered Main Street and trying my best to look cool on my Yamaha FJ600 (I still have the bike). It sure didn’t seem like 20-plus years, and it was kind of surreal. A quick meal, and back on the road towards Amarillo, Texas. I had made this 100-mile trek multiple times during my service, as Lubbock and Amarillo really were the only places to go for concerts or any measureable excitement. Jenna fell asleep and didn’t miss a thing. You go through some of the smallest towns ever, and the only thing to break up the scenery is cattle. Lots of cattle, as in plenty of cows. They all looked rare to me, and I felt a twinge of guilt for eating a turkey sandwich for lunch when there was so much beef all over the place. I like that bumper sticker that reads, “If God hadn’t intended for man to eat cows, He wouldn’t have filled them with beef!”

Next stop: Oklahoma!