Put on your cowboy hat and working pair of boots to celebrate the Old West's restaurant on the range--the chuckwagon. Betcha there will be no microwave ovens in the infield of the Ruidoso Downs Race Track on New Mexico Highway 70 where 40 cowboy cookin' teams will compete over open fires for a large purse for their beef, beans, potatoes, biscuit and dessert creations. Judges points are swayed by authenticity. This competition is the hottest in the West.

What hath Bacchus wrought? Drive down to 4201 Highway 28 at La Union, New Mexico and you'll find out. Twice a year vintners Ken and Denise Stark stage their festivals at La Viña Winery - the April Jazz Festival and the October Wine Festival. Both times of year are delightfully sunny and warm in Southern New Mexico.

Anyone who was born on February 29 must definitely feel cheated out of having a regular birthday party on their special day. One person, living in the two-state city of Anthony, NM/TX, did something about it. And in doing so brought a special tourist attraction to her home town. In 1988, Mary Ann Brown, a 1932 Leap Year Baby, formed the Worldwide Leap Year Birthday Club. She took her idea to the Anthony Chamber of Commerce and proposed her city claim the title "Leap Year Capital of the World." The Chamber followed through and sponsored a festival to celebrate this unusual date. The then-Governors Garrey Carruthers, New Mexico, and William B. Clemens, Texas, joined in proclaiming that title for Anthony. Senator Pete Domenici of New Mexico read it into the Congressional Record on October 14, 1988.

You'll not find prigs at the annual Las Cruces Renaissance Craftfaire this November, but you'll find plenty of good, clean fun. Perhaps a few jugglers, a few mimes, a few armored knights engaged in combat, surely a few jesters. But no prigs. You'll probably encounter a wench hawking flowers or cookies in her best Eliza Doolittle accent, "Hey, lye-dee. Buy a cookie frum a poor gel. Just 50 cents. 'Taint much tapie."

Each year the Food Network showcases the World's Richest Chuckwagon Cook-off in Ruidoso, New Mexico. It is a wonderful program that captures the nostalgia and culinary excitement of the Chuckwagon Cook-off and each year we here at SouthernNewMexico.com get flooded with viewers searching for more information. This year, I'm being proactive. I'm bringing the information to you.

We're coming over the rise and now see the Mile 9 marker. My back hurts, my feet hurt. Weather's cool, thank God. My girlfriend Georgia is in front of me. Two guys in BDU's and wearing rucksacks trudge past me and say "Hi", then move on down the trail. I plod past the 9-mile marker...only 15 more miles to go. Boy, I hope I make it.

This whole wretched saga began when I read an article in Men's Health about a hike held in memory of the men who lived and died during the Bataan Death March during World War II. Of the 70,000 American and Filipino soldiers who surrendered, 16,000 men died in the hands of ruthless Japanese soldiers as they were mercilessly marched 63 miles through the Philippine jungles. If you stumbled or fell, you got a bullet or were beheaded. No mercy, no quarter given. Now White Sands Missile Range in Mew Mexico hosts an annual memorial march to give accolades to these POW's. Twenty-six-point-two miles through the desert - military and civilians invited. Starts at 6:00AM and ends when you cross the finish line or die. And don't stray off the trail; unexploded ordinance "may cause problems."

I had considered going on the Bataan Memorial Death March several times, but always had a reason not to go; had to work, the truck wasn't running well, the moon wasn't in the proper phase, etc, etc. I'd tell people I was training for the hike, but deep down I figured I'd never really go.

Then I met Georgia.

We had gone out several times, then one day I mentioned the Death March. I said I was training for it, but couldn't go because of (whatever the daily excuse was). Then she said, "We should go! We have six months to train for it!"

We?

I stuttered some lame excuse, and she said, "C'mon, be a man! We can do it!" I groaned, looked up to heaven, and said, "Nice one, God."

So the serious training began. Weights, treadmill, hiking, equipment purchases. Research. Attitude adjustments. Hell, I'm 54-years-old, and she's 47. Sure, we're both in good shape for our age, but I can feel arthritis knocking at the door. I've already retired once (from the military), and have 3 grand kids...heck, I should be driving around in a big old RV and going to AARP meetings. But Nooooo; here I am in the New Mexican desert going eye-to-eye with every insecurity I've spent my whole life trying to ignore.

So the morning of the march Georgia and I got up at 2:00 AM (or, in military parlance, "o-dark-thirty"), and went to the local IHOP for breakfast. By 4:30 we're on base at the formation area. It was an interesting site. Large tents striped red and white, thousands of people milling around, everyone in a jovial mood, freezing my butt off...life didn't get better than this. Military from all branches were there, along with German and Canadian troops. There were young and old there. It was almost a carnival atmosphere, which also included the mandatory 20-person line in front of each porta-potty. Around 5:15, the opening ceremonies began with the color guard. Then the expected speech was given, which became somber as the names of 19 survivors of the original Bataan march were read off - those who had died since the previous year's memorial march. Then we all formed up at the starting line. At 6:00 AM the cannon went off, scaring the hell out of everyone. We were off! Over the loud speakers Toby Keith's "American Soldier" played, followed by Lee Greenwood's "Proud to be an American." As we left the starting line, several stooped old men in WWII uniforms were sitting in a golf cart, shaking hands with each hiker as they passed. Original Bataan survivors. As I shook each hand, each man looked me in the eye and said "Thank you". Only later, in pain, humbled and exhausted, would I realize what they meant.

Everything started off with a sense of levity. People were joking, clowning around and just having a grand old time. The sun rose a little higher. As the temperature warmed-up, I started seeing articles of clothing being tossed along the trailside...sweatshirts, jackets, socks, t-shirts, hats, something that looked like a thong. A thong?