At first I imagined a small tree growing in a planter in the corner of the old red schoolhouse when Kevin told me there was a tree inside. "Why is that unusual?" I asked. "Lots of people put trees inside homes. "No," responded Kevin, "It's a big tree. They put a big tree inside the schoolhouse."

Faster and far more realistic would be a visit to Sunspot, located fifteen forested miles south of Cloudcroft, New Mexico, nestled between lovely tall pines and perched at the edge of Sacramento Peak. Here the National Solar Observatory's numerous telescopes bring the sun's activity to the human eye for study and observation.

At first site, Oliver Lee Memorial State Park in southern New Mexico might seem merely a quiet, off-the-beaten-path, sun-backed stretch of the Chihuahuan Desert. The stillness of the landscape, the massive towering cliffs that form a Hollywood-like set backdrop to the Park, even the occasional, swirling dust clouds that meander through the mesquite and yucca desert might give one the impression of quiet permanence. However, a closer look reveals much more.

Dawn has yet to break when we first arrive at White Sands National Monument. It is bitterly cold, the gates won't open until seven, and we are unable to find somebody who can allow us to enter early. Nonetheless, the morning light will reveal the first sand dunes we've ever seen, and "magic hour" for photographers should not be wasted in a motel bed or at a late breakfast.

As seasoned science-fiction fans, Allison and I approached Alamogordo's Space Center with questions about liftoff velocity, orbital trajectories, and re-entry temperatures. Avid readers of Asimov and Arthur C. Clarke, our minds were open to ideas regarding black holes, red planets, and little green men. We were, after all, enroute to one of the bastions of twentieth-century science: the NASA space program. Years of watching televised liftoffs and landings had left me an expert. I'd even had a tour of Spar Aerospace, where one of my ham radio buddies worked.

The Mescalero Apache Indian Reservation headquarters is located in the town of Mescalero, on US 70 seventeen miles northeast of Tularosoa. Originally established on May 27, 1873 by Executive Order of President Ulysses S. Grant, the reservation was first located near Fort Stanton. The present reservation was established in 1883, covering 463,000 acres between the White and Sacramento mountains, all in Tribal Ownership status.

 

If you're one of those persons who always wonders "where does that road go," and who likes the wide-open spaces of New Mexico, including sparse traffic and two lane roads, then discovering these seven hamlets is a pleasant adventure. From Roswell, take U.S. 285 south to Artesia, then U.S. 82 west. Hope, 21 miles west of Artesia, was settled about 1884 and was known as Badgerville or Badger because the settlers lived in dugouts. When the post office was established in 1890 it was called Hope. There are differing legends about the origin of the name.

 

Eleven miles northeast of Alamogordo on U.S. 82 are the almost twin communities of High Rolls and Mountain Park. It is this part of the road that traverses several life zones after it leaves the Alamogordo area because it rises about forty-five hundred feet within sixteen miles. Before you reach High Rolls, there is a rest stop that provides a panoramic view to the west of White Sands and the Tularosa valley. Just east of this stop is the entrance to the only tunnel in New Mexico.

Although Tularosa derives its name from the Spanish word tule meaning reeds or cattails, City of Roses is much more appealing and conjures up the picturesque town that Tularosa is. Original settlers in the 1860s came from washed-out villages on the Rio Grande near Mesilla. Due to frequent raids by the Apaches from what is now the Mescalero/Apache Reservation, occupation was untenable and the site was abandoned.

Cloudcroft, at an elevation of 8,650 feet, population 750, draws its name from its height: It is one of the highest towns in New Mexico. In 1899 Charles B. Eddy built a branch line of the El Paso and Northeastern Railroad to Cloudcroft from Alamogordo. The Railroad built a lodge for its workers which was also used as a summer resort for El Pasoans. The village grew around The Lodge. It burned in 1919 but was rebuilt and is still open, complete with the ghost of Rebecca. The nine-hole Lodge golf course at 9,200 feet is the highest in the state. It is said golfers are warned not to feed the bears on the ninth green.

Prior to 1922, if you entered New Mexico via US 54 from El Paso (if that road existed then), Newman was the first outpost, located on the New Mexico/Texas state line. It was a railroad stop and trading post, named for L. E. Newman. He was a Texas real estate man who sold building sites here. The post office existed from 1906-1922. Originally the settlement was called Longhorn, then Hereford, then Newman. Very little came of the development, and the site was moved to El Paso County, Texas. One source says the post office closed in 1914. One wonders which report is correct. Archeologists believe it was the site of a prehistoric Indian pueblo.

If you arrive at Three Rivers Petroglyphs Site on a Friday, Saturday or Monday, you will be greeted by Bureau of Land Management volunteer Mr. Daniel Potter of Tularosa, New Mexico. Potter, several times retired from the normal working world and still active at age eighty-four, holds a wealth of knowledge accumulated while serving the public during the past six years at Three Rivers. Even more than his knowledge, you will remember Mr. Potter - his outgoing personality, friendly smile, firm handshake and eagerness to provide information of the puzzling prehistoric collection of Native American graffiti.

Alamogordo had its official beginning in June, 1898, when the El Paso and Northwestern Railroad, owned by Charles B. Eddy, reached the town. Mr. Eddy was very influential in the founding of Alamogordo. He planned a community with large wide thoroughfares and irrigation ditches lined with trees. The name of this community was derived from those trees. They were large cottonwoods and "Alamo Gordo" in Spanish translates to "fat cottonwood."

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?