Taos

Over the years the Santa Fe area has been a magical place for me. I have been there many times and every time something unexpected has presented itself.

The first time I visited, I lived in Boulder and was on a tour of Southern Colorado and New Mexico for the first time. My wife and I had camped at the Great Sand Dunes National Park on the west side of the continental divide in southern Colorado. It covers 30 square miles, and the dunes pile up into pyramidal shapes as high as 750 feet. It is unique in the world and awesome to visit.

The next morning we took route 160 through Trinidad to Durango, and then down to the pueblos of Mesa Verde for a gander. It is a fully developed tourist attraction, with everything under glass and behind ropes, understandable given how many folks visit in a year.  Not really my cup of tea, but fascinating nonetheless. There isn’t really anywhere to linger without commercial pressure, so we took off after a short tour.

Our quest for southwestern sights took us down route 491 to Shiprock, and then on State Highway 64 back east on our way to Taos. 

The high desert appears to be flat, and ringed by mountains  that suddenly jut into the sky. It's easy to become complacent and believe that you can see what is just ahead. The occasional low gully (arroyo) appears to be just an innocuous little dip in the road. We were driving blissfully along, basking in the bright sunshine and a thrilling feeling of freedom. Every now and then the trip was punctuated by the occasional gentle dip.

Off in the distance, maybe thirty miles to the West, there was a thunderhead building. It seemed to be rolling very slowly in our general direction, so far off that we didn't even consider it might have any effect on us.

I'm driving along at sixty miles an hour, having passed through Chama NM a ways back, when we come to another predictable dip in the road. Before I could do anything about it, I realized that there was a foot of water in the Arroyo in front of us. With no time to do anything, BAM we hit the water! We shot across the surface and found ourselves on the other side in the blink of an eye. As we rolled to a stop, I looked over at my wife, who seemed to be as pale and in shock as I was. 

I got out and inspected the car to see if there was any damage. Miraculously the engine was still idling, and I couldn't see any sign of the collision. Shaken, I put the car in gear and drove off. We drove to our roadside motel, and got there well after dark without incident.

Getting up the next morning, the weather had caught up to us as light rain and fog. The mood was bright with anticipation of spending a night in Taos. The incident from yesterday was but a dim memory.

We got about half way there, when the car suddenly died. We are in the middle of nowhere, but happened to stop right by a farmer's driveway. I approached the house, making sure that I announced myself well ahead of time. I'm assuming these guys don't get strange visitors out of the blue very often. 

A guy came out of a barn nearby, before I could even get to the house. He was young and very fit, wiry and muscular, looking like he could throw a bale of hay into a loft with very little effort. He seems a little wary and suspicious at first, then sees my wife standing by the car looking a little freaked out. He then visibly relaxed a bit and asked if there is something he can help us with.

 I explained that our car had died, and we are on our way to Taos. I ask “Would it be possible to use a phone, so we could call a tow truck and be on our way?” He gave me an appraising look and said “Let’s take a look at  your car before you get a tow truck involved.

He and I pushed the car off the side of the road, down a short inclined driveway, till we were closer to the house. We looked under the hood and he poked around a little, asking, “You have plenty of gas, right?” “Yep!" I replied, and he said “Okay, I’ll be right back.”

As soon as he turned around to head for the barn, an older woman with white hair came out of the house looking worried. I saw him reassure her that everything was fine, so she headed back into the house looking over her shoulder. I’m sure she ended up sitting by a window to keep an eye on us.

Looking at the powerful physique on him, I think “It’s okay grandma, if I try anything funny, he could just crush my head with one hand.”

A short time later, he came back with what I recognized as a battery tester/charger. In seconds he let us know the battery was completely dead. Since it’s not charging, the alternator must be shot.

Assuming we were stuck, and an hour away from our destination, I started to panic about what it was going to cost to get us to a garage.

Sensing my growing panic he said, “Don’t worry, we’ll put a quick charge on it. Then you will have plenty of juice to get where you’re going.  Just leave your lights and heater off, since that is what really uses up the juice.” I realized that since the incident we had driven with the lights on into the night, and had the heater running the whole time.

We sat in the car and ate snacks for the hour it took to get enough of a charge. I offered him some money for his trouble, but he wouldn’t take it and said “That’s okay, Just return the favor to someone else when you get a chance.”

It was an unsettling drive to Taos: fretting about whether we would make it, and what we would do when we got there, was nerve racking. I figured we would hit the first garage we could find.

It seemed like forever (really only a couple of hours), but we finally got to Taos and pulled into the first place we could find. It was an Amoco gas station with two older pumps out front, and a good sized garage. We pulled up to the pump and a kid came to see if we needed gas. “Sure,” I said, and went into the office. 

The guy inside looked a little stereotypically Navajo, broad shoulders, taller than I am, high cheekbones and square jaw. I explained our predicament, the arroyo encounter, and my theory about the alternator. He said “Give me an hour or so to look it over, and I’ll see what we can do.”

Our original plan was a two-night camping road trip. We would then get home on Sunday, and back to work on Monday. We had brought a gas credit card, but only enough cash for food, and maybe an entrance fee. I was in my early thirties and invincible: I mean for God's sake, I didn’t need to be over prepared for the unexpected. It had never been a problem before!

I had been looking forward to visiting Taos. Such a great place, so rustic, artsy, and uniquely Southwestern. The weather was midwinter cold and rainy, just above freezing. It never snowed during our visit; it stayed foggy, with the occasional drizzle. We were there in the 80’s when you could walk from one end to the other in 20 minutes. The central plaza was airy and comfortable, with boardwalks all around, and benches in front of all the shops.

We got back to the garage a couple of hours later, hoping for some good news of our impending departure. I was still optimistic that we might be able to get on our way quickly. I had worked in my dad's gas station and knew that an alternator took less than an hour to replace. 

While we waited for owner Bob, I kept my fingers crossed for good news.

Finally, he came up to us and said “The only alternator I can find for your Datsun is from a junkyard south of Denver. They can ship it, but the fastest they can get us one is late tomorrow. We don’t get many of those Jap cars around here, so parts are hard to find.”

Taos is a tourist town and renting a room, even in the off season, isn't cheap. The mechanic said he knew a guy who had a room that could be rented for half price. It wasn’t actually that cheap, definitely more than we could afford, but really the only option.

The door to the room was next to the service entrance behind the motel building and the dumpster was conveniently not far away. Inside was a simple bedroom, with complimentary broken glass in the shower. It was perfect for what we needed; dry where it should be, wet on demand, and warm all around.

The next day we were certainly not bored. We visited countless galleries: there are dozens of them just around the plaza. The general store was one of the biggest buildings in the square, full of custom designed “Indian” paraphernalia that the tourists ate up. The high end jewelry shops were incredible. 

After a while, we found ourselves sitting on a plaza bench watching the fog and drizzle. Observing the unmoving, blanket-shrouded older women across the way was a relief from the constant barrage of beauty and novelty. Every time we were near the plaza, the women had been sitting in the same spots, looking like small but warm enough monolithic teepees. 

We checked in with Bob a few times during the day, hoping for good news. Finally, just before closing, the part arrived! He said “Give me a couple of minutes and I will get you on the road."

Calculating that although we'd get in late, we'd still be able to get some sleep and make it to work the next day on time was a big relief. We hadn’t planned to be gone any longer than two nights: much more than that and the cats would be pissing on everything.

We were longing in the shade in our folding chairs by the garage when, sooner than I expected, Bob came back and said, “Sorry folks, you're not going anywhere, this alternator has a short also. It’s a piece of crap and won’t work, so we will have to get another one tomorrow.”

Oddly, I’m feeling mostly relieved at the news; I mean, how often is it that I get stranded, and have no choice but to hang around such a magical place? It’s off season, the weather is bad, and we mostly have the place to ourselves; what more could we ask for? 

Only one small problem: we can’t afford to stay at the hotel again, and have nowhere to sleep. We do have a tent, and think maybe Bob would let us sleep in the empty lot behind the garage for the night. We came prepared to camp after all, so that would be pretty easy.

He was ok with that. We set up camp, had a small fire, ate some beans and bread, talked for a while and got ready to bed down for the night. We drank some hot chocolate, smoked a joint, and were putting out the fire, when Bob showed up suddenly, drunk as a skunk. He was looking harried, a little pissed, and anxious. He said, “You can’t stay here tonight, so we are going to have to find some way to get you on the road."

I think what happened was that there was a house right next to the empty lot with some open windows. Smoking a joint was probably not the smartest thing to do. Having the smell of skunk weed invade your neighbor's house isn’t going to make any friends.

Despite being drunk on his ass, Bob had the sloppy grace of a man who can hold his liquor. His speech was only slightly slurred, and seemed confident in his wobbly gait. 

We packed up our camping gear and headed into the garage bay our car was in. Bob has the “new” used alternator on the bench and is prodding it with some kind of electric meter. After a bit he looks hopeful and says “This alternator has a short in it also, but I might be able to fix it.”

As he is putting the alternator back on the car he says, “I race stock cars for fun, and at the track we have a machine that uses hydraconic acid to repair short circuits in the electrical system of a car. They are pretty common on the track, because of how much punishment they take. Normally, the machine does all the work, but I think I can jerry-rig something that will work."

He pours some yellowish liquid into a paper cup, and says “Since there are two circuits we need to heal, each of you will act as a switch to connect the circuit. Under the car, I will connect the circuit in the cup of acid, and it will then flow through the wire. Where it is broken, copper from the wire will fill up the gap, healing the wire. It’s really pretty simple; the ions in the acid dissolve the copper so it can flow like a liquid and create a bridge." I had never heard of anything like this before, but if it works, who am I to question it?

There is only one thing we needed to do: make sure that neither of us were wearing any polyester or plastic clothing, only natural fibers would work. Because it carries a charge, even a small amount  of blended fabric would build up too much resistance and won’t work. Neither of us ever wore synthetic fabrics if we can help it, so we should have been good. 

Bob was going to fix my circuit first, so I was holding the wires together, kneeling on a 2X4 on the floor so I’m not grounded.  He was under the car with the paper cup and an uninsulated pair of pliers holding the wires together in the cup. Somehow he could tell when the acid was moving through a gap in the wire and was keeping us in the loop. “Ok, we just moved through a gap and are coming up on the alternator. It’s good we are doing this since that first short would have given you trouble, and it would have been impossible to find. Alright, we just moved through the alternator and… we are all done with your side!"

I breathed a sigh of relief; that only took a few minutes. We could be out of here in no time! My heart soared with anticipation.

Now it’s her turn to get her wires "healed". We get into position, and Bob hooks up the pliers and wire. Within a few seconds, I hear the pliers hit the floor, and he says “Come on!” and then doggedly tries again, and again. He can’t hold on to the pliers because they are getting so hot they start to burn him and he has to drop them. Each time he has to wait a bit for them to cool down enough to try again. 

To his credit he gave it a shot a half a dozen times and finally threw the pliers across the room, produced a colorful stream of profanity, got out from under the car and started to pace. This had been going on for over an hour by now and he is noticeably more sober.

Not looking forward to getting burned some more, he let us know that he was going to take a longer break, so that the wiring could cool off completely. While we were waiting, He asked my wife again “Are you certain you aren't wearing any synthetic fabric? Even a small fraction, even a blend of it in the fabric will produce too much resistance, interfere with the process, and get hot. If somehow I didn't have to drop the pliers, it would heat up enough to melt the insulation off the wire. Then you would be well and truly screwed.”

It's 2am in the morning and spirits are low. I'm feeling pretty hopeless that we are never going to get this fixed. He decides to give it another try, now that it has completely cooled off. We all get in position, waiting to start. I'm not taking any bets on getting this done tonight. 

In vain he tries three more times, each time dropping the pliers a little more loudly and swearing. finally he's had enough and pitched the pliers across the room hitting a toolbox with a loud bang. He got out from under the car and went into a back room for a while. Eventually he came out with a dress that looked like it could have been for a young girl's quinceanera, and handed it to my wife. He said “Take everything you have off, even your socks and underwear, then put this on. Maybe there is some thread we don’t know about, and I know for certain this is 100% cotton.” She went into the bathroom and took everything off including her underwear. When she came out of the bathroom, I had a hard time not breaking out into a laugh. The dress only came down to mid thigh, and looked ridiculous on her. She was an adult, tough woman who would never in a million years get caught wearing something so frilly and girly.

She doesn’t look happy but gives a shrug like “Well whatever it takes.” She then kneels down on the 4” by 4” next to the car, Making sure no part of her touches the ground. I'm holding my breath and bracing because if this doesn't work, then we will have to wait  two days for a replacement.

In 60 seconds it was fixed, and the relief is immense. I tell him we only have about 50 dollars left, and a gas card. I let him know that I'm willing to wait till morning to get some money wired to us if need be, and how grateful I am that he hung in there, despite his now blistering fingers. 

Without hesitation he said “You know I just want to get home and get you guys on the road, that's all that's all I want right now. Next time you come through, just bring me a few bottles of some kind of decent whiskey.” My wife let him know that she has an uncle who comes through the area about once a month,  and that she would make sure he delivers some whiskey. 

Back then Taos was actually pretty small, so in a short time we were out of town and heading up towards the Palo Flechado Pass over the mountain. My wife turns to me and says “ I think the dress was just a ploy so that he could see my naked crotch. You do know that with the drop light facing up to see the bottom of the engine, it was right in his face.” My first thought, which I didn't say, was “Well If that was what it took, it was a small price to pay for everything HE went through.” What I said was “It doesn't make sense that he would go through all of that for a little up skirt.” She blew a raspberry, didn’t say any more,  and I didn't press my case. Later I checked her underwear, and they were a polyester blend. I didn’t bring it up to her because, "what is the point?"

We arrived at home that morning with no further difficulties. My wife's uncle reported that he had delivered 3 bottles of good whiskey to our friend about a month later.  

A few years later  I went back to Taos to see if I could look him up. I was in for a little bit of shock. Where the garage had been, there were now 8 self-serve pumps and a little store to pay in.  Time had moved on.

The electrical system on that car had always been a little funny, but we never had any more electrical problems for as long as we owned it. 

As far as the hydraconic acid goes, I mentioned it to a guy who was a big enthusiast of racing, and owned his own cars. I asked him if he had ever heard of it. “Never heard of anything like that at the track, or anywhere else.”

The mechanic did say that the acid was very expensive and that the quarter cup he used would have cost $50. He also said that the machine that he normally used cost $75,000 dollars brand new. The one he and his buddies owned was used and only cost half as much, otherwise he couldn't have afforded it. So maybe it’s only used in Formula one racing or something where they won’t blink an eye at spending large amounts of money, especially if it will help them win. 

If I hadn't been there I might have thought that someone telling me this story was a crack-pot, healing electrical wires with acid is just a little far-fetched.