Aliens Above, Caverns Below

 

Chapter 109: Roswell, We Believe (and Also Laundry)

Crossing into New Mexico felt momentous, even if our first official stop was the Roswell welcome sign sitting awkwardly by a lonely stretch of highway, heavily graffitied and wildly underwhelming. Still, the sky was that blinding Georgia O’Keeffe blue, and just like that, New Mexico felt real.



We dove straight into downtown to visit the International UFO Museum and Research Center, which turned out to be far more charming than expected. It’s small, dated, privately run, and completely committed to the 1947 Roswell incident. Flying saucers, government retractions, binders upon binders of UFO sightings—honestly, it felt like the birthplace of America’s conspiracy theory hobby.

I found myself surprisingly reflective. Younger me loved a neat, black-and-white worldview and rolled my eyes hard at conspiracy theorists. Older me… well, older me has read enough history (and enough New York Times investigative pieces) to know governments absolutely do lie, often spectacularly. I still think plenty of theories are nonsense, but Roswell felt less about aliens and more about humans grappling with mystery, distrust, and the unknown. Also, every alien in the museum was wearing a Santa hat, which really took the edge off existential dread.



Right outside, beneath the mural that proudly declared “Roswell… We Believe!”, a pigeon promptly pooped on Nelson’s head. Perfect timing. Instead of buying a lottery ticket, we went back inside so he could clean up, giving me a bonus lap with the exhibits.

Downtown Roswell itself was… bleak. Empty storefronts, closed shops, very few tourists. The town leans hard into its alien identity: alien statues, alien signs, alien everything—and it’s honestly adorable, even if it feels like a place slowly slipping toward ghost-town status.



Our campground, though, redeemed the day. Set beside farmland, it came with a sunset gift: hundreds of Sandhill crane lifting off and flying toward Bitter Lake. We sat in camp chairs, stunned and silent, watching them take to the sky. Dinner from Antigua was eaten between laundry loads, and by nightfall the van was fully prepped for the road. Roswell wasn’t the UFO Disneyland I imagined, but it gave us cranes, clean clothes, and a pigeon-blessed husband... honestly, not bad.




Chapter 110: Christmas Eve, 750 Feet Underground

Christmas Eve felt like the perfect day to disappear beneath the earth. We arrived at Carlsbad Caverns National Park buzzing with anticipation. It’s surreal how ordinary the landscape looks above ground, knowing one of the largest cave chambers in North America is hiding underneath.



The “natural entrance” turned out not to be a terrifying hole but a beautifully engineered switchback ramp descending 750 feet into darkness. As the light faded, the cave revealed its scale... vast, damp, and quietly intimidating. We weren’t in bat season, but it wasn’t hard to imagine thousands pouring out at dusk.



The Big Room was astonishing. It’s so massive it barely feels like a cave at all, complete with trail intersections and actual road signs. I loved that we could wander freely, setting our own pace. I loved it less when children with flashlights used my face as a reflective surface. Crowds and I are no longer friends.



Two hours underground flew by. Elevators whisked us back up, another first for me in cave exploration, complete with underground restrooms and a concession stand. I emerged hungry, awestruck, and sporting aggressively fuzzy cave hair. Totally worth it.



Chapter 111: Silent Night, Flamingo Chaos

We spent Christmas Eve at Sunset Reef Campground, a free BLM campground built by an oil company, which felt both generous and deeply ironic given the surrounding derricks. The sites were level, shaded, and well-kept... but free comes with its own price.



Behind us camped a group with multiple cars and seven dogs. One woman spent hours yelling “COME BACK HERE” without moving an inch. The dogs, wisely, ignored her. A curious chihuahua wandered close to our van, clearly interested in upgrading its living situation, before being reluctantly recalled.

We stayed tucked inside, where Christmas Eve unfolded quietly and perfectly weird. Nelson opened his gift - Trailer Park Wars, and the “silent night” dissolved into snorting laughter as we aggressively managed imaginary trailer parks, battled disasters, and hoarded tiny pink flamingos. The game, deceptively board-less, somehow required all available van space.



It was an unconventional Christmas Eve: underground wonders by day, flamingo-fueled chaos by night, surrounded by desert silence and strange neighbors. Exhausted, amused, and deeply content, we drifted off knowing the road would pull us onward again in the morning.



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