Nuevo Mexico

 

The first ever Whatisatuma? Guest Post has been submitted by the illustrious Jeff Page. Jeff is a man of mystery, intrigue and criminal genius. A nefarious super villain, Mr. Page has terrorized the innocent citizens of Memphis, TN for many years. The Tumas first encountered him in Kansas City, MO, where he moonlights as the manager of a friendly neighborhood Starbucks Coffee store. Mr. Page has the honorable distinction of being the very first person to visit us in Albuquerque, squeezing in a mere twenty-three and one half hours before Michael, Susan’s thirteen year old brother. We hope that you, dear reader, enjoy this special treat. And if you don’t, you should keep it to yourself – Mr. Page is a super villain, after all.

- Management

 

Don’t let the name fool you. It’s as New as the New Testament. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t cool. It’s actually quite a splendid little place. Albuquerque is formed like a big ole’ chuck of Deep Dish Pizza. The land is as flat as can be. It’s odd to be able to stand in one place and see the bulk of a town. During the day, the concrete and stone underneath is like living in a large brick oven. However, there are these brown, doughy peaks surrounding the area, most noticeably the Sandia Mountain range.

We hiked Sandia Peak yesterday, possibly the stupidest thing I’ve ever attempted. Sandia Peak should just be nicknamed “10,000 feet of pain”. It all started so innocently. My friend, Refe Tuma (yes, THE Refe Tuma) said (didn’t ask) “Ben and I are taking you up the mountain when you get in town.” The aforementioned Ben has the surname of Shaffer, and laughs at everything. Oddly enough, he shares his last name with a playwrite, Sir Peter Shaffer, who wrote a play called Amadeus in 1979, which the award-winning movie was based on. Mozart also had a maniacal laugh. But unlike the great Wolfgang, Ben’s laugh is infectious, though bordering on maniacal. Digressions. And we’re back. We stepped into the morning about an hour before the Southwestern sun did, packing our bags in haste, and cramming instant oatmeal down our throats. We took special care to apply sunscreen, take extra water, and pack the sandwiches that Refe’s wife, Susan, had made us the night before. And, along with Susan’s way-cool little brother Michael, we were off into the morning air. But first, another digression.
I am staying in the house of what has to be two of the coolest families on the planet. Ben, possibly the kindest guy I know, I’ve already mentioned. He will be an uncle to my children, I’ve decided. And his incredible wife Kristin, along with their two beautiful daughters, Paige and Jaime, have made sure that all of my needs have been met this week. It has been a true vacation. Kristin doesn’t even want me cleaning my own plates. If my wife and I are ever in an accident and can’t feed ourselves, I’m calling Kristin. If I can use the phone. Paige and Jaime met me at the airport and treated me like a long-lost friend, even though neither of them knew who I was. Then there’s the Tuma’s. Susan has been amazing, and actually watching her as a mother (instead of just hearing about it) has been a joy. Refe has been a friend since Septemberish, and I’m pretty sure that we have actually known each other for about 40 years, although neither of us can remember it. Addie is one of the most gorgeous children I’ve ever seen. She seriously makes me want to go to Gerber, just so I can mock all of the little children posing for baby food jars and let them know what they’re up against.

Back to the mountain. Beginning this trip, as with most endeavors, was not the problem. We actually started walking the La Luz Trail with quite a bit of energy, and set our eyes to the top of the mountain. After about an hour, my legs had stopped burning, and the oxygen began flowing. Feeling good. But then a phenomenon happened that I can only describe in this way: Have you ever been playing baseball, and the batter hits a ground ball in your direction, it’s coming right towards you, the out is inevitable, even the batter isn’t running hard, you’re envisioning the ball entering your glove and throwing the batter out, and at the last second the ball hits a rock that sends it careening into your nose, creating a pain that women in labor would envy? That’s Sandia Peak. What began as good-natured fun in the name of male-bonding and Yahweh-glorification dissolved into fervent laments and hard questions to the Creator above: “Why are you doing this to me?” Large mountain peaks that once seemed majestic took on the personality of malignant tumors that would in no way be defeated. I couldn’t take a step on the loose rocks and large boulders without envisioning my leg snapping in six places. That would’ve been justice; my legs weren’t obeying me at that point anyway, determined to make me suffer for what I was putting them through. Ahead of me was Michael, full of energy and one-third my age, reminding me that children should be in school, not gallivanting around in nature having “experiences” and “fellowship”. Formulas and pop-quizes are much more important. And then there was Refe and Ben, two former employees and the fore and aft of our party, respectively. I had thoughts of how much easier my life would be at this moment, if I had just fired both of them when I had the chance. I could continue with this gruel-fest, but you get the point.
At the end of our almost 8-mile, 3500-vertical-feet journey we sat on picnic tables and ate the last of the sandwiches that Susan had made for us. I looked at the smiling, satisfied faces of my friends around the table as we ate our communion meal of peppered-beef, turkey slices, and bottled water. And I knew that I was smiling too. Looking back over the peaks and valleys that we had just walked, there was an ownership of the mountain that we all shared. And I must admit, a certain satisfaction entered my heart that we had all completed this task, even as I grumbled along the way. We were surrounded by people who had taken the tram, the easy way up this mountain. But there was something about making the journey, horrible step by horrible step, that showed me the beauty of this monument in a more complete way. And in the end, I had no regrets.

But I might rather have eaten a Deep Dish Pizza.