Aliens Ate My Motorcycle: Things to Do in New Mexico When You’re Seeing a UFO

You could say I’ve been on the “UFO scene” ever since my fourth grade teacher Mrs. Madugle read Truman Bethurum’s “Aboard a Flying Saucer” to us kids every day, a cult classic in the “contactee” literature of the 1950s. It left one of those indelible impressions spinning around in my head.

Now here I was, years later, riding my motorcycle from Los Angeles to Roswell, New Mexico, a vortex of interest to UFO buffs, the place where in early July 1947 a flying saucer supposedly crashed and its occupants were killed. recovered, as the story goes. Of mythical proportions, the Roswell enigma remains a hotbed of controversy half a century later thanks to official obfuscation, as in the “cover-up” and the Freedom of Information Act whereby investigators have unearthed incriminating documentation.

Roswell could be said to be the Plymouth Rock for UFO investigators, though most of us Saucerheads aren’t crazy about UFOs. We’re the average traveler who rides motorcycles, writes freelance articles, has an advanced degree, and would rather spend time delving into paranormal mysteries than in the souvenir shops at Disneyland. We have our own Tomorrowland to explore where the stakes are cosmic and often comical. But that is the nature of the universe, a balance of the wild and wacky forces, the weak and the strong that bind all the quanta together.

As I zipped up my armored riding jacket and donned my full-face helmet, I was actually more concerned that the forces holding my 20-year-old German motorcycle together would prevail. It was in first gear and puffs of gray smoke from the left cylinder exhaust meant ring work, but the trusty old BMW R100/7 had put in 150,000 miles, so what was a couple of thousand more compared to light years? of adventures lurking around the road? next hairpin bend.

To cut to the chase, let’s write off the in-between space between Los Angeles and my stopover in Santa Fe as a wasted-time experience, a bunch of boring freeway pavement during which one might meld the mindset for the project at hand. Since I had little time for this adventure, I took the semi-direct route from Los Angeles first to Santa Fe, about 860 miles from Los Angeles, then to Roswell, about 200 miles south. If you want to skip Santa Fe entirely and do the 970 straight miles from Los Angeles, just take 1-10 East and continue for 674.90 miles, connect to US-70E which becomes US-285 S. Left on the NM-2, another left on NM-2 and you’re done. Of course, you may want to stop and smell the cactus from time to time.

With no mechanical mishaps or speeding tickets, my trusty Beemer and I arrived in Santa Fe, also known as the “City of Santa Fe.” Founded in 1607 and home to 200 art galleries and five museums, the city is a sandstone, piñon, and cactus clad nexus co-constructed by three cultures: the Native Americans who arrived first, the Spanish who arrived later, and lastly, the Indians. Anglo-Saxons who ended up owning the place. My first impression was that Santa Fe was designed by Barney Rubble thanks to the ground-hugging houses with their hand-molded asymmetrical rounded look. Everything is represented in the tones of the desert that surrounds it… breccia browns, gecko grays, tumbleweed tans… an entire city silenced in zero landscape and ecological invisibility. What keeps it on the map are the intensely colored supernovae that peak through the adobe cloaking device. They can be seen in the historic plaza district, specifically at the shopping stalls situated under the portico of the Palacio de los Gobernadores where local indigenous people gather to sell their brilliantly polished silver jewelry and rainbow-woven tapestries and clothing. Also, huge strands of dried red chillies like mummified kelp forests hang everywhere. The shamanistic talismans of Santa Fe weave a spicy spell as everything you order to eat seems to come with hot sauce.

I felt a growl and it wasn’t coming from any secret US Air Force/Alien underground facility, although one is alleged to exist in the area. I was hungry, and something drew me to the huge, hand-carved wooden doors of the Inn of the Anasazi (113 Washington Ave., 505-988-3030). The hotel’s 59 guest rooms feature gas fireplaces, canopy beds, Indian artwork, and even organic toiletries created locally with native cedar extract. Artists, historians and archaeologists host fireside chats in the inn’s living room. Call it a microcosm of the best Santa Fe has to offer under a roof built of beams and lath. The Inn was named after the Native Americans who had built a thriving culture on the nearby cliffs of Chaco Canyon and then suddenly disappeared without a trace six hundred years ago. Yes, the petroglyphs and cave drawings in the area depict strange creatures with helmets on their heads. Alien UFOs or bikers? Science had no answers, but the hotel’s fine dining restaurant did…its special lamb prepared by Chef Randall Warder and complemented by a stellar wine list.

To burn off some of the calories, I signed up for a little excursion that I learned about from the plethora of brochures I found in the hotel. (Brochures and checking the yellow pages of the local phone book is often my first reconnaissance maneuver when entering uncharted territory.) and interdimensional warps and UFOs. What the hell, after a big dinner I needed to walk.

For a few dollars, tour organizers promised “a haunting experience in Santa Fe’s misty past… life (and death) among coyotes, witches, ghosts, and the not-quite-dead.” Led by Santa Fe ghost guide Peter Sinclaire (505-988-2774), I and my fellow ghost seekers met at the palatial Eldorado Hotel at the intersection of San Francisco and Sandoval for a two-hour bipedal exploration of the haunts. haunted houses of Santa Fe. It’s a great way to see Santa Fe, a sort of Ghost Busters Meets the Travel Channel.

Santa Fe also likes to dig up the bones of the past, and so do I. But I like to browse fossil and mineral stores for UFO-related items. You never know when a piece of the Roswell crash will turn up, right? There were no saucer scraps, but there was a great deal of dinosaur eggshells at the Charlie “Have Rocks Will Travel” Snell store located at 1110 Calle La Resolana.

Before I wasted all my money on eggs I couldn’t eat, I tossed my backpack on my bike and aimed my headlight at Roswell, about 175 miles south of Santa Fe. State Road 285 is a perfect place to get kidnapped. It is virtually devoid of traffic with nothing but brush and nothing open for hundreds of miles in all directions. It’s best ridden at night if you want a close encounter of the fourth kind, but better done during the day if you’d rather not run into the pronghorn antelope you see everywhere. Antelope and motorcycles do not mix well.

I hit the gas and headed back down the 285, and lo and behold, I soon found myself entering the Roswell city limits. It came in the form of a giant trampoline painted with the face of a gray alien… big head, bigger eyes… stuck to the front of a large Wal-Mart department store. Inside my head, something whispered that UFOs had been commercialized. It was no big secret that Roswell was on the international map due to the 1947 incident and the city’s subsequent full embrace of the idea. If there is a place that deserves the title of “UFOville”, then it is Roswell. From Wal-Mart to Arby’s drive-thru sandwiches to the International UFO Museum and Research Institute, Roswell was 100% Flying Saucer Central. I loved the place at first sight.

I checked into the “inexpensive” Crane Motel, one of those “bring your own ice bucket” places. You can not lose this. There is an odd assortment of old junk cars with flat tires taking root in the ground. , an old ploy to convince people that the place has guests. Or maybe the guests never left. One Plymouth had a faded “Vote Nixon” bumper sticker. In any case, I spent most of the next two days living in the Roswell International UFO. Museum. You could easily spend a month if you are interested in the subject. The exhibits cover the Roswell crash or crashes as other witnesses have come forward with another crash site some 58 miles from Roswell. You can view the video made by the late Jim Ragsdale a few days before his death. He recounts the details of his encounter with a crashed disc that flew over his truck in which he and his girlfriend were “naked” at the time. You can buy a copy of the tape or the book. Judge for yourself, but quite convincing.

Dozens of other UFO-related books and videos are available, some of the more than 1,000 items stocked in the museum’s gift shop, a day of exploration in itself. I bought a driver’s license from Alien New Mexico which I think will get me into most of the bars in town. I also bought a Roswell commemorative rug and a museum membership. I spoke with the lovely Mrs. Phyllis Blackard, one of the museum’s volunteers (admission is free!) who as a child was present in Roswell when everything fell from the sky. “I was here when the military came pouring in, and I know Glenn Dennis, the undertaker who saw the little alien bodies. You can take his word for it.”

Located at 114 N. Main, the museum has had more than 1,000,000 visitors. Exhibits follow the timeline of the July 1947 incident and its aftermath, display alleged alien ship fragments, and also highlight the crop circle mystery and other associated themes. Documents and photos line the walls as do various artists’ renderings of UFO scenes. There is even a section with UFO humor, cartoons, etc., as well as two video projection rooms where you can watch documentaries. You can also have your photo taken in front of an “alien autopsy” scene that features props from the movie “Roswell” starring Martin Sheen. Bulletin boards post the latest reports from around the world, and if you’d like to take a tour of the Roswell UFO crash site, you can call (505) 622-0628.

While he wished he could stay in Roswell during the extravagant annual UFO-themed Fourth of July celebration, of course, he had to get back to Los Angeles and work. But he occasionally looked up, always responding to the ufologist’s mantra… “Watch the skies.”