Valley of fires
Still trending northward, I got off I-25 and headed northeast on Highway 380, where I landed with a splat at the Valley of Fires Recreation Area, which the BLM runs. I made this detour off of I-25 for a few reasons.
Reason number one is... It gives me a different area to look at as I travel.
Reason number two: I avoid the traffic hassles of driving through the middle of Albuquerque.
And reason number three is... I wanted to.
So here I am firmly encamped on the bleeding edge of an ancient lava flow, frozen in time and supposedly no longer a danger to tourists like yours truly, even though I don't know how anyone can predict if or when the volcano will wake up and do that voodoo that it do so well.
Can the BLM, a bunch of overpaid government employees, guarantee that this volcano is not going to pop off again, except this time, erupt like Mount Vesuvius and turn the campground into a modern Pompeii, where a thousand years from now, archaeologists will be digging through the volcanic ash and find an effigy of me standing next to the camper with a "work for food" sign in my hand? I think not.
So, keeping that in mind, I won't be here for long—one night, maybe two—but before the volcano blows its top yet again, I plan on being far enough away that the eruption will have little to no effect on me. And since camping at the Valley of Fires is $12 a night, I can't afford to stay here for a thousand years.
Theboondork
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Rain showers dance across the horizon heading in my direction.
It started raining on me about an hour after I got to the Valley of Fires and settled into my boondocking spot.
Some of the mountains that form this valley.