Springer’s Journey – The badland and the Birds

Today Cora and I rolled into Grants, New Mexico after about 310 miles. If you had told me a few months ago that I would casually type “310 miles” as if I had simply gone to the grocery store and back, I would have looked at you like you had escaped from somewhere with padded walls.

But here we are.

Crew status report:

Cora: Running beautifully.
Ferrari: Calm and vigilant.
Mayday Murphy: Still employed despite repeated performance concerns.
Maya: Quietly observing and silently judging us all.
Stick: Present. Silent as always.
Headquarters: Riding shotgun.

As for me?

Tired. Content. Proud.

I went for a little hike after arriving and wandered through what looked like a place where the earth itself once threw an absolute tantrum and then simply walked away.

Black lava rock stretched across the landscape in frozen waves. Plants somehow pushed up through cracks in stone because apparently life sees impossible situations and says:

“Challenge accepted.”

I stood there taking photographs and realized something.

My pictures are getting better.

Not because I suddenly became a professional photographer, but because I’m slowing down long enough to really see things.

The mountains.
The light.
The cactus.
The shapes.
The little details.

And maybe that’s happening in more places than photography.

A few oil checks ago I had one of my favorite moments of this journey so far.

The yellow oil light had come on and I had pulled into a roadside turnout to check things out. I climbed out of Cora and suddenly heard loud squawking overhead.

I looked up.

Two ravens.

Not fifteen feet above me.

Circling.

Checking out the situation.

Now I had previously been complaining that I hadn’t seen any crows or ravens lately.

Apparently they filed my complaint and sent representatives.

I looked up and said:

“NOW you show up. And no. We’re not dead or dying.”

I huffed my disgust.

They continued circling.

Because that’s what ravens do.

They’re curious. They investigate things.

And honestly?

They really were checking things out.

Tonight I sat here thinking about this journey and about trust.

About Cora carrying me over mountains.

About asking questions.

About checking maps.

About listening to people but still thinking things through.

Scientists bounce thoughts off each other. Travelers do too.

I don’t think confidence suddenly arrives one day wearing a superhero cape.

I think it sneaks in quietly.

One mile.
One oil check.
One raven encounter.
One lava field.
One day at a time.

And tonight, sitting in New Mexico, the entire crew unanimously agrees:

This has been one heck of a day.

(Polished with help from ChatGPT, who has apparently now been officially adopted by the entire crew.)