Why take the gamble and head to Albuquerque?

 A look into New Mexico on state highway 522
Highway Hasman photo

Update: I have found a job and will begin on Oct. 13.

Getting up at 7:30 a.m. on a weekday feels good.

For years I got up at 6 a.m. or earlier when I worked as a journalist in Rock Springs and Gillette, Wyoming or at a job processing health claims outside Fort Worth, Texas.

It has been a couple of weeks since I resigned as a reporter with the Gillette News Record and things feel a little bit different.

That is natural, I suppose, as I am moving on to the next phase in life. Literally. With the gracious help of mother I headed south to New Mexico.

Here's the thing: No job has been lined up (I am trying), though at least I found a place. 

Some may think this is not the ideal time to make the 790-mile move from Gillette, Wyoming, to Albuquerque, New Mexico. But heading to the Land of Enchantment was a move that needed to be made. 

A long time coming

How everything will turn out in New Mexico is a mystery, but I decided to take a leap of faith and relocate to a place I wanted to move to about 15 years ago.

In the summer of 2005, I decided to leave the comforts of working a temp job during the day and watching I Love Lucy reruns at night and head west to a Route 66 festival in Tucumcari.

On the connecting flight from Dallas to Amarillo, Texas, I sat next to a bank president who gave me a tour of parts of Amarillo before taking me to the Greyhound station.

At the depot, I met a couple of people on their way west somewhere in search of something. One was headed from Springfield, Missouri, to Flagstaff, Arizona, while another person was going to Oregon.

Like me, they were searching for something out west.

Over the next couple of days I had a great time admiring the classic cars that lined up outside the Tucumcari Convention Center and met some interesting people including an old hippie who drove a 1972 Volkswagen minibus (pictured below) and drew great caricatures of Route 66 characters, the late Bob Waldmire.

The Pontiac Museum Complex in Pontiac, Illinois, features several items that belonged to Route 66 roadie Bob Waldmire.
Highway Hasman photo

Nonetheless, it was Albuquerque that piqued my interest. 

After leaving the bus depot in Duke City I felt something indescribable. Perhaps, it was the fresh scent of being in a new place.

Perhaps there was something else. 

I walked down Central Avenue, a post-1937 Route 66 alignment, and pictured going back in time to when cars with chrome and fins (think the iconic 1957 Chevrolet Bel Air) ruled the roost. 

But Albuquerque is more than just a place to get my kicks down 66.

The area was once the site of Native American pueblos. It housed a Harvey House, an oasis of comfort along the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Railroad.

With all the history I knew I was going to be back at some point.

After a few more visits over the years, I decided it was time to take the plunge. 

Kenny Rogers once said, "Every gambler knows that the secret to survivin' is knowin' what to throw away and knowin' what to keep."

I left a stable job to pursue a dream that hopefully will materialize as time goes on.

William Least Heat-Moon put it better than I could in "Blue Highways: A journey into America, "If a man can keep alert and imaginative, an error is a possibility, a chance at something new; to him, wandering and wondering are part of the same process, and he is most mistaken, most in error, whenever he quits exploring."