Adventure: Returning Home

Like a light switch. Madrid to Dallas on Iberia. The air intake is broken, the machine to start the engines is broken, temperatures inside peak as we sit on the tarmac, over an hour late already. They open the doors while we wait for repairs. The screens die and need to be rebooted. I ponder eleven hours and fifteen minutes without mindless drivel, without The Equalizer 1, 2, or 3. People saddle up to their breaking point. But then we are off, and on a new route. Up north in a high arc, which will shave an hour off our total flight time. We just might make our final connection, and the crew never skips a beat. They are friendly, correct my Spanish when I say “digital,” instead of “di-hi-tal.” The food comes, and it’s real food. People talk to one another on the plane. Switch seats and help each other out. Not perfect, just different.

The transfer from anywhere else to America is jarring.

The airport is a slap in the face to the reality of being in America. Adults in dirty sweatpants scrolling mindless drivel. Seriously overweight people are everywhere, eating McDonald’s, then leaving their trash under their seats. Flight crews are pissed. Gate agents are pissed. Trams and trains are broken. One terminal change and two gate changes later, we find our final flight, which is delayed. Suddenly, it’s tomorrow, but we are no closer to home.

Landing in Albuquerque is a massive relief. We move quickly through the terminal to make the first shuttle bus, waiting to take us to “Plata,” our van. The driver has a long ponytail and shaved sides. He calls me “brother.” New Mexicans are used to struggle and strife, poverty, corruption, and cruelty, so the current events of today are just the latest in a long line of insults. The forgotten. So, when the president says the quiet part out loud, “I do not care about the financial situation of Americans,” folks here just shrug and say, “Tell us something we don’t know.”

Driving north, the road is eerily quiet. A Dodge Charger comes through at over a hundred. The smell of high-octane fuel lingers in the air and slips inside my window. The street lights are out. All of them. The highway is in near total darkness. Work crews emerge like ghosts from the shadows, fixing a road that didn’t need repair. If you don’t ask for the money and use it, you can’t ask for it again. Friends pad the coffers of other friends. Contracts are awarded.

Gasoline is $1.50 more than it was when I left. The highest I’ve seen in New Mexico. There is no wonder the road is quiet. I, too, will park my van and use the moto and the bike. Madness reigns at the national level. Pumping gas at the station, I notice the store is closed, no longer 24 hours. Gotta pay the staff, gotta find the staff. Seventy percent of home buyers are now off the market. Waiting to see just how bad things will get. Conventions are cancelled. Events are cancelled. Foreign corporations stay foreign, while the vile heads of tech cozy up to the con man. Maximize wealth at any cost. Enough is never enough. They don’t want us to live. We are not invited to the utopia.

And the supporters still support, even as they and their families sink deeper into the muck. Mouths just above the water line, spouting hate even as they take their last breath. Death is better than the other. We can’t look to anyone or anywhere else to place that ever-growing blame. Nope, not this time. We did this to ourselves. Epstein. There it is, running like a Google in the background. This will not go away because we know. Even the loyalists know something isn’t right. We will be old when they are finally brought to justice. Years from now, after the trials and indictments. The upcoming midterms can’t happen. They can’t. The stage has been set for denial. Venezuela, Iran, Fulton County. You have to admire the shrewdness. The entire team involved. Every agency. Get ready.

What a waste of time, people, and opportunity. And so much death for no reason. There was no plan. None. You don’t pressure tech to remove aerial footage of distant bases unless you have something to hide. You no longer even attempt to deny the crusade. Just how dumb we are to have ever allowed this to happen, even once, let alone twice. Setting us back decades. The rebuilding would take the rest of my lifetime, even if the damage ended today. And for what? So a handful of crooks could be a little more crooked? So a handful of adulterers could pretend they are holy?

Our trip was fantastic. One of the longest, most intense I’ve ever had, but overall it was more than we could have hoped for. So many people to thank, so many memories to store for future use. I love coming home. I do, but there is no denying a tectonic shift in what America now resembles. There is a darkness here, now, and there are storm clouds on the horizon. We can change the weather, but the powers that be want to unleash the storm upon us because it’s good for them. Just listen, they will tell you.