Guided by a cryptic note BJ finds in the boys’ Albuquerque
hotel room, he’s going to The Continental Divide Bar at Chesty Westy’s Truck
Stop just off Interstate 40. The Continental Divide is a fact of life, but both Chesty’s
Truck Stop and the Continental Divide Bar, an Eagle type gay establishment, are
figments of the writer’s imagination.
The Continental Divide of the Americas, or the Great
Divide, is the principal hydrological demarcation that separates the watershed draining
into the Pacific and Arctic Oceans from those draining into the Atlantic, the
Gulf of Mexico, and the Caribbean Sea. It begins at Cape Prince of Wales,
Alaska (which is the westernmost point on the mainland of the Americas, in case
you didn’t already know that) and zigzags south into Canada, crosses into the
United States in northwestern Montana to ride the Rockies through New Mexico
into Old Mexico, and continues into South America where it follows the Andes
and ultimately ends in southern Patagonia and Tierra del Fuego.
Our intrepid PI climbs steadily up Nine Mile Hill and
thence eastward to cross the Rio (River) Puerco (Pig), which is usually dry. He
passes through Laguna Pueblo, (KAWAIK in native Keresan) which has been
occupied continuously for at least 800 years. Laguna tradition has it they have
lived there for the last 2,000 years. The pueblo is actually made up of three
villages: Sky City or Old Acoma, a former stronghold atop an almost unreachable
mesa, Acomita, and McCarty’s. Laguna is Spanish for lake, so called because of
a lake on the pueblo.
I-40 then skirts Cubero, an old trading post and passes
south of 11,305-foot Mt. Taylor, the highest point in the San Mateo (St.
Matthew) Mountains. This is one of four peaks sacred to the Navajo, who call it
Tsoodzil, or Turquoise Mountain. Born
in volcanic violence eons and eons ago, scientists speculate the peak once
stood 16,000 to 18,000 feet tall before a series of Mt. St. Helens-type
explosions reduced it to its present picayune size.
BJ then drives through Grants, the County Seat of Cibola
County, a town of about 9,000 souls. It was born as a railroad camp in 1880
when three Canadian brothers named Grant landed a contract to build a section
of railroad. It was originally called Grant’s Camp, then Grants Station, and
finally just Grants. In the 1980s it was dubbed the Uranium Capital of the
World.
Seven miles beyond Grants, BJ’s Chevy Impala skirts the
long-abandoned hamlet of Bluewater, now marked by empty hulk of the Bluewater
Motel. At Prewitt, he might have detoured to nearby Bluewater Lake State Park
had he been interested in doing so. Shortly before reaching Thoreau (pronounced
“Thru-ru” by locals) and its Navajo Co-op Store, he arrives at his destination…Chesty
Westy’s.
BJ lunches on excellent home-made Southern-fried chicken
in Tia Maria’s Diner at the truck stop before crossing the arroyo to the huge
gay bar known as the Continental Divide Bar. There he meets the manager, a
mountainous black man named Sweetie, who looks like a bearded Old Testament
patriarch in over-sized bib overalls. Sweetie tells BJ he doesn’t belong in the
bar because he has a waistline; the Continental is a bear place. But BJ learns
the two California men had been there. People remembered them because they had danced
in their skivvies to the enjoyment of the crowd. The two young men had left the
next day badly hung-over and nursing paper cuts in private places from all the
money the bears stuffed down their briefs in appreciation of their inexpert yet
enthusiastic performance.
Then the case turns slightly ominous when BJ learns
someone else has been asking about the two men. Or was it merely a case of
curiosity about the bright orange Porsche Boxter that Lando Alfano drives?
Next week: More from
THE BISTI BUSINESS.
New posts are
published at 6:00 a.m. each Thursday.
Interesting info--especially about how Grants got its name, which I'd kind of wondered about. The "s" on the end also distinguishes it from Grant County. Too bad the town of Bernalillo (in Sandoval County) doesn't have an add-on to distinguish it from Bernalillo County (where the city of Albuquerque is located). Did people run out of names or something?
ReplyDeleteThe people probably ran out of heroes beorfe all their name places were established. Aprops of nothing, years ago when I was a banker, on a trip to Mexico, I learned most bankers were accorded the honorific "Don." Guess who instantly became Don Don.
ReplyDelete