I’ve seen and done some pretty astounding things since I launched my Goodwill Tour 2015, but the most amazing happened last night in Alamagordo, New Mexico – I lost one of my shoes.

Now, I know what you’re thinking – “Uhm, Tommy…that’s not all that amazing, I lose one of my shoes ALL the time.”

Yes, well, dear friend, me too. But, this time was different. I lost one of my shoes while in the “living” area of the EM-50 Phantom Rambler, whose cubic capacity is roughly equivalent to my volume. There isn’t much room for something to get lost.

I found the shoe after only 10 minutes. I didn’t even panic. I was too busy being amazed that I could do that.

I did panic yesterday when I lost my wallet. In the 15 minutes that it took me to find it, I had gone through 6 of the 7 stages of grief (I always skip GUILT and go right to anger).

When, I finally did locate it, I then had to go through it all again for my celly…and then my keys.

I hadn’t planned on being in New Mexico yet, but that’s another story. While here I might as well put my thing down – you know, see the sights and sites.

I checked my GPS, the nearest Planet Fitness was a lousy 185 miles away in Roswell. I’ve been to Roswell. Hell, I was there in August with Trixie. I motored.

It turns out that the Planet Fitness is more of a Plan It Fitness – they are just signing up the soon-to-be resolute clientele in time for the New Year, and haven’t actually opened yet.  Drat!

Here’s the thing, if a UFO hadn’t crashed in Roswell in 1947 then there wouldn’t be much to it. It is out in the middle of nowhere,  far from a water source. It’s previous claim to fame is that I’m pretty sure that the Roadrunner cartoons were drawn on location there.

However,  that wasn’t enough desolation for me. I wanted to be where no one in their right mind could provide a reason for living where they do. This took me to Fort Sumner, home of the Vixens (I’m not kidding. The high school mascot) and final resting place of New Mexico’s most famous resident, Henry McCarty. You know him as Billy the Kid. I don’t know where the William or the Bonney comes from, and, hell, I toured the museum and can’t actually tell you why it is he is actually famous.  Everything I thought I knew about him was dismissed as incorrect by the curators. They insist he wasn’t a gunfighter, or an outlaw…not really. I mean, sure he murdered a fella in a gunfight, but, hell, everybody did.

He was a something of a prominent figure in the Lincoln County War,  but, you’ve never even heard of that. Hell, there is a lot of wars you’ve never heard of. People are savages. Always fighting. Did you know Ohio went to war with Michigan over which one of them would get stuck with Akron? It’s true.

Yet, this kid from New Mexico (who is actually from New York if you can believe it) went on to become a household name that erroneously represents the lawlessness of the old west.

I stood over his grave (pic related)

They are taking no chances with headstone rustlers

and pondered life, death, the universe and uttered the only words that came to mind…

“Dust. Wind. Dude.”

I strolled over to one of Billy’s eternally-resting neighbors, to find that he was the largest landowner that ever lived or something. (pic related)

a map of that which he couldn’t take with him

A little further down, and in complete contrast, the grave of someone shot by Billy…

But, still, I was nagged by how well “remembered” Henry McCarty is.

Trixie’s buddy, Tolkien, said, “History becomes legend. Legend becomes myth.” But why this otherwise obscure character?

I decided it had to be the nickname. At some point in every young man’s life he tries to give himself the sobriquet, “The Kid”. It almost never takes. But, Billy the Kid had it first. We envy that and give him his due – immortality.

Dust. Wind. Dude. And, for a little while, rememberence.