Oh man, Rayado. There are some buildings there, but this is pretty much it. You never saw a quieter place. I’d live somewhere around there if I could—feels like a fine location to write a dozen novels. Maybe two dozen. We drove past this resting mule deer on the way back to Cimarron—hey, did I see what I thought I saw?—and I decided to go back and take a picture. For that, I had to let the car roll backwards down a hill about a hundred yards—my wife was great and didn’t say a thing—and the doe was still there in the shade. No, of course there wasn’t any traffic. I mean, like none. Zero. No one. Nothing. For some reason, this impresses me. The peacefulness is so damned thick, you want to keep your voice down. And to think Kit Carson lived here once! I’ll bet it wasn’t half as nice back then.
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