The Third Annual Pot Thief Signing Tour is underway. It was designed to be easier on my car, my wife, and my wallet because it’s a slim-downed version of the first two. Fewer signings, fewer days on the road. It’s not that I lack my former enthusiasm for the peculiarly American tradition of a traveling huckster. It is just that my daughter, son-in-law and grandson are moving to Valdosta this summer, and I want to be there to help. And because the Public Safety Writers Association has scheduled their annual Las Vegas conference in July rather than June, that whacked a week off the schedule. So I figured when life gives you lemons, make a martini straight up with a twist.
After three days getting to El Paso, we arose this morning for a leisurely forty-five minute drive to Las Cruces and the first signing at COAS only to discover a flat tire. The doughnut that passes for a spare tire was in the trunk under 300 pounds of book. After lifting the book boxes to get to the spare, I had to then find the jack, a task only slightly more difficult that Robert Langdon’s task of finding the Holy Grail in The Da Vinci Code. I showed up at the signing sweaty and greasy, but I sold enough books to pay for the hotel bill and the tire repair. So much for the “easier on my wallet” idea.
Tonight we are in Socorro where we dined at Sophie’s while listening to two elderly gentlemen playing guitars and singing a combination of ranchero ballads and Hank Thompson honky-tonk. They saw that Lai and I were enjoying the music and dedicated a round of “I Love you cause you’re you” to us. God bless New Mexico – there is nothing else like it.