Amanda Rae Was Here...

Somewhere in New Mexico between the gastronomic whirlwind in Santa Fe and pensive moments in Taos, Torrey and I breezed by this lot strewn with vintage junk on Route 285.

Not two seconds passed before we both chirped, at the same time, “Oh, we have to turn around!”

I parked before the closed gate and shut the engine off. Then we meandered through what turned out to be a plein-air GASOLINE MUSEUM strewn with rusted-out gas pumps in every model, size, and color; a cream colored Studebaker truck with old crusty gas milk cans (coincidence?); toolboxes, canisters, signage galore, even a red-and-white striped sock-hop-era trailer decorated with a sign advertising fresh Moonpies.

We were snapping ridiculous photos of each other yee-hawing on a rusty old tractor when we noticed that two hipster dudes had wandered over to do the same. Oh hi, don’t mind us...

Introductions were made. Why hallo, you’re from New Zealand? Musicians? Headed to Albuquerque? We were just there, for a film festival….

As it turns out, these strangers headed from Taos to Santa Fe were friends of the friends we had just seen in Albuquerque. And our paths just happened to cross at this bizarre graveyard of diesel ephemera.

Phone calls were made, sample CDs signed, and [REFRAIN] “It’s a small world after alllllll.”

Oh, and the icing on the coincidental cake? They, too, were cruising a white Jetta, a rental from California.