I’m approaching my 65th Birthday, which I perhaps mistakenly feel is a milestone people care about, or at least the government does. To prove I’m not dying, which also seems an important aspect of turning this old, I’m testing my physical limits and trying peyote for the first time.

Okay, I’m kidding about the peyote. I haven’t “done” that. At least not yet, but wonder if anyone reading this might have some peyote, as I’m not good at searching Claude for “where is there peyote” and such. Until I hear back from you, I’m just microdosing cannabis, which is fine but not nearly as sexy as “dropping” peyote.

Anyway, today I rode my bike a fairly 65th birthday testing distance north and eventually northwest out from my South Valley home to Corrales and then the middle of fucking nowhere Rio Rancho, which is to say pretty much all of Rio Rancho. What a weird, weird, fucking place. The place capitalism died but was already platted. Like a veritable cemetery of capitalism. Endearingly so, almost.

Thus I rode/walked my bike (damn, it’s sandy) to this “street corner” at Progress Blvd. and, uh, I don’t know what street because there aren’t signs for such nonexistent dirt, but platted, cross streets.

Seriously, I “rode” here today. What a fool! Being retired is great that way. More germane to my soon-to-be Medicare status and such is that I rode/walked to a “Boulevard” that was created/platted about the time I was born back in 1961. Or so history tells me. And over the 64+ years since, I’ve done a lot of shit, much of it ill-considered, while this intersection of Progress Blvd. and street underdetermined has continued to look like this.

So there’s that.

Happy adventures wherever you go, folks. The weird places especially. And let me know about the peyote. They don’t seem to have it as the 73,000 “dispensaries” scattered across the area. At least not yet.