Plane didn’t go bang.
It bounced into Albuquerque quite gently. It’s very brown here in White Rock (next town over from Los Alamos, of nuclear bomb-making fame). It’s not hot, but I’m thirsty. Saw Black Mesa from a distance on the drive from the airport to my sister’s house. The terrain is oddly familiar, in spite of my having never been here before. Must be all those Westerns I watched on Sunday afternoons when I was a kid. I keep expecting to see Clint galloping his horse in a cloud of dust down one of these dry, scrubby mountains.
Not part of the 100: The first shot is of our descent into Albuquerque. The second is Black Mesa, shot out the car window on Hwy. 502 toward Los Alamos.