Mescalero, New Mexico, 24 degrees F

The desert suddenly jumped back and yielded a pine forest on rolling hills, tiny hodge-podge buildings awakening with morning activities. The ground was drizzled here and there with dollops of white frosting that did not register as snow for many miles. As each town passed the car windows, the desert returned until we reached the land of the Mescalero Indian. Here, the forest snapped around the car like a rubber band and the road complicity transformed into a winding mountain journey. Small cement restraining walls lined the road covered in authentic Indian grafitti. The town was made of similar mix-matched buildings, with the notable detail of having not one single example of a chain store-- grocery, gas, clothing, or otherwise.

We pulled over here for a break and the ground crunched like snow-- this is what it means when earth is frozen solid.