In the 1960s my grandfather owned "The Bluebird of Paradise Hotel" in Albuquerque, New Mexico. It was a big adventure to take a road trip to the Big A to visit family for Christmas. For the 350 miles to and 350 miles back I sat in the backseat of our green 1958 Oldsmobile with my face pressed to the window looking as the landscape passed by. One particular trip we took US 60 through Fort Sumner where Billy the Kid was killed. You'd think that would be the big memory but it isn't. What I remember most are the ranch roads veering off the highway. The ranches were huge and spaced far apart. My child's imagination would veer off the highway and onto the ranch roads with each one we passed. I remember wondering about the cowboys who lived on the ranches, did they really break the wild mustangs and were they glad to be going home?
I am currently working on the Llano Estacado Project where I am going back to the places I remember from my childhood and youth on the Great Plains and photographing. In 2013, I took HWY 60 back to Denver City. I stopped and visited the grave of Billy the Kid. What I enjoyed most was looking at the ranch roads and imagining the people who were taking the road home.