RED KNIFE

WELCOME HOME, 05/13/2026 (license plate altered)

The car was like a knife. A forged intention telling me to drive or else. The power and precision of the gears unleashed instant joy. It charged straight up the mountain grades and ate the curves. Tapping the brakes hauled it gently down from speed. I’d never driven anything like a loaded 2004 Corvette—22 years old, for godssakes—and couldn’t believe how wide awake I felt behind the wheel. - JHF

IT’S BEEN A WHILE I KNOW, as if I’ve been in shock from current events and what I can control but haven’t. Nothing I wanted to say or do seemed worth the effort. I really could have died in Flagstaff, too. That I didn’t yet continued to devour every C5 Corvette¹ ad that blessed my screen was edifying. I still wanted one, a gift that yanked me off the worry train as long as I stayed uncommitted. Days turned into weeks and then I saw the Denver Craigslist post. You summoned me, now do the thing. The power of the Universe is not behind a paywall, even if the thing we ask for is so big it tests us when it comes.

🌞 Teaching Moment Interlude 😬

The day Kathy resigned her tenured college teaching job in April, ‘99 so we could move from Maryland to New Mexico, she asked me for the last time what I thought. I knew she was all in and supposedly me, too. By then my panic over taking the leap we’d talked about for years was all but insurmountable even as unseen forces carried us away. I lied and said okay. The rest is history. We had 22 more years together with astounding ups and downs and high adventures, an entire second lifetime crammed into frail human form. The only thing I did “wrong”—which isn’t true—was holding back. She always said she had no regrets. The only fear she ever showed was of the dementia (like her mother’s) that took her in the end, but smiling all the way.

What the hell, boys, it’s only a car.

It was the same model Corvette as the one I rejected in Lake Havasu City, Arizona, a “Magnetic Red” 2004 Corvette base coupe with a 350 horsepower 5.7 liter pushrod V-8, 6-speed manual transmission, power leather sport seats, all the options except the cursed magnetic shocks. Fewer miles, pampered all its life, and riding on new tires. Best of all, the seller (acting as agent for the owner) had his own classic car business, knew Corvettes from end to end, and radiated confidence. All I had to do was drive up to Arvada, CO (Denver metro area) and back in one day—about 600 miles—to see it and take a test drive.

ARVADA ROCKET, 05/04/2026

The stress was murder. I hadn’t been so nervous in a long time. After all-nighting myself into a double vision episode, I canceled the initial visit. My contact (Brett) texted that the car was waiting for me as soon as I could get there. I scheduled an appointment with my doctor to check me out but had no other symptoms and decided not to wait but head up to Arvada first, raising the tension level even more. Besides the fear of missing out, I’m capable of fatal buyer’s remorse.² The concerns were normal enough for me—money questions, no garage, lumpy dirt road, didn’t deserve it, blah-blah— but very suspect. I’d already shot down the unhappy C5 in Arizona and had my “little speech” prepared. The healthy through-line was that I was done with waffling and had a chance to prove it so I went.

I-25 to Denver was terrible that day, but I made it to Arvada only 90 minutes late and pulled into the driveway. Brett met me at the open garage door and waved me in to see the car:

“Oh man, it’s gorgeous!”

The instant I saw it, I wanted it. We took a 20-minute test drive on a neighborhood loop he uses. I didn’t push it over 40 mph but loved the car so much I hardly recognized myself. Never had I been behind the wheel of such a high-performance ride. The way it felt, all of-a-piece, visceral but precise, ready to lunge ahead… The deal was possible, too. I had the money and all I had to do was grab. Eighty-year-old me, empires on the brink, demons loose upon the land, no matter. I WANTED THIS AND THERE IT WAS, full stop. The clarity was stunning. We dickered in the car a while, he came down a thousand bucks, I shook his hand, ka-boom. Didn’t even check the oil or see if all the switches worked. May the rest of my days be just like this, I thought, handing Brett a check for the deposit, and hit the road for Taos.

SOUTHERN COLORADO, 05/08/2026

The dates are all a blur now but I went to my bank as soon as I could and wired the balance. Then all I had to do was get the thing and that required help. I might not have deserved it but a few days later plans fell into place. After a short delay for a sudden Colorado snowstorm, off we went.

🌺 Apology Interlude 🙄

A proud lady and her dog agreed to drive my truck up and back so I could rest and drive the Corvette home. It would have been nice to have her in the car with me because my first experience at highway speed was so exciting and I had no one to talk to. On the way up, however, I had not distinguished myself and nearly yelled her into jumping ship and hitch-hiking home, so she was happy driving solo on the way back. The principal imagined crime on the first leg of the trip was that she wasn’t going fast enough to get us both to Taos before the sun went down. This is not a person who gives a shit if a dozen would-be speeders clump up behind her, either, something I never allow because of course I’m perfect and scared of being rammed. Each of us is also a pro at pulling off and letting the bastards pass, but I was an utter ass. Look at that road, though. [ducks] And may I never sin again.

Susan and I arrived right on time (see above) and there it sat, gleaming in the sun. After I’d signed all the documents, I stood there looking at it, realized it actually belonged to me, and almost cried. This was epochal. My forebears would have killed my joy but none of them drew breath. Up until that very second, I’d never driven the Corvette alone.

The first thing we did was gas up at a shiny Shell station before we left suburbia. Five bucks a gallon and the comic relief was free. That’s where I learned the button to open the gas cap door is hidden inside the center console. Haha. There’s also a little flap that drops down to keep the nozzle from marring the finish on the fiberglass (so Corvette). I managed to scrape the rubber air dam under the nose while navigating a steep exit down to the street, but that’s to be expected now and then. It’s spring-loaded and replaceable. She low, you know.

Joking aside, this was a holy mission and peak experience all the way. The scenery along U.S. 285 southwest from Denver is stupendous and inspiring. America, by God. Miles of jagged, inaccessible snow-covered peaks above high mountain valleys. Beautiful horses, streams and trees, sunlight shining through the clouds. Even a rainbow. There was plenty of traffic but it was Friday and everyone was leaving town. That much I understood, but why do white men drive through paradise like hell?³ I kept a respectable distance behind the Dakota as we continued south to Alamosa where everybody disappeared and there was almost no one on the highway through the vastness and the dead volcanoes all the way to Taos. We gassed up the truck again in Alamosa, but the Corvette didn’t need any. I was averaging 28 mpg at that point and still had half a tank.

All this time I’d had no coffee. (There really wasn’t any place to put it, I discovered, but I’ll fix that.) In any case I didn’t need it. The thrill of driving was so deep it kept me wide awake, exactly as I’d hoped. I even liked the standard radio. It pulled in stations I’d never heard so far from civilization. The premium Bose speakers pumped out clean strong bass and brilliant highs. I didn’t try it out until just outside of Taos, which also kept me from obsessing over the dreaded quarter mile of pot-holed dirt road between the final patch of pavement and my house.

I’d been practicing maneuvering around the obstacles on that stretch for weeks whenever I went to town and thought I had it down, but by the time we got there it was nearly dark. My crazy Latino mountain man neighbor⁴ who nails antlers and dead birds to his fencepost was having a party or overnight guests—possibly both or boiling a bear—and there were vehicles parked in the road where I had planned to go. Nothing to do but brazen it out at walking speed. I oozed by in the twilight with the V-8 burbling quietly and made it home without a single scrape.

MORA COUNTY LINE, 05/15/2026

Leaving Taos County on NM 518 at around 8,000 feet, you can gaze way out onto the eastern plains (above) and imagine the comancheros making their way west loaded down with goods to trade for livestock and slaves with Comanche, Kiowa, and Apache raiders (you’ll appreciate the history, too).⁵ I shot the above scene on the way back from my first outing after transferring the title and getting that yellow plate. The view is different from previous years because of all the burn scars, but the route I took—NM 518 over the top of U.S. Hill, down the other side past the intersection with NM 75 along the Rio Pueblo to the Mora County line, continuing on 518 past Mora and on to Sapello—was a perfect way to see how it would handle miles of twisting curves and mountain grades.

The car weighs a tad over 3,200 pounds. Heading up the mountain, 350 horsepower flings it up and over fast in any gear you’re likely to be using. That was a nice surprise. (Officially, the V-8 revs to 6,000+ rpm for zero to 60 in 4.5 seconds and a 12-to-13 second quarter mile.) A C5 with the automatic would be a completely different car but maybe quicker in a drag race. What I like about the six speed manual gearbox is the ability to leave the car in whichever gear I need for torque and speed plus engine braking on the downgrades or dropping down to legal after passing. You can drive it like a motorcycle. Fifth and 6th are overdrive, so I often drove in 3rd for speeding up between the turns. What a great performance gear. I say this without having passed a single vehicle yet because there’s hardly any traffic here in the first place. The ride is smooth and well-damped. Curves are almost nothing in this thing. It hugs the road, stays mostly flat, and tries to throw me out of the seat but I won’t let it.

Don’t get the wrong idea. Simply learning the parameters here. I’ve been driving for 67 years with only two accidents I couldn’t drive away from, the last of which was over 30 years ago. Just a couple speeding tickets in all that time and a warning four years ago for making a rolling stop in Taos. That took some nerve on the rookie cop’s part. Every time I go to town, I see at least one driver blow off a stop sign. That’s what I told him, too—Anglo dude, red-haired with freckles and a little pudgy, maybe 21. I’ve been around. Now I have a car with an owner’s manual that says not to downshift into 4th at over 130 mph! Settling into the cockpit is like pulling on a muscle suit, if such a thing exists. The car and I are one. That alone adds up to serious fun, and when I climb out—carefully—I get to look at it.

Take care,

NM 94, 05/15/2026, a few miles north of Sapello (license plate altered)

1. C5 simply means “fifth generation” Corvette, 1997-2004.

2. My old man once had an all-girl squad of xeriscapers replace the irrigated lawn with native plants at the first home my parents bought in Tucson, then laid awake all night obsessing over whether that would impact the resale value until he had them take out the cacti and the palo verde trees and put it back the way it was! Double the expense, accomplish nothing, all because you’re off your feed. I know the territory.

3. Eco-colonialism lives, I guess.

4. He loves his wife and kids and dogs, no worries. Also, she’s the one who says he’s crazy! (I’ve seen them hugging in the garden.)

5. Unless there’s something wrong with you, you can’t live here for any length of time and not be sensitive to the centuries-long migrations, wars, and cultural turmoil that form the psychic background of human settlement in this place and still explain so many things you experience on a daily basis.