deming

I stayed the night in Deming, NM on Wednesday. Deming is in the middle of nowhere. Deming is such a small town that it uses several of its precious few billboards to advertise its annual duck races. That's right -- DUCK RACES. Now before you start daydreaming about mallards in jockey stripes and dastardly off-pond-betting scandals, stay with me here.

Deming has three exits on the I-10 corridor of western New Mexico. And it's quite evident that, in addition to the droves of people who undoubtedly plan thei rannual family vacations around the duck meets, the Deming town council decided to make the most of its three exits by taking advantage of saavy roadtrip consumers... like me. Therefore, the cheapest gas is at Exit 81. But all of the food is at Exit 82. And of the several dozen hotels the town offers (a night at the Tumbling Tumbleweed or the Stolen Stagecoach, anyone?), the cheapest are at Exit 85. I realized this evil sightseeing plot (or it would be, if there were anything to see in Deming other than a blue water tower), while driving home from Tucson yesterday and being forced to get off at every single exit in this nowhere-land town. And no matter what exit I used, I could not escape the duck billboards reminding me to come back fro the races.

I then spent the next seven hours in the car wishing I'd stopped in Las Cruces or Socorro instead, and wondering just what kind of kickback the ducks are getting in this plot... 'cause evidently there's something decorous about Deming that I'm too dumb to notice...