Albuquerque, New Mexico
Albuquerque Sports Stadium
Home of the Dukes
Pacific Coast League (AAA)
Date Attended: 1998
Albuquerque Sports Stadium
Home of the Dukes
Pacific Coast League (AAA)
Date Attended: 1998
Scott's View - Albuquerque, New Mexico
We visited Albuquerque the day after we'd hiked into the Grand Canyon and back out, a feat which, I'm ashamed to say, I barely was able to accomplish. I had deluded myself that I was in good enough shape to make the nine-mile hike with no problem. Well, the four and a half miles down was a piece of cake, anyway. But soon after we turned around to head back up, I knew I was in trouble. Shortness of breath, tired legs, sore feet -- I was a mess. I think that fear of the supreme embarrassment of having to be rescued by park rangers on mules was all that kept me going. But, by God, somehow I managed to drag myself out of that hole. And, as crazy as this may sound, I'm glad I did it. It's not every day that one can immerse oneself in such a marvel of nature. An enlightening (and humbling!) experience, to say the least.
It's no surprise that we felt like taking it easy the next day. The four-hundred mile drive to Albuquerque is certainly not the longest we've done, but nonetheless, we took our time down I-40, frequently detouring from the Interstate where stretches of Old Route 66 were drivable. We stopped in Gallup, New Mexico for lunch, and spent some time at a few of the Native American souvenir stands there. Ron bought some jewelry for his wife, and I found a ceramic vase for mine. Christmas shopping in August!
Even after we got to Albuquerque, we were in no hurry to get to the motel, wandering to the far side of town and then backtracking down Route 66. With about an hour to spare before game time, we checked into the 6. That is, we thought we had an hour to spare. For all our lollygagging on the way over, we hadn't realized that we'd crossed from the Pacific to the Mountain time zone. The clock in the motel lobby jarred us into the realization that was not 6:00 like we thought, but 7. The game was starting right now!
Albuquerque Sports Stadium (yes, we made adolescent jokes about the acronym) was halfway across town. Knowing we were already late, we hightailed it to the park so we'd miss as little of the game as possible. By the time we got there, the only available parking was across the street and about two blocks away. After the previous day's Grand Canyon experience, the last thing I needed was more hiking! What's more, in our haste to get to the game, I hadn't bothered to change out of the loose sandals I'd been wearing in the car. Fine for driving, terrible for walking. I was practically limping by the time we got near the ballpark gates.
As we neared the park, we saw a surprising sight -- the famous Bluesmobile (or an exact replica thereof) from the Blues Brothers movie was parked outside the front gate. We've got to get a picture of this, we both agreed. Of course, it was at that moment that I realized I'd left my camera back in the car. I volunteered to go back for it while Ron waited, but halfway to the car it dawned on me that he had the keys! Apparently the physical torture I'd put myself through the day before had taken a toll on my brain as well. I went back and got the key from Ron and, beginning to feel frustrated, quickened my pace a bit. I jogged to the car, retrieved the camera, and, huffing and puffing, began to trot back across the street. At about the yellow line, one of my sandals slipped off, and I kicked it high into the air. Traffic was coming so I had to keep moving, and from the safety of the far sidewalk I watched a semi truck roll over my shoe. When the traffic cleared, I rescued my mangled footwear, slipped it back on, and, feeling utterly defeated, hobbled back toward the ballpark.
It was the bottom of the second when we finally took our seats (could have been much worse!). The green grass in front of us a and the 24-oz beer in my hand quickly restored my spirits, and I settled in for a relaxing evening of baseball. The Bluesmobile, as it turned out, belonged to two impersonators who put on quite an entertaining show during the game. They lip-synched to Blues Brothers tunes on the field between innings and spent the rest of the time in the stands working the crowd. Their antics included firing hotdogs from a catapult, and severely berating one poor woman for having the nerve to talk on a cell phone during the game.
After the 7th inning stretch, the Blues Brothers impersonators camped out in the concourse to sign autographs and greet fans. Ron and I didn't want an autograph, but we did stop over to say hello. The mock Jake and Elwood were quite personable. They were from Lacrosse, Wisconsin and traveled all over the country with their act. We found a few things in common, being fellow midwesterners, baseball fans, and road warriors, and stood there chatting for what seemed like only a few minutes. But suddenly crowds of people began rushing past us heading for the exits. We had missed the last two innings of the game, after having missed the first two! Still, that was probably the most enjoyable five-inning baseball game I've ever attended.
We visited Albuquerque the day after we'd hiked into the Grand Canyon and back out, a feat which, I'm ashamed to say, I barely was able to accomplish. I had deluded myself that I was in good enough shape to make the nine-mile hike with no problem. Well, the four and a half miles down was a piece of cake, anyway. But soon after we turned around to head back up, I knew I was in trouble. Shortness of breath, tired legs, sore feet -- I was a mess. I think that fear of the supreme embarrassment of having to be rescued by park rangers on mules was all that kept me going. But, by God, somehow I managed to drag myself out of that hole. And, as crazy as this may sound, I'm glad I did it. It's not every day that one can immerse oneself in such a marvel of nature. An enlightening (and humbling!) experience, to say the least.
It's no surprise that we felt like taking it easy the next day. The four-hundred mile drive to Albuquerque is certainly not the longest we've done, but nonetheless, we took our time down I-40, frequently detouring from the Interstate where stretches of Old Route 66 were drivable. We stopped in Gallup, New Mexico for lunch, and spent some time at a few of the Native American souvenir stands there. Ron bought some jewelry for his wife, and I found a ceramic vase for mine. Christmas shopping in August!
Even after we got to Albuquerque, we were in no hurry to get to the motel, wandering to the far side of town and then backtracking down Route 66. With about an hour to spare before game time, we checked into the 6. That is, we thought we had an hour to spare. For all our lollygagging on the way over, we hadn't realized that we'd crossed from the Pacific to the Mountain time zone. The clock in the motel lobby jarred us into the realization that was not 6:00 like we thought, but 7. The game was starting right now!
Albuquerque Sports Stadium (yes, we made adolescent jokes about the acronym) was halfway across town. Knowing we were already late, we hightailed it to the park so we'd miss as little of the game as possible. By the time we got there, the only available parking was across the street and about two blocks away. After the previous day's Grand Canyon experience, the last thing I needed was more hiking! What's more, in our haste to get to the game, I hadn't bothered to change out of the loose sandals I'd been wearing in the car. Fine for driving, terrible for walking. I was practically limping by the time we got near the ballpark gates.
As we neared the park, we saw a surprising sight -- the famous Bluesmobile (or an exact replica thereof) from the Blues Brothers movie was parked outside the front gate. We've got to get a picture of this, we both agreed. Of course, it was at that moment that I realized I'd left my camera back in the car. I volunteered to go back for it while Ron waited, but halfway to the car it dawned on me that he had the keys! Apparently the physical torture I'd put myself through the day before had taken a toll on my brain as well. I went back and got the key from Ron and, beginning to feel frustrated, quickened my pace a bit. I jogged to the car, retrieved the camera, and, huffing and puffing, began to trot back across the street. At about the yellow line, one of my sandals slipped off, and I kicked it high into the air. Traffic was coming so I had to keep moving, and from the safety of the far sidewalk I watched a semi truck roll over my shoe. When the traffic cleared, I rescued my mangled footwear, slipped it back on, and, feeling utterly defeated, hobbled back toward the ballpark.
It was the bottom of the second when we finally took our seats (could have been much worse!). The green grass in front of us a and the 24-oz beer in my hand quickly restored my spirits, and I settled in for a relaxing evening of baseball. The Bluesmobile, as it turned out, belonged to two impersonators who put on quite an entertaining show during the game. They lip-synched to Blues Brothers tunes on the field between innings and spent the rest of the time in the stands working the crowd. Their antics included firing hotdogs from a catapult, and severely berating one poor woman for having the nerve to talk on a cell phone during the game.
After the 7th inning stretch, the Blues Brothers impersonators camped out in the concourse to sign autographs and greet fans. Ron and I didn't want an autograph, but we did stop over to say hello. The mock Jake and Elwood were quite personable. They were from Lacrosse, Wisconsin and traveled all over the country with their act. We found a few things in common, being fellow midwesterners, baseball fans, and road warriors, and stood there chatting for what seemed like only a few minutes. But suddenly crowds of people began rushing past us heading for the exits. We had missed the last two innings of the game, after having missed the first two! Still, that was probably the most enjoyable five-inning baseball game I've ever attended.
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