What explosive discoveries were made by an eccentric desert collector who chose to hide his phenomenal secrets for over thirty years? Blake Henderson inherited more than just a key to a remote storage garage in Farmington, New Mexico. When his estra...
That next morning a lot of activity centered around the adobe house of Jasper. Several men had arrived in their trucks and 4X4s to speak with the shaman. Valery, while serving the two breakfast, quietly told Blake and Russel these were tribal elders of the Navajo. Men who had come to discuss the sightings from the day before. Apparently, the craft she and her mother had seen was witnessed by a great number of people across the desert, and within the territories of the Navajo nation. Jasper left with these men at sunrise, she told them. Off to what she called a kiva, a traditional ceremonial center outside the town where they would discuss the situation.
In keeping with the morning plan, Dan arrived back at the house around 8:00 AM to ferry Russel over to Santa Fe and the small domestic airport there for his departure to San Diego. Blake was prepared to travel with Michael on his bike, across a stretch of New Mexican desert to engage in some business he had pre-planned while still in New Haven. He insisted it related to what Blake wanted to know, though gave no more details about it.
By 9:00 AM all were prepared for their respective journeys.
"See you back in Santa Cruz!" Blake shouted to Russel as he climbed into Dan's 4X4. Wearing his hooded sweatshirt and sporting his backpack, which Valery supplied with sandwiches and several bottles of water, Blake climbed onto the back of the Harley Davidson and Michael kick-started it with a roar. Valery and Milat saw them off as the young shaman donned a pair of dark sunglasses and throttled the powerful bike up. They accelerated out of the driveway and onto the lonely road out of town. Michael commandeered the bike southeastward on the only existing highway and at a cruising speed of 100 MPH. Blake just held on silently.
"You OK?" Michael shouted back to him as the Harley rumbled along loudly.
"Yeah, I'm good," he shouted back.
By Michael's doing, neither men were equipped with a helmet, which Blake found strange for a guy of his superior intelligence. Michael's long dark hair blew freely backward in the intense wind.
After a half hour drive though the pristine and barren desert, Blake felt the sun warming up the air in that bleak world surrounded by distant mountains. These flat monolithic tables, known as mesas in the Southwest, themselves seemed bare of anything but sparse bush-like vegetation. The highway began to finally climb upwards off the desert floor to a series of elevated plateaus. Reaching a high overlook of the arid countryside at a particularly desolate place, Michael pulled off to the side of the road and shut down his bike. He took off his dark gasses and led Blake over to the edge to look down. Blake was amazed to see what appeared to be an ancient, abandoned complex of geometric buildings the color of cinnamon, exactly the color of the earth surrounding them. Intermixed with the angular buildings with no roofs were many circular structures inside the complex's walled perimeter.
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"That's Chaco Canyon down there," Michael said of the expanse below, brushing his hair back with his fingers. And you're looking at one of the former living complexes build by the Pueblo people. The original Anasazi as some call them."
