Find…

California or Bust: A Mule Cart Crosses Into New Mexico

Published December 15, 2005

I, Bernie Harberts, did not use generative AI to write or illustrate this article. Spell check and grammar check, yes. AI, no.

Woody the mule and Magnolia the pony crossing into New Mexico, the Land of Enchantment, 2005 — New Mexico’s newest transient residents: Woody and Maggie set foot into the Land of Enchantment.

I’m a license plate watcher.

They’re pretty much the same. A bunch of capital letters and numbers over the name of the state.

YDM 840
North Carolina

That was my old black Volvo.

Tennessee, Arkansas, Oklahoma, Texas; what you see is where you are on that shiny bit of tin whizzing away from the mule ears in front of you.

In New Mexico, they have a third bit of info.

If I’d registered that old Volvo 240 in New Mexico, the plate would’ve read:
YDM 840
New Mexico, USA

Why the USA bit? Well, because apparently lots of people think New Mexico is part of Mexico. Or Old Mexico as they call it anywhere you see chili ristras hanging out in front of stucco homes.

Partly they’re right. New Mexico was once part of Old but that was a long way before cars and the confusion of traffic in flight. People from out of state still haven’t got it.

California or Bust

When my dad heard that I had built a cart to carry water with, he sent me a canvas sign that read “CALIFORNIA OR BUST.” I lashed it to the back of the cart, sort of like a fabric license plate for a cart.

And wouldn’t you guess, that little sign is already causing confusion.

As I was walking up the road, a man jumped out of his pickup and ran toward Woody, Maggie and me. He pulled a red handkerchief out of his pocket and started waving it at us, like I was a bull. Really. Toreador-style, right there in the middle of the two-lane highway.

I don’t think mules see color. Neither Woody nor Maggie charged and we just walked up to him.

Weird.

He walked around the cart, and when he saw the sign lashed to the back he laughed and shouted “California Bust!” He laughed again, the smooth laugh of a career politician, shot me a confidential look and said, “Yeah, that’s a good place to go for busts! Lots of good ones there!”

Then he handed me a business card. “Call me if you need anything,” he said and I read the card.

He was a state senator.

California may be good for busts. But for real boobs I decided I needn’t go further that day.

More about riding Woody and Maggie from the Atlantic to the Pacific.

Let's Keep in Touch

Sign up for The River, the RiverEarth newsletter, for occasional doses of rambling and homestead life. Plus you'll get a free copy of my 155-page illustrated ebook 19 Million Mule Steps.

Just enter your email below and hit Subscribe.