Visit to Santa Ana always a trip

For the fifth year, I spent the first Friday in July at a scholarship fundraising golf tournament on the Santa Ana Pueblo in Bernalillo, north of Albuquerque.

Originally, I only participated because a New Jersey businessman pays my way — and to be a team player for my employer — but now the businessman and I have bonded over surprisingly harmonious views.

Pressed for time to write this because of my 25th surgery on Tuesday (relatively minor, but I love sympathy), and TV-watching obligations, here is a stream-of-consciousness recap of the trip.

At an Albuquerque motel, a late-20ish woman ran up to a late-40ish brunette and asked if she was Glenn Close (70). Since there was no resemblance, I surmised the woman and her boyfriend had a fatal attraction to flying without a license.

“Close” was carrying a six-pack of Tecate, and traded the star-struck woman one for two Camel cigarettes. Having only citrus-infused water and quinoa bars, I ventured into the dangerous liaisons but got the big chill when trying to make a deal.

Later, dared by a 5-year-old, I dipped into the pool to compete against her and her friends in underwater breath-holding. Modesty prevents me from humble-bragging.

At a cafe in Bernalillo, where TV, movie and music celebrities have autographed plates, I pretended to drop one signed by a “Breaking Bad” actor. But my brand of high-brow humor failed to crack up employees.

In a Bernalillo motel, I watched TV spots featuring shiny, happy people at the nearby casino, and wagered visiting might rub off on me.

I can’t say if the low-rollers lived up to the small-screen images because the smoke turned my eyes into beer goggles and the catatonic inhabitants looked like they’d been partying since 1999.

Since casinos never close, I also can’t say if the girls got prettier at closing time — but I didn’t by the time I Brailled my way out.

However, (true story) I left with a slot-machine printed payout of 14 cents, so I can now afford to tip properly.

After stopping in Albuquerque for dark-chocolate-covered ginger and organic shampoo, I spotted protesters holding signs reading: “Stop the killings; Stop Maduro and his thugs; Return democracy to Venezuela.”

After sharing photos with Portales professor and Venezuela native Romelia Hurtado de Vivas, she responded:

“We are praying for democracy in Venezuela. The government has been killing ... student protesters since April 1.

“There is a scarcity of medicine and food shortages around the country. My sister’s husband died in January because there was no medicine for his high blood pressure. This is a horrible situation.”

I agree. If it’s not too unpatriotic, maybe we can help.

At an intersection, I gave a $2 bill to a shabbily dressed man limping and holding a cardboard sign. Then — through my rear-view mirror — I watched him trot back to his umbrella-chair.

Heading home, I ventured into a pasture off I-40 and had a memorable encounter with a rancher who didn’t want his horses “spoiled” with motel apples.

Among other endearments, he called me “city slicker.”

Contact Wendel Sloan at: [email protected]