Landing and Oxygen (or complete lack thereof)

So last time, I had us on the way to New Mexico for Martha’s birthday, as well as for a little time away from Texas (that is, escaping the heat and the drabness of autumn in the central part of the state). It was a short trip, a little less than an hour, and it was a direct flight.

Soon, we saw the Sandia Mountains, great and blue and utterly gorgeous. We were flying into Albuquerque, of course. Taos has a small airport, and so does Santa Fe, but for us it is far easier just to fly to ABQ and rent a car. Gives us more flexibility.

About the pictures: First, here’s a shot of Martha on the street in Santa Fe. We were doing a bit of window shopping. Word of advice. That’s the best kind of shopping to do at some of the more expensive shops in Santa Fe. You don’t need to take out a mortgage. At least, not yet. Give ‘em time. I can see it now. “Browsing Fees.” Second, a forest of tin flowers and tin beasts. This is in Old Town Albuquerque just outside the Oaxacan Zapotec House (https://www.facebook.com/oaxzap/). Third, a shot from the Sandia Foothills dating back to 2018. At the time we still lived in Albuquerque. The Foothills are beautiful, but sometimes hard, as indicated by the barbed wire.

As we neared landing, I began to worry. I get altitude sickness easily. Albuquerque is high -- 5312 feet, or 1619 meters, and if you’re not prepared for it (like if you’re coming from Georgetown, altitude 750 feet, or 230 meters) breathing becomes a bit of an issue. (As we’ll see, though, 5K feet is peanuts compared to where we were going. Santa Fe is 7199 feet, or 2104 meters. This makes it even higher than Denver, “The Mile High City.”)

I hate altitude sickness. It feels awful--in my case, it combines exhaustion, gasping for breath, inability to move quickly, and, now and then, just for variety’s sake, a tiny touch of nausea. As in, “Am I gonna vomit on the luggage carousel.” Not fun.

It’s also embarrassing. I’ve never smoked. I exercise regularly. And I grew up in New Mexico...yet...yet...

Here’s a story I’ve already told you. But I’ll tell it again because I’m boring and repetitive. And those are my good points. You ought to see my bad. Eww ick. Nasty. So don’t go there. And please don’t ask about the Cream Cheese incident. It’s just too horrible.

Anyway, one of the first times we went to New Mexico, I told Martha and David, “Now, be careful. Don’t overdo. You’ll need to adjust.” Full of good advice I was. Just a regular fountain of freaking wisdom.

Then we got to Albuquerque and...and...and...Martha and David were running around like a couple of gawdang mountain goats on triple shots of espresso with Red Bull chasers. And you wanna guess who was green as a pickle and sick as a dingo on Ipecac? Huh? Wanna? Come on. Ya wanna?

They’re still giving me a hard time about it. As in: “Hey, Dad, you remember that time in Santa Fe and we were having fun and you looked like Michael Myers after six tequila shots and an extra heaping helping of Icelandic fermented shark on a slice of Casu Marzu fly larvae cheese?”

To which I reply, intelligently, cheerfully, and indulgently, with “Oh, shut up.” But in my best paternal voice. Indulgent to a fault I am.

Finally, a brief video showing my actual, honest-to-God, 100% true response to altitude sickness when I return to my beloved once and future home, New Mexico.

Where was I? Oh, yes. So I wasn’t looking forward to landing. I even thought about buying one of those little oxygen bottles they now sell for travelers and athletes--like Boost (https://www.boostoxygen.com/) or Blast (https://www.o2blast.com/), but I never got around to it. Just ran out of time before takeoff. Ah well. Maybe another day. (Say, anyone have any experience with these? Did they work for you?)

And, well, er, besides...I’ve got this vague phobia. I’ve an idea that if I used oxygen that way, I’d be the one person on earth who it would affect like helium. So that I’d take a big snort and sound just like Mickey Mouse on d-Meth. (“Hiya, pal! We’ve got ears, say Cheers!” Argh.)

Okay, that’s probably not going to happen. But what I *did* manage to do, and what did seem to help a little, was a bit of deep breathing. As we approached the airport, I took several deep, leisurely, and mindful breaths. Yes, I know that that isn’t always a good idea. If you have respiratory problems, it can actually be dangerous. But I was careful not to overdo it.

It sort of worked. I did feel the altitude a bit, but not as much as I feared. I guess I got enough oxygen in the old bloodstream to slightly offset the reduced O2 in the city’s air, without blowing off too much CO2 (which is what happens when you hyperventilate). Whatever the reason, we landed, and I was able to walk calmly (if not run) to the baggage claim, and from there we traipsed to the bus stop where we waited for our shuttle to the car rental center.

And, not too long after that, we were on our way--headed into the city in which we have not lived for seven years.

But which, all the same...

Feels like home to us.

Stay tuned. More to come.

Copyright©2026 Michael Jay Tucker. All text and video.

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