The drive to Alamosa was beautiful wintry and uneventful (yay). The DMV was ridiculously easy to find. The words DRIVERS LICENSE were written in bright blue letters on a yellow background on a sign facing the street. The rules of the game were clearly posted on the door. You must have proof of mailing address. You must have verification of identity. You must take a number. I entered and took my number; 94.
A man was at the counter updating his drivers license. Two little kids were waiting on two of the four hard plastic seats. The man behind the counter was patient and helpful. They finished and my number was called, somewhat absurd as I was the only person there until just that moment when a friendly young man came in and pulled number 95.
I had more documentation than I needed. It seems that people in the San Luis Valley forget things because he never asked for verification of car insurance (kind of important, right? I mean in California they ask that FIRST before you’re even allowed to sit on the hard plastic seats and stare at the blue screen!). “Did you ever have a Colorado drivers license?” he asked. I said I had and remembered how hard it was for me to give that up in my first trip to the DMV in San Diego, the one on Park Ave, not so bad back in 1984. “You might be in the system still.” I actually think I was, but he didn’t say.
So, after about 15 minutes I was out of there and back on the road, through the silvery December light of the San Luis Valley. That’s it. That’s the last thing I had to do, and now I am officially living here.