May 2004 Archives

I'm always amazed at the end of a vacation how the time seems to have just evaporated, and there I am, in a dull, lifeless airport, waiting for a crowded plane, its stiff synthetic materials ready to suck the fresh memories straight from my head. But enough of that. Let's take a walk through some of the pictures that didn't make it into my previous gigantic picture-laden installments:

We started off in Albuquerque, and toured a number of sights, including the Indian Pueblo Cultural Center. This statue shows two Pueblo warriors, one old, one new:

Then we were off to Carlsbad, New Mexico, exploring the great caverns in the Chihuahuan desert:

From Carlsbad we journeyed north, passing the 747 graveyard at Roswell along the way:

And on to a day or two in Santa Fe, and then Taos, where we rafted and rode horseback to our heart's content:

And we spent some time wandering lost in Taos, Mother looking for an elusive art gallery that just didn't seem to be where we thought it should:

Then on to the great Rockies, solid chunks of granite 14,000 feet high with nicely paved roads all the way to the top.

Rushing streams crashing through snowbanks...

Lizard Head Peak touching the clouds...

And the deep burning red of the iron laden mountains near Silverton:

Zipping along in our nifty silver rental car...

Who would have thought this sign referred to the snow?

We climbed aboard the Silverton-Durango railway in a snowstorm and Mother froze:

as waterfalls and gorges passed by...

And on we drove to Mesa Verde, with ancient Kivas long buried now exposed:

and other cities nearly alive to the touch:

Further on we passed through Aztec, New Mexico, where we are certain we were being watched:

Perhaps by spirits from the 3rd world below the Great Kiva of Aztec.

And on we drove through Navajoland, Canyon de Chelly, Gallup, Zuni, El Morro NP, and back to Albuquerque. Thanks for following along with our journey.

Part 1: Albuquerque and Carlsbad
Part 2: Santa Fe
Part 3: Taos
Part 4: Pagosa Springs, Colorado
Part 5: San Juan Skyway, Colorado
Part 6: Mesa Verde
Part 7: Durango & Silverton Railroad
Part 8: Navajoland and Canyon de Chelly
Part 9: Zuni Pueblo, El Morro & El Malpais
Part 10: Wrap Up of the Great Southwest

So I lied. I said this would be the last installment of the Great Road Trip of 2004. Then I looked at my pile of digital pictures, and realized I couldn't fit it all into one installment. So the last driven miles of the trip--over 300 of them--get their own post.

The night after our tour of Canyon de Chelly, we took a drive up and down the south rim of the canyon before retiring in our motel.  Stopping at one of the many viewpoints, we witnessed a beautiful sight, not properly captured in this picture:

Some evenings, Navajo who live in the canyon, and other Navajo just down for a visit, start campfires and gather with friends and family on the canyon floor.  We watched quietly from the rim 800 feet above, wishing we were below with firemakers.

On our way back, the Navajo metropolis of Chinle appeared as sparkling lights along the vast desert floor:

And so we slipped back into our comfortable beds at the Thunderbird Lodge, reluctant to leave this unexpected place. 

The next morning we headed south and stopped at Hubbel Trading Post National Historic Park, a working trading post and general store in the heart of Navajoland. Our expectations were high after the high quality of rugs and other items at Teec Nos Pos Trading Post (see part 8), but we were a tad disappointed. Hubbel may have history behind it (it is a revered institution around these parts), but the rug selection didn't seem as carefully chosen as Teec Nos Pos, and the non-rug items were seriously lacking.  My mother had found the pickings at Thunderbird lodge to be significantly better, and that is where she had already picked up a beautiful small Navajo rug emblazoned with the "tree of life" design. Seeing nothing for myself at Hubbel, I visited with some resident cats while mother peeked at the horses.

Then we drove on for an hour or so to meet our first interstate freeway in over a thousand miles: I-40.  Just a few miles west on the freeway we turned off into Petrified Forest / Painted Desert National Park and went on a hunt for really, really, really old things. Older than Mesa Verde. Older than the canyon of the Rio Grande. Waaaaaay older than the Rockies. We're talking 125 million year old pine logs. Petrified like hell:

This place was wild. The desert sand and formations were colored like one of those layered sand souveniers you can buy at the beach. And at various places throughout the park, enormous, perfectly preserved tree logs lay by the thousands scattered all over the place.

Despite the extreme heat in the summer (I really, really don't recommend this park past May), there are plenty of permanent residents, including this fellow, who introduced himself to us as Chuck the Collared Lizard:

Chuck was a little too busy courting the ladies to talk to us, so we trotted on. There were plenty of prickly pear flowers out:

And more than a few extra-fat enormous ravens shamelessly begging the tourists:

We turned back north at the south end of the park, and headed pack through the Painted Desert, with its palette of multicolored teepees:

We got back on I-40 and headed for Gallup, New Mexico. Gallup is famous for its trading posts and is a center for several Native American tribes in the area. But if you drive into Gallup from the west, you'll know it for the astoundingly tacky Indian-themed trading posts that line the freeway. If there were only three or four of these establishments by the side of the road, you might find them offensive or a little bit embarrassing. But there are dozens of them, including stucco teepee monstrosities that push the limits of ridiculous in a land whose native inhabitants favor square Pueblo or octagonal Navajo lines. There is so much of this tackiness, it has created a culture all its own. Unfortunately, I was driving and couldn't take pictures. But it's better that way. You have to go and see for yourself. It's sublime.

We stayed in the Ramada in Gallup, which is generic but very nice. The next morning we stopped briefly in Richardson's Trading Post, another very well-known trading establishment. I was looking for a Hopi Kachina, and hoped to find one there. Unfortunately, though Richardsons had an enormous selection of just about everything--by far the biggest selection we saw, and probably one of the biggest in the state--the prices were high, and the staff were a bit snobbish. After oohing and aaahing at some $25,000 antique rugs and gazing at cases of  $1000 Kachinas, we got back on the road..

 We got off the interstate and took the slow road to Albuquerque by detouring through Zuni and Highway 53.  About half an hour south of Gallup, we encountered this odd fellow:

He seemed to be telling me something. I stopped the car and got out, and I could hear him. He said, "Suuuuuuuuusan. Come into my shop and I will take your money."

Curious, I entered the shop, and was immediately assaulted by this affordably priced authentic Zuni Cow Kachina:

It wrestled my wallet out of my pocket, plunked down the money, and threatened to drag me off to the underworld if I didn't take it home. Of course I had absolutely no choice but to buy it.

We drove perhaps half an hour further and turned right into the Pueblo of Zuni, one of the oldest towns in the United States (there seems to be disagreement between the Acoma and the Zuni over who has the official title). Zuni is also the biggest of the pueblos. Its dusty streets show far more bare poverty than the Navajo reservation, but then again, these people are and always have been city dwellers, a much messier proposition. The pueblo looks ancient, with buildings that look like a flatland version of Mesa Verde, except these are actually occupied. There were numerous people walking around, preventing me from taking pictures (it's a well-understood rule that one should not take pictures of local Indian people without asking permission first).

We found good shopping here, too. The Pueblo of Zuni Arts and Crafts center is the only Zuni-owned trading post in town, and has a massive selection of Zuni fetishes, the craft for which the Zuni are best known. Fetishes represent animal spirits, and are carried for luck. They are all hand-carved by Zuni artists. I picked up a couple for my coworkers and my mother found several to her liking.  This is the mole I got for one colleague:

Note the little turquoise eyes and the etchings. The more expensive fetishes have more complicated patterns, including a symbol for a heart. There's a lot of thought behind the markings, but too much to go into here.

After leaving Zuni we got onto highway 53 and headed east to El Morro National Monument. El Morro is one of those places you don't realize you have heard about until you get there. I first learned about it in elementary school. El Morro is a the single most astounding collection of graffitti you will ever see. Starting in prehistory, Anasazi, then Spaniards, then Americans all left extensive graffiti on this massive sandstone escarpement. The surrounding valley is quite beautiful, but it's the graffiti that is the main attraction these days.

Early on, El Morro's draw was based on something quite different--water. It has the only permanent water source between Zuni and Albuquerque, in this lush green nearly hidden pool.

Some explorers had excellent penmenship:

Some were just happy to be anywhere except dead in 1706:

And many American soldiers left their mark after America took possession of the land.

We met this Bull Snake on the trail. He was five feet long, and has been living there for at least six years, according to the ranger. He wouldn't give us the time of day.

The rocks themselves are quite impressive:

After leaving El Morro, one of America's older parks, we soon arrived in El Malpais, one of the newest additions to the National Parks system. El Malpais certainly isn't as interesting as even most state parks in California, but there it is, and as a recent addition, some of the park's attractions are owned by private concessionaires who got grandfathered in. We visited the Ice Caves:

That's pretty much it, what you're looking at there. I thought it was worth the stop, being a cave fanatic; you might not. The pioneers used it to store their beer.'Nuff said.

The Ice Caves can be combined with a short walk to the volcanic crater. It's a great example of a recent eruption (recent being around 10,000 years), and you can see the lava pouring out of the crater, frozen in time. The sign makes it seem more dangerous:

It was a nice stop, and the Ponderosa Pine forest is lovely.

And that brings us, a few hours later, back to Albuquerque and back to civilization as we know it, our trip nearly over, yet still feeling a million miles away from California.

Next installment: all the pics that didn't fit in the previous installments, as well as our wrap-up of the whole trip

Part 1: Albuquerque and Carlsbad
Part 2: Santa Fe
Part 3: Taos
Part 4: Pagosa Springs, Colorado
Part 5: San Juan Skyway, Colorado
Part 6: Mesa Verde
Part 7: Durango & Silverton Railroad
Part 8: Navajoland and Canyon de Chelly
Part 9: Zuni Pueblo, El Morro & El Malpais
Part 10: Wrap Up of the Great Southwest

There is no way to leave the Rockies more thoroughly than to travel south on US 550 from Durango and turn right at Farmington.  Within a few minutes the high mountains and wealth of Colorado drift behind, and the road opens up to another kind of country altogether.  Around here it's called Indian Country.  And our next destination, Canyon de Chelly, was inside the Navajo Nation.

I'd heard that the Navajo reservation was one of the poorest places in America, and I expected to see grinding poverty and more than a little desperation. I was surprised, then, to see brand new community facilities springing up in even the most remote towns, neatly tended houses and trailers, and a general lack of the garbage and chaos one usually associates with poor neighborhoods in other parts of the country.

One of the first sites on the reservation is Ship Rock:

It's just a big-ass hunk o' rock, and I think that's all you need to know.

Our first stop in Navajoland was the Teec Nos Pos trading post, in the town of the same name. I don't know what Teec Nos Pos means in Navajo, but my guess is "store full of nice things you can't possibly afford".  The trading post, like most in Navajoland, includes both a small general store and a "rug room". The rug room at Teec Nos Pos contains some of the highest quality genuine Navajo rugs you can find anywhere, and a decent sized rug with a nice pattern will run you at least $600. $1400 for something big enough to cover a twin bed Trust me, that's a bargain. The same rug in Santa Fe will cost 40-60% more.

You think gas prices are high? Try buying a Navajo rug.

Put off by the prices, we got back on the road without buying anything and headed west for the "town" of Mexican Water, where it was rumored we'd find the junction with the highway that would take us south to Chinle, the town next to Canyon de Chelly.  At first glance, Mexican Water appeared to consist of a gas station in the middle of nowhere. But upon closer examination, we realized that a Navajo "town" is constructed differently than other towns--there may be one or two businesses in a central location, but most of the people do not live clumped together. The houses and trailers are spread out over a great distance, so that each family has an endless vista and total privacy.

South we went, and passed by this spectacular butte somewhere between the middle of nowhere and the outer edge of timbuctu:

People honked at us as we took pictures, so I'm not sure if we violated some sort of rule. 

And finally, we arrived in Chinle. Chinle, which means roughly "mouth of the canyon" in Navajo, has a full set of schools, some reservation housing developments, a few major hotels, a couple of trading posts, and lots of unattended horses and dogs running loose on the roads.  Further in, it has Canyon De Chelly National Park, which is jointly managed by the Federal government and the Najavo people.

And it is those people who have maintained--or perhaps also developed--a unique culture in this remote part of the country. A culture which can be a bit off-putting at first to a traveler. At the Canyon De Chelly visitors' center, several Navajo docents assisted tourists with questions. I asked one of them how long a particular trail was. The docent said "half a mile roundtrip". I asked if it was difficult. They said no. Later on, I found out the trail was a couple of miles round trip, and the return portion is up an extremely strenuous hill. 

Was the docent deliberately lying? I don't think so. I don't think he'd been on that trail in a long time. What I sensed from him, and several other people I encountered on the reservation, is a lack of urgency about giving tourists accurate answers. To the locals, an approximation is good enough. I found that if I pushed people a little bit, the answers would often get more accurate and more detailed with each successive question.

Is this a Navajo thing? If I had grown up in a city, I might think so. But I grew up in small, rural towns, and I've run into this before in rural non-Indian communities. I think it is just a reflection of the slower pace of life in a small, isolated town. Sometimes it's just easier to see a culture when it is separated by race or history from your own.

On to the Canyon. You may meet people who have gone to Canyon de Chelly and driven the rim routes, looking down into the Canyon from viewpoints. I'm telling you right now, that if that's all you've done, you haven't been there. The only way to fully experience the canyon is to also take the all-day Navajo tour.

You can't enter the canyon without a guide. This is because the canyon floor is actually owned by several individual Navajo families, and they are rather graciously allowing tourists to drive through their property to see the canyon. This ownership arrangement occurred after the Navajo returned from the concentration camps in New Mexico (where they had been brutally sent by the US government), and it is unlikely to change in the near future.  Seeing the canyon from the floor is, therefore, a privilege. Luckily, it is one the Navajo are happy to oblige.

We took a tour with the Canyon de Chelly Thunderbird Lodge, the only lodging inside the park. It's a decent motel, with nice interiors and everything you could want except usable phone service. But if you can go two days without calling somebody it's the best choice in Chinle.  The Thunderbird tours are the only ones with actual bathrooms (they own all the bathrooms in the canyon) and the Thunderbird lodge is the only Navajo-owned establishment in town, so there are many reasons to stay there.  But the best one is that the tours leave right from the lodge, and the guides are excellent. Ours was named George.

George loaded us into the 26-seater propane-powered 4wd jeep-like-thing and took off into the canyon like a bat out of hell. I mean, that guy can DRIVE. Immediately, the soft colors of the desert floor fell away behind us, and we found ourselves immersed in a spectacular sandstone canyon, water flying up from the wash below us. 

It is basically impossible to properly photograph this place. It is truly spectacular in a way you can't see from these pictures. Narrow, 500 to 1000 foot sculpted sandstone walls, turning every few hundred yards so that you can never see too far ahead to know what wonders await.

The jeep was comfortable and quite a fun ride. This is the sort of tour kids and teenagers would really get into for the vehicle alone.

The stream that runs through the canyon dries up later in the summer, but we crossed it over a hundred times as it carried spring runoff from the nearby mountains.

We saw numerous Anasazi ruins, smaller than Mesa Verde, but in a far more spectacular setting.  This set of ruins, known as "Mummy Cave", was improperly restored by an archeologist who was incorrect about the size of the doorways. He did such a bad job that the Navajo and Hopi (Hopi may be descendents of the Anasazi) forbade any further restoration.

Cottonwoods grow throughout the canyon, and the spring brought a blizzard of cotton spreading their seeds far and wide. 

The picture above was taken near the small mesa where a band of Navajo resisted American attempts to drag them off to concentration camps for over a year.  To this day, it is forbidden to go up on top of the mesa to see what the resistors left behind. The Navajo even have a no-fly zone over the canyon to prevent people from peeking. It's a sacred place, in the sense that a tragic chapter in Navajo history should not be violated by looky-loos.  The whole story is too long to relay here, but the gist of it is that the US government killed more than half the Navajo people through concentration camps and forced marches in the 19th century.  Every Navajo you meet today is a descendant of the survivors of those atrocities.

Update: I completely forgot to tell you all about the man-eating sheep. So we're in the jeep, bouncing along about halfway up the Canyon, when I suddenly hear an enormous "ROOOAAAAAARRRRRRRGHGGHGHGH". I turn to the left, and I swear to god, there was a sheep the size of a grizzly bear bearing its teeth and roaring at us. I swear to god. I have never seen anything like it in my life. Big, giant, massively unsheared, ram's horns, the works. It was unnaturally large. I can only assume that if the jeep had stopped, it would have attacked and eaten all 26 tourists in an instant.

Last installment coming next week: we check out some really old grafitti, go shopping with the Zuni, and wrap up the great roadtrip of 2004.

Part 1: Albuquerque and Carlsbad
Part 2: Santa Fe
Part 3: Taos
Part 4: Pagosa Springs, Colorado
Part 5: San Juan Skyway, Colorado
Part 6: Mesa Verde
Part 7: Durango & Silverton Railroad
Part 8: Navajoland and Canyon de Chelly
Part 9: Zuni Pueblo, El Morro & El Malpais
Part 10: Wrap Up of the Great Southwest

After two nights in Mesa Verde (see part 6), we decided to scrap our next stop, Monument Valley, and go back to Durango to take a trip on the Durango-Silverton Railway, which had just opened for the season. The engine is coal-fired steam, gloriously polished with bright American flags flying from the front. We reserved seats in the open car to take advantage of the spectacular weather.

We got up early and drove down the long, windy mesa road from Mesa Verde to the train station in Durango and noticed a sudden proliferation of nasty-looking thunderclouds over the desert. As we drove closer to the Rockies, the skies closed in.

By the time we boarded the train, snow was coming down lightly in Durango, elevation 6,400 feet. Somehow it never occurred to us that when we got to Silverton, elevation 9,300 feet, things might be less than tropical. So we happily claimed our two outside seats in the gondola car and the train pulled away from the station.

The train follows the highway, 550 North, for a few miles before pulling away into the closest thing Colorado has to wilderness.  It shadows the Animas River, one of America's most challenging. The rapids range from Class 3 to Class 5 with very few breaks all the way to the Animas Valley just north of Durango. We saw one section that had four or five Class 4+ to  5 chutes, one right after another. And there were people actually rafting, despite the freezing temperatures. 

In Spanish, the name Rio de Animas means "River of Lost Souls". Whether that refers to the dead or just those who lost their spirits in a lonely, foreign wilderness, I don't know.

We quickly turned into touristsicles, and the rest of the gondola residents cleared out into the inside cars. The further up we went, the colder it got, until we got to Silverton itself, awash in a snowstorm:

We made the best of it and did a little shopping:

We also considered the merits of this establishment:

After a while, the snow subsided, and Silverton sparkled in a sliver of sunlight:

We bought blankets and mittens for the return trip, and climbed aboard the train as the snowstorm started up again. After we dropped into the narrow Animas river gorge, the snow subsided, and we felt like the train was about to tip over into the chutes:

I really, really didn't want to fall in.

During the summer, you'll need reservations for this train well in advance, but we got ours on the spur of the moment for reasons that only became clear when our hands went numb.

Back in Durango, we stayed at a competent Holiday Inn right on the river and took a walk up the river path.

Durango itself has several excellent art galleries. In my opinion at least one of them was better than anything we saw in New Mexico, including Santa Fe. So if you're an art freak, don't drive through Durango without stopping on the main street and perusing the shops.

And if you get lost, this odd couple are helpful in providing directions.

Next installment: we leave the Rockies for good, and journey through The Canyon of the Man-Eating Mutant Sheep.

Part 1: Albuquerque and Carlsbad
Part 2: Santa Fe
Part 3: Taos
Part 4: Pagosa Springs, Colorado
Part 5: San Juan Skyway, Colorado
Part 6: Mesa Verde
Part 7: Durango & Silverton Railroad
Part 8: Navajoland and Canyon de Chelly
Part 9: Zuni Pueblo, El Morro & El Malpais
Part 10: Wrap Up of the Great Southwest

After overdosing on the high Rockies (see Part 5), we switched landscapes and ended the day with a long, slow, winding drive up the great mesas of the ancient Pueblo Indians.  The road curved and curved and twisted and turned and eventually dropped us on the dry, flat mesatop, in a group of low, small buildings, each one carefully set on three-foot stilts.

We checked in to the Far View Lodge and found our room, in a remote cluster of buildings far from just about everything. The room was lovely, and the view was excellent (although not as good as numerous rooms near the office, but the staff won't acknowledge the  difference). But all by ourselves, in a pod of empty buildings, things got a bit creepy.  The ice and drink machines in our area hadn't even been turned on yet. We collapsed in the room, which was stylishly devoid of TV, Telephone, or any other electronic diversions, and drifted off to sleep listening for the sounds of the Mesa Verde Axe Murderer.  I envisioned a park ranger possessed by an ancient Anasazi demon, wielding some sort of masonry implement.

The next morning we reported for duty at the Far View Lodge office, where the Aramark tour guide picked us up in his bus.  Almost immediately, I was surrounded by a blizzard of grey hair. I looked around carefully, and determined that with the exception of one couple in their 40's, I was the only person in a 600-foot radius that doesn't remember conserving rubber for the war effort.

I am in my early thirties, and I try not to be snobbish about it. Really. Well, most of the time. But climbing on a bus with 26 people who don't have any idea what was so cool about R.E.M. back in the early days, people who don't remember Bono when he had the same hair as the girl in the Lee Press On Nails commercials, people who have never, ever, in their lives squeezed into the back of a car without air conditioning and rocked out with their junior-high-school friends to the sounds of Madonna's "Like a Virgin", people who for gods sakes actually REMEMBER vinyl...a few of them, ok. But I was surrounded. Outnumbered. And they're tougher than they look. You should see them run interference for the bathroom.

This truly was the the tour of The Ancient Ones.

As if that wasn't bad enough, our tour guide was a fellow in a lime green cowboy hat.  This is a problem because, as everyone knows, men in lime green cowboy hats CANNOT SHUT THE FUCK UP. They go ON and ON and ON and ON...I spent the entire morning trying to block The Ancient Ones on the way to the bathroom and mentally blocking out the tour guide's endlessly droning voice by imagining Janet the Snake eating them all and burping clever remarks afterword.

Yeah, well, not all of us can afford a good shrink.

See, it turns out you don't need to hire the Aramark Endlessly Guided Tours when you go to Mesa Verde. Even though the lodge employees had led me to believe otherwise on the phone months ago.You can just stay in the lodge and buy your tickets at the ranger stations, or even online at the NPS reservation system. Then you can drive yourself to the trailheads, and it all works out just peachy, at your own pace. And if you want ONE HOUR of DETAILED INFORMATION on a partially excavated MUD PIT, you can buy a book from the excellent selection in the visitor's center.

Pay attention, folks. These Aramark folks are the ones to which Bush would love to hand over the entire national park system.  But back to our story...

We did eventually get to some beautiful ruins. The first set of real ruins, though, we could have seen on our own without any tickets at all: Spruce Tree House. It's open all day, and a ranger is down there to keep an eye on things and answer questions. Right now it's surrounded by fresh green spring oaks.

Unfortunately, Lime Green Man yakked so much at the MUD PIT he rushed us through the Spruce Tree House (we had half as much time there as the mud pit) and nearly gave half of our Ancient Ones heart attacks on the way back up the hill. We then sat in the bus for fifteen minutes, bathed in diesel fumes, while he sorted out his failure to report two vegetarians to the lunch supplier.

Apparently here in Aramark-Land, "vegetarian" means "pile of lettuce". And piling lettuce takes much, much longer than you think it should.

I don't mean to be too hard on Lime Green Man. He was a good speaker, and knew his subjects. But Aramark's schedule for the tour was ridiculous, and no tour guide could have done much with a pile of mud for AN ENTIRE HOUR.  It was very basic stuff--very condescending, and exactly like being in kindergarten, except less interesting.  I wanted to strangle him.  No tip for you! Amazingly, some of The Ancient Ones thought he was great. I have to wonder what these people do for fun. It must involve dentures.

Ah well. We did love the Cliff Palace, where a real ranger of Hopi descent (Hopi people are believed to be some of the descendants of the Anasazi) showed us around:

We also overlooked some other dwellings, like Square Tower House, my favorite:

These buildings were build between 1000 and 1300 AD, before they were abruptly abandoned, possibly due to drought and changing religious beliefs. The latter is especially intriguing, as the modern Pueblos--particularly the Hopi--are more religious than most Native American tribes. The majority of Hopi follow the Kachina religion, which is as highly developed as any branch of Judeo-Christianity (in contrast, most Navajo are Christian). It is a religion that centers much around finding salvation through migration from evil, possibly explaining some of the historic Hopi migrations from one place to the next.

Next installment: We change our plans, and decide to go back to the Colorado Rockies for a few more days. Springtime in the Rockies, right? Oops. Mother Nature decides to throw us a white, fluffy curveball.

Part 1: Albuquerque and Carlsbad
Part 2: Santa Fe
Part 3: Taos
Part 4: Pagosa Springs, Colorado
Part 5: San Juan Skyway, Colorado
Part 6: Mesa Verde
Part 7: Durango & Silverton Railroad
Part 8: Navajoland and Canyon de Chelly
Part 9: Zuni Pueblo, El Morro & El Malpais
Part 10: Wrap Up of the Great Southwest

The words holy flipping crap, or some close approximation, flew out of my mouth along every curve of the San Juan Skyway, a long detour on our trip between Pagosa Springs and our next destination. The extreme high country, accessable by excellent paved roads, is a rugged, snow-capped theme park ride of alpine delights. From gorgeous alpine meadows to swiss-style chalet towns to 10,500 foot passes still covered in snow, I can't imagine another road that can match highways 550, 62, and 145 in Southern Colorado.

We stopped so many times we alienated our rental car. We ogled and ogled and ogled and Mother occasionally closed her eyes in the narrow, high canyons without guardrails. We swirled through switchbacks:

And by the time it was over, I had snapped so many pictures, I could barely decide which ones to put up in this log:

But of course I could have put up these instead:

Or these:

You get the idea.

We found Ouray, a tiny town on the north end of the Hwy 550 portion of the Skyway, and took a short hike into Box Canyon falls. The falls were roaring into a narrow canyon, and thanks to the City of Ouray we were able walk right up to it on a catwalk and feel the mist hit us full in the face.

We snapped pictures of little Ouray, set against snowcapped peaks and surrounded by lush meadows, with another waterfall dropping down behind it:

Extra tip: if you can only drive one side of the San Juan Skyway loop, do the Ridgeway - Silverton - Durango side. It's more spectacular  and the towns are more interesting. But both sides have jaw-dropping views. When it's sunny

Part 1: Albuquerque and Carlsbad
Part 2: Santa Fe
Part 3: Taos
Part 4: Pagosa Springs, Colorado
Part 5: San Juan Skyway, Colorado
Part 6: Mesa Verde
Part 7: Durango & Silverton Railroad
Part 8: Navajoland and Canyon de Chelly
Part 9: Zuni Pueblo, El Morro & El Malpais
Part 10: Wrap Up of the Great Southwest

Travel Notes:  As time wound down in Taos, and the noisy biker men beamed back up to the mothership, we looked forward to our next stop: Pagosa Springs, Colorado, home of a world-class set of hot springs tubs right on the San Juan River. We said goodbye to the Prairie Dogs (a good-sized colony lives next to the Arby's restaurant in Taos) and headed up Highway 64 toward Colorado.  Our first stop was the spectacular Rio Grande Gorge Bridge:

While we stood on the bridge taking pictures, some teeny-tiny rafters floated down below us. The day before, we had rafted the lower section of this part of the Rio Grande. The people floating under this bridge were rafting a more challenging section: 

We watched them float into some rapids under the bridge and soak themselves. Then they got teenier and tinier until they all disappeared into the distant gorge.  

We walked back to the rest area from the bridge.  They had a lovely restroom there. They had a sign in front of the restroom saying, "I approve of this restroom" with "Yes" and "No" buttons. Having engaged in a satisfying experience therein, I pressed the "Yes" button.

Off we drove through the mountains, to Highway 84, past the spectacular Brazos cliffs and the New Mexico alpine high country. I had no idea New Mexico had such lush, green alpine landscapes. We passed through Chama, a jumping-off point for all sorts of adventures, and then entered Colorado.

Almost instantaneously two things changed. First, there were more houses per mile than we'd seen in rural New Mexico. Second, every last house was nicely kept, spotlessly clean, and more often than not, surrounded by expensive horses in a field of wildflowers. Where New Mexico had been borderline poor, Colorado seemed distinctly rich.

We were both very sore from horseback riding, rafting, and variously falling down on the sidewalk, and we were ready for those hot springs. But we weren't sure exactly what we'd find in Pagosa Springs. The United States is dotted with hot springs from east to west, and many of them were developed in the 19^th and early 20^th century for tourists. But over time, due to the Depression or other economic circumstances,  many fell into disrepair and some even disappeared back into the wilderness. Still others were poorly developed by local entrepeneurs who just piped the naturally hot water into a big, ugly, square swimming pool and called it a resort.

Pagosa Springs is different. The hot pools here are mostly naturalistic, and the water is so rich in minerals that many of them have active geological formations pouring over their sides. The centerpiece of the resort, which is set directly on the edge of the river, is a massive mineral formation that looks almost ready to swallow up the 17 hot tubs and anybody who happens to be inside:

The pools vary in temperature (which is posted on a sign above each pool) from 95 to 113 degrees. They have names, such as "Tranquility" for the coolest one or "Lobster Pot" for the one that is always empty due to its temperature. Guests wander from pool to pool, some with overlook views, others right by the side of the river. We watched four kayakers and a raft go through class 2+ rapids in the swollen San Juan River ten feet from our pool.

The town of Pagosa is charming and small. I recommend staying at the Pagosa Springs Resort, in the cheapest rooms, which are closest to the pools (free entry to the pools for guests), and eating at "J.J.'s", a restaurant east of town with a nice view of the San Juan river.

Having thoroughly bathed ourselves into human prunes, mother and I packed our bags the next morning while steam rose off the baths:

...and headed west, to the most photogenic road I've ever seen. Check back tomorrow for the next leg of our journey.

Part 1: Albuquerque and Carlsbad
Part 2: Santa Fe
Part 3: Taos
Part 4: Pagosa Springs, Colorado
Part 5: San Juan Skyway, Colorado
Part 6: Mesa Verde
Part 7: Durango & Silverton Railroad
Part 8: Navajoland and Canyon de Chelly
Part 9: Zuni Pueblo, El Morro & El Malpais
Part 10: Wrap Up of the Great Southwest

Taos, NM
May 7-8

Trip notes: Disappointed with the harsh bustle of Santa Fe, we trundled up highway to Taos by way of Las Vegas, NM (see part 2). This took us in the back way to Taos, a small town in a spectacular setting. The high desert around Taos is thick with sage and slashed through the middle by the canyon of the Rio Grande. Portions of the canyon are so steep and jagged they look like a cartoon of an earthquake fault. The valley is enormous, and Taos is very, very small, sitting at the foot of an impressive snow-capped mountain range.

Everything that Santa Fe wasn't, Taos is. It's relaxed, small, friendly, easy to get around, and full of interesting things to do. The people seem devoid of scowls, the gallery staff thank you for your visit, and nobody seems to think Mother and I are not financially qualified to breathe their air.

Now I know you're not going to believe me when I say this. I've read this in other travelogues, and I dismissed it at the time as snobbery. But honestly, if you come to New Mexico, skip Santa Fe and drive directly to Taos. Add a couple of days there. Ok, stop in Santa Fe for a couple of hours on your way from Albuquerque to get it out of your system. But if you don't go there at all, you really aren't missing much. I swear to you, I am not one of these travel snobs that sticks up her nose at a tourist magnet--I rarely find a place that I think is worth a pass over. But I wish I'd passed over Santa Fe. Such is life.

While in Taos, we stayed in a recently renovated hotel on the Taos Plaza:

The Hotel La Fonda is excellent, though pricey in the high seasons. But it's worth it. There's many other options, including ski condos of course. But the Hotel La Fonda is within easy walking distance of most shops and restaurants, and has lots of character. It also has high-speed internet, despite its advanced age.

In Part 2  of this travelogue I mentioned a lonely biker cruising around the front of our hotel. The plaza out front of this hotel is alive with Harleys and muscle cars for hours at a time after dark. They seem to cruise around revving their engines, apparently signaling to the aliens from Mars who must have brought them here in the first place. They usually go away at some point, when the aliens come and beam them and the Minitrucks On Parade up to the mothership.

My favorite part was during a lull in the Harleys and Minitrucks when a guy stood out on the sidewalk in front of the hotel and yelled, "WHAT THE FUCK??". It was sort of existential.

After that they revved the Harley engine so loud it caused the windows to shake. And as the hotel doesn't have consistent air conditioning, we had to leave the windows open. We do kind of wonder where the police are during all of this, as it goes beyond any normal biker noises, but we learned today that New Mexico has one of the highest drug and crime rates in the country, and we figure they've got bigger fish to fry. Or maybe they're ALL aliens.

We took a half day rafting trip on the Rio Grande, and a half day riding horses up through old Apache hangouts up in the mountains. Beautiful views the whole way, but no pics due to the disposable camera we used that must be developed the old fashioned way. Both were wonderful trips. We think we saw a mink swimming in the river, and we got the evil eye from a momma screech owl on the horse trip.

Now we're off to...somewhere hot. That's all I can tell you. Probably won't be back online for a few days, as we're leaving the reach of high speed internet and Earthlink. If I disappear, have a beer for me & my travelling zoo.

Part 1: Albuquerque and Carlsbad
Part 2: Santa Fe
Part 3: Taos
Part 4: Pagosa Springs, Colorado
Part 5: San Juan Skyway, Colorado
Part 6: Mesa Verde
Part 7: Durango & Silverton Railroad
Part 8: Navajoland and Canyon de Chelly
Part 9: Zuni Pueblo, El Morro & El Malpais
Part 10: Wrap Up of the Great Southwest

May 5-6

Trip notes: the name "Santa Fe" evokes romantic images of artists nestled in cozy canyons, surrounded by cactuses, continuously howling purple coyotes, and eccentric new-age decorations.

It is a bit different when you get here. In a nutshell, Santa Fe is a city--not a pueblo, not a town, a city--and it has the traffic to prove it.  And the coyotes are howling, all right. At the prices.

New Mexico had been so friendly, so lovely, and then we arrived in Santa Fe.  The first person we met was a lady walking her bicycle, who, when asked for directions, decided that Mother and I were infected with some sort of deadly bacteria.  I asked this donkey what he thought of her and he said she was a nasty little thing.

After that we tried the Georgia O'Keefe museum, and found it wantingly small. Nice, but small. There were less than twenty or so of the 400 paintings in the museum's collection on display, and many of them were not examples of O'Keefe's best work. We got through the museum, introductory video, and gift shop inside half an hour.  There were nice flowers out back, though:

For art galleries, Santa Fe has one or two excellent galleries near the plaza. But most of the good galleries on are on Canyon Road. That's where the really snooty types hang out:

Actually, I'm an art snob myself. See, there are two different types of art snobs. The kind that are snobby about the quality of the art, and the kind that are snobby about the price tag (bigger being better). I got the feeling that some gallery staff were more interested in the latter. Some got downright snippy when we turned around to leave, as if there was some actual expectation that a random tourist walking in off the street would pay 50,000 for a painting. I think they should all just suck down some prozac.

I would recommend one gallery, with an artist named Hahn, on Canyon Road, who does excellent rodent paintings. Superb portrayals of mice and rats defeating feline enemies. I can't remember the name of the gallery, but it has this big-ass rabbit out front:

There's interesting sculptures all over the place in Santa Fe, if you look carefully:

The museums are all quite small. The Indian Arts museum was the most interesting to me, but we also stopped at a couple of others. I can't remember which one this was, but the best thing about the entire museum was the beautiful courtyard, with a water feature and brilliantly colored murals:

After two nights, we packed up our little casita (lovely casitas near downtown are a bargain compared to the overpriced hotels, and you can save money by making your own dinner), and trolled up the road for a scenic drive. We stopped in Las Vegas along the way.

No, not THAT Las Vegas. THIS Las Vegas:

You can tell the difference because the one in New Mexico looks like small town America in the twilight zone. We ordered tea and soda at a local cafe and the staff looked at us like we were aliens. Apparently in Las Vegas, New Mexico, nobody EVER orders a drink in a diner without purchasing a meal.  We aren't sure, but we think we may be permanently banished from Las Vegas for this indescretion.  The other Las Vegas, as you know, never banishes you for anything.

We're already at our next destination. Check back in a couple of days to find out what it is. But I'll tell you this--I'm in a 100+ year-old hotel with hi-speed internet access, listening to a lonely biker endlessly circle around front, revving his engine.

Part 1: Albuquerque and Carlsbad
Part 2: Santa Fe
Part 3: Taos
Part 4: Pagosa Springs, Colorado
Part 5: San Juan Skyway, Colorado
Part 6: Mesa Verde
Part 7: Durango & Silverton Railroad
Part 8: Navajoland and Canyon de Chelly
Part 9: Zuni Pueblo, El Morro & El Malpais
Part 10: Wrap Up of the Great Southwest

Notes: Saw evidence of ancient snake lovers at Petroglyph National Monument:

The ancient Pueblan indians who lived in the area were part of a cultural tree that included the ancient Mexican civilizations. They are believed to have traded with the Aztecs for, among other things, parrots:

Also in Albuquerque, we went up the Sandia Tramway. One of the longest tramways around, and quite impressive. Decent restaurant at the top. Nice view from up there, too:

One last observation about Albuquerque: as far as we can see, the town has about a dozen Walgreens drug stores and only one supermarket. Everywhere we drove, there was a Walgreens. But we only found one actual supermarket. We have concluded that the people of Albuquerque sustain themselves on cotton balls and aspirin.

Carlsbad, NM

After a short stay in Albuquerque we flew via Mesa Airlines to Carlsbad in the southern part of the state. Mesa airlines has friendly staff, reliable service, and a fleet of tin cans that amplify turbulence like you would not believe. It was so bad, after arriving in Carlsbad we decided to take the bus back to Albuquerque after our stay and dump our rather expensive round trip tickets.

I don't mind turbulence per se, but I do mind turbulence when I am flying in a container better suited to soda pop.

In Carlsbad, it was all about the caves. I am a former cave guide--I worked a summer at Oregon Caves National Monument--and I've had a bit of a cave bug since then. Carlsbad Caverns was absolutely astounding. It was collossal on a scale you can't imagine unless you go. The decorations are measured by the acre (the Big Room is 13 acres in size). We took 3 tours:

• Kings Palace (easy, recommended for all visitors, nice decorations, paved trail)
• Left Hand Tunnel (easy, also recommended for all--tour goes into unlighted tunnel, no paved trail, but easy walking. Visitors carry candle lanterns. Very eerie.)
• Lower Cave (moderately strenuous. Visitors wear helmets. Decorations in "The Rookery" are amazing. Cave is below the main Carlsbad Big Room. Trail is at times nonexistent and some crawling and climbing is required)

If I look a little unhappy there it's because I was waiting for my dear mother to TAKE THE FREAKING PICTURE DAMNIT.

We also did the "Natural Entrance" route on our own. If you go to Carlsbad, you must do this. It's a tad strenuous, but nothing extreme. This is the way we first saw the Big Room instead of going via the elevator. It's beautiful.

Some decorations look like they're going to eat you:

The highlight of the Carlsbad portion of the trip, however, was the bats.  We drove back to the caverns at 7:30, and waited in the ampitheater next to the natural entrance. Then, all of a sudden, at around 7:50, a swarm of bats burst from the cave and swirled like a tornado around the natural entrance area. Soon they were joined by hundreds more. Then thousands. All told, we saw about 150,000 Mexican Freetail bats fly out of the cave. The caves are uncrowded by people this time of year, so we had excellent seats. We could feel the wind of their wings against our faces as they poured out.

Once they swirled around in a tornado formation in front of the cave, they streamed off to the West, where they formed an S curve before flying off to the Pecos River for the mosquito buffet:

The town of Carlsbad itself merits no pictures, sad to say. As far as I can determine, everything above ground in Carlsbad is in Texas, and everything below ground is in New Mexico.  Carlsbad is a decaying Texas-style town where some of the most prominent businesses are loan sharks and a Wal-Mart supercenter dominates the view--what there is of it. It does have a lovely park along the river, though. I will say one thing for the residents of Carlsbad, and for the rest of New Mexico--they're friendly. By far the friendliest place I've ever visited. People are very helpful here.

Except the people that smacked into our rental car the last night we were in Carlsbad, causing significant damage and forcing us to shell out $500 to cover our insurance deductable. Those people weren't very nice.   But perhaps that was the aliens from nearby Roswell.

The next morning, we left Carlsbad by Greyhound and headed for Albuquerque to pick up our rental car. The greyhound was clean, and much cheaper than the plane--we should have scheduled that to begin with.  After we got about fifty miles outside of Roswell the landscape on much of the trip was open ranchland covered with wildflowers with hundreds of grazing antelope. It was far more beautiful than I expected. And you can't beat those New Mexico skies:

The skies here are so beautiful they make anything into a work of art:

And that brought us to Albuquerque, where we picked up the rental car and drove to...well, I can't tell you that. Check back in a couple of days and I'll have more pics from the next destination. Table of Contents for A Great Southwest Road Trip: