Escape 2010 style

New Mexico and Colorado

Seems that 2010 travel will be entirely different than the past couple of years. Less time on the road overall and consisting of short jaunts and dashes back home. Perhaps this way the trailer will not shrink as drastically as it tends to do in four-month stretches.

We’re now in day five of the trip and I finally feel able to write something. Up to this point, I have harbored the underlying sense of stress that conveyed an inability to do more than put one foot in front of the other. That is not to say that we have been idle - far from it - but just that we have not been making plans much farther than whatever is the very next move. Somehow, we have stayed in Albuquerque far longer than originally anticipated; inertia seems to have set in with a vengeance. So much simpler to stay than to go, and then the lure of spending time with friends was huge.

So . . . back before setting out: It has been months of tending to necessities such as preparing for the huge auction, cleaning up the property, getting Dad’s mobile sold and removed and the hard work of removing the mobile’s and porch’s anchors, landscaping the back yard and getting the house ready to go on the market plus a whole bunch of other stuff.
Now most of it is complete; the house is listed and there is the relief of having someone to look after the place while we’re away for a bit of R&R - thanks, Denis! Some chores await our return even though we delayed our departure by a day; however, I think the intervening distractions will allow us to tackle them with renewed vigor.

Unable to devote sufficient time to planning this journey, we needed only to get on the road and to know that we were not embarking on another epic trip. We set out with an ultimate destination of Pagosa Springs, Colorado, preceded by stops in New Mexico. That plural stops somehow transformed into one: Albuquerque, a city we have never before visited. Because friends have recently moved there, it seemed to be a good weekend stop, a weekend that has become five days filled with visiting and helping with unpacking. A big bonus for us is that we will return home with a whole passel of moving boxes.

The “helping” actually consisted more of distracting them, too, but I did not see them resisting. On Saturday, we all lacked the ability to make firm plans, but set out anyway, knowing not just where the road would lead us.

Buddy took us first to Pro’s Ranch Market, a Mexican mercado the like of which I have never imagined. Its vastness gave the impression of a series of outdoor stalls, divided into areas such as bakery, bulk cheeses, cow heads (well, there wasn’t really a cow head section but there definitely was a bovine sans body peering out at us from among the tripe and various other items removed from a beef. They even had its tongue posed in an upward curlicue).
We viewed seeming acres of grocery items, prepared food and drinks and geegaws, most of which were things formerly not in our databases. Overwhelming to say the least; shopping there could be a full-time job. We confined our purchases to pastries and grapefruit for breakfast.

A short drive through old town Albuquerque and some intriguing historic agricultural and residential sections was fun and interesting and then we turned our noses toward Jemez (pronounced Hay-mas) Hot Springs, clueless of what that meant. Along the way, we encountered Soda Dam, necessitating a stop. A fascinating place, it is a natural dam produced by mineral springs deposits to a depth of about 40 feet. The river has cut partially through the travertine and now shoots out in a waterfall. The main creek was cool; a spring across the road was warm mineral water. We climbed to the top of the dam to peer into the depths and then climbed up as high as we could from the downriver side to see the caverns formed inside the deposits.

I failed to mention a major occurrence on this trip and that is Chris’ right ear becoming almost completely plugged early on. This resulted in his becoming an echo. The three of us would discuss something we were looking at and then a bit later, Chris would pipe up with something about the exact subject we had already hashed, hashed and rehashed as if we had never spoken. We had to laugh; he seemed so bemused about it all. A major irrigation project later, he seems to have gotten to the point that some conversation is possible.

Valles Caldera . . .

A second stop of our day trip was at the Valles Caldera. The Bs had mentioned that it was along our route but I had no idea what was coming. The Caldera was formed when an eruption about 12 to 15 miles in diameter occurred - mighty earthshattering, I’m sure. Now the area is a depression with peaks within it and is a preserve with limited access by reservation only. It truly is a beautiful sight. As we gazed in awe at the meadows and trees before us, we counted upwards of 50 elk, the exact number unsure because of many lounging behind the trees and others lying down in the tall grass.

In the town of Jemez, we lunched outdoors as hummingbirds buzzed all around us in their battle for supremacy at the feeders.

Hot Springs . . .

After a leisurely lunch (long primarily because the service was so slow), we walked over to where a sign proclaimed historic bath houses, but were fairly disappointed with what we found, which was individual “bath tubs” in claustrophobic private cubicles.

Armed with that information, we walked back up the road to Giggling Springs and were rewarded well. This place had interesting old buildings that had once housed hot springs baths, incorrectly identified as sulfurous, but has since been delightfully developed with a semi-natural outdoor soaking pond overlooking the Jemez River. Our hour-long soak was extended to allow for the time we took cover as lightning flashed nearby. The water was at around 101 degrees, absolutely perfect for relaxing in the floating mesh chairs and chatting. This is a definite must-return when in the area.

Sandia Man, or not . . .

On Sunday, we decided to escape the heat (in the 80s, pretty much like home) and drive up to the crest of the Sandia Mountains, the prominent range looming over Albuquerque. In the foothills, we encountered a quaint tiny old town of Placitas and its charming adobe church - San Antonio, a Catholic mission established in 1840.

I had purchased a recreational map at the RV park and seen that there was a Sandia Man cave on the mountain. The term “man cave” having taken on a new meaning in recent times, I tried to differentiate this by calling it the “Sandia Man” cave. Knowing little to nothing about Sandia Man except that he was an early guy on this continent and what Chris related from his anthropology studies, we determined to look for his hideout.

As we wended our way up Las Huertas Canyon, I spotted a cave in the cliff face, so over we pulled. Three of us were feeling a tad fatigued, so we watched and waited as Chris clambered up to tell us if it was the place. Did we think the Sandias had left a flagstone marker with their name and address? Along the way, he met a couple who were on a similar quest, but who had no better information than we and so we continued on up the road.

And then: a strange wooden structure far up on the canyon wall and a cave mouth. With no room to pull over, we proceeded until we came to a pullout and a trailhead that led us back and up to the cave entrance. Because the opening is in the middle of a sheer rock face, there would be no way to enter it except that a speleological society has constructed a trail and scaffolding leading to a metal spiral staircase that accesses the cavern. Throughout our visit to Sandia Man’s habitation, I am consumed with questions about what it must have been like for these very early people: how they came to this place, what it was like for them; were they happy there, how long did they stay and why did they leave, and on an on. The cavern is about 300 feet deep, but without a flashlight, we were unable to delve much past the entrance although my camera’s flash allowed me to get some shots farther into the depths.

Soooo . . arriving back at civilization, I hasten to do some research about Mr. & Mrs. Sandia and am horrified to find that they are now presumed to be a hoax! Seems that long about in the 1930s, an archaeologist seeking a name for himself excavated the cave and reported finding unique artifacts. Unfortunately, he evidently presented modern-day-altered Folsom Man arrowheads and spear points to make his case. And so the findings stood until a grad student elected to write his thesis about Sandia Man and by the use of more advanced technology determined that the supposed unique Sandia Man was a manufactured being.

One presumes that because of this unfortunate scam, there can now be little or nothing discovered about the real dwellers of that place.

While there, we saw a large sign at the trailhead that carried the strange query: “Who killed Carla?” A foray into Google revealed that this is a real-life unsolved murder that occurred in 1999 near Sandia Cave.

Santa Fe . . .

Somewhere in those five days, we four landed in Santa Fe for a look-see. A wander through the fascinating La Fonda was amazing as we perused the varied personal touches of the art and architecture of Mary Colter. We arrived too late to see the miraculous spiral staircase at Loretto Chapel, but wandered on foot a distance to the Mexican restaurant that cousins John and Connie introduced us to last year - Las Mayas - and enjoyed a late supper there. The seemingly-ever-present rainstorms opened up while we dined, leaving us dashing a long distance through some major deluge and street runoff. As expected, we didn’t melt but did manage to get pretty wet.

In and amongst these excursions, we tried to help Barb and Bud unpack after their move and get furniture moved, bookcases filled, floors cleaned and things organized. By the time they fed us and we fed them, I’m not at all sure just how helpful we were.

Wednesday, August 4

North to Colorado . . .

After a later start than anticipated for no particular reason, we leave the American RV Park in Albuquerque to travel north. Very gradually, we climb in elevation from Albuquerque’s 5,300 feet to the north country’s mountains. Pagosa Springs, our destination, is close to 8,000 feet, leading me to suspect that we will not be kicking the blankets off while there. I’m glad we brought that great little heater that Dad W. suggested we purchase. As we leave the Rio Grande valley and proceed along the Chama River, the vegetation becomes less desert-like transforming into high sage and juniper. After Abiquiu, we are thrilled by beautiful banded ochre, red and gray cliffs freckled with green scrub juniper, all of it reminiscent of Monument Valley.

The Chama River is flowing wide looking for all the world like chocolate milk. I have no idea if that coloration is the result of recent proliferation of precipitation or if it always carries that heavy load of silt. The Rio Grande in Albuquerque and north was very muddy, too, but as we get to the mountain streams, they run clear.

We are on Highway 84, not a bad surface but fairly winding and narrow at times. We see other RVers here as pretty much everywhere we go, although the traffic is very light in general. As we continue, we see more pinion trees and then climb into ponderosa country. We’ve seen beaver ponds on both rivers and lovely marshy areas.

As always, there are places that bear further exploration on a future trip, but this road has not held as much interest as many we’ve traveled. I saw the turnoff to the Ghost Ranch conference center, reminding me of a time a friend attended an Elderhostel program there. And there was a sign signaling a monastery that was far off on a side road; what an isolated spot for it! Abiquiqui Lake appeared to be worth sinking a line and so I shall one day. As we proceed, we find there are numerous lakes, seems that northern New Mexico would be a good fishing destination.

There has not been the amount of agriculture I would have expected through here, mostly small pastures and private gardens. the sweet corn is tasseling, which bodes well for chowing down on plenty of it while in Pagosa. Some areas are thick with sagebrush; it’s obvious that it has been cleared from some natural pastures. I’m wondering if it is here as a result of overgrazing in the past.

The sky has been awesomely beautiful with storm clouds every day. There has been some rainfall most days; twice we were forced to get up in the middle of the night to batten the hatches lest we be rained on in bed.

Chama: Green everywhere - extensive lush grassy mountain meadows sparsely dotted with trees, tinted yellow with flowers and surrounded by forested peaks and rock escarpments backed by the continuing ranges of northern New Mexico and southern Colorado. As we turn off to head westward, we finally are washed by the rain that has been threatening all around us. Makes driving a bit more interesting as we cross the Continental Divide.

Wow! Across the border into Colorado’s San Juans, we are surprised by a rock peak sporting fresh snowfall in early August. I’m guessing it had just been deposited by the storm we are driving under.

Just before 3 p.m., we pull into Elk Meadows River Resort where we have resided before. A small RV park owned and operated by Nancy, it is fairly open on a plateau overlooking the San Juan River. No cable tv and little in the way of other amenities, it has Colorado - what more does a person need.

Oh yes, I would like to have wifi for my internet access (thinking about posting this as a blog); however, the selfsame storm that began to drop rain just as we finished setting up caused lightning to strike the park’s modem last night, thus no wifi until repairs can be made.

Musings . . .

I had so wanted my sister, Christie, to join us here for a few days of her vacation, but was unable to find an economically feasible way for her to get here, short of wiling away four middle-of-the-night hours in the Albuquerque bus depot in the middle of the trip, and that sounded somewhat unsavory, not to mention just about doubling the eight-hour drive.

Carol and Gene earlier asked us to RV to Colorado with them, but we just couldn’t get everything done in time and Chris’ job with the census continued into that time period, disappointing but maybe next time. And speaking of the census: his job has been “done” several times but he keeps getting called back for follow-up. Of course we didn’t leave until is was really done. Pretty surprising then that he got an email when we arrived here asking him to report for additional duty. Obviously, that won’t be happening, but it seems that there might still be work for him even after we return. (Question to self: will he still be working on the 2010 census when 2020 rolls around?)

A rufous’ work is never done . . .

No sooner did we have our bird feeders up than the hummingbirds swarmed. This morning, Thursday, we are having great amusement watching the antics on both the nectar and seed feeders. The notably aggressive rufous hummingbird has planted his tiny flag on our feeder and no one, I repeat no one else is allowed to eat there. In fact, he expanded his territory so that no one else is allowed to land on a small tree about 15 feet away, either. The poor wee feller has no time to eat because there is a veritable army of sneaks out there determined to snatch a quick slurp, so the little general is constantly on the move defending his territory. One wonders exactly why when logic indicates that he could settle down and have a nice breakfast (okay, it’s not an omelet, but obviously a preferred diet) and all the others could join him at the diner and everyone would be happy.

In the meantime at the seed feeder, we have one black-headed grosbeak (I always feel as if they need Noxzema, but what’s in a name) who contentedly sits and chews one seed at a time while Cassin’s finches and pine siskins squabble for a position at the trough.

Perhaps I will sit and watch the birds all day rather than venturing out in the cold . . .