Come on, it sorta rhymes.
Anyway, this is Stephanie.
She is a veterinarian technician, soon to finish her studies this year and in Hanover, Germany. Stephanie is also from Germany and of German and Danish decent. She is a fellow explorer, who, at the time of our first meeting, was on a three month excursion of sorts throughout the continental United States. The good ol’ beaten path of America took her to the likes of Wyoming, California, New York, Georgia, South Carolina, Colorado, Illinois and, yep, New Mexico… eventually.
Stephanie and I met during my quick trip to Chicago this summer at a hostel at which we were both staying. We spent a few days adventuring the city together - dining on greasy and unhealthy options, walking what seemed like hundreds of miles a day, and sharing a wonder of the stories we learned at some of Chicago’s most popular museums.
While roaming the endless Windy City, our hunger pangs would naturally spring upon us and soon we’d find ourselves enjoying a scrumptious meal together; she, a Moscow Mule (always) and I, whatever-the-hell-I-thought-sounded-good-on-the-menu and forever at delightful eateries somewhere in the heart of all the bustle.
During our time together, I learned that Stephanie is a bit of a cowgirl, someone who owns and rides horses, something she’s done her entire life, someone who enjoys the great outdoors, and most special of all, a solo adventurer who bought a oneway ticket to Australia one year and traveled the country working at various farms with animals until the money eventually ran out and welp, "it was probably time to return home anyway", said she.
Knowing all of this, I couldn’t help but wonder why she had never made it to New Mexico in the three months she had been in America. New Mexico - yes, home to real cowboys, patriot country, the beginnings of the American frontier as we know it, and a land still blemished by its cutthroat history of ethnic tension and well, because its always been the badass Wild West out here, there just ain’t no changin’ who and what we are with ease.
Come to find out, the opportunity was with me all along! And so I invited this Rough ’n’ Tough for a weekend southwest excursion in my big beautiful backyard: Nuevo Mexico.
Stephanie landed in Albuquerque on a Thursday afternoon. The weather was overcast, and so the details in the land were unruly - she was impressed. Those of you from here or those of you who have visited, know very well that when an overcast sets above this great territory, a new mask is painted on its rolling hills, sparse and shallow-rooted shrubs, on its distant volcanoes and far-reaching canyons; it’s like a desert painting by Vermeer that never was, perfect, amplified and abundant with specifics.
On our way to the North Valley, which is where I live, and over two of three main arteries that cross the city, I-25 and Paseo Del Norte, and with time on our side as we waited in typical 505 congested traffic, I felt it my duty to explain to Stephanie that she had just arrived in the Union’s third poorest state: "The Land of Enchantment", as she'd read in our in-state tourism marketing campaign materials throughout our weekend adventure, but when she'd ask a local, she’d learn we call it "Land of Entrapment”. Why? She’d piece it together.
When we arrived at my little and humble abode at the edge of Corrales, we enjoyed hot tea on the porch and watched the sun set in its splashes of gold, blood orange and indigo. We hit the sack early because with morrow’s agenda, we’d be needin' a full night’s rest.
We began our excursion in the afternoon with our first stop at El Pinto; a popular New Mexico restaurant located underneath cottonwood groves with their hanging catkins in bloom. Stephanie and I each had a combination plate with rolled tacos, red chile cheese enchiladas, chile con carne, chile rellenos and pinto beans. The cucumber margarita I ordered was the best of kind I’ve ever had in the city, and Stephanie, channeling her inner wild thang, decided on a hibiscus one that left me speechless.
Next, we made our way to the foothills where we caught the tramway to the crest of the Sandia Mountains. Along the way, we passed through four life zones due to the incredible elevation climb from 5,500 ft. to 10,378 ft., which includes desert grasslands, juniper, sage, ponderosa pines, and blue and black grama grass galore. Below our tramcar, we saw the glint of plane wreckage from the 1955 plane crash of the now defunct Trans World Airlines, but were greeted at the top by a most incredible view of a quiet nighttime cityscape of Albuquerque below.
Afterward, we made our way for downtown; dead in many ways, that one bar still and always open on Central across from the Man’s Hat Shop, a cop’s car parked in the middle of two lanes and a policeman regulating the anarchy around him with his law abiding eyes.
Unimpressed, we made our way up Route 66 which intersects the South Valley and stopped for a quick photoshoot by one of the last standing neon lights; a relic of the bright and promising past, lights that hang over the city’s endless construction that never seems to wrap up in any timely fashion and which bellows with the horns of disgruntled drivers, always sick of it but what can they do? Funny to think this place was ever considered a part of America’s Main Street.
Then we had a look at Old Town.
And we ended the night lapping our ice creams from Sonic and traversed our way home through sleepy neighborhoods, dodging what we could of the all encompassing city construction with its sounds of car horns that began to fade behind us, just like the roaring past of Albuquerque did for generations before me.
In the morning, we hit the road and made way for San Lorenzo Canyon, located between Lemitar and Socorro, a kind of hidden gem of the American Southwest. Getting there wasn’t as easy as I just relayed, however; the directions online were like, "take I-25 South to Lemitar, once there take the exit that reads “El Paraje" although you won't be going there. About four miles down the road you'll see a slight shimmer in the open sky, at this point you'll want to knock the dash of your car three times and in four different tones. Soon a wormhole should appear and begin to open. As it opens, you'll have five seconds to enter the new world in which you'll take an immediate left. The road ahead will be dirt, but take it until the large vein becomes a small vein and trust in your instinct to find the third of two openings into a hidden ferngully. When there, follow the old wolf that will guide you to a clearing at which you'll park again and beg to the blue corn moon for a cloud to carry you to San Lorenzo Canyon. When you arrive, please remember to pack out what you pack in. Thank you for visiting.” Signed, "The New Mexico Bureau of Land Management."
I swear, New Mexico gets better with every adventure.
Positioned on a vast and sprawling wilderness refuge site, the canyon was booming with wildlife. In the few hours we spent ascending its ravines and descending its water corroded plateaus, we saw copious tarantulas, many hawks, dozens of vultures, a skunk, two coyotes, a rather peculiarly long garter snake, a bull snake that was run over, and various lizard types. We even saw the hoof prints of the desert dall sheep or desert bighorn as they’re sometimes called; a big and expert trapeze artist that roams the faces of dangerous cliffs.
Being that it was monsoon season, we were eventually kicked from our wilderness adventuring by a massive rolling storm cloud; something we aimed to evade before we were caught up in its flash flooding. So, we packed up shop and hit the road again, but this time for some TLC in T Or C and which involved hot springs.
The mineral springs at Riverbend Hot Springs are fantastic and best of all is that they’re smack-dab on the banks of the Rio Grande that overlooks Turtleback Mountain and always moving with wildlife.
The hot springs that make up the attraction of T Or C - a place also known as “The Water Wonderland of New Mexico”- have been precious resources for rejuvenation since the dawn of the Apache and Mimbres Tribes of southern New Mexico. During the blistering summer months, T Or C is also a place of cool aquatic refuge, as it’s home to the largest lake and reservoir in the state: Elephant Butte.
After two hours at Riverbend for only 12 bucks per hour - that’s quite a steal, if you ask me - we eventually made our way to the Gila Wilderness. On account it was rather late by the time we set out, we decided to pitch a tent on our way to and off the roadside in a quiet spot near a trickling creek.
The following morning we rose early and to the sounds of farm animals crying in the distance. We ate a meager meal of apples and baguette chips because I forgot to pack the fire canister but ’twas enough and off we went to visit the Cliff Dwellings.
After a quick stop at the welcome center where we fingered the overpriced tourist trap junk and plastic pieces wrapped in more plastic, we finally arrived at the prized and ancient Cliff Dwellings.
Arranged at the top of winding nature trails are six caves, blackened from fire and dirty winds that blew there from a dirty human world. At the head of the dwellings' dusty path, we were welcomed by a nerdy park ranger, suited to the nines and obviously perpetually happy with his office being the great and historic outdoors.
The ranger told us about the Tularosa Tribe, now named as such, but which once resided here and way back in 1200 A.D., just outside of the Gila Wilderness in the southern reaches of the Puebloan Region, when at the time they were called the Anasazi. While they were living in this area, they got along well with the Puebloans; they worked, lived, married and mingled with them for years.
Evidence of this friendly commingling is in the T-framed door of cave 2; an architectural feature borrowed from the culture of the pueblos - where they got some of their knowledge. It’s said that the “T” door represents a religious meaning, or an advancement in architectural planning, but some also speculate that it was made in that way to better carry a deer indoors. We’ll never know for sure.
With geologic testing, the land revealed that in 1270 A.D. the start of a drought occurred. This wasn’t the type of drought you’re thinking of; a few days without rain, a little drier than usual. No, this was a drought that only occurs every couple hundred years and which lasts a few decades. This one was severe.
But when the Tularosa first arrived here 70 years prior, they saw these cliff caves and realized that they could use them as homes, just as people had for thousands of years. The location provided protection; a key defense would be its isolation. So covered and concealed was this nature’s corner just 800 years ago that the four hour hike to the rim overlooking the caves never revealed them. According to the ranger, “today, you can't see the caves unless you’re nearly right on that rim, at the very edge, in near danger of your life for falling over.” Even after a fire had gone through here and burned most of its surrounding trees, the caves continue as hidden. Strange to imagine, though, that this wild canyon was covered in lush trees just 500-700 years ago.
So much in no time has this world of ours changed.
Caves 0 and 1 show no evidence that anyone lived there, but they do display themselves as work areas; maybe a type of processing station for animal skins. But cave 1 is unique because it presents the first structure with a couple of hearths and some storage space.
The spectacle is cave 3, with its 8-10 thousand year old soot layer that clings to its ceiling. Lighter soot is seen somewhere in the middle and is significant because it shows that it detached and fell long before the Tularosa ever arrived. But these dwellings were never permanent homes for these ancient and brilliant peoples; no, rather, they were more like seasonal shelters that proved comfortable during harsh months. For example: during winter the sun shines directly into the caves, warming its insides and its vaulted ceilings would capture smoke and heat from indoor fire pits and thus lock in about a 10-20 degree temperature difference compared to the cold outdoors. During the summer months, the wind blows through the canyon and into the caves and straight back down into the valley, which keeps the caves cool and circulating - a type of natural air conditioning.
Probably one of the most interesting practices of the Tularosa was that they were matrilineal, meaning that when a man and woman married, it was the man who moved in with his wife's family and tribe. There is evidence that large extended families lived here at the Gila Cliff Dwellings and it is assumed that 30-80 folks lived here at any given time and so it was probably a communal area. Everyone had a role and most of all, when it came to the intermarriage between tribes, a sign of wealth was which crops you knew how to grow.
But life was definitely not simple nor peaceful for these miraculous peoples. We have this idea that the Native Americans lived wonderfully in nature, void of the superficial bullshit we know that depresses our lives today. But the excavation of a gravesite near the dwellings and called Grasshopper Pueblo, revealed the bodies of 150 ancient Native Americans whose bones tell a different story.
Various nonlethal fractures and injuries were found on the skulls of these bodies, which to archeologists is a sign of domestic violence. I mean, imagine having to take 6-7 trips to and from the caves to gather food and water throughout the day. That would require the individual to eat a hearty diet with lean proteins and carbs for energy. According to these bones, the Ancients had a diet that was 20% made up of the very crops they learned to grow and the rest was protein that came from white tail rabbits, lizards and insects. It's figured that protein was so valuable to these people that it was most likely consumed right on the spot and during a hunt and so when the hunter would return to his dwelling, he was embraced with angry blows and frustration.
Furthermore, these bones revealed that people could live up to 80 years old at the time, but the mortality rate for children was 49%; just a little more than half would not make it to about the age of 12.
But life continued for the Tularosa from 1278-1288 A.D. with 10 years of consistent building and thus are the structures found inside of the caves today - 85% of which are intact and original.
By 1320, however, something rare would happen- the Tularosa People would completely disappear. Yes, they entirely disappear from the archeology record. The only other civilization to have done this in the recorded and known history of mankind is the Minoan from Crete. Theories that the Tularosa may have assimilated to another tribe, or were taken prisoner or were wiped out by some bizarre natural disaster (this ties us back to the evidence of the drought mentioned before) have been refuted because somewhere, they would have shown up again. Archeologists have found nothing of the kind, no evidence to answer what truly happened to them, and thus the mystery of the Tularosa and the Glia Cliff Dwellings remain unsolved.
The Gila Cliff Dwellings became a national monument in 1907.
We roamed its historic plaza in the dribbling rain; a much needed cool day after the scorch we endured thus far on our great trip. We devoured Haagen-Dasz ice cream and appreciated the artistic Indian jewelry sold on the long covered walkway of the Palace of the Governors.
Next, we immersed ourselves in the story of Meow Wolf and its House of Eternal Return. Stephanie loved it - the discoveries made, the storytelling as it unfolds in winding, climbing and crawling spaces, a world that appears to defy the laws of gravity.
Afterward, we stopped by the beautiful Cathedral Basilica of St. Francis of Assisi, which requires a "donation" of $5 for admission to see its sacred chapel and crypts. We opted not to enter, not because we didn't have the money, but because the oxymoronic requirement to donate just goes against our principles and quite frankly, my lexical understanding of "donation".
Exhausted and enlightened and honestly, with nothing much else to see, we returned to Albuquerque once more and for the last time, ending our splendid southwest weekend excursion with chilled hefeweizens and conversation on the porch, right from where it all began.
... Come to think of it, my beer choice for that evening seemed rather appropriate, don't you think?
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