Taos

June 3, 2019

I’ve been hearing about the beauty of Taos for as long – or longer – than I have Santa Fe.  But it was always in a difficult spot geographically, and hard to incorporate into a route or circuit.

Northern New Mexico is very unlike the rest of the state – the Rocky Mountains extend into this corner of New Mexico, and the valley floor is higher (6900’) than Santa Fe (4300’).  So we headed north on the Old Taos Scenic Byway to take it all in.

It is scenic—red rocks at the lower elevations, snow-thatched mountains at the higher — but the beauty was tempered by the poverty of many of the small villages and communities through which  we passed.  As a place, Taos is unrefined with little evidence of affluence – except for the people passing through.

We reached the “downtown” of Taos proper in time for lunch, and chose the Bent Street Café, which, though no outdoor tables were available, had its doors thrown open to the easy temperatures of spring.  Afterwards, we attempted to peruse a few stores and galleries, but every corner we turned promised too much and more.  It was wonderful but overwhelming!  And a good thing that many of the galleries were closed for a Monday, because it was my personal determination that Taos has far too many galleries, and way too many accomplished artists! Making any choices would have been impossible —

Given the previous day’s hailstorm, we had been watching the building clouds scalloping the surrounding mountains.  We had intended to drive the “enchanted circle” — routes 64 & 38 that follow a scenic loop in the mountains — but the weather looked too chancy.  So we drove out into the valley, to the Rio Grade River Gorge.

Tom first spotted the deep, narrow rift in the earth that constitutes the gorge, across which an arched metal bridge has been built.  Our plan was to drive across it, then park and walk it, before hiking east along the Rim Trail that skirted the south edge for a few miles.

The winds blowing across the deepest portion of the gorge were stiff enough to knock one over if not careful.  We took lots of pictures, and even spotted some napping Bighorn Sheep.  The bridge, from which it would have been easy to jump, had several crisis hotline phones posted at different intervals.  Someone had taken a sharpie pen and written messages of hope and encouragement such as “You’re not alone,” and “Use your pain for good.”  The messages were oddly heartening, even to the non-downcast.

We hiked the Rim Trail for about an hour, keeping our eye on the advancing clouds from the south.  It was rugged but fairly level.  The sweeping views across the valley to the mountains were breathtaking.  When we returned to the car, rain had begun to plop. But as we drove east, toward the edge of the gorge, the rain seemed to skirt around us (for once).  Tom found a road that lead to the bottom of the canyon, and for a short time we off-roaded it as we descended several hundred feet down to the Rio Grande – where we found a whole community of campers, rafters, kayakers, and artists, etc.  After we crossed the river, the road became paved again (route 68).

As we wove our way south, back into Santa Fe county, I suddenly saw what Georgia O’Keefe had painted: the rosy red foothills against the dark purple mountains.

Krispy Kreme was still open as we rolled back into town, so we stopped in for some celebratory donuts.  It has been a magnificent trip.  We are so blessed.

 

For our final morning in the west, we rose early to enjoy the Santa Fe River Walk that extends for several miles along the “El Camino Real Trail”, the “royal” trade route between Mexico City and New Mexico for almost 300 years.  We hated to say good-bye, but we miss our Virginia home and community.  As the clouds began to flare up around the mountains, we loaded up and headed east to home.